Oh, Manchester, So Much To Answer For

Would someone, anyone, please answer my question about the "T-zone" (see Comments)? Where's Kyan when I need him most?

Well, of course Bush is opposed to gay marriage. Did you really expect anything else (unless, of course, you're a Log Cabin Republican, in which case I find you to be anathema and have no idea what to say to you other than Wake up!)? He wants to have it both ways, pretending to be our friend while stabbing us - in the chest (why bother with the back? He doesn't care who knows). And once again, I'm left befuddled as to what the President of a country which supports (ostensibly) separation of church and state is doing citing "sinners" in a Rose Garden press conference. Oh, that's right - Bushie doesn't give a damn, 'cause he seems to think he was elected Dictator. Or is that Ashcroft? It's so hard to tell these days. Dean in 2004, y'all.

Addendum x 2: Anyone else notice that many of the arguments being used against gay marriage are eerily similar to those used some 40 years ago against interracial marriage? And the Log Cabin Republicans? "[G]ay advocacy group," my ass. How 'bout a bunch of moneyed fags who want everything to stay the way it's always been? "Gay Republican" makes as much damn sense as "Nazi Jew." Infer what you will.

Inspirational prose of the day:

”Carlo said, ‘There should be a Monopoly where you play for men instead of properties.’
‘There is,’ I reminded him. ‘It’s called the gay world.’”
- Ethan Mordden, “Kid Stuff” (from Buddies, InsightOut Books, 2001, p.121)

Inspirational lyric of the day:

”Guess who’s back in the mothafuckin’ house
With two big tig ol’ bitties for yo’ mouth
Heartbreakers must partake of the sensation
So So Def and Clue – hits in the makin’”
- Da Brat on Mariah Carey, “Heartbreaker (Remix)” (Rainbow, Columbia, 1999)

Why is it that every part of my skin is dry except for that around my nose, which is a veritable oil slick? That just doesn’t make any sense, and frustrates me to no end. Grrr.

Gay porn, X-rated ebay auctions, good music, sociopolitical commentary, and tales of sex in the (New York) City: your new blog of the week is BJ's Gay Porno-Crazed Ramblings (and it often ain't work-safe, y'all, so you've been warned).

Erik has combined The Devil's Radio and Big E Thoughts into a seamless blog of politics and music, yum! And he even has his own domain now. So why don't'cha amble on over to Erik's Trip and say "hey"? Tell him I sent you. [Bonus points, Erik, for naming it after a great Sonic Youth song from the best Sonic Youth album.]

”If you don’t want to be in a story, don’t know a writer.”
- Ethan Mordden, “I Am the Sleuth” (from Buddies) (InsightOut Books, 2001)

How much longer do we have to wait for a hits record from Jay-Z? Until after his purported “last” album, The Black Album, washes ashore (reportedly later this year)? You know, at this point, in less than a decade, he could pretty easily make it a slamming two-disc set. And you’d better believe I’ll pick it up.

Speaking of hits records I’m actually going to buy, the Chemical Brothers unleash 93-03 shortly, and it looks to be smashing. Not quite complete enough – only 12 or so tracks – but first pressing’s got a bonus disc of remixes/b-sides (as is de rigeur in these file-sharing times), making it absolutely necessary.

Since as a gay blogger I’m fairly expected to comment on what I’m now calling “Gay Night on Bravo,” I’ll do so.
Boy Meets Boy was not offensive – but frankly, rather dull. Its host, Dani Behr, gets very annoying very quickly (she nearly sounds like a Californian – or Madonna, natch – affecting a British accent). Its ostensible star, James, is cute (not hot), and seems very gay. Like a good homo. Like the boring version of the Fab 5. Last night’s premiere was all introductions and James asking tedious questions (I mean, really – “what one thing would you take to a deserted island?”) of his would-be suitors. I don’t have high hopes for this show. At all.

Fortunately, the antidote immediately followed, in the form of the best episode yet of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. This week, the Fab 5 had to up the sophistication level of an utterly gorgeous cowboy manqué so that he could propose to his girlfriend of two years. He’s gorgeous, sensitive, interesting (has had stints as a plumber, a Navy SEAL, and a stripper!), well-mannered and well-tempered, and simply delectable. I think all of us watching were in lust. [The episode was, of course, a success, and she said yes at the end.] Splendid.

Random thoughts on my top 99 of 1999, part 5.
*
’99 was the year of – as much as it pains me to say it – the Pet Shop Boys’ last great album, Nightlife. From it came two marvelous, classic PSB singles, “I Don’t Know What You Want But I Can’t Give It Anymore” (following in their fine line of absurdly lengthy song titles such as “How Can You Expect To Be Taken Seriously?” and “This Must Be The Place I Waited Years To Leave”) and the discotastic Studio 54 explosion of “New York City Boy.” Neil and Chris are still making intelligent dance/pop, to be sure, but there’s a certain frisson missing, and frankly, I’m not sure they know how to get their groove back. But it’s been great while it’s lasted.
*
Single number four from Lauryn Hill’s astounding solo debut was “Everything Is Everything,” a near-perfect R&B single built around a string section (and not a ballad!). What I remember most about it, however, is its jaw-dropping video, featuring New York City (or at least Manhattan) as a record being played. Timeless.
*
I know it’s incredibly uncool to prefer current Manic Street Preachers to the “Richey era,” such as it was, but I do, and don’t care, not when they’re making majestic, epic songs like the elegiac “S.Y.M.M.” Yes, it’s a bit heavy-handed, but let’s not kid ourselves – subtlety’s never been one of their selling points, has it?
*
The comeback was going so well, and then the wheels came off. Crack is wack, you know. At least we got a slew of great singles out of it, including “Heartbreak Hotel,” wherein Whitney Houston, Faith Evans, and Kelly Price do their finest diva-wails over a discreetly tasteful R&B track, and the classic-in-any-era “It’s Not Right But It’s Okay,” not only a superb cheating song (from the other side, that of the one being cheated on) but, as remixed by Thunderpuss, the greatest remix of 1999, and a gay club anthem for current and future generations.
*
The fact that Maxwell always seems as if he’s about to cry bothers me, a little. His use of the phrasing “tasty lips” in “Fortunate” leaves me diffident, as well. Yet the pure romance dripping from every syllable, every note of the song thrills me inexorably.
*
Compiling a list of 99 songs, and then having to rank them, left me a bit fatigued – that’s the only way I know to explain away my #1 of the year, a song which didn’t even come close to my top 90 of the ‘90s, uneasily perched atop the heap. I made a mistake. I was wrong. And, really, if it comes down to brass tacks, I think a much better choice would’ve been the single which I placed at #5: Chris Rock’s “No Sex.” It was set forth as a parody of Baz Luhrmann’s “Everybody’s Free (To Wear Sunscreen),” but far surpassed the subject of its satire as I brilliantly, blindingly funny record. Chris did his thing – and as the funniest motherfucker in America for going on what, over a half-decade now? His “thing” is pure gold. [“If a girl has a pierced tongue, she’ll probably suck your dick. (pause) If a guy has a pierced tongue, he’ll probably suck your dick.” … “Here’s a horoscope for everyone: Aquarius, you’re gonna die… Gemini, you’re gonna die twice,” et cetera, ad infinitum.] But what truly makes the record even more than Prince Paul’s plushtastic R&B production job is the secret weapon: Gerald Levert. He sings his big black azz all over “No Sex,” actually giving it the feel of an R&B record. Hearing his rich, thick, gorgeous voice crooning “no sex in the champagne room, no sex in the champagne room” is riotously, pants-wettingly hilarious. Chris Rock knows what he’s motherfucking doing, and no one was doing it better in ’99 – nor is anyone, now.
*
The year’s truly transcendent rock single, bar none, came from an unlikely source, I’ve always thought. Sure, the Flaming Lips were entertaining, made some interesting acid-soaked Beefhart-cum-Zappa-via-Butthole Surfers records, even made an appearance on 090210 because of their novelty hit about a girl who liked tangerines. Suddenly, then, they made a stunning triumph with The Soft Bulletin, a fine album with an even finer lead single, “Race for the Prize,” about scientists searching for a cure for a deadly disease (!). And it worked, in spades. It’s weird, it’s funny, it’s classic-sounding, it’s art, it’s thought-provoking, and most of all, it’s grand.
*
It’s perverse to me that the best single by Busta Rhymes, in my estimation, is his collabo featuring Janet - Ms. Jackson if you’re nasty, and she certainly is. It’s basically an R&B sex song, but with a certain twist, a je ne sais quoi, even – which is, of course, Busta’s weird factor. Don’t deny it; even as he begins to stoop to low means of commercial success, there’s not anyone (nor has there ever been) like him in hiphop, either the culture or the genre. Against all odds, “What’s It Gonna Be?!” works, which of course makes it all the better.
*
My #1 single of ’99 was, misguidedly, George Michael and Mary J. Blige’s cover of Stevie Wonder’s “As,” the first import to get such a designation (it was available only on overseas copies of George’s best of, Ladies and Gentlemen). It’s quite lovely, a perfectly done cover of a classic song. And that’s all I have to say about it.

I hated to delist all of yesterday's guest contributors, I really did. Yesterday was so much more fun than even I'd dared imagine (and I got a ridiculous 438 hits, by furlongs a new high-water mark for Oh, Manchester!). Thank you, thank you, thank you to everyone who contributed, either via direct posting or via comments. Besides those I mentioned in my post Monday night, special thanks to Johnny, Ray-Ray, Joe, Corey, and my favorite comment whore, Michael. I was honestly amazed by the breadth and depth of posts I received here yesterday, and am elated by how diverse everyone's contributions were. Thank you all again for making this blog's first birthday so entertaining - and for helping me, in a myriad of ways, to make it my first 365 days. Let's do it again next year, shall we?

Speaking of birthdays, I'd be remiss not to point out that today is the first birthday of Jenn's blog - g'on over and say hey, why don't'cha? Today is also the actual and factual birthday of Chrisafer (he's 30! *gasp!*), and tomorrow is the birthday of Michigan's finest, Todd. I recommend e-cards, myself, but then, I'm kinda cheesy like that (and poor). Happy milestones to all of you!

I now return you to your regularly scheduled programming.

MY BEST FRIEND

Yes, we all love to rib Thomas. The boy has his quirks. But I love him anyway. And I know he loves me. Now I could get into an exhaustive monologue about what makes Tom so special to me, but I don't have the words or the energy. I don't know about you, but for me, I love him because he's never at a loss: whether it be words, opinions, feelings, pain, passion or anger. About the only thing he's ever consistently at a loss for is money. And that may be more a function of circumstance than anything else (although I'd be the first to remind him that he holds most of the strings to his world, if he truly believes in himself). So as we all take great joy in giving Tom the hell he deserves, let us not forget that we come back, most of us every day, not just for his words, but for his heart and insight. Those are the blessings he's been given, and good for us that he shares them.

Last post for the evening. I've had fun today being able to post here and putting down whatever the hell I wanted. :) I hope we can do it again next year...with more of the "gang" involved!

Good night, all. I'm sure Goddamn Thomas will be waiting for midnight to roll around so he can post again. I'm sure he's itching to.

And just remember: Everyone hates him (and apparently there are some DC bloggers who are plotting to kill him!).

Commercials Make Me Think

Whilst watching Bravo, I saw a commercial for Boy Meets Boy wherein we see footage of the main guy as the announcer says, "Meet this summer's biggest hunk. He's handsome. He's successful" cut to him dancing with another man. "He's totally unavailable."

Ummm. Pardon me. Unavailable to whom? Certainly not to other gay men. This is not a show for gay men. It's a show for straight women.

The other commercial that made me think this evening? The one for that new Brittany Murphy movie, Uptown Girls. Whenever I see it, I wonder if she has any enamel left on her teeth.

I'm late, I'm straight, if you're not used to it I suppose we can make some sort of reasonable compromise. Yeah, it's the man they call Nate Detritus, staggering into the party in an ugly Mazda RX-7 t-shirt and two days' growth of stubble all ready to act a fool. Rum and coke time, bwoy! Birthday ish! I'm gonna get my cake on. You'd probably think that what with my reputation and all I'd go into some batshit ramble about how '70s disco is the more subversive than '90s punk (no slight to those fun folx in Rancid) or maybe post a picture of a bizarre pseudo-space-age Italian sports car. Sadly, I'm a bit tapped out on that sort of insight, or most any sort of insight at all. Instead, I will simply say this -- short, enthusiastic and to the point:

Whether via filesharing, used record store rummaging, prohibitively expensive eBay auctions or one of those Keb Darge Rare Funk compilations, YOU MUST GET ONYX*'S "BREAK IT LOOSE (PART II)" IMMEDIATELY. I'd describe it, go into loving and rapturous detail about how down-dirty and astounding it sounds, but that'd be ruining the impact and spoiling things. So I'll leave the whole revelatory brane-explodin' up to your own ears.

And now, back to your regularly scheduled pop.

*no, not the "SLAM! DUH DUH NUH!" Onyx. Some other one. From 1978.

Hey yawl…

GeekSlut here (guest blogging ho), hear when I first got it and what band was jamming in the background. LOL

Audio Blog (from Geekslut.org): (july29.mp3, 3.1MB)

In honor of Thomas' (and my own) love for Aaliyah, I'm posting my dorky review of her final album (not counting the posthumous I Care For U)...which I wrote for a now-defunct webzine in early August 2001, just a few weeks before her untimely death. Hope you guys (especially you, Mr. Inskeep!) enjoy it!

--------------------

AALIYAH – Aaliyah

It’s hard to believe that this young woman’s last studio album, the multi-platinum & critically-acclaimed One In A Million, was released five years ago. After all, she’s always been in the spotlight in one way or another – whether it’s with soundtrack smashes (Try Again, Are You That Somebody?, national ad campaigns (Tommy Hilfiger) or feature film roles (Romeo Must Die).

But even with all of this exposure, it seems nobody really knows too much about 21-year-old Aaliyah Dana Haughton. And for some reason, this air of mysteriousness only appears to heighten her popularity. So what gives?

Ray’s Rants & Raves: Two words – cutting edge. Ms. Haughton is always a step ahead of her peers…with her fashion, her style, and most importantly, her craft. This record is no different, once again expanding the boundaries of urban electronica. Along with her usual comrades-in-arms (Timbaland, Missy Elliott), Aaliyah enlists the help of almost the entire Blackground team (Static & Digital Black of Playa, Tank, J-Dub, Bud’da, Keybeats, and the Hankersons) in creating the darkly sensual mood found on her self-titled third album.

The CD kicks off with the slithering title track We Need A Resolution, which is classic Timbaland fare – stop-and-go beats, warped synth chords/horns, and wickedly rhythmic verses…and it doesn’t stop there. Aaliyah abounds with flava-full jams, including the crunked-up confidence of Loose Rap, self-assured sass of Messed Up, and latin-flavored Read Between The Lines. Need some sexy slow-burners? Now you know baby girl can handle her biz in that department. You’ll be swaying along with Rock The Boat, I Care 4 U, and It’s Whatever before you know what hit you. The rock-infused I Can Be and classically ominous I Refuse add even more fuel to the album’s ultra-modern fire. And that voice…my goodness, that voice. It’s definitely not the strongest of the bunch, but damn...you’ll be searching forever before you find one just as pretty. Oh, and do I even need to mention that she has the body & looks to match?

Ray’s Rank: 4 ½ / 5 stars. This CD is everything you’ve ever wanted in a neo-modern, contemporary release. If you’re looking for super radio-friendly ditties and tried-and-true R&B filler, you’re looking in the wrong place. If avant-garde, jaw-hitting-the-floor eccentricity is more your thing, then this is what you’re after. Bottom line? Aaliyah is one of the year’s best records, for any genre.

It seems most people are choosing to celebrate Thomas's talent for nonstop, detail-laden reviews of every song that's ever been on the radio. Ever. However, to me, "Oh Manchester..." is really about his constant need to whore himself to other bloggers for the links. Maybe he needs the validation. Submeat is really just a web portal to everyone else's intelligent ideas and pictures of beefy, stubbly guys (and Chrisafer). So, to honor this special day, here are all the Must Reads from today:
bluejay
ggwoo
house of wigs
linkmachinego


And, here are the Blogs of the Day:
Addaboy
Art Is For Losers
Beaverhausen Blog
Blah, Blah, Black Sheep
Blog for America: the official Howard Dean weblog
Brand Trueboy
Choire
Chrisonomicon
Confluence of Nescience
Cool Relax
Cooped Up
Daily Kos
Dannyisms
Devon the Escort's Diary
E/J/J/Y
Fly Over Country
GeekSlut
Is This Thing Working?
Jimbo
Joe's Take Out
Johnny A Go Go
Little. Yellow. Different.
Mikesosoft
Morelworld
Off Wing Opinion
Philo
Redpoy
Room Sixteen
Seamus McStebbins
Snozzwanger
SoBlo
StainMaster Productions
The Day, The Night
The Major Fall, The Minor Lift
They Made Me Do This!!!
This Is My Life...Like It or Not
Toddo
Vivian's Rebuttal Page
Waremouse


And here are some of the people I Think are Fabulous (talent and looks):
Robbie Williams
aka frank green
lots of co
ggwoo
bald sarcasm
corky dot com
grapefeed (fredo)
holden caulfield's lover
jhames
jonno
nathaniel wandering
ultrasparky
dogpoet
8 legs
gatsby's ghost
jockohomo
living proof

Look what I found!!!!

