Related:Bob says, "mccain organized his trip to colombia
around the rescue of these hostages. beautiful. that brings a cynical tear
to my sand-dry eye. he didn't make the photo op, unfortunately."
Although the timing of the rescue was a coincidence and Mr. McCain's trip
to Colombia had nothing to do with it, the event nonetheless put him in
the middle of classified talks about covert operations with the head of
another government.
me:
i mean, could that possibly be true? bob: what? that he timed his trip to go alongside the operation? me: no, that he didnt bob: war veteran presidential candidate, finally has the ear of the
white house that helped plan the thing at a time when he's trying to demonstrate
that he's the better choice for security in a post sep lev world, even though
the thing with the FARC is pure cold war leftovers? i dunno. maybe it was
an accident.
i'm just sayin now that the dems may not have the opportunity for such happy
accidents and, with obama as the leader in the race, israel better start
feeding him info about some hostages that THEY'RE gonna get released. i
mean, good god.
Dear D.C. Diary,
Today at the beer store a black man tried to pick a fight with me. It could've
been because I'm a girl, or a gay, or because his Bluetooth was pinching
his ear too hard, but I'm pretty sure it was because I'm white. And even
whiter than sometimes because I got my blonde re-did. Well, listen up Mr.
Bluetooth Black Man who got in my face for no reason at all: You can't keep
me away from Decatur Liquor, because the black man who works there is nice,
it's the closest beer to my house, and I like beer. So there.
BEEF NEWS: My girlfriend's reputation as a "vegetarian chef" is
about to take a hit: Grass
Fed ... and dough balls at Chef Chez's Farm Freshies. See Otis before
he's Prime!
SPORTS NEWS OF THE PAST: Bongz writes, "In honor of our nation's
birthday, please enjoy this exclusive look from Sports Illustrated, July
1982, at what our country's great warriors — football players — do
to keep themselves fierce in the off-season. The camel-toe is just the beginning."
Click the sweet scan above or below and get 'em big. I'd like to see today's
350-pound offensive linemen doing a handstand on a skateboard.
Minneapolis. This has to be an homage to Hope Solo, right?
Hope & Despair in Sports Features
SI's Gary Smith can ruin almost any story with his cloying, melodramatic
style. He's been called One of American's Best Sportswriters, so there's
no accounting for taste. I'll let you decide for youself: bile-raising,
or just emo-literary? The opening to his 2007 piece on Jamila Wideman, cutie
lesbian daughter of writer John Edgar Wideman, went like this (from Out
of the Shadows):
Who's to say? Maybe it's enough for you. After
all, they're playing the game on a shiny hardwood surface, and it moves with
such beauty and ferocity across that surface...maybe that's sufficient. Perhaps
you can stick your hand on a radiator and know all you need to know about
heat. But if only you could hear, in the silence between sneaker squeak and
ball bounce, the other drama being played out. If only you could see what
brought each of these 10 people to this shiny wood, what makes them race and
leap and dive across it, then you would know the true heat and beauty of the
game.
Barf. Anyway, he wrote a feature for SI last week on a pretty amazing woman.
Read it if you can:
You may remember all the silly hubbub last year when pissed-off US goalie
Hope Solo bitched about being benched in a critical World Cup loss, and
her teammates made her a pariah. SI ran a pretty good follow-up to that
mess:
I've got a backlog of stuff I want to post. But sometimes it's healthy
to step away from the computer. I'm going to do that now. But first, a photo
essay on parenting by Julie Comnick on Portland mom Tess and child Oscar.
Tess Being a Good Mom, by Julie Comnick
"Hi, I thought you may be able to do something with these."
(Oops. My mom just reminded me that I'm a month too early. Oh well. What the hell.)
Sorry it's all deathy around here, but today
last year our brother Sean died. I don't miss him every day, since I
never saw him every day, but when I do miss him it's like getting smacked
by a big wave, then getting dragged down in the trough.
I've been taking his ashes around the country with me. I have a lot. A
quarter of them, to be exact. I used to carry them in a tiny baggie that
looked like drugs, but have since switched to the smaller of some Russian
nesting dolls my mom gave me. I once lost him in a baggie in a puddle of
hot tub water on a Brooklyn rooftop, which Miss
Mess nobly and against odds located the next day, and toured
him around the city and to the East River. Since then I've left ashes
in New Mexico, Colorado, Ohio, Kentucky, Oklahoma, Texas, South Carolina,
Vermont and Minnesota. If nothing else it keeps him in my mind wherever
I go. It's weird to talk about my brother in the manner of the physical
stuff that remains. The remains. But we are a sentimental people attached
to souvenirs, tokens and symbols I guess.
Marla and her dad down in texas in January 2007, the last time she saw him.