The EX!

I just had a daydream that made me chuckle

Thomas and Carson from Queer Eye for the Straight Guy meet one day while Carson's doing a promotional appearance for the show at a mall in Roanoke. The attraction is immediate. Carson takes Thomas shopping. Thomas takes Carson to Beyoncé shows.

They move to Baltimore and open CarThom, a record/haute couture shop on Charles Street, which quickly puts Balmer on the fashion map. Tyra stops by, but Thomas points to the "No Pets" sign in the window and Tyra immediately ties Janice Dickinson's leash to a parking meter in front of the store.

At their commitment ceremony, Carson gives Thomas some wonderful news. The papers have been finalized. In a matter of weeks, their new son, Andrew W. K. Inskeep-Kressley is home with them. In just a few years he will be the youngest man in history to be both MVP of the NCAA Men's Basketball Tournement and star as Edna Turnblad in the Broadway revival of "Hairspray." While accepting the Tony, he gushes through his tears, "I owe it all to my two dads!"

I think this means I need to go to lunch now.

{helping to continue the "music that rarely gets discussed here" theme}

Jenn's Top 10 Disney Songs
(and we all know how much Thomas *loves* Disney!)

10. Colonel Hathi's March - a fun marching tune that you can't help but tap your foot to. Besides, how many songs do you know that include an elephant blowing its trunk?

9. A Whole New World - how can you NOT sing along to this? In fact, Viv and I would like to do this song for the next drag show. And yes, I get to be Aladdin.

8. Whale of a Tale - this is just a fun song about the true life of sailors. I should know.

7. The Work Song - a song sung by a bunch of mice, including Gus-Gus thrown in for those who think his mentally challenged self is so cute.

6. The Ugly Bug Ball - too cute and too apropos for Thomas. :)

5. Hakuna Mata - a lovely little ditty that will always cheer you up!

4. Under the Sea - just can't resist a singing crab with a French accent. And he makes living under the sea sound so great, so I'll never understand what the hell Ariel's problem is.

3. Chim Chim Cher-ee - Dick Van Dyke never sounded so good, though sometimes this song can be a bit of a downer towards the end.

2. Poor Unfortunate Souls - A song that will forever remind me of Vivie. Some people *have* called her a witch (in the bad sense). And it is one of the coolest songs sung by a villian.

and *the* number one Disney song:

1. Kiss the Girl - again with the French-accented crab singing. But this romantic song reminds me of my first date with Steven (long story).

when thomas blogs about music he really wants to be blogging about clothes

so, in honor of his blog's birthday (woohoo) i'll blog about the top 5 music video outfits of all time. and if you don't agree with me, bugger off, i don't give a rat's ass.

5. george michael from "wake me up before you go-go" - oh please, neon and choose life. how could you go wrong with that?
4. pat benatar from "love is a battlefield" - heavy makeup and ripped skirts and shirts. she gave me reason enough to shred the bottoms of my hanes undershirts
3. janet jackson from "love will never do without you" - blue jeans and black top. simple and stylish and she singlehandedly make jeans hot again.
2. casey spooner from "sweetness" - boys in make up and hair extensions. very helmut lang without the standoffishness.

and the all time best music video outfit is....

1. andrew ridgley from "everything she wants" - he had on a red plaid topcoat with matching pants, perfect curled and coifed fashion-mullet with rooster bangs.

Vivie says: "The only reason Thomas is opposed to Celine Dion is that he secretly wants to be her."

Hi everybody! Hi Thomas!

Sorry about the RSVP thang. Obviously, I didn’t read the invite e-mail carefully enough. *eyeroll me*

This is just a quickie post to say Happy Blog B-day to Thomas’ blog. It rocks hardcore! I check in every day to get the scoop on the latest singles and albums, and I find myself with agreeing with Mr. Inskeep 99.9% of the time (please excuse my 0.1% bad taste in music...hah). Once he sends out his portfolio, he’s going to be fielding offers left and right. ‘Sho ‘nuff!

Ok, I’ll write more later. Payce!

(Continuing the "let's discuss the music that rarely gets discussed here" theme)

Joe's Top 5 80's Hair Bands

1. Lillian Axe - a melodic rock fan's wet dream, Lillian Axe never really had a hit, even though their albums were full of enough sexual innuendos and catchy hooks to make Ratt blush and scatter away in shame.

2. Poison - yup. The kings (or queens) of glam pop metal. Bobby and Rikki's degrees in hair styling and cosmetology came in handy when crafting the bands image, while CC's crunchy guitar riffs inspired tons of Aquanet abusers to pick up the guitar and raid their mothers' closet for wardrobe. Bret's abs were not an ugly sight, either.

4. Bon Jovi - still a viable band (except in Tom's eyes, I'm sure) churning out quality melodic tunes, Jon and the boys perfected the radio-friendly pop metal song format. With the aid of Miss Desmond Child's songwriting prowess, the Jersey gang ruled the airwaves - and cable signals - with the long-haired answer to Springsteen. While their hits were solid rock songs, there's a lot more to be discovered in album cuts like "Blood on Blood," "Dry County" and "If That's What It Takes."

4. Extreme - holding more talent in their pinkies than a lot of 80s bands combined, Extreme hit it big with the wrong song, the pussy-balladry of "More than Words." While a good song, it completely misrepresented the band and sold it to soccer moms, who were not ready for the funk metal that dominated their second album, Pornograffitti.

5. Danger Danger - with their "parping," airy keyboards and the Mickey Mouse-on-helium vocals of Ted Poley, D2 combined the sugary AOR of bands like Journey and Foreigner with the guitar pyrotechnics and sleaziness of the Sunset Strip. "Bang Bang" is as anthemic as hair metal gets.

In honor of the Designing Women reunion show last night, I offer this great scene from the show:

"JULIA: Excuse me, aren't you Marjorie Leigh Winnick, the current Miss Georgia World?
MARJORIE: Why, yes I am.
JULIA: I'm Julia Sugarbaker, Suzanne Sugarbaker's sister. I couldn't help over hearing part of your conversation.
MARJORIE: Well, I'm sorry. I didn't know anyone was here.
JULIA: Yes, and I gather from your comments there are a couple of other things you don't know, Marjorie. For example, you probably didn't know that Suzanne was the only contestant in Georgia pageant history to sweep every category except congeniality, and that is not something the women in my family aspire to anyway. Or that when she walked down the runway in her swimsuit, five contestants quit on the spot. Or that when she emerged from the isolation booth to answer the question, "What would you do to prevent war?" she spoke so eloquently of patriotism, battlefields and diamond tiaras, grown men wept. And you probably didn't know, Marjorie, that Suzanne was not just any Miss Georgia, she was the Miss Georgia. She didn't twirl just a baton, that baton was on fire. And when she threw that baton into the air, it flew higher, further, faster than any baton has ever flown before, hitting a transformer and showering the darkened arena with sparks! And when it finally did come down, Marjorie, my sister caught that baton, and 12,000 people jumped to their feet for sixteen and one-half minutes of uninterrupted thunderous ovation, as flames illuminated her tear-stained face! And that, Marjorie --- just so you will know --- and your children will someday know --- is the night the lights went out in Georgia!"

Random thoughts on my top 99 of July 29, 2003, part 785(a)

I often think that if 50 Cent hadn't come around to revolutionize hip hop, that void would be filled by a Javanese gamelan orchestra. After all, what is Cilacap if not the new Seattle?

*!*

When it comes to pure diva pop, it just doesn't get any better than Justin Timberlake. Mya, Beyoncé, Ashanti, hell even tourmate Christina are all put to shame by that little southern boy's beautiful falsetto. His lilting tones rock my world, then calm it down, just to rock it all over again. Go on witchyourbadself!

*~*

Kelis is the new Li'l Brat. I dare you to name anything aside from "I Hate You So Much Right Now" that she's put out. Nope, she's one of those "f" gals. Like Jane's Addiction (f/Kelis), Postal Service (f/Kelis), or Luciano Pavarotti (f/Kelis).

*%*

If I were a betting man, I'd say that the new "it" girl in pop music will be Trista from the Bachelorette. Word on the street is Elektra and Madonna's Maverick are in a bidding war over her demo--produced by the team that brought you Hansen and Total. Through my connections at Maverick (Hi Michelle B! Love that new single--kisses!) I've already heard most of her demo. The breakout track is "I'm Not Your Ho (Take Me Out of This Shed)." It's a little bit sluttified Jewel, a little bit pre-beer-gut Trisha Yearwood, and a whole lot of "Sugar Walls" era Sheena Easton. Who knew that someone so bland could make music so good? Aside from Avril Lavigne that is?

*@*

I'll admit it, I was wrong. Courtney Love is a no talent slag. Just like every other woman in rock, she's ridden on the coat tails of men. And obviously she killed Kurt and caused the break-up of the Pumpkins. In fact, in the future, we can pinpoint the breakdown of all American music to "Doll Parts."

I love submeat like a fat kid loves cake.

Well, that is, until I heard about the Barry Manilow thing.

We received new PC's here at the school (where I work), so I'm having to re-rip all the tracks I had on my old hard drive so I don't have to listen to the kids play oldies. I started today with two of the 20 best albums from the 90's. A Tribe Called Quest's The Low End Theory and Suede's Coming Up. Both just as brilliant and captivating as the day they were released. There are no excuses for not owning either.

Happy blog-day to the home of the best written commentary on fleeting, disposable pop (music and culture). I'll second Corey's idea of using today to draw attention to all the music Thomas finds revolting. That's right, it's indie rock day here at Oh, Manchester...! Here are some upcoming LP's on which the 'meat is anxiously awaiting my take:

Aug 19
Guided By Voices, Earthquake Glue
Sloan, Action Pact

Aug 26
Josh Rouse, 1972

Sept 9
My Morning Jacket, It Still Moves

GBV have already set up some tour dates for August. Expect more to be posted soon. Josh should be hitting the road sometime in September. I hope Sloan does some dates in the states. MMJ have some European dates posted, but I'm sure they'll rock the states again before year's end. They may be a better live act than my beloved GBV! (blasphemy!) Don't even think about missing them.

Thomas' dirty little secret:

He has referred to Barry Manilow as a "musical genius." On numerous occasions.

thomas places a craig's list ad

15 -- Visiting DC

I'm a Chinese girl, 27, visiting the Washington DC area somewhere in the second week of September. Would like to make some friends along the way too-hope to get to know people better before I actually get there. Unfortunately, I don't get along well with people who drink a lot, smoke, do drugs or say foul words, so please don't write back if you do any of them. Otherwise, please write and tell me more about yourself - maybe we will have something in common and can hang out together when I'm there! Besides all the touristy places, I'd like to know great lunch and dinner places too. Replies from both girls and guys are welcomed!!

That's right, the Tard is back temporarily to wish Thomas the happiest of anniversaries and to bring you all a bit of Atlanta cheer! I thought about the things I could say. Should I do an exposition on the hurling championships going on in Ireland? Should I discuss the beauty of the perfect quiz night? Should I talk about how nearly ever man in Atlanta is beef-i-licious? (I'm serious here, I walked into traffic yesterday looking at three shirtless construction workers). Should I talk about how much I miss the perfect Guinness poured from my very favorite bartender?

And then it occured to me...something I've wanted to do for the longest time is refute all of Thomas' musical picks. That's right! It's Belle and Sebastian day here on 'Oh, manchester'. There will be no pop divas today, oh no! No discussion of that weenie Justin. So here it is:

The OFFICIAL 'Oh, Manchester, so much to answer for' best songs ever, which also happen to coincide with the top ten Belle and Sebastian songs. (not in any order)

• There's too much love
  
• I'm waking up to us
  
• Me and the Major
  
• Get me away from here, I'm dying
  
• My wandering days are over
  
• Take your carriage clock and shove it
  
• Lazy Line Painter Jane
  
• Dirty dream number two
  
• Lord Anthony
  
• The loneliness of a middle distance runner
  
• The stars of track and field are beautiful people
  

And while we are it it, I might as well refute some parts of what Britian is, and what Britian is not! The republic of Ireland is not part of Britian. Northern Ireland, which is the 6 northeastern counties of Ireland, is in United Kingdom. But you wouldnt' call someone from N. Ireland a Brit, unless they were a Prod, really. Then they'd probably prefer being called British, judging by how they act. All proper and sorts. Not like the heathen Irish, no sirree.

And, the red box is the plague of Adams Morgan. For shame!

(All of the previous comments represent the feeling and opinions of 'Oh, Manchester' 100% and can never be refuted under fear of perjury in most US courts. He really thought he could get away with his tomfoolery! Muhahahahaha)

Happy Birthday!

Oh, I'm the first to post! Do I get a door prize?

And I'm glad that you have (kind of) turned it into THAT kind of blog! Makes for more interesting reading for your friends. That and it gives Michael more of a chance to call you a slut. :)

Tomorrow, Oh, Manchester... turns one year old. [I was going to link to my first post, but whaddaya know, the Blogger archives have gone screwy again.] To celebrate, I'm going to post... nothing.

I thought it'd be interesting to hand my blog over to a number of other bloggers who are either personal friends, whose blogs inspire me/I respect, or (as is most often the case) both. There are a couple of *cough*stragglers*cough* who may sneak in under the wire, but those who've RSVP'd for tomorrow thus far are:
+Donald of Art is for Losers
+Todd of Toddo
+Jenn of This Is My Life... Like It or Not
+Chrisafer of Blah, Blah, Black Sheep
+Stephen of GeekSlut
+Jeff of StainMaster Productions
+Mike of Seamus McStebbins, the Irish Paperboy
+Nate of Hipster Detritus

Theirs are all blogs which I read daily, as you should, too. I won't be posting a word from midnight to midnight (which means that my thoughts on tomorrow night's premiere of Boy Meets Boy will have to wait until Wednesday - though I already have this much to say: why do none of them have facial hair?! Is this Twink Meets Twink??), though I may comment here and there (as you're always welcome to do, too). Be nice to my guests, and enjoy.

Hey, I'm working on my portfolio of music writing, whipping it into shape so I can start sending it out to editors and the like. Seriously, as my readers - and thus, likely the best people to ask - are there any pieces of writing I've done in the last year which you think are particularly fine? If so, please let me know in the "Comment" box, or if you prefer, drop me an email. [So far, I've picked out the pieces on Trevor Horn, Aaliyah, and Andrew W.K..]

It's usually not a good thing when your first American television commercial in over a decade is better than anything off your most recent album - but that's the case for Madonna, paired with Missy Elliott in Gap's "Into the Hollywood Groove."

It's usually also not a good thing when you're a cable network reduced to running a "word premiere" of said Gap Commercial - but that's the case for the network with no identity, VH-1. I remember when they showed Kenny Rogers videos.

It's usually also not a good thing, redux, when you watch said commercial on said network just so you can blog it.

Hot damn, Jane's Addiction's "Just Because" (the new #1 on Billboard's Modern Rock Tracks chart) is the rock single of the year. If Strays can stand up to its lead single, I might actually take the plunge and pick it up. I know some of y'all out there have it, or have heard it. Thoughts?

A big muchos thankos to BJ, who sent me his extra copy of the sublime Red Hot + Riot CD (after an apparently properly persuasive email from me). The spirit of Fela Kuti lives on this disc, continuing in the Red Hot tradition of cover albums (such as Red Hot + Cool - Cole Porter; Red Hot + Rio - Antonio Carlos Jobim; etc.). Featuring everyone from Me'Shell Ndegéocello and Nile Rodgers (Chic) to Common and dead prez, this album's full of rhythm, rock, roll, and soul (and rhyme!), all atop the percolating Afropop grooves that Fela made famous over much of the globe before his AIDS-related death in 1997. Fucking stellar. [I intend to post a more full review soon, if I get up the gumption.]

As an addendum to the piece I posted 2 weeks ago about Redbox, a new and (to me) fascinating idea in vending, there's a superb piece in today's Post which lays out both pros and cons to the concept.

Random thoughts on my top 99 of 1999, part 4.
*
The award for best use of a Diana Ross sample in 1999 (in this case, “Love Hangover”) goes to Jermaine Dupri, of all fucking people, for his superlative production on Monica’s “The First Night.” In which she makes not having sex sound sexier than ever. Her sultry voice does a fine job of making not-so-sexy things sound sexy, akin to hearing Barry White (R.I.P.) say “periodontist.”
*
I understand why Jay-Z and DMX need hoes, but why do they need money and cash?

I just need the track’s marvelous “game over” video game noises.
*
1999 was the year Robbie Williams should have become a massive star in the U.S. as he was (and still is) worldwide, but Americans are, by and large, stupid, and wouldn’t know good taste if it bit ‘em in the ass. Perhaps he’s too cheeky, just a mite too British, for us Yanks (much like Jarvis Cocker); an album title like The Ego Has Landed is certainly too clever for most of us. And it’s our loss, with shoulda-been smashes like “Let Me Entertain You” – really, can you turn down that invitation? If so, you’re a) a lesbian, or b) don’t appreciate appropriately hairy blokes with talent oozing from every pore (and perhaps some orifices – orifi? – too).
*
The Masters at Work career-resuscitation machine was going full bore at the end of the nineties, having already done its work on Roy Ayers and George Benson, with Jody Watley and James Ingram (and Patti Austin!) to come. In the spotlight near year’s end was the divine Stephanie Mills with her MAW-produced and –played and –arranged “Latin Lover.” Mills wrapped her still-sumptuous pipes around the song and squeezed it till it was in need of CPR – and then gave it that, to boot. Meanwhile, Kenny and Louie just did what they do so well: put together deep, creamy house of the highest order. No one does it better.
*
“Betcha Man Can’t (Triz)” is a delicious, slinky groover of a sex song from the ‘Ricans in the house, Fat Joe featuring Big Punisher, Cuban Link and Triple Seis. It’s clever, has got a great beat, and you dance to it; I’d give it an 88.
*
Orgy (where are they now?) were a great idea, only occasionally great in practice, combining goth, industrial, and their mentors Korn’s strand of aggro-rock into a package I thought was destined to appeal to angst-ridden teenagers of most stripes. Apparently, I was mistaken. I never thought their cover of “Blue Monday” was their finest moment, either – too easy, too by-the-numbers. “Stitches,” however, heaved and stewed and kept threatening to boil over with delicious tension like few rock singles in ’99.
*
“Bug A Boo” by Destiny’s Child is fierce as hell, and sexy as fuck.
*
I was in the minority in thinking that as Mariah Carey got further into the hiphop milieu, as it were, with her music, the better it got. [Of course, there was a breaking point - and it came on the Glitter soundtrack, where she was reduced to a guest on her own songs.] Her last great single, then, was her (first) collaboration featuring Jay-Z, “Heartbreaker,” on which she sings all over the track (but, crucially, doesn’t oversing – at least until the very end, when she casually tosses in some of her sounds-only-dogs-can-hear), Jay-Z does his usual $50,000 for 16 bars bit, and most importantly, Mariah sounds relaxed, almost at piece (one can only assume due to her then-recent breakup with then-Sony chief Tommy Mottola). Easy, breezy, beautiful, cover girl.
*
Juvenile’s “Back That Azz Up”: if “Thong Song” weren’t quite so crass and featured Juvi's peculiarly delightful N.O. patois and, of course, Mannie Fresh’s so fresh, so clean production job, complete with perfectly-placed sampled strings - even then, Sisqo's single wouldn't be this good. Or this clever. And lest I forget: there's a "Monie in the Middle" reference!

Apparently, I am no longer capable of sleeping much past 830am, as that seems to be the latest I wake up even on weekends, even when I've been up till 1am the previous night. This saddens me, and I find it slightly disconcerting as well. Is this what it means being an adult?

Catching up around the blogsphere...
+Nate's posted something akin to a mainfesto today, and it's predictably stellar.
+Paul, meanwhile, is on indefinite hiatus. Damn.
+I hope that Chrisafer posts something soon, so I don't have to look at the photo of his pinky (pinkie?) scar every time I load his blog (not that there's anything wrong with it, mind). I much prefer the pic of him and Jimbo (from Friday night's birthday dinner for 'fer - apparently, it was festive, or at least muy caliente) on the latter's blog.
+Devon the Escort has been posting a series of well-thought-out pieces regarding gay marriage this week, and The Tin Man, my favorite gay law-practicing blogger, is continuing his fine string, as well.
+Sounding just the slightest bit giddy, or at least flushed, is Todd.
+Donald has Jesus on his side.
+Think good thoughts for Corey, please.
+And there's a very interesting post about pee-shyness (or is it?) over at the home of Sardonic Bomb.
That's enough for now. As always, those blogs found on my links page are all recommended reading.

Superlative. Now I know why the Oscar for Best Original Screenplay was awarded to Pedro Almodovar this year for Talk to Her. It's an absolutely stunning film, packed to its proverbial gills with excellent acting, fine direction, and a superb script. Talk concerns a pair of men, each in love with a woman in a coma, who meet in the hospital where both women are in care. There are numerous plot twists (some expected, some not), and it's never boring, not for a second. It's a shame it took me so long to see this masterful work, but I did this evening (as it's finally on DVD), viewing it with of course (if it's Saturday, I must be with) Chas.

Be sure to check out Almodovar's website, btw. It's deliciously, badly, translated from Spanish into English, and fills me with glee.

Whatever happened to the rest of Junior M.A.F.I.A.?

Go Home Productions - strength to strength, how fucking stunning is his work, I could go on endlessly, blah blah blah. But don't take my word for it; hear for yourself. His 'Re:Mixology' set (aired tonight on WFMU) is now available for download for a very limited time, and has a lot of new exclusives ("Sly Beyoncé Walks Like a N*E*R*D" is jaw-droppingly supreme). So get to it, and give the RIAA the middle finger while you're at it.

Okay, this is pretty fucking amazing.

I get an email from Marcello today, telling me that he just received a copy of Paul Morley's new book, Words and Music. Morley, for those who don't know, was a member of The Art of Noise, and also is a well-published music writer and cultural critic (he wrote for NME during their glory days circa punk, and has written for a myriad of publications since, as well as having published a number of other books). No less a giant than Brian Eno calls him "...the greatest thinker/writer/social critic... since Plato... ." Why does this matter, you ask?

Because apparently, alongside Marcello's The Church of Me, and Tom Ewing's Freaky Trigger and collaborative music blog New York London Paris Munich, I'm fucking mentioned in Morley's book - as one of "the places where the best writing about modern music - past and present - is found" (p. 120). Oh. My. Fucking. God. I'm not putting on airs here, folks; I'm utterly, absolutely blown away.

Thanks for reading, everyone, each and every person who happens upon Oh, Manchester, So Much To Answer For. It's your reading, and your comments, and your emails, that keeps me driven and going.

Wow. This certainly makes my week. Month. Year.

Random thoughts on my top 99 of 1999, part 3.
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Sheryl Crow’s best album is undoubtedly, to me, her self-titled one of 1999. That’s the one on which she got her groove on, working the country-blues (“Anything But Down”) and rhythm-and-blues (“There Goes The Neighborhood,” complete with horn section), worked the clever lyrics which verged on non sequiturs (“I dropped acid on a Saturday night just to see what the fuss was about”), and worked herself, tough and sexy and ballsy and clearly the inheritor of Bonnie Raitt’s legacy. I mean, really, what is this “Soak Up The Sun” crap? Sheryl Crow is the Sheryl Crow I choose to remember – and I feel fairly certain that she’ll be back.
*
Re: “Man! I Feel Like A Woman!”: if you were Shania Twain, you would, too.
”If I had boobies, I’d never leave the house. Huh-huh, huh-huh.” - Butt-Head
*
It amazes me, the drop-off people seem to think Trent Reznor made between the downward spiral and the fragile - to me there’s no drop-off, which is exactly the problem, as there’s also no great leap forwards. The progression from pretty hate machine to broken to spiral was, in a word, impressive: herein you could see the dramatic ascent to brilliance of a true artist. the fragile’s problem is that it treads a bit too much water from spiral and does push as hard, especially considering it’s a double album. That having been said, the third full-length nine inch nails record is a fine platter full of lots of quite rewarding songs (and most notably Reznor’s sterling songwriting, spotlit particularly on “We’re In This Together,” a song of – shock! Awe! - hope).
*
TLC’s Fanmail is grossly overpraised. Yes, we all remember “No Scrubs,” but not because of its greatness, but because of its ubiquitousness, as inescapable as it was during the spring/summer of ’99. It’s light, airy, and utterly unremarkable. The best things on the album are the sex songs, notably “I’m Good At Being Bad,” which is Left Eye’s song (and Donna Summer’s), their last truly great song (should’ve bumped it into the 30s or maybe even 20s, at least, rather than leaving it bereft at #53) – and proof that Left Eye could’ve made a hell of a hiphop record – and “Silly Ho,” a gritty slab of unconstructed machine-funk which reminds me, in its cadences, of R.E.M.’s “It’s the End of the World As We Know It.”
*
Some records don’t reveal their genius to us until years later. Some records have jelly we’re just not ready for. And sometimes we’re just dense to brilliance. Case in point, Aphex Twin’s “Windowlicker.” I knew it was good, but I didn’t realize just how fucking good it is. In a do-over, this would unquestionably be top 10. Richard D. James makes a bass-booty single? Absolutely mind-fuckingly blinding. And then in the song’s last 1:30, he brings you to orgasm by rubbing you down with synthetic sandpaper. Ride that pony, y’all.
*
“I Hope I Didn’t Just Give Away the Ending” is a somewhat bizarre stream-of-consciousness ramble from the mind of New Radicals’ leader (and truthfully, one guy) Gregg Alexander which involves making a porno film for cocaine. That wouldn’t be enough to get it over, though – what does it is a simply gorgeous melody, and some of the purest white-boy soulfulness this side of Daryl Hall (and like Hall, not afraid to work in rock as well as pop – and piano!). And then he gets you at the end:

”I don’t even love you. We weren’t even friends. It’s just that I can’t take it alone…”
- New Radicals, “I Hope I Didn’t Just Give Away the Ending” (Maybe You’ve Been Brainwashed Too, Mercury, 1998)
*
After a career as a conscious rapper with A Tribe Called Quest, Q-Tip went solo on “Vivrant Thing” with one simple message: ladeez, he’s single and looking to mingle!
*
Cher’s “Strong Enough” is like “Believe” 2: Electric Boogaloo. Only better, ‘cause this time she’s got disco fever!.
*
I love the way that Total’s “Trippin’” sounds. The production is miraculous, space-aged but simultaneously wide-open with room to breathe (Missy done did it). Total was a trio of three ‘round-the-way girls who got nasty and told tales, and their records showed it – their love ballads never sounded real convincing, but when they started dirty talkin’, you knew it was real. But it’s “Trippin’” that stands tall, because as the ciphers they were, you could project anything onto them, and here it’s all about the wide-screen production.
*
Funny how so often, the best singles by Brandy aren’t her biggest hits (save for “The Boy Is Mine,” of course). “Angel In Disguise” is another great-sounding single for Brandy to curl her pipes around and atop – and notice the catch in her voice during the spoken intro, when she has trouble getting out the word “fake.” Gets me every time.
*
“Shudder/King Of Snake” is to Beaucoup Fish as “Pearl’s Girl” is to Second Toughest In the Infants: Underworld’s epic, album-centering pice de resistance, helping to further prove them as the lions of techno they are. Gigantic.
*
Basement Jaxx may be a coupla blokes from Brixton, but on “Bingo Bango” they come on like a party in the streets – and beds – of Rio de Janiero. As deliriously sexy as house gets.
*
“Anywhere” by 112 is deliciously – and slightly disturbingly – sleazy. [What’s with that “softly pull your hair” stuff?! A precursor to what was to come, I guess – in this case, their icky, smutty ’01 smash “Peaches and Cream.”] But it’s got that stutter-step rhythm that was de rigeur in ’99, yum.

It would seem that I've gone from never watching reality television (save for The Real World, those the Paris season is so boring I'm not even gonna link it) to become a mild version of a reality-TV whore. I watched two-and-a-half hours of said programming tonight.

First, of course, was The Amazing Race 4 - spoiler alert - and at long last, that bitch Millie (and her little Chuck, too) got sent home to spend another 13 years not having sex (Bob got us all started in a chant of "bad virgins!" tonight). Actually, that may be the case with Millie, but I've got a feeling Chuck's going to be having sex pretty soon - just not with her. Reichip finished in first this week, thanks to accidentally using their Fast Forward, but I worry that may come back to haunt them in the end.

Then came a double dose of Queer Eye (which sounds like a good call-in-sick excuse: "sorry, boss, can't come in today, I have queer eye"). First was the 1/2 hour compressed version on NBC, which left me stunned - and rolling on the floor with laughter - after hearing the phrase "boy sauce" on primetime network television (of course, it was Carson who said it - and who also boiled the straight guy's jockstrap!). Afterwards was this week's new hour-long episode on Bravo, which just made me love Ted more and more - that fish! Those potatoes!

I still wish they'd come to my place and teach me how to live, better, though. As I'm sure many friends could attest, I could use the pointers. Oh, wait! There are some right here! Yay, queen!

Oh, and lest I forget to mention it, Chas' dinner was simple and great, good summertime food: honey-baked ham, various breads and sandwich fixings, a myriad of cold salads (macaroni, potato, three-bean), Michael's ever-fab deviled eggs, and peach pie and ice cream! Yum. Dinner with the gang was just what I needed to snap me (at least momentarily) out of my funk tonight: good food, better company, and lots of laughs. I "heart" my friends.

This ain't blogwhoring, this is reality: Donald writes a script for one of Stephen's new video clips. And then Stephen - whom you also know as the sluttiest geek (or geekiest slut, take your pick) around, records said script. You've gotta hear this, y'all.

I think I'll say a few words about the nominees for the 2003 MTV Video Music Awards: they're surprisingly decent, if not great. [Though I wonder just when it was MTV actually aired all these nominated clips, but that's another matter entirely.] The mere fact that Johnny Cash's phenomenal "Hurt" is up for Video of the Year blows me away. [Here's the story behind the video.] And God, how great would it be if he won? Do you think he'll attend? Talk about a career renaissance. Of course, I'm also happy to see Missy leading the pack with 8 nods for "Work It" (Cash got 6, and J-Tim got 7 combined for both "Cry Me A River" and "Rock Your Body"). My fear, however, is that this'll turn into one of these years like - well, 2001 comes to mind, when "Get Ur Freak On" and Fatboy Slim's "Weapon Of Choice" were both up for Video of the Year, only to lose to the Whores "R" Us, a/k/a "Lady Marmalade." With Eminem and 50 Cent both receiving 5 nods (apparently, the "M" in MTV stands for a certain rapper from Detroit who's won Video of the Year 2 of the past 3 years), could this be a year of "thanks for coming, don't you appreciate how progressive we are? Now, we'll give all the awards to a 4-minute trailer for 8 Mile"? As a song, "Lose Yourself" is amazing and career-defining. As a video, it's a snooze. We'll find out at the end of August, I guess - but there's still reason to watch. Chris Rock is hosting! Rawk!

Yeah, because Shakira had so much credibility before now (page down to "Get Back to the Rock, Shakira").

The fucking RIAA is getting way out of control. What a good idea, suing 12-year-olds sharing a couple CDs' worth of songs with their friends! Great PR move there, Hilary and Cary!

The Electronic Freedom Foundation has some ideas about how not to get sued by the RIAA worth checking out, as well.

A break in the flow of "random thoughts on the top __ of '__" today, as I've been exclusively spinning the compilation Muzik Magazine Presents the Guidance Collection Mixed by A:XUS from July of 2000, over an hour of deep, deep, soulful house from the fine Chicago label Guidance. Gorgeous, flute- and string-soaked positive vibes. John, you'd love this.

BTW, would someone who has the Muzik comp from a couple months ago (Disco Punk or some such) consider burning me a copy? I missed the issue and have heard nothing but raves about the mix.

Jim Gladstone’s debut novel, The Big Book of Misunderstanding (Southern Tier Editions, Harrington Park Press, 2002), is a surprising marvel. Where it initially feels like a laundry-list recounting of a gay boy’s childhood, it turns much deeper, delving into what makes a family, and what makes a family fracture slowly, over time, all the while charting the way to adulthood of a boy becoming a man – and realizing what it means for him to be gay. Joshua Royalton, the novel’s narrator (but not, perhaps, its protagonist; that would be his father, Harris), may only be 22 at story’s end, but has aged – or more accurately, learned – much more than that over the course of the book’s 239 pages. There were points at which I forgot I was reading fiction and mistakenly thought I was in the world of memoir, due to the clarity of Gladstone’s prose. [And, perhaps, to the fact that I so recently read Augusten Burroughs’ Dry and am currently working my way through Senator Hillary Rodham Clinton’s autobiography, as well.] Misunderstanding is a must-read for anyone who remembers the pain of coming out – or the pain of a youth in which your family seemed to watch your every move. Or, for that matter, anyone with a love for well-crafted, compelling coming-of-age fiction.

This hasn’t been the best week/month, fairly all-around, for the Norfolk gang. Jenn’s father is awaiting a spleenectomy. Our friend Darrell’s had pneumonia much of the month, and I fear that his HIV is starting to develop into full-blown AIDS – ‘cause he’s getting sick all the time now, which tells me that his immune system is getting shot up something fierce. [Yes, I know that AIDS is generally characterized by the onset of an opportunistic disease; sadly, I feel as if it may only be a matter of time in Darrell’s case.] Michael isn’t thrilled (last paragraph of "Hump Day" post) with life in general of late (most notably, his – which in part means our – money situation). And then there’s me. I’m just not feeling it these days – and, in fact, can feel a full-blown bout of depression attempting to rear its nasty head, largely because I’m so dissatisfied with much of my life as it is right now: job, money (or lack thereof), and some other stuff not for public purview. But mark my words, I’m gonna do every fucking thing I can to ensure that said bout does not happen.

When I fall into a bout of depression, which tends to happen about every 5-6 years or so, I’m essentially a shell. I can go through the motions – coworkers often don’t know I’m even depressed – but when the 5 o’clock bell rings, I tend to go home and just cocoon. It generally lasts about a month, and in that time, I don’t want to deal with anything under those circumstances, and generally don’t. Which is, of course, not particularly constructive. It’s a fairly low-grade thing as these things go; I’ve never had a need to be medicated or anything along those lines, and I’m not manic, either. I just have your basic garden-variety depression, clinically speaking. It’s a liveable condition, kinda like diabetes.

As I’ve gotten older, however, I’ve gotten better at managing it. I often end up forcing myself to be (remain) sociable and put on a happy face. Anything’s better than just sitting, by myself, with my thoughts, when I’m depressed. That’s not to say I don’t examine the causes and effects and solutions of/for my depression, just that I try not to dwell on it. I certainly journal a lot during said times (not that that’s so different from normal – and yeah, I do keep an ink-and-paper journal. What, you think I tell you bitches everything? Oh, no I don’t). So right now, if I seem a little off, if my entries aren’t what you’ve come to expect, if I’m not as gregarious face-to-face, that’s why. But as Daniel Bedingfield sang, I’ve gotta get through this. And I will.

OK, maybe this is a good sign; maybe today won't be as grey as the sky is, thanks to my launchcast playing the Heartists' "Belo Horizonti (Brix Edit)," a sexy, riotous, street-party-in-Rio of a record immediately before I walk out the door to another day at the office. I need this. It's a reminder of the little glints of sun peeking through the encompassing clouds right now.

Thanks for the conversation last night, sexbomb.

Random thoughts on my top 99 of 1999, part 2.
*
I miss New Radicals. A lot.
*
If all gospel music sounded like BeBe Winans’s collaboration with Masters at Work, “Thank You,” a lot more people would listen to gospel music.
*
Admit it: the first couple of times you heard “Livin’ La Vida Loca,” you thought Ricky Martin’s star-making smash was pretty undeniable, too.
*
When I hear “Sexxlaws” by Beck now, all I can think of is Lawrence v. Texas.
*
Timbaland may need Ginuwine the way a fish needs a bicycle, but Ginuwine needs Timbaland like a fish needs water. Without Tim’s masterful production, Ginuwine sounds bereft of any content whatsoever (“In Those Jeans,” anyone?). Yet his older singles, such as “What’s So Different,” are not only interesting lyrically – suggesting to a woman that if she’d cheat on her man with Ginuwine, what’s to say she wouldn’t cheat on him, too? – but the tracks themselves are predictably state-of-the-art. Let’s hope Tim’s new Beat Club signing Kiley Dean is as good as her potential – and cuts the mustard commercially – so we get to hear his brilliance on more new music than Missy records. The pop diaspora needs Tim’s shock-of-the-new, brilliant avant-garde shit; we can’t expect the Neptunes to shoulder the entire load.
*
No one who loves hiphop would ever, I think, attempt to state that Busta Rhymes isn’t a phenomenal rapper and mic prescence. That having been said, however, Busta desperately needs great tracks to push him – singles with Mariah don’t cut it. When he’s on, he’s on, though, and “Gimme Some More” is a fine case in point, all swirling, romantic ‘60s film-theme strings and odd horn jabs forcing Busta to ever-greater heights of sublime weirdness.
*
More than any TLC record, her verse on Donnell Jones’ “U Know What’s Up” makes me miss Lisa “Left Eye” Lopes something fierce.
*
Important to note about Destiny’s Child, and Beyoncé in particular: as “Bills, Bills, Bills” shows, they’re just as expert at singing against the beat as with it. More, please.
*
No, of course “Smooth” isn’t a good record because of Rob Thomas. It’s good because of Mr. Santana’s blistering guitar licks – and because Thomas, in writing “Smooth,” gave Carlos (for the first time in nearly two decades) the stuff pop crossover dreams are made of. For that, as much as it pains me to admit it, he should be applauded.
*
Never, ever, did I expect to find a good cover of a song by – gasp! – Toto. But somehow, against all conventional thinking, Eric Benét featuring Faith Evans pulled it off with “Georgy Porgy.”

Gorgeous words from Todd today:

"But if there's anything I've learned, it's that if you want something, you should ask for it; if you feel something, you should say it."

Amen, brother. Amen.

Weird night. Was laying (lying?) on my bed a little after 730pm, just letting my mind drift. Next thing I knew, my clock said 1200 and it was dark. Got up for about an hour, checked email et cetera, and was back in bed by 1am. So was it a four-plus-hour nap, or did I sleep for 10 hours with a one hour break? At least there were no dreams involving steak sandwiches.

Launch has an utterly superb two-and-a-half minute interview with Thom and Johnny of Radiohead, in which they call out corporate radio and record companies for what they largely are: shit. Watch it now.

Finished reading William J. Mann's Where the Boys Are today; it's quite a fine novel, and I'm now anxious to read the backstory - i.e., his previous novel, The Men from the Boys. This latest novel is told in the voices of three main characters, two of them an erstwhile on-again/off-again gay couple who don't know how to deal with just the two of them, and the third, a close friend who doesn't know how to deal with himself and what he wants (or thinks he does). Told between P-Town, Boston, and the North American circuit (parties), and packed with details that only a man familiar with the life would know, this is a compelling, well-told read. Recommended. [And nice to see Kensington publishing some serious fiction these days, too.]

Duly chastened, changes made. Can you find it in you to forgive me?

Silence scares me. Or used to, at least.

Not that I have to talk all the time, but when other people are quiet, I tend to worry, thinking that I’ve done something wrong. I’m slowly getting over that with time – especially as I learn how better to be quiet, myself – but it’s still a concern. It’s all tied in with self-esteem issues, of not feeling good enough or adequate enough, and as I get older and continue to mature, I gain confidence in myself, and some of those issues become lessened. But there’s always going to be part of that terrified 11-year-old kid inside me, and I can’t change that. So I learn how to reassure him, and in doing so, myself.

Random thoughts on my top 99 of 1999, part 1.
[For the end of the millennium – oh, I don’t care if it’s not technically correct, shut up – I wanted to do something big, so I went for the obvious, a top 99 of ’99. As at the time I was still making my “phat tapes,” I called these the “superphat tapes.” 6 cassettes. A lot of work. But a lot of fun to listen to – at least, I think so. We’ll find out together, won’t we?]
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’99 was the year the Roots broke through at long last, thanks to the Erykah Badu-featuring (and Jill Scott-cowritten) “You Got Me,” a sublime piece of hiphop balladry complete with a live drum-n-bass breakdown for a bridge. They followed that with “The Next Movement,” a more classic Roots track, Black Thought flippin’ lyrics while Rahzel beatboxes like no one since Doug E. Fresh and the rest of the guys just play like they do. Even better than Things Fall Apart, I think, is their subsequent live record, The Roots Come Alive - proof that live hiphop can be just as amazing as live rock or what-have-you.
*
“Battleflag,” who remembers “Battleflag”? C’mon, Lo-Fidelity Allstars featuring Pigeonhed? Wherein LFA remixed a track by Sub Pop band Pigeonhed and turned it into a breakbeat-lite whomper, getting on modern rock radio and in countless TV shows? Tastes great, less filling.
*
I love hearing Guru rap. I love hearing nearly any DJ Premier production. Ergo, I love me some Gang Starr. Their Full Clip: A Decade of Gang Starr is a definitive hits collection, and featured the fine, new “Discipline” featuring Total. Really, in a lot of ways with Gang Starr, it’s not about the lyrics, it’s not about the song, it’s not about the guest artists – it’s just about hearing Guru rap and Primo behind the turntables.
*
Did you hear Sisqo’s second solo album? That’s why he’s back with Dru Hill now, reduced to opening concerts for bigger stars again.
*
I’m not a big fan of Beck, earnest, meaning-filled pseudo-folkie. I am, however, a big fan of Beck, the funkiest white man alive, as he shows himself to be (with no irony, thank God) on Midnite Vultures. He means it, maaaan. Beck’s masterpiece isn’t Odelay or even Mellow Gold, it’s Vultures, full of his bizarre non-sequiturs, letting his freak flag fly, like the mutant 150-IQ child of Frank Zappa and George Clinton. And he makes all the lesbians scream, you know.
*
Yes, I got so sick of it; it’s relentlessly overplayed in ever gay club worldwide. But “Believe” truly is one of Cher’s finest moments, a positively anthemic “I Will Survive” for the new millennium.
*
The same way I resent Afeni Shakur and Suge Knight for their exploitation of 2Pac’s catalog, I was livid with Puffy for releasing a posthumous Notorious B.I.G. record. But I have to admit to finding the idea of hearing a Biggie track at long last sampling Duran Duran’s “Notorious” appealing. Shame it wasn’t any better. Biggie deserved better.
*
Is that a Stevie Wonder sample at the opening of Mary J. Blige’s “More Than I Can Say”?
*
Two songs in the top 99 were by animated characters, both from South Park: Terence and Philip and Chef. “Uncle Fucka” is a ridiculously moronic, and even more ridiculously hilarious, song pairing some of the filthiest lyrics possible with total Disney-rama music. “Chocolate Salty Balls (P.S. I Love You)” is dirty, but supposed to be theoretically open to interpretation – but we all know it’s really supposed to be dirty. Hearing Isaac Hayes sing said lyrics only heightens the effect, gloriously.
*
Nas’ “Hate Me Now” is fairly undistinguished lyrically, but the song’s going for one thing: drama. And what better way to eke out that emotion than by sampling Orff’s Carmina Burana? To great effect, I might add.
*
The radio station at which I put in 3.5 years was pretty bad, roughly adult contemporary, with some truly wretched jocks (who are still on the air, amazingly). But over time Stumpy and I convinced our GM to let us start playing new music (albeit sparingly). And one of the good things about working at an independent, small-market station is that you often have the freedom to play what you want, within reason. So I’d test singles from the multi-format music-service discs were received, and if I got good response (or it was a no-brainer), I’d add ‘em to at least my evening shift. A prime example is the singles released from Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers’ Echo, most notably the instant classic “Swingin’.” New but not too new-sounding, fresh yet classic, this was perfect for our format (which we attempted to mutate a bit, when live, into adult top 40 without the crap and with more oldies/classic stuff than most similarly formatted stations, stuff like “Start Me Up” – again, when you’re not dependant on market research to make your programming decisions, you can do stuff like this – you know, like radio’s supposed to be!). Sorry, what was I saying before that rant left the tarmac? Oh, yeah. To sum up: Tom Petty good.

Metro Area is fucking godhead. Thanks, Paul. [More later.]

Today's top googling? "Happy Mondays fucking free downloads." I can only hope that the googler in question was being emphatic, rather than searching for Bez with his cock out (or, worse yet, Shaun fucking Ryder). On a happier note, I'm delighted that I got multiple hits from folks searching for Adina Howard info today. However, who in their right fucking mind would pay $164 for a copy of her unreleased second album? She was a one-trick pony, y'all. But what a trick "Freak Like Me" was ("poom! poom!").

VH-1's 200 Greatest Pop Culture Icons is a great idea (and be sure to check out the Risko caricatures on the website), but I found my attention drifting after less than 20 minutes, and ended up watching CMT's Inside Fame on Tanya Tucker instead. Damn, she's had a wild life and an amazing career. And that voice!

How in the fuck did I leave Anita Baker's "Sweet Love" off my top 80 of the '80s?! [It's a rhetorical question; the actual answer is "because I'm a forgetful idiot."]

Wrote what I thought was a good post. Blogger ate it. Feh.
To sum it up: the Post's Dan Balz is a great political journalist. His webchat today was fine. Here's the transcript.

For a long time - most of the last 2.5 years I've been employed by The Planning Council - I've traditionally told people that I may not make a lot of money at my job, but it's fulfilling, I enjoy it, so it's all alright.

No more.

I am over it. I'm sick of bullshit regulations (meaning within the context of a Virginia Department of Social Services program, not specific things at my agency, for the most part). I'm sick of trying so hard to be a good employee while coworkers get away with absolute murder (I know, that's not specific to my job, but still). And most of all - non-PC alert - I'm fucking sick and tired of these ghetto mamas trying to run game. Thinking that they're the smart ones - uh, excuse me bitch, if you so smart how come you got 4 kids by 3 different baby daddies and you comin' to me to help ya pay for it, huh? These women who were raised in a "welfare culture," where the way you survive (if not thrive) is by taking advantage of the system. Who think that having a job is too much to ask. Now, this isn't to say that there aren't clients of mine who don't sincerely need the helping hand, and who aren't using it to better their lives and the lives of their children - because there most definitely are. But numerous bad apples really do spoil the whole bunch, and lemme tell ya, we've got entire bushels of fucking worm-infested apples amongst our clientele. If you "just forgot" to get paperwork in, then your subsidized childcare isn't that important to you, is it? So don't expect me to give a good damn if your case is closed; you certainly didn't (until you heard the money tap being shut off, right?). I'm gonna stick with this job until I move, but after that, no fool no more, as En Vogue so presciently sang. I applaud those who have the tenacity and personalities to help the disenfranchised, 'cause it's important work. But my days in social work are numbered. By me.

Random thoughts on my top 50 of 2000, part 3.
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I’ve suggested in this space recently that Madonna, artistically speaking, appears to be in decline, and I stand by that. But that doesn’t mean she can’t still strike gold from time to time, as she did on the single “Music.” This should’ve been what she was going for with Ray of Light: nasty Frenchified funk (courtesy of producer Mirwais) that endlessly, effortlessly, makes asses shake like some miracle product advertised in hour-long 3am commercials – the kind you watch after a night at the club, shaking your ass to the music, and the “Music,” all night long. Plus she uses the word “bourgeousie.” So what went wrong on American Life?
*
Ruff Endz were, themselves, instantly forgettable, but “No More” is a delectable sweet/tart of a song, one which’ll still bring a smile to my face a decade from now.
*
“The Light” is one side of the Common coin, his most-displayed side, the sensitive-guy/black Phil Donahue side. [Please – tell me he wouldn’t wear a hippie dress in harmony with womankind, and I’ll tell you how wrong I think you are.] It’s good, and it’s refreshing in the pimps up/ho’s down world of hiphop, but it’s starting to smell a little stale. The otherside of that coin comes through all too rarely, but still pops up on tracks like “The 6th Sense.” The key is in the production; the genius who is DJ Premier helps keep Common from fully succumbing to the tarpits of complete pussiness.
*
“Party Up (Up In Here)” is to 2000 as to “In Da Club” is to 2003. And, really, you can take that parallel even further and suggest that DMX is to ‘00 the way 50 Cent is to ‘03. The big difference? When I hear DMX rapping, I always feel like he’s about thisfar from coming unhinged. He’s unstable – and I love that about him. DMX is pure animus on wax.
*
I sure hope Mystikal invested the royalties from “Shake Ya Ass” well.
*
Michael Moog is, basically, irrelevant to me, but “That Sound” was the best disco-soaked filtered house record of 2000 – and maybe 2001, too.
*
“I Think I’m In Love With You” is the sound of “Jack and Diane” on the radio, singing along at the top of your lungs in your best friend’s convertible as you fly down the highway heading towards the beach, on the cusp of leaving your teenage years, high on life, high on that certain someone. It’s the sound of Jessica Simpson in love. It’s the sound of you in love, too.
*
Hearing Armand Van Helden ripping shit (and “Cars”) up on “Koochy” is the epitome of the phrase “fuck me gently with a chainsaw” transformed into brilliant tech-house. The purists hated it, always a good sign. [I ranked this #8 at the end of 2K; a re-rank would likely land it at #3, possibly even in the runner-up spot.]
*
Do you remember the first time you heard anything from Radiohead’s Kid A? That wonderment, that amazement, that oh-my-fucking-God jaw-droppingment? I remember being particularly interested in what they’d come up with after OK Computer, and actually tuning into the local “modern rock” (my ass) station to hear the first spin of “Optimistic.” And it was so, so – dissonant. So almost Sonic Youthish. So pushing the parameters of what you can do in the rock idiom, as the “next/last great hope.” And they’re still. Fucking. Doing It. They may not be the best rock band alive today, but they’re unquestionably the most important, I think, because of the way they push and prod and kick at the constructs of the genre, of the form, from their position as a global colossus. Like a man given superpowers who uses them for good, they’re the good guys, they’re on our side. People will talk about them in 50 years. Seriously.
*
Outkast = P-Funk. It's that fucking simple.
*
D’Angelo’s “Untitled (How Does It Feel)” might just be the “Let’s Get It On” of our generation.

Random thoughts on my top 50 of 2000, part 2.
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I loathe Baby, and have no clue how he’s become everyone’s favorite rap cameo whore. I hate 2002’s “Still Fly,” too. But Big Tymers nailed it, just once, on 2000’s “Get Your Roll On,” largely due to masterful production by Mannie Fresh, the architect of the Cash Money sound. 3-4 years ago, he looked as talented as maybe even Timbaland, crafting a new sound to hiphop; now, he appears to be that brief era’s Swizz Beats (his main competition at the time). If you don’t believe me, check out Cash Money – The Instrumentals for the proof of his giantness.
*
Chicks On Speed are just as much a conceptual art project-as-music as Fischerspooner, only where they fall flatter in some ways, they succeed more thoroughly in others. Being based in Berlin somehow makes them much cooler, too. “Glamour Girl” is a marvelous accident, a goof which somehow ended up better than most of the year’s house singles, with an odd perkiness which comes off as believable, beyond belief.
*
Killing Puritans is an incredible, snarling, nasty beast of an album, the beast Armand Van Helden’s released yet. From the Scorpions-sampling of “Little Black Spiders” to the unholy cumfest that is “Koochy” (more on that later), this is the sound of – as Van Helden himself once referred, glowingly, to Basement Jaxx – house music getting fucked up the ass. It’s not, however, without its joy, most notably on retrofitted “Full Moon,” featuring Common. Armand goes all ’85 disco-mutating-into-what-we-know-now-as-house while Common spits “I’ll House You” lines all over your area, and you believe once again that dance is life.
*
Carl Thomas, please pick up the white courtesy phone. Hello? Bueller? Bueller? Hearing “I Wish” does offer me the opportunity, though, to discuss my #4 remix of ’00, which was done by a then-coworker’s husband with too much equipment and time on his hands. From a mix he titled Paper Chase 2000 - the kind of bootleg mix that you used to be able to buy on street corners in big cities, and still can in streetside record stores – I call this “I Wish/Ryde Or Die Chick (DB Blend),” wherein the mixmaster simply flips up the instrumentals of each track and rematches them with the opposing vocal. This is premium hiphop mixing, and it goes down a charm.
*
”True – if I was you, I’d hate me too.”
- Lil’ Kim, “No Matter What They Say” (Notorious K.I.M., Undeas/Atlantic, 2000)
*
If I ever met a guy who said things to me like the lyrics of Mary J. Blige’s “Beautiful Ones,” I’d run to Ontario with him and get hitched in a heartbeat. Romance ain’t dead.
*
One of the buried treasures of this decade so far is Ice Cube featuring Krayzie Bone’s “Until We Rich.” A relax-yo’-mind ’70s-sounding soul sample underpins Cube doing his “if I ruled the world” riff while Krayzie catches bones with his teeth on the chorus. Cube then vamps out talkin’ ‘bout how “the best thing in life is life.” I love the way that even when he’s in a good mood, he sounds so damn angry.

Inspirational lyric: “Taught you what a trick and a ho is/taught you what a 654 is.” And he did, didn’t he?
*
For the record, I liked “Desert Rose” by Sting featuring Cheb Mami long before it became a car commercial. The best single the Policeman’s made in nearly a decade.
*
“I Can’t Wait” might actually be the greatest song Ol’ Dirty Bastard has released thus far. Produced by the Neptunes (I think), it samples what sounds like a cop-show theme from the ‘70s, just adding to the intensity. And Dirty just goes fucking nuts over the track. Is he the Captain Beefheart or Syd Barrett of hiphop, completely crazy and ridiculously gifted? Think about it – he gives shout-outs to Luke, “all the schoolteachers,” “the Eskimos,” and himself, amongst others.
*
Please follow up Where I Wanna Be, Donnell Jones.
*
No Doubt are fun, spunky, full of life and fire. But they hit a surprising stride on the sad, lovely, truthful “Simple Kind of Life.” After hearing it, every time, I just want to give Gwen Stefani a hug. The kicker’s the last line of the last verse: “You seem like you’d be a good Dad,” Gwen sings plaintively, and I almost cry.

In last night's featured dream (I've been having a lot of very vivid dreams which I've been remembering lately), I was in a new town (no idea where, but there were no discernible accents), starting a new job at a radio station. I think it was basically a top 40/adult contemporary station, though on Friday nights they had a three-hour program called "The KISS Hour," which was three hours of KISS. Bob was with me, and I think so was my friend Keith (who was the GM of our college radio station when I was MD). My first shift was supposed to start at 11pm on a Sunday night (?!), but I missed the top of the hour and Anita Baker's "Sweet Love" started at 11:01. Bob was in the kitchen - the radio station had a full kitchen - making some sort of baked shredded steak sandwiches. The windchills were subzero outside, but there was no snow. For some reason, my training started with my first airshift. The jock training me was awfully cute, and reminded me a little bit of Curt, but much more all-American boy-next-door. There were lots of nearly-hidden aircheck recording devices in the main air studio.

It was all very overwhelming. My first shift didn't go very well.

There's something very, very wrong about the fact that my launchcast just segued from Jeff Foxworthy (don't say a word) to Revolting Cocks' "Beers, Steers and Queers (Drop Your Britches Mix)." And very, very hilarious. "Gon' make you squeal, boy!"

On my way back from Subway (I love their new Chicken Pizziola sub) I observed two things which I found delightful - or delightfully disturbing, you make the Beach MTV call.

1. On a bench on the sidewalk, there was an apparently abandoned pair of khakis. Odd.
2. A car passed by me, loudly cranking Asia. Was it you, Joe? Must've been the heat of the moment.

Clearly, the most disturbing googling which has led here in weeks: R. Kelly's "Pee on You". Well, it is the freakin' weekend, I suppose.

Oy vey. Now I've gone and started selling my vast vinyl collection on ebay. It's going to take me a while to get things posted for auction, and I don't have pictures yet, but if you're interested, here's my ebay profile (which includes my current auctions).

I have never felt so - well, not heterosexual, per sé, but certainly not-gay - as I have while watching Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. I know, I know; I told a myriad of people this week that I wasn't going to watch, that it "propulgates stereotypes about gay men," et cetera, ad infinitum, blah blah blah. I simply sat down to eat some lunch today, flipped on the TV, and QE was on (and had just started). And damned if I didn't get so sucked in. This is stellar television, like a gay cross between Food 911, While You Were Out, and a makeover show. The Fab 5 counterbalance each other really well (someone's gotta counterbalance Carson), and I think Ted is a total beefcake. [I like guys in glasses, okay? Plus he has a sexy, deep voice.] And as far as my "argument" about stereotypes - well, no. There are gay men who flame, and there are gay men who don't. If you're watching this show, honestly, I'd hope you know that already (it's not like a lot of Republican Senators are gonna be watching this anyway). Queer Eye is good stuff.

The first record I ever bought - at least the first full-length, which was on cassette - was Bob Dylan's Empire Burlesque. It was 1985. I went to Hire's electronics in downtown North Manchester. I bought it with money I stole from my Mom's purse. [I'm not proud of that fact, but am proud that I bought a Dylan cassette, of a record I still think is criminally underrated.]

I'd love to know what the first record you ever bought was. That's a good reason I have comments.

BTW, the new-to-me chachacha blog is good shit. Consider it blogrolled.

Today's another Saturday-o'-fun with Chas! Yay queen! [I'm so, so glad that Mike introduced me to that movie quote - it's from Fried Green Tomatoes. Which I didn't know, 'cause I'm a bad homosexual.]

Update, 1130pm: had a lovely day meandering our way through Eastern North Carolina, including stopping in Hertford so Chas could get his hair did, sojourning down to Greenville, home of East Carolina University (which has a gorgeous campus, lots of rich red brick buildings), then on to some smashing Carolina barbeque and fried chicken at Bill's in Wilson. Yay!

Speaking of books, Rob Byrnes, author of The Night We Met, has started his own blog, The Rob Log.

As I've said, I've been doing a lot of reading this week. Foremost has been Dry, the new memoir by Augusten Burroughs. Burroughs, you need to understand, is one. Great. Fucking. Writer. His prose hits you, but it feels like a kiss - and it's wickedly funny, to boot. Running with Scissors (a memoir of his childhood spent with his crazy mother's psychiatrist's family, whom included a 33-year-old pedophile who became Burroughs' first lover - when he was 13) was great; I think Dry is even better, largely because the material he discusses in Dry is a lot more - relatable? [Is that even a word?] This book is supposedly about Burroughs' struggles (or lack thereof) with drinking, and his subsequent time in rehab and AA, but it covers so much more, particularly love and AIDS (and advertising). There's a depth here you don't typically find in "humorous" memoir; the laughs and pain come in equal doses. Augusten Burroughs is utterly sensational.

And, as it happens, he's also really hot.

Yes, in fact, I am Lord God King Bufu.

Last night's Amazing Race, btw, was excellent. It's so refreshing to see a reality show that's a) exciting, and b) not degrading to its contestants or viewers. I was hoping that Millie would reach an untimely demise - wow, she's a bitch! - but happier that Reichip finished in second place this week. And for those who missed it last week, here's that hot hot hot photo shoot that Reichen did for Instinct.

Another thing about the show: it really impresses me that CBS always captions Reichip as "Married." It's one thing to have an openly gay couple on your show, but it's an other entirely to actually identify them as married, especially since it's not legal in the US - yet. Props to "the eye."

Staying in by myself on a Friday night results in at least one very good thing, which I've never told anyone until now. It means I can watch one of my favorite television shows, Washington Week. Gather five journalists around a table, and give them half an hour to run down the week in politics (and government)? I am so there. It's news and analysis from an informed, intelligent perspective without all the bullshit. I love this program, and I love WETA for making it for so many years.

Random thoughts on my top 50 of 2000, part 1.
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Ideal: the double-zero’s version of Next. [You can argue that Next have released three albums or whatever, and had other hits, but just name a song of theirs not titled “Too Close.” Didn’t think so.] Wasn’t this the first appearance of Lil’ Mo on a single? [“Whatever” is appropriately lugubrious midtempo R&B; I must’ve fallen in love with the groove or something. It certainly wasn’t the lyrics.]
*
The are great duets, and there are great bad duets. The combo of Whitney Houston and Enrique Iglesias falls in the latter category. They have about as much chemistry as Pepsi and milk, Laverne DeFazio notwithstanding. Of course, this isn’t a patch on the greatest bad duet of the last decade, Christina and Ricky’s “Nobody Wants To Be Lonely.” That’s Glitter-level bad, blissfully so.
*
“That’s What I’m Looking For” is the sound of Da Brat finally making the excellent strip-club song she’s always had within her.
*
As I stated during my 2001 run-down, yes, Toby Keith has become a raving, raging wrapped-in-the-flag ass in the last year, year-and-a-half. But that doesn’t change the fact that “How Do You Like Me Now?!” is a classic, career-defining record – not to mention one of the greatest kiss-off songs of all time. Appropriately, I bought the CD single at Wal-Mart.
*
The best thing about Steely Dan’s Two Against Nature is that it sounds almost just like their classic albums 20-plus years prior: Aja, Gaucho, et.al. “Cousin Dupree” continues in their fine line of pervy songs about old guys and teenage girls – which reminds me of how, for probably a year, the only thing I heard during the song’s chorus was how it was misheard by my then-coworker Matt: “how about some dick from your cousin Dupree?” Maybe it’s a Beavis and Butt-Head thing.
*
The seeds of Christina Aguilera’s escape from teen-pop land (which came into full flower on “Dirrty”) were sown during the spoken-word bridge on “Come On Over Baby,” in case you were wondering.
*
What happened to Eric Benét? Did Glitter kill him? Or was it Halle?
*
2000 was the year DMX broke mainstream – even though he’d already had some #1 albums on the pop chart, that was thanks to his fanbase, not to the larger pop diaspora – thanks largely to the globe-conquering “Party Up.” But prior to that came the “What’s My Name” single, a thrusting, ballsy, anthemic track which practically dared you not to know who he was, complete with some typically just-thisfar-shy-of-avant-garde production (all minor keys) from the then-ruling Swizz Beats. It’s when I fell in love with his bark, all guttural and testosterone-drenched and in your face.
*
What happened to Toni Braxton, for that matter? I mean, she hasn’t disappeared like Mr. Benét, exactly, but her career kinda has (her last album didn’t even go gold. Insert sound of jaws hitting floor here). Maybe she was trying too hard, doing collabos with fucking Baby, for pete’s sake, not playing to her strengths of peppy female-empowerment uptempos and lush ballads? Not working that sumptuous voice against some state-of-the-art/moment R&B production from the likes of Darkchild (who produced her last great single, “He Wasn’t Man Enough”) or Babyface? [Just think, just allow yourself to fantasize for a moment what she could have done with that angular, machinistic Brandy single, “What About Us?” Oooh.] Come back, Toni, all is forgiven, even your turn in Beauty and the Beast on Broadway. We miss you.

It's been a long week, so tonight's my time for some quiet "me time." That might involve just reading, maybe some blogging, and I might even, on Jenn's suggestion, take a bubble bath (it always seems to work for my roomie). It's weeks like these which remind me, just in case I occasionally need reminding, of the importance in my life of my friends. Thank you to all of you who've listened to me rant, offered ideas and possible solutions, and just been there in general, whether in person or via phone lines or my modem. I'm very, very blessed to have the friends in my life which I do.

Thank you also to my launchcast for unexpectedly playing Chris Rock's "Table Dance," which always makes me giggle.

Oh, my God. The MBV/Kevin Shields news just gets better...

I'm in a mood again. I hate money. Why can't we go back to a barter system?

You see, if you tell me that if I pay x amount and I'll be up-to-date, and I do so, don't then fucking tell me 2 days later "oh, that person was wrong," and tell me I have to pay more. Which I don't have. 'Cause that makes you a fucking cunt.

Random thoughts on my top 50 of 2001, part 2.
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Wait, I’m not done with Starsailor yet. Why weren’t they as big as – at least the Verve? Their respective singers have that similar plaintive, crying quality to their voices, and their musics have a shared urgency. Maybe they can be, yet; the Verve didn’t really break through until, what, their fourth album? Hopefully Starsailor didn’t shoot their entire load on the first album.
*
“Fuck. The. Frail. Shit,” Jadakiss opines in his opening. Later, he pronounces “salmon” as “sal-man.” He and his compadre Styles spit an absurd amount of grime all over “We Gonna Make It, talkin’ ‘bout the game, the streets, and hope. That’s the key to this record – the title just seethes hope, but angrily, with a chip on its shoulder big as Montana (“you know dead rappers get better promotion”/”Jadakiss, muthafucka, I’m’a see you in hell”). Most of ‘01’s best lyrics are all here, in this one single. And the production, all Bootsy-ish slap-bass funk underpinning swirling swings, is masterful. I’d bump this into the top ten, too. 2001 was a horrible year for commercial hiphop, but an amazing year for the streets.
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Who decided Aerosmith are, apparently, over as a radio force? “Jaded” was their best single since, oh, “Janie’s Got A Gun,” and got so little love. I hate corporate radio.
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The Ones’s “Flawless” will still be played at drag balls in 10 years. If that doesn’t signify some sort of classic, well…
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“Kid A-Minus,” my ass. I actually find Amnesiac even more compulsively listenable than Kid A, and you’d be a fool to attempt to deny the majesty and magic of “Pyramid Song.” Toss in “Knives Out” and “I Might Be Wrong,” and this would be a great album by anyone’s standards. Toss in the rest of the album, and even by Radiohead’s standards, it’s fucking blinding. Without question, Thom Yorke’s band of merry men are the most vital, important band working in that idiom we loosely refer to as “rock” today.
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Stumpy never ceases to enjoy ribbing me about ranking Kid Rock’s “American Bad Ass” higher than Alicia Keys’s “Fallin’.” I didn’t regret it then, and I regret it even less now. Sure, his white-trash hiphop/metal chic gets tiring in long doses – which is why he’s best as a singles artist, especially on this, his best single yet, on which he comes off like a mook cranking Metallica in the parking lot and rapping with his pals, going through a 30-pack of Stroh’s (and thinkin’ about a 30-pack of hos). I get the same rush from this song that I do from Motley Crue’s “Girls, Girls, Girls” – it might not be so good for me, and I could give a fuck. Raise your fist and yell.
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It’s very rare for something to make my list two years running – generally it happens when I get hit hard by a song at the bare end of one year, and it’s later released as a single and completely saturates my conscienceness. That happened in ‘00/’01 with Jill Scott’s “A Long Walk.” Damn, she’s great. Yes, the whole releasing-a-live-record-as-my-second-album bit worries me a little, but at least in the case of Experience 826+, there was a second, studio album attached – and it showed even more growth. Her voice, plainly, is stunning, and Jazzy Jeff (yes, that Jazzy Jeff) knows how to produce her so she’s set in just the right, well, settings, musically. All of Who Is Jill Scott? isn’t a triumph – but in a fashion similar to Erykah Badu’s Baduism, the highs are so glorious as to be head-turning and gasp-inducing. Identikit artists aren’t the future of R&B; Jill and her sistahs might yet be.
*
Daft Punk is the sound of yesterday, today, and tomorrow. Especially tomorrow. Please God, don’t let them retire any time soon. We need more of their kind of computer love, more than we know.
*
To use Shaggy’s immortal words, Maxwell is, in fact, Mr. Lover-Lover. That’d make a good movie tagline, you know: “Maxwell IS Mr. Lover-Lover!” It’s possible that he’s this generation’s Teddy Pendegrass (Jaheim’s got the pipes but most emphatically not the material); I know that no one’s making bedroom-rockin’, love-makin’ records today on his scale, drenched in sex and soul and sensuality. Statements, you ask? That is his statement.
*
His debut album proved Eric Heatherly as a versatile country artist, as comfortable with rockabilly rave-ups or Statler Brothers covers, of all things (“Flowers on the Wall”) as sumptuous balladry. The difference with Heatherly is that his balladry - most notably the sterling title track of Swimming In Champagne - wasn’t all drippy ( la most of the hat brigade), but sounded like Chris Isaak by way of Bakersfield, all high lonesome falsetto notes and production bathed in narcotics, like a slow, languorous day of sex. I am putty in his hands.

Of course, the idiots at his record label dropped him. Because they’re idiots.
*
”I’m overchargin’ niggas for what they did to the Cold Crush.”
- Jay-Z, “Izzo (H.O.V.A.)” (The Blueprint, Roc-a-fella/Def Jam, 2001)

Indisputably, that’s the anthem. Get ya damn hands up!
*
I like the Doves’s album Lost Souls, but the longplayer is definitely carried on the back of its single, “Catch the Sun,” four minutes of classic, glorious Britrock – meaning it’s got a lot of soul to it, along with a stunning ascending series of guitar chords in its bridge. They’ve yet to match it, but I’ll take this one song, if nothing else.
*
U2’s “Walk On” does not belong in my top 10 of ’01. We all make mistakes.
*
soulDecision, how do I love thee? I love you for being cute (especially Trevor, but I like Ken too). I love you for being Canadian and not either a) Celine Dion or b) yet another sucky rock band (Blue Rodeo, please come to the white courtesy phone). I love you because you have some of the best multi-layered harmonies in pop. I love you because you’ve obviously listened to a lot of George Michael and Wham!. I love you for showing us Trevor in his boxers in the “Ooh It’s Kinda Crazy” video. I love you for making me feel 12 again – only this time, I wasn’t scared. I love you for helping my baby sister (almost 10 years my junior) and I bond over a short-lived TRL obsession due to your ascendancy to #1 on said program (and yes, I voted for you!). I love you this much.
*
“One In A Million” is achingly sexy, yes, of course. But so is “Rock the Boat,” where to my ears, Aaliyah at last sets sail and sounds like more than a woman. Which she was.
*
I think I first heard Chemical Brothers’s “Star Guitar” about 3 weeks before the end of the year; it wasn’t even out yet (by all rights, this should’ve shown up on my ’02 list). But it stamped itself so defiantly on my cerebral cortex as to say “I fucking dare you to avoid me, to ignore me.” This is their finest moment, a breathing, living beast of a record, pushing/pulling, in and out, up and down, fucking me every time and leaving me panting and exhausted yet begging for just one more time.
*
Who ever would have guessed that a film by the Coen Brothers starring George Clooney – a 1930s take on The Odyssey, no less! – would revitalize the bluegrass genre?! Seeing “I Am A Man of Constant Sorrow” win the Country Music Association award for Single of the Year in ’02 thrilled me so, I actually got up off the couch and was cheering and clapping. To me, it said there’s life in this genre yet – even if it took a traditional song to do it. The Soggy Bottom Boys, a genius one-off assembled by producer T-Bone Burnett and led by the marvelous Dan Tyminski (a member of Alison Krauss’s band Union Station) – cliché alert – breathe new life into an old song by making it sound, well, old. Perfection.
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None of us were ready for Beyoncé’s jelly, were we? I’m not sure we’re ready even now. Only a genius would underpin a bootycentric get-those-asses-on-the-dancefloor track by Destiny’s Child with the opening guitar riff from “Edge of Seventeen,” endlessly looped. Give the producer(s) a Nobel prize, for fuck’s sake!

Bonus points for putting Stevie Nicks in the video, in a feather boa.

Also, this song definitively proves why Michelle Williams made a gospel album, and not a mainstream R&B album: ‘cause in gospel, selling 50,000 is a success. In R&B, it better be ten times that, minimum. And Michelle’s voice isn’t anywhere near selling 500,000 records, believe that. [As it would happen, it appears Kelly’s not, either.] Can we just crown Beyoncé reigning queen of pop and get it over with?
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“Get Ur Freak On”: it’s tabla-tastic! How the fuck is it that with each successive album they make in tandem, Missy Elliott and Timbaland bang yet another future-shit record outta the park? And they keep doing it?! Obviously, they have talents we don’t. And/or are from outer space.
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Daft Punk are fucking godhead, and “One More Time” proves it. In spades. There’s nothing like looped disco-house to get the party started. Well, and vocoders.

I recommend visiting gaz's website today. His "picture of the day" is of his sister and father. His sister, Carmen, is a big dyke who gave me my first buzzed haircut (like I still have), some 9+ years ago (before that I had a mess of curls - really!), and was in large part my only openly queer pal at Manchester College. His father looks like David Letterman, and always has. He's also the first cool math professor I knew, and is always good for a fine conversation about hoops. [Curt's mother, not pictured, rocks as well.] I've known his family for over 20 years and adore them.

Did you know that Krispy Kreme makes fruit pies, which you can purchase at your local grocer? Did you know that the peach and cherry varieties, in particular, are delicious? Did you know that you probably shouldn't eat two of them after 10pm on a weeknight? Well, then why didn't someone tell me? G'night.

I asked back in February (the link's down) if either Luomo's "Synkro" or Aaliyah's "One In A Million" was the sexiest song ever. But, in a completely obvious way, mightn't it be Quincy Jones' "The Secret Garden (Sweet Seduction Suite)"?

So, after much debate, I've decided to put a tip jar on my blog. But it's not just for donations, oh no - this is like PBS. You get something in return. The tip jar's to help me save some money so that I can move to DC (I'm gonna get a lot of grief for this, I'm sure, but I figure how can it hurt?). If you donate $15 or more, I'll make you a mix CD to your specifications. I've got thousands of mp3s on my hard drive, so you've got a lot of possibilities. Tell me what you want, and it's yours. Themes, mixes by specific artists, genre-based mixes, whatever you want. You can, of course, donate any amount you'd like. [And for any multiples of $15, you get that many mix discs, if you so desire.] Any other legitimate ideas as to how I can square away some money for my move (besides a second, part-time job, which I'm working on)? Just click the "Comment" link below. And please be kind. I feel awfully weird about putting up a tip jar, as is.

As if we needed more evidence that Scott Stapp is a moron. At least they're giving us a year off.

Random thoughts on my top 50 of 2001, part 1.
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The best album of the year was clearly Bob Dylan’s ”Love and Theft”. I don’t listen to it all that often, admittedly, but damn if it’s not an incredible record, easily his best since the ‘70s, or maybe ‘85’s highly underrated Empire Burlesque (yes, the production’s a bit heavy-handed, but listen to the songs!). [For those wondering, I found Time Out Of Mind a bit ponderous and a bit overrated.] And the key to it is something he’s not known for: his singing. Bob’s voice sounds positively unleashed in a way it hasn’t in years. Let’s hope he can keep it up in his forthcoming film and accompanying soundtrack.
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Jamiroquai is an acquired taste, I understand. But “Little L” is just a ridiculously spirit-lifting, joyous single.
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“You Can’t Change Me” is, apparently, destined to be one of the buried treasures of ’01, a gorgeously squelchy, soaring house track by Roger Sanchez featuring N’Dea Davenport and Armand Van Helden. N’Dea doesn’t sound much like she did back in her Brand New Heavies days, coming off more as a house diva with a soul transplant. I’m not sure what Armand’s contribution was other than some perfect, very Armand-like nasty metal guitar riffs which pop up intermittently out of the mix. A combo like Sanchez and Van Helden, however, does not leave me apt to complain.
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They may still make some majestic rock’n’roll – and they do – but tell me, now that we’ve got some time behind us, that U2’s All That You Can’t Leave Behind wasn’t a little overpraised.
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Goddamn I fucking love soulDecision. Where’s that second album, anyway? And before you mock, remember this, haters: they sampled a Pet Shop Boys b-side. And not just any PSB b-side, but the utter genius of “We All Feel Better In The Dark.” So shut the fuck up. [Plus, they’re Canadian!]
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Alongside U2 in ‘01’s “let’s be realistic” file: Alicia Keys. Good, yes. A worldbeater? Uh, not just yet. Let’s remember Lauryn Hill’s MTV Unplugged, okay?
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”I think you need some prayer, better call a deacon, girl.”
- Aaliyah featuring Timbaland, “We Need A Resolution” (Aaliyah, Virgin, 2001)
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The problem with mashups no one told you about beforehand: every time I hear the opening to Daft Punk’s “Aerodynamic” now, I expect to hear Eminem start rapping “Two trailer-park girls go ‘round the outside… .” jjrob, I blame you.
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I liked Toby Keith a lot more before he became such a loud-and-proud America-love-it-or-leave-it asshole. Remember those days, when he made charmingly goofy videos with Terry Bradshaw and songs with roadhouse pianos a-tinkling and declarations of “e-e-eeasy, now,” like “I’m Just Talkin’ Bout Tonight”?
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That Gorillaz record was a whole lot better than the new Blur one. Good call on having the backup ready, Damon. Still have Del’s cell number in your rolodex?
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Whether it’s meant to or not, I always hear R.E.M.’s “Beat A Drum” as impossibly, gloriously romantic, due to Stipe’s chorus. With him, it’s often hard to tell if one is taking his lyrics out of context, but oh what glorious out-of-context words (if that is, in fact, the case):

”This is all I want, it’s all I need
This is all I have, it’s everything.”
- R.E.M., “Beat A Drum” (Reveal, Warner Bros., 2001)

I can’t hear Stipe’s warm, lovely reading of those words and not think he’s talking about a partner, a love, a life. Combine it with the surrounding, lush arrangement, and it makes my heart soar.
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If I did a do-over, “Ante Up (Robbing-Hoodz Theory) (Remix)” by M.O.P. featuring Busta Rhymes and Remy Martin would be in the fuckin’ top ten. Busta sounds more vital than he has since, and Remy Martin (and who the fuck is she, and where is she now? Girl was tight as hell)? “Bitch, run that!” M.O.P., predictably, are firestarters like Keith Prodigy. This single could – and should – incite riots. It makes me want ta punch ya in ya fuckin’ face. As Busta said, “this shit feel like an entire world collapse!” I want them goddamned diamonds, too. Like Mobb Deep’s “Quiet Storm” remix with Lil’ Kim, this may not’ve been a big hit, but on the streets and underground, this is classic.
*
Had Coldplay recorded Starsailor’s “Alcoholic,” it likely would’ve been an international hit. Shame, really, as Starsailor assuredly did it better than Chris Martin’s band could.

At last, a character in a work of fiction perfectly sums up my feelings about children:

”Joel had never liked children much. Well, he liked them okay until they were two or three and could begin to articulate their world views; after that he would have been happy if somebody froze them and thawed them out when they were hot eighteen-year-olds.”
- Mark Merlis, Man About Town (Fourth Estate/HarperCollins, 2003, p. 165)

I've been better. But then, I've been worse, too.
I'm kind of in a mood. Fortunately, it's lightening up a bit.

"If you take, then give back good. And if you steal, be Robin Hood."
- Prefab Sprout, "Appetite" (Two Wheels Good, Sony, 1985)

Quiet evening. Got two lovely boxes of books yesterday from my queer book club, so I've got plenty of reading to do. Also got some laundry done, picked up some groceries, and updated the blogroll/linkage (if they're there, I recommend 'em - good reading for light-posting days like this) and sidebar. Which reminds me...

He has more style than you. He has the best tattoo ever. His writing is like a Bloody Mary-soaked fever dream in a hot climate. And I hear he's a rather good kisser (I'll never reveal my sources...). He, of course, is Donald. His blog+ (there's so much more) is Art Is For Losers. And it's, of course, the new blog of the week.

Just as LaTour reminded us a decade-plus ago that people were still having sex, people are still making bootlegs & mashups. But here's the funny thing: it's starting to mainstream. Leading the charge is Richard X. He's the guy who, as Girls On Top, crafted the genius mashup of Adina Howard atop Tubeway Army, which later became a #1 UK single when, er, "covered" by the Sugababes (as "Freak Like Me"). Signed to a deal by Virgin UK, he then went overground with the Richard X vs. Liberty X record "Being Nobody," a soundclash between the Human League's "Being Boiled" and Chaka Khan's "Ain't Nobody." It was good, but not as good as it felt like it should've been. But now he's pulling out the stops. His full-length debut is on the way (via Astralwerks in the US), and the single dropping ahead of it is rather wow. It's titled "Finest Dreams," and again features a Human League track as its backing: in this case, Dare's "The Things Dreams Are Made Of" (thanks for the heads-up, Paul). But this one's topped by the S.O.S. Band's classic "The Finest," sung by Kelis. Kelis is gradually proving herself the inheritor of Grace Jones' legacy, able to fit herself in any record, any time (cf. P. Diddy/Deep Dish's "Let's Get Ill," Nas's "Popular Thug," and countless others) - complete with a simultaneously warm and slightly robotic voice. She's interplanet Janet, a galaxy dream - and never moreso than singing atop Richard X's replayed Human League muzik. This is another one of those booties which sounds so natural, so sensible that you're amazed you didn't think of it first. Fucking cracking machine soul. Is this what the future sounds like?

Lock up your daughters - no, really.

Prisoners need love too, apparently. There's even a gay section. *shakes head* This is soooo wrong.

Rumors that this is the architect of Art is for Losers have been greatly exaggerated. Probably.

Praise Jesus! Courtney's back!

See, here's the thing - several things, actually.
1. We need Courtney Love now more than ever. She is true to the spirit of rock'n'roll like few out there - and the fact that she's such a high-profile woman makes her even more important.
2. The fact that she's a feminist fully in charge of her sexuality, too.
3. Courtney working with Linda Perry does not = Liz Phair working with the Matrix. Linda may be a hitmaker, but she's not some slick bullshitter. Whereas Liz openly admitted "yeah, I want hits, and I'm willing to sell my soul for 'em."
4. She writes amazing songs (cf. "Doll Parts," "Celebrity Skin," et.al.). Anyone who thinks Cobain/Corgan wrote her songs is a sexist and an asshole. Just because you surround yourself with talented artists means you can't do shit on your own?! Yeah, right, haters. All you have to do is listen to her songs and read her interviews and know that these are songs written by a woman of considerable (emotional) power about many of her own experiences.
5. She dared to take on the record industry. And it ain't over.
6. Kim Gordon coproduced the first Hole record. If that doesn't tell you something, nothing ever will.
7. She paved the way for women like Karen O (of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs).
8. Anyone who can cover Echo and the Bunnymen like she can deserves your fucking respect.

The Dolly tribute album looks like it could be one for the ages, y'all... which reminds me: isn't it about time for CMT to do an Inside Fame episode on Dolly Parton?

Oh, Chrisafer... is this ain't callin' our names, I dunno what is. Dave Kendall and Matt Pinfield are alive and well. [Thanks to Paul for the link.] And Corey, I want to see those tapes! *drool*

I apologize to the googler who came - and, I'm guessing, left brokenhearted - looking for "how to do avril lavin's eye make up". I'm bothered, however, by the fact that mine is the only result for said googling. [And in case you're wondering, the only reason you even get me via said search is because of my mention earlier this year of now-former UCLA men's hoops coach Steve Lavin.]

I've neglected to mention (largely 'cause I couldn't find a decent picture of it - but here's one at BWI, thanks Joe!) one of my favorite, befuddling, marvelous things about DC: Redbox. Redbox is a giant vending machine which offers everything from DVDs to detergent to sandwiches. The one 'fer took me past is at 18th and Columbia, in Dupont Circle. It's amazing. It's like 7-Eleven in a vending machine. And it's bigger than you think (look at that pic again). Bizarre. Why did it take the US so long to start merchandising like this?

Attention, haters: I got the dishes done! [Except for a few which are still soaking.] This is a major accomplishment; there were more than a few dishes, and our drainer can only hold so many, which means I have to do them in shifts. The trash isn't out yet, but it's bagged and ready to go. Yay me! [It's the little things, sometimes.] I still need to clean the countertops and the stovetop (and the coffeetable could stand a good Windexing, actually). In more good news, Michael won Lucky Strike at bowling today, which means we're eatin' good (marinated steak, baked taters, and corn - and have I mentioned recently what a great cook my roommate is?) tonight! And there's a new Sex and the City tonight. Glamorous women in glamorous clothes - just what I need to help me get through the America's Next Top Model DT's. The excellent scripts and acting are pure gravy.

Last 20 on my launchcast (reverse order):
1. Chic, "Sometimes You Win"
2. The Smiths, "Last Night I Dreamt That Somebody Loved Me"
3. Dwight Yoakam, "Guitars, Cadillacs"
4. Miles Davis, "Feio"
5. Bjork, "Possibly Maybe - LFO"
6. The Velvet Underground, "Heroin" (Live MCMXCIII version)
7. Alexander O'Neal featuring Cherrelle, "Never Knew Love Like This"
8. Ice-T, "Lifestyles Of The Rich And Infamous"
9. Ride, "Here And Now"
10. El-P, "Deep Space 9mm"
11. The Pixies, "No. 13 Baby"
12. Lush (featuring Jarvis Cocker), "Ciao!"
13. Anita Baker, "Been So Long"
14. Tortoise, "TNT"
15. Underworld, "TwoMonthsOff (KingUniqueSunspots-VocalMix)"
16. Cocteau Twins, "Wax And Wane" (BBC Sessions)
17. Madonna, "Did You Do It?"
18. nine inch nails, "ringfinger"
19. New Order, "Kiss Of Death"
20. De La Soul, "Millie Pulled A Pistol On Santa"

Now, that's what I call music. All killer, no filler.

Does Lil' Kim really think that "Magic Stick" can hold a candle to anything in the Trina catalog - or for that matter, at this point, Khia's? The thing is that we need more dirty female rappers, not fewer, and we certainly don't need them getting all classy on our collective azz. Kim may have made the template with Hard Core, but Trina busted it the fuck up and rebuilt it in her own image. Khia's "My Neck, My Back" upped the ante, but it looks like she couldn't back it up. Which means it's Trina's turn again, unless someone we've never even heard of can come along and push it further (which would mean what? Lesbian XXX porno?).

In the history of brilliant goofs in pop music, it's possible there are none bigger than Frank Zappa's "Valley Girl," voxed by his daughter Moon Unit. Coming 25-plus years into a career made up of largely of brilliant goofs, Frank hit commercial paydirt one time only with his perfectly-timed single from Ship Arriving Too Late To Save A Drowning Witch - and the damnedest thing is that if you listen to it in the context of the rest of his work (such as on the '95 Rykodisc comp Strictly Commercial), the only thing to make it stand out is the fact that you've likely heard it a lot more (unless you're one of those Zappa freak/obsessives, in which case I can't help you). Whatcha wanna bet he's having a blast in the afterlife?

Last night, Paul and I were discussing Madonna. He admitted that he's changed his mind on "American Life," the single. Here's what he said back in March:

Thomas Inskeep's reaction to the new Madonna single surprised me a little bit. Nonetheless, I think it's rather exemplary. It would be easy to blame Mirwais for molding Madonna into a performer she's not, but I think it's working the other way. She's exploiting his talents to move in new directions. Like many of the best tracks on 2000's Music, "American Life" (like "Die Another Day" before it) doesn't immediately reveal its genuinely memorable traits on the first few listens. Her "rap" in the mid-section of "American Life" seems ridiculously unplanned at first, but she knows that no one has ever confused her with being a rapper. Why would she include it, then? Well, if you're at all familiar with her behavior, you know she has a keen sense for absurd humor. "I do yoga and pilates/ and the room is full of hotties/so I'm checkin' out the bodies/and you know I'm satisfied." She's stepped out of her own skin, taken a look at her lush celebrity life, and is now poking fun at how daffy it is to be famous. So, now that I've explained away the superficial lyrics, let's move on to the track itself. Neo-electro funk with folky guitar break for the chorus. Sure, why not? Both "Music" and "Don't Tell Me" became sizable hits from the last record, so combining the two into one track seems brilliant, doesn't it? I think so.

One last thing: I haven't heard the rest of the album yet. Most other people haven't, either. We've learned over time that the best songs on Madonna albums are never released as leadoff singles. The fact that I'm already enjoying "American Life" leads me to believe that the real enjoyment will be found upon the album's release.

Paul admitted last night that the single's not grown on him, and in fact he hasn't listened to it in ages.
Here's what I said at the time:

Wow, Madonna's "American Life" is boring - all heavy proto-electroclash synth squish and a slowly picked acoustic guitar. Completely vapid lyrics. And the less said about her "rapping" the better, trust me. Honestly, sadly, it almost sounds like a parody of what this record would sound like. But it's not.

What frustrates me most of all about "American Life" and American Life is that Madonna's stopped being a leader. Like Michael Jackson circa Thriller, like Prince through most of the '80s, like Bowie through the '70s, for nearly 20 years Madonna made the trends. Suddenly, it sounds like she's following them. And not following them particularly well. The would-be electroclash on American Life just sounds clumsy and inept - why didn't she call Felix Da Housecat? - and the rest of it's even worse. This is unquestionably the first Madonna album to be an unqualified failure, the first sign that maybe she's gotten lapped by the field. Has she stopped being a visionary? I wouldn't go that far; we should all know by now to never count Madonna out. But she's definitely down.

And in opposition to most folks I know, I don't think Ray of Light (good, not great - and now it looks like the first seeds of her decline through the overrated Music to her latest) is her best work. I think that came immediately prior, on 1994's sorely underrated Bedtime Stories. Even featuring her monstrous #1 "Take A Bow" (Madonna sings Babyface, effectively), many saw her as coasting on this record. I couldn't disagree more. Bedtime Stories is the sound of Madonna, as was her wont, ahead of the curve - in this case, making her version of an R&B album just before the moment when R&B became pop. It's appropriately titled, as well; this is a bedtime album, with vaseline on the lens for that soft-focus look (she even wears a nightie on the album cover!). In a way that her previous record, Erotica, failed to be, this is a very playfully sexy, sensual full-length. Even the slightly outré (for Madonna) "Bedtime Story" (cowritten by Bjork) is a pulsing, sexy beast. There's the Madonna we all know and love, middle-fingering her critics on "Human Nature" (though the best line closes the video: "Absolutely no regrets," she says, defiantly staring the camera down). She gets funky with Me'Shell Ndegéocello's assist on "I'd Rather Be Your Lover." Throughout the record, the production (largely by 'Face and TLC knob-twiddler Dallas Austin) gleams, softly, always sounding state-of-the-art yet never taking your attention away from Madonna, the reason you're here.

My second-favorite Madonna album actually is Erotica, which got bombed due to its (admittedly bad) timing, coming in the midst of the Sex book/Body of Evidence film fiasco, but quietly featured some of the best songs of her career up to that point (cf. the discolicious "Deeper and Deeper," gorgeous ballad "Bad Girl" and lushly produced naughty-but-naughty "Where Life Begins"). But that Madonna seems to be gone, replaced by a responsible mother and would-(but-never-will)-be film star. We'll always have our memories, I guess.

Didn't do a thing yesterday, not a thing. Didn't even leave the apartment until 10pm, and that was just to run to 7-Eleven for caffeine and a hot dog. Did have a good conversation (as I often do) with my original blogger crush - who's not as mean as he might like you to think he is, really. I happen to think he's a doll. And I finally had a long, loping, topic-jumping convo (you expected anything else?) with the Tennessean, who wants to Martha Stewart-ize my blog, apparently. He's proof that str8 boys can be cool, too. *laugh*

Today I need to clean; we'll see if I actually do. Also have some ideas for writing rolling around in my head like so many marbles. We'll see if those get done, too. Oh, and if anyone would like to be my benefactor, you know, commission writing from me, so I could move to DC and find another cool roommate, do let me know, won't you?

Do people like Frank Scaturro really have nothing better than this to do? Beyoncé? "[L]ascivious choreography"? Who knew? I think we'd better call Ashcroft in on this one, Frank.

Then again, if I were president of the Grant Monument Association, I might not, either.

Last 20 songs played on my launchcast (in reverse order):
1. Ice-T, "O.G. (Original Gangster)"
2. Sade, "When Am I Going To Make A Living"
3. Pet Shop Boys, "For Your Own Good"
4. The Cure, "Boys Don't Cry"
5. The Prodigy, "Funky Shit"
6. Frank Zappa, "Bobby Brown"
7. New Order, "Vanishing Point"
8. Junior Senior, "Move Your Feet"
9. Anita Baker, "Just Because"
10. Depeche Mode, "Policy Of Truth"
11. Jane's Addiction, "Pigs In Zen" (Triple X version)
12. Me'Shell Ndegéocello, "Stay"
13. Dwight Yoakam, "Twenty Years"
14. Beyoncé featuring Big Boi and Sleepy Brown, "Hip Hop Star"
15. Prince, "Irresistible Bitch"
16. Isley Brothers, "Caravan Of Love"
17. Deftones, "Minerva"
18. Maxwell, "Gotta Get: Closer"
19. Queen, "We Will Rock You"
20. Bjork, "In The Musicals"

And now playing, Missy and Da Brat's "Sock It 2 Me": "it's the 9-7! It's the muthafuckin' bitch era!"

I've decided, with the help of some fine AIM chats with this fine fellow, that this is the year I get over my issues with Halloween.

As astute readers/close personal friends know, my Grandpa died 11 years ago on Halloween. I wasn't a huge fan of the holiday to begin with, but that kinda fucked it for me. Over the course of the last couple of years, I've gradually stopped being so negative about October 31st, but still haven't done any "celebrating" (parties, et cetera). This year, that's gonna change. I'm going to exorcise the last of those bad-memory demons - as it happened, I'd also taken a(n un)healthy cocktail of pot and 3 hits of LSD that same night - and actually go to a party this year, I think, maybe even wear a costume (though I have no idea what - sincere ideas are welcomed).

And now I come to find out that a certain slut (no, not me) will be gracing DC with his prescence that weekend. And I'll be in DC that weekend. This is a good thing. He and I've been chatting on AIM as well, lately, and let me tell you: he's just as clever and charming in chat as he is on his blog. I've no doubt that he's even, ahem, better in person.

There's something slightly off-kilter in saying something like "Halloween demons, begone!," isn't there? Does that make me sound like a fundie protesting outside a Marilyn Manson concert?

Amidst all the googling for "9/11 country music" and the various misspelled searches for info on Panjabi MC, one leading here caught my eye today: "tips on how to conversate with a gay." What?! [I was the #4 search result; amazingly, 'fer didn't make the list.]

I don't think I'm supposed to write a novel.

Over the course of the last - hell, almost decade now - I've been intermittently working on a novel, "logical progression". [And yes, John, the title's genesis is what you think it is - go with your gut.] It's a coming-out/of-age story whose protagonist is a basketball player gradually making his way out of the closet, along with the help of his out-and-proud boyfriend, on a small, midwestern college campus. And not once, but twice, I've lost the disc it's stored on (yes, I know, I should be backing this shit up on my hard drive, I'm an idiot, yes). Is that some sort of cosmic sign?

I like what I've written, though I've polished it nearly so much parts of it seem almost threadbare. And, well, the further away I get from college, the less impulse I seem to have to write it. Maybe I'm just better suited to music writing. I dunno. I'm debating retyping chunks of it and posting them here, even though that'd be a bit time-intensive. [Fortunately, I still have a hard copy printed out of my last draft.] What do y'all think?

It never fails to delight me to hear Lil' Kim rap the word "uterus," especially knowing that she means "vagina," but needs a good rhyme. [cf. "Drugs," from Hard Core]

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A good night. The jukebox drag show was fun - Michael and Bob were stellar - and after, the whole gang of us went to Village Inn, of course. Now I'm full of bacon double cheeseburger. And very, very sleepy. Good fucking night. [Gotta live up/down (depending on your perspective) to that "R," you know.]

OMG! Joe, are you sitting down? Here's a birthday present for you: Halford and Priest, together again.

Update: Mandy Moore's Coverage has been bumped to October.

...and the Waylon Jennings tribute will see the light of day next month.

Latest killer launchcast segue (I'm obsessed, I know): from Michael Jackson's "The Lady in My Life" into "Margin Walker" by Fugazi. Yay.

This could be a very long day. Fridays at work generally are, anyway (though it'll be helped if the boss is out sick again today - which is highly unlikely). And tonight, late tonight, is a benefit drag show for SASSI, our biyearly queer bowling tournament (Labor Day 2004: make plans now!) held here in Norfolk. Perhaps a disco nap beforehand will be in order - the show doesn't start until 11pm. Unfortunately, I'll likely miss the free Hall & Oates concert at the Naval base. You can't have everything, I guess. [Not only do I want to support our tournament, but the show's made up largely of "nonprofessionals" - both Michael and Bob are taking part - and Michael's gown does look ffffffabulous.] The rest of the weekend looks fairly quiet. There won't be any usual Saturday fun with Chas, as he's flying to Denver tomorrow for a conference, and Michael's got a busy weekend planned. So it'll likely be me and Phoebe (our cat) hanging out, not doing a whole lot - the fact that I don't get paid until next Tuesday is also a factor. Which probably means lots of blogging and such. My life is just too glamorous sometimes, y'know?

Dinner last night at Joe's was great - good home cookin': meatloaf, homemade mashed potatoes, corn, biscuits. And I gained a new televisual addiction, a reality show, no less: The Amazing Race. How nice to see a reality show that doesn't humiliate or denigrate its contestants, and pretty much always includes a gay couple (did I mention they're really hot, especially Reichen? Yum!). I blame you, Joe and Mike. *grin*

Hmm. Maybe this is becoming "that kind of blog"...

Oh, WOW... I can't believe how much I'm gushing over this, but Paul's favorite teen-pop starlet (who's legal now, btw), Mandy Moore, looks to have a cracker of an album in Coverage (due in September). Clips of every song on the album are now up on her site, and by and large, they're really superb - the work of an artist throwing off the chains which previously binded her and making her own way through the morass that is the popworld right about now. The clips of "Help Me" and "The Whole of the Moon" in particular - I'm shocked and awed. And her song selection is rather impressive (I could've done without "Moonshadow," but I'm nitpicking). I'm actually gonna buy this record; it sounds to be that damned good.

[I also want to see her new flick How to Deal, and I don't know why. But hey, she's showing herself to be a good actress-slash-ingenue, it costars Allison Janney, and actually looks like an intelligently-made teen-skewing film.]

Addendum: If you go to the "media" section of Mandy's site, you can watch the electronic press kit (EPK) about Coverage, in which among other things she talks about how much she wants the masses, as it were, to make the acquaintance of Joan Armatrading's "Drop the Pilot" (which, considering there's a video shot, may well be the first single - and Mandy's take on it is excellent). Very impressive. Paul, I'm sold.

5x5: my 5 favorite songs by my 5 favorite artists.

#1 The Smiths
1. "How Soon Is Now?"
2. "Stop Me If You Think You've Heard This One Before"
3. "There Is A Light That Never Goes Out"
4. "Sheila Take A Bow"
5. "The Boy With The Thorn In His Side"

#2 Prince
1. "I Would Die 4 U" (and the Revolution)
2. "Kiss"
3. "Sexy MF" (and the New Power Generation)
4. "U Got The Look"
5. "Little Red Corvette"

#3 Public Enemy
1. "Bring The Noise"
2. "Fight The Power"
3. "Shut 'Em Down (Pete Rock Mixx)"
4. "Welcome To The Terrordome"
5. "Sophisticated Bitch"

#4 Sonic Youth
1. "Teenage Riot"
2. "Shadow Of A Doubt"
3. "Tunic (Song For Karen)"
4. "Beauty Lies In The Eye"
5. "The Diamond Sea"

#5 nine inch nails (this slot changes from time-to-time)
1. "burn"
2. "something i can never have"
3. "march of the pigs"
4. "the beauty of being numb" (nin/aphex twin)
5. "hurt"

Sometimes I'm too critical.

I mean, yeah, I fancy myself a critic, and want to make my living at that, but that doesn't mean I have to voice my opinions/criticisms of everything. There's a time and place for such statements. A friend recently asked my opinion of something he really liked, and I savaged it, and wasn't particularly nice about it. He seemed hurt after my brief diatribe, and that got me to thinking: what's the point? If someone is passionate about something, and it's ultimately not that big a deal, why not just say "oh, that's not really my cup of tea" or some such? Expressing fiercely held opinions regarding media, especially, isn't always necessary. There's a difference between being a critic and being a cunt.

I need to think more before I speak.

When I don't, I'm very good, as it were, at saying things which I mean to be lighthearted and funny, but come off nasty. I don't mean to do that, but am absolutely ace at sticking my feet in my mouth - and at 13EEE, they're big feet - and saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. That's why, believe it or not, I'm trying to talk less (especially in group settings). Really. Sometimes observing is just as important as talking; that's something I'm actually just starting to learn.

These aren't promises, per sé, more goals/public feel-free-to-call-me-on-it proclamations.
As one of my favorite song lyrics of all time says...

"I don't make promises that I can't keep."
- Def Leppard, "Promises" (Euphoria, Island Def Jam, 1999)

Chrisafer and Ray-Ray are right: Mya's "My Love Is Like...Wo" video is the epitome of the hotness. Her look, her azz, her tapdance interlude... they're all like wo. And this is one of those rare videos which actually enhances its accompanying song. It's all Mya, only Mya, and you can't take your eyes off her. Wo.

John Rowell's The Music of Your Life is a glorious discovery, a first collection of short stories from an author to watch. Raised in North Carolina, now living in New York, he's put together a set of seven stories, most of which have direct ties to NC, all of which have direct ties to feeling out-of-the-loop, and all of which feature gay protagonists. Rowell's writing reminds me of David Sedaris without the tartness and with some added sweetness, replacing the vinegar with sugar and a dollop of melancholy. The tone is somewhat wistful, always respectful of each story's characters, and the writing is wholly delectable. Music is an utterly stellar debut; I can't wait to read more from this tremendous newcomer. Read this book.

I had a dream last night... and in that dream, I was Wayne Wonder. I got really sick of performing "No Letting Go."

Whew. I may think the NBA largely sucks eggs these days, but I still love my Pacers, and this is the news their fans have been waiting for.

If you're curious to see the downtown of the current city of my residence - fair Norfolk, Virginia - you're in luck. A wonderful, new-to-me site, Beyond DC, took a trip here recently and came back with about 50 gorgeous photos. And no, I'm not in any of them. [Link via rock-rockin' it Waremouse.]

Oh fuck oh fuck oh fuck. Kevin Shields returns. Hallefuckinlujah!

Yay, yay, yay! Donald's back on the blog!

Oh, and while we're at it: no need to link the story, 'cause all of the blogsphere's already heard it, but did anyone really believe that La Brit was a virgin? Come on, people!

More reasons why I love Johnny Rotten.

Addendum: Sex Pistols. 8/24/03. 930 Club, DC. Any takers?
Addendum 2: In AIM with Stebbins today, we agreed that as important as the Pistols were, we like PiL better. Damn, they were amazing, especially from '79-'86.

If today isn't a good day, it won't be my launchcast's fault. The first five songs I've heard this morning have all been slamming:
1. Aphex Twin, "Icct Hedral"
2. Prince and the Revolution, "Take Me With U"
3. Alexander O'Neal, "Fake '88 (Remix)"
4. Beyoncé featuring Missy Elliott, "Signs"
5. New Order, "1963"
Super sweet.

Speaking of "Signs," which many think is about Jay-Z ("I was in love with a Sagitarius," et.al.): I share a birthday with Sean Carter himself. Jigga what? Jigga who?

Well, well, well... I think most watchers of America's Next Top Model thought that, going into last night's finalé, Elyse had it locked up. But she had a very bad first half of the show, and got sent home going into the final two, which left Shannon and Adrienne to work the catwalk in the Baby Phat show during Fashion Week. I was honestly surprised by the final result, if only because Shannon tore that runway up and even convinced supertranny - er, supermodel - Janice Dickinson that she was the one. But in the end, it was Adrienne who is America's Next Top Model. I can't wait to see her in Revlon ads. Girl is fierce as hell.

Side note: amazingly, I got Michael to watch with me. He even seemed entertained. My favorite shared moment came during the first hour recap show, when after not more than 15 minutes, he turned to me and said regarding Robin, "please tell me she gets sent home."

My favorite recent launchcast segue came this morning while I was in the shower: from Trina f/Ludacris' "B R Right" into Underworld's "Pearl's Girl." Musical schizophrenia is good.

My job is really, really frustrating me these days. First of all, there's not nearly enough work to do - Jenn and I were discussing yesterday how our jobs could actually be part-time for the amount of work hours required. So we all end up having to pretend to be busy, which I hate doing - I'd rather be swamped than have nothing to do. [When our boss is out, frankly, we don't even pretend. Like now.] The pay sucks - yeah, I know, I work for a non-profit, so that's sorta to be expected. But it still sucks. There's also the fact that there's no opportunity for advancement, no real way for me to show off my skills. So find a new job, you say in response. I'm working on that. I've thrown my hat back in the ring with Manpower - fortunately, I've kept up a good relationship with the manager of our local office - and asked them that if they get any jobs commensurate with my abilities and paying a certain wage to let me know. Yeah, I'd lose my benefits, but right now, I need the money more. My resumé's been updated, too. And I'm starting to do some skills enhancement, becoming better acquainted with Excel and learning business writing. With a little work, I could be a kick-ass administrative assistant. If you're in either the Hampton Roads, VA or Washington, DC areas and need one (I type over 40 wpm! And am great on the telephone!), by all means please let me know.

What I love most about ABC’s The Lexicon of Love - which is one of the five greatest albums of all time, mind you – is its overarching sense of drama oozing from every note, every inflection, every word.

Finished Price + Murdoch's Courting Justice: Gay Men and Lesbians v. the Supreme Court last week. Highly enlightening, and highly readable. It reminds me a lot of Randy Shilts' work, in that it's so painstakingly researched, but yet still so accessable to the non-authority (and when it comes to law, I definitely am a non-authority). Without doubt the best work of non-fiction I've read this year. Speaking of Shilts, after dinner/before a movie with Chas last week, we saw the last half of the HBO Films version of And the Band Played On. Fuck. That's one of the very few films which has the ability to make me cry. Matthew Modine's performance is nothing short of phenomenal. Why haven't more people seen this?! I've said it before, and I'll keep saying it: I empathize with the Reagans, I really do. Seeing my Grandma's decline due to Alzheimer's shows me that it can't be easy for anyone. But. I will not cry, nor gnash my teeth, with our former President dies. Because he has the blood of countless thousands of Americans on his hands, Americans who died of AIDS while he did NOTHING, not even uttering the acronym publicly until 1987. And not even death will wash that blood away, a blood to match the red of Nancy's Adolfo suits.

My train reading over the weekend was Timothy James Beck's He's the One, a fluffy cupcake of a big gay novel. A fun read, no aftertaste, but no real nutritional value, either. [Fun fact: TJB is actually four people.]

Thank you for the conversation today.

Seamus McStebbins is your new blog of the week. He doesn't post enough for my liking, but when he does, you're assured it'll be good stuff. He's a DC rugger, his blog changes colors as you read it, and his "100 things" list is possibly the best of that ilk I've ever read.

On a completely unrelated note, my launchcast is currently playing "Wham! Rap '86" (by, er, Wham!), which I love with an absurd passion. And if anyone knows what the "DHSS" being chanted near the 4:20 mark means, please enlighten me via either an email or a comment (below).

Good for MSNBC for standing up for what is right (and against what isn't) and firing that douchebag Michael Savage. They had a right to put him on, and once he thoroughly showed his ass, they had a right to fire it, too. It nearly amazes me how popular - and how disgusting - he is.

I still can hardly believe that Barry White is gone. The man recorded some of the greatest sex music (it may have been about love, but it was for sex) of all time. I mean, c'mon, check the resumé: "Can't Get Enough of Your Love, Babe," "Never Never Gonna Give Ya Up," "It's Ecstasy When You Lay Down Next To Me," and I could go on ad infinitum. And then that bomb-ass comeback he made thanks (in part) to Q?! Hearing his triple-fudge-layer-cake voice gushing outta the speakers on "The Secret Garden"? It was like some serious whoa. He's a god of music, a giant of production (see Marcello's reflections on his musical brilliance behind the boards), one of the (accidental) inventors of disco, and truly larger than life.

R.I.P., Barry. You always practiced what you preached.

So, the freakin’ weekend.

There were only two bad things about my long weekend just passed: the insufferable heat (a bank marquee in Dupont Circle actually claimed it reached 100 on Saturday, and it certainly felt like it all weekend), and being pickpocketed in Union Station. I don’t know for certain that my wallet was stolen, but it’s very unlikely that it fell out of my pants, and it’s not like no one’s ever been pickpocketed in Union before. No credit cards, but a substantial loss of cash. But what can you do, y’know? [Besides henceforth carrying money in one’s front pocket, that is.]

My cousin and his wife were impeccable hosts. Their house, a rowhouse in NW which they’re renovating, is gorgeous – all hardwood floors and high ceilings. They’re a lot of fun to be around and absurdly intelligent. Unfortunately, Steve had to work most of the weekend, and my plans kept me running a bit, but I got to spend some time with him, and lots with his lovely wife. They even gave me a set of keys for the weekend. How cool is that?!

I rode the Metro by myself for the first time, which may seem minor if not laughable to residents of the District, but it was one of those little things about which I was ever-so-slightly proud (I didn’t get lost, either). I also took my first solo cab ride, and journeyed to the DC Eagle without accompaniment as well (and even talked with people! I have a really hard time doing that in bars, so that’s a little major). I’m slowly starting to piece the city’s (okay, NW’s) sections together, i.e. seeing where Adams Morgan fits next to Dupont Circle and U Street. Even knowing that DC’s laid out on a grid, it still gets confusing. But it’s getting a little easier; I’m learning.

Spent a very enjoyable couple of hours with Mike - a/k/a Stebbins – yesterday, having brunch at the bar/restaurant at Results in Adams Morgan (I kinda-sorta walked into a gym and did not spontaneously combust, amazing). Fine food (I recommend the four-egg omelet) and better conversation; this fellow can, it would appear, converse on any subject knowledgeably. He offered some very handy tips regarding finding a job in DC, as well. I’m very glad to have finally gotten to meet Mike, and am quite eager to catch my first Renegades match this fall (hello, Jimbo! - and I’m glad to hear [read] your throat’s feeling better).

Nearly literally ran into John on P Street Thursday night, whilst barhopping with Donald and Chrisafer. He joined as at DIK Bar for a tipple; unfortunately, by that point in the evening I’d already had a couple too many Jack-and-Cokes, so I’m not sure my conversation skills were at their most sterling (though I do remember hearing “Ignition Remix” – if you really want to see ‘fer snarl and gnash his teeth, just the mere mention of R. Kelly will do the trick). We chatted a bit about music, mostly, if memory serves (which it’s possible it may not, admittedly). Earlier that evening, we did the Tom-has-no-ID pub crawl, which also included stops at Mr. P’s (oy! Rather sad, and then there were the endless mid-‘80s R&B videos, which caused even ‘fer to be appalled by my too-much-for-my-own-good knowledge of said genre? Yeah, I know all the words to Alexander O’Neal’s “Fake” – doesn’t everyone?) and the Fireplace (which had icy-cool A/C, but said A/C kept dripping on my companions, unfortunately). Of course, my evening likely wasn’t helped by the fact that I was matching D-Lo and ‘fer drink for drink – neglecting to give the fact that I was downing Jack Daniels to their Rolling Rocks much thought. Later in the evening, I – oops – passed out. Fortunately, I was already lying down at the time.

And no, I did not take advantage of the Supreme Court’s ruling striking down sodomy laws (though DC repealed theirs years ago), but I did have a couple of dates I was very pleased with. I really like Donald – yes, I’m over the coyness and worried-that-I’ll-jinx-it-ness. My dates were with international supermodel Mr. artisforlosers himself. And he’s an outstanding kisser. I hope that things can progress; we’ll see what happens.

Saturday, met up with Corey and D-Lo to take in Charlie’s Angels: Full Throttle, which was extremely insipid, and ridiculously entertaining. And Demi – oh! Stunning. Cor doesn’t realize how close I was to some straightification of my own. [Okay, maybe not, but it sounded good, right? No? Alright, then.] After parting ways with Donald for a few, Corey and I walked through Georgetown, with the Foggy Bottom Metro stop our destination. This gave us the opportunity to conversate – and for Cor to briefly take on ‘fer’s role of homosexual DC tour guide – which was lovely. We rode over to the Eagle, where we met back up with Donald and, eventually, Chrisafer, to play the jukebox (“Monkey Gone To Heaven”! “mOBSCENE”!) and enjoy cold alcohol and cold air.

What else? The train ride back last night was loooooong; we got in to Newport News over an hour late, oy. I love Amtrak nonetheless, though I wish they’d put a fucking smoking car/lounge on the DC-to-NN train. Now, likely no days off until Labor Day. Double oy. Am going to try to sneak back to the District for a quick 2-day trip next month with a coworker, but nothing extended until September starts (and which in all likelihood will be another 4-day-er around the aforementioned holiday). Sorry I’m going to miss your visit, Todd. Maybe we need to reinstate the patronage system, so that I could find someone to pay me to blog, and then I could travel more.

Well, it’s a thought, anyway.

Hope y’all had good weekends as well.

"The bad news is we look like aging transvestites. The good news is we've always looked like aging transvestites." Ladies and gentlemen, Twisted Sister. What finer way to celebrate our nation's independence?

I'm back. I'm exhausted. It was a very good weekend, and Michael was an angel to stay up very late (for him) and pick me up from the train. I'll share details of DC tomorrow, I promise. Now, it's time for bed.

"If I were you
I bet I'd watch out
When was the last time
You did anything
Not for me
Or anyone else
Just because
Just because..."
- Jane's Addiction, "Just Because" (Strays, Capitol, 2003)

I'm basically packed, I'm not at all tired but need to go to bed anyway (as I have to get up circa 6am), and I am fuckin' ready to get out of town and head to DC for the long weekend (which I've made a 4-day). As ever, posting will be limited if at all. Enjoy your 4th. And if you'll be in DC this weekend and want to meet up, feel free to drop an email.

The only source you need for queer news from now on: Queer Day.

NEWS FLASH! Jimbo's blog is (temporarily) under new management, and will henceforth be known as Gurl's Gab! Jimbo's having "the operation" tomorrow. Think good thoughts, pray if you like, send him an e-card. I'm tying a yellow ribbon around myself until he's back to speed.

The only review you need of Ann Coulter's new dogpile. [Thanks to Paul.]

Tonight's America's Next Top Model (and does Tyra get paid by the number of times she reels that phrase off her tongue?) was stellar. Robin got what she deserved: a trip home for her self-righteous, Bible-thumpin' ass. Shannon's next, y'all. I'm so over her all-American I-look-just-like-Faith-Hill thing. Like Tyra keeps saying, you need more edge, girl! Elyse and Adrienne are headed for a showdown for all the marbles, which rocks 'cause they love each other and we love them. Their nudes - and their dealing with couture - were supreme. I still love me Elyse the best, though.

While we're at it, I asked Chrisafer tonight (we had to break it down during the commercials, you know), "could Janice Dickinson's breasts look any less real?!" He replied, laughing, "only if they were actually leaking silicone onto the table." You know we're right.

This is the gayest show ever, at least until - as 'fer said - they start "judging butt-fucking" on national television. I bet Janice will sign up. To judge, I mean.

Associated Press writer uses "bootylicious" in article; film at 11.

Genius video directors on videos (and soon on DVD): Billboard talks with Chris Cunningham, Michel Gondry, and Spike Jonze. Who wants to get me these DVDs for Christmas, eh?

Aw, shit! Jane's Addiction are back from the grave and sounding fresher than nearly any new band around - who could've expected this, really? "Just Because" (the first single from the forthcoming Strays, their first new studio album in 12 years) roars and boxes and weaves and says to all comers, "ya think ya gonna take me? Think again, punk! Daddy's back in town!" Let's not forget that Jane's themselves laid a lot of the groundwork for the revolution in "alternative/modern" rock vis-a-vis Lollapalooza, but after such a long layoff (and Americans' typically short memories), they've got something to prove - and they prove and show it. Perry Farrell and (sex god) Dave Navarro are revitalized, ripping their way through "Just Because" with a renewed sense of purpose, not sounding like the Jane's of old but still sounding like only Jane's can. This is immediately the best rock single of '03 out of the box, a beast of a record steamrolling its way towards your submission, whipping you like Indiana Jones, making you believe all over again, maybe even better than "Stop!" All hail rock'n'roll! At long last, a reunion that lives up to its (immense) promise.

Oh, no. The saga of missing Baylor hoopster Patrick Dennehy just gets worse and worse...

Why isn't Just Blaze a superproducer megastar along the lines of, if not the Neptunes, at least Swizz Beats or Mannie Fresh circa three years ago? 'Cause he's been largely operating under the radar, making street hits instead of pop smashes (save for his work with Jay-Z). That might be about to change, though, now that he's helmed bubbling smash "Pump It Up" by next-big-thing Joe Budden (a rapper using his real name? shocking!). This is designed to be one thing only, a club banger. And fuck if it ain't. Damn! This record sounds so fucking great, mmmm! Yessss!

The "'meat and 'fer get Buzzed" IMs continue: 1993 parts one and two.

I had a dream...

And in that dream, I was cohosting some sort of British television show which featured celebrities past their 15 minutes. Heidi Fleiss came out, and I said horrible things about her, but told her during a commercial break that I didn't really mean those things, I was just trying to boost ratings; she said she understood. Oh, and Heidi looked nothing like she actually does - she looked like a punk-rock hooker. My baby sister made her a pair of earrings from thumbtacks and paper clips, which Heidi put in her (pierced) nipples. I was honestly embarassed that Sarah gave her said earrings on national television.

Gee, what ever could this mean? If you've spoken with me in the last month, chances are you have some ideas...