R.I.P, Marla's Dad
Friend Marla's dad died
on Saturday. She sent some things to share about him. He lived a crazy 75
years. To whit:
born march 20, 1933 in brooklyn, to an african-american (his dad, from
virginia, tracing back to slaves i'm sure) and his mom, a caribbean-american
(emigrating from barbados when she was a teenager)
an only child, a complete mama's boy.
being a new york city cop in his 20s and seeing all kinds of insanity
having two kids by a black wife, then two kids by a white wife (the
first one only 12 years after the supreme court legalized their union)
living through segregation and decades of second-class citizenship,
and just barely missing america electing its first black president
seeing new york baseball at its height (although he was strangely a
mets fan, and liked the giants for football, barf)
getting pissed when muhammed ali hit on his first wife, jean, at a party
living in new york, virginia, dc, florida, texas...and who knows where
else
palling around with louis armstrong growing up, after his cousin lucille
married him. lucille was a dancer at the cotton club, where they met.
that was louis' last wife, for the last decades of his life.
surviving prostate cancer decades ago (which killed his father)
drinking his way into oblivion on the regular
the best chef i've ever known
working for the federal government
when was around, raising me on calypso and soul music and of course,
on louis armstrong
fleeing from the trappings of parenthood on more than one occasion
table
tennis champion in the '80s and '90s
treating me like an adult. even when i totally a child. note: i do
not recommend this approach.
A tiresome thing about having tattoos is having to explain them to strangers,
even though I believe that's what you get for putting weird things visibly
on your body. So, I'm not usually incredibly friendly when dudes at bars
inquire into the meaning of my powerlines. For one thing, I don't have much
of an answer besides "it's art," or "I just like powerlines, don't you?"
which never satisfies anybody. Anyway, this nice guy who runs the popular
neighborhoodie blog Prince of Petworth asked about my lines last night,
and when I stopped being my wary, deflective self, he took
a little photo and posted it today. Thanks, Prince.
(Aside: the new Looking
Glass Lounge, née Temperance Hall, has improved its menu, but
its crowd? Downstairs looked like Hill kids come from kickball and trivia
night fans. Younger and whiter and, um, nerdier than before. And the downstairs
bar "service" wasn't quite. Upstairs is still really good, atmosphere and
bartender-wise.)
To Do:
Maegan sends this: Chase
No Face, and if that's not scary (though heartwarming) enough, try
THIS.
The internet is the lover that never gets boring for long, isn't it?
From Miriam, who says "This is interesting, because i actually have read books set in olde-thymey england where people were eating hot greasy faggots, and now they're coming back in vogue!" Family of faggot fans fly the flag.
Underblog says, "Spotted these posters in Edinburgh and thought of you natch."
Join Our Party!
As we all know, many small towns are bleak and ugly little collections
of flimsy buildings, dirt, crytal meth, and McDonalds, but here in Vermont
they are so positively quaint and picturesque and progressive as to feel
not quite real. Montpelier is known to be the only capitol city without
a McDonalds, and I'd daresay it's the only city of 8,000 people in the US
without one. Though nearby Barre has plenty.
Sherman and Underblog sent me many cat-related photos from their European
Vacation, and I was going to post them, but now Sherm has: i
gatti di Roma
Everyone can stop sending me this fake-looking video, because it is
fake.
Friends don't let friends transmit viral marketing.
If you've called or texted, I haven't gotten it, because I'm in Vermont.
My mom said, "even in Uganda you can get text messages," but in Vermont,
I cannot. I am specifically here.
It's pretty sweet, except for all the hippies. Just kidding.
99
Sense has posted a video of Ellen Degeneres shopping at the 99˘ Only
store.
Mess: "You will be happy to read this." Lesbian
Attackers Win Appeal! Best part, "As for the victim, underground filmmaker
Dwayne Buckle, he's been busy working on a documentary about hate crimes
committed against straight men." Loser.
"i just want to mention that i saw a man walking down the street completely
naked last night, at around 10pm at one of the busiest intersections of
the city.
"well, nevermind. he was wearing a backpack. so, not completely naked."
The lady in the middle would like to tell you about her new blogsite.
A: Everyone and their mother
Q: Who has a blog?
It's only a wonder it's taken my mom so long to embrace this medium so
clearly made for her. I predicted her blog would be rich in exclamation
points, and I was correct, starting with the name: Jambo!
It means Hello in Swahili. It also means I'll be able to keep track of what
my mom's up to, assuming Uganda has the internets. Please welcome my mom!
3. David Roth made a video for Slate. Says he, "If you've ever wanted
to see someone so nervous in front of a camera as to appear hypnotized,
or ever wanted to see my goofy visage shoehorned into a hilariously goofy
prefab political advertisement -- or if you'd ever wished bravely for both
-- get ready to have your dreams come true like a motherfucker: Mad-Lib
Political Ads."
DC public servants Pridin' it up, looking sincere.
Cheers, Queers!
Pride was fun. I didn't see much of the parade, due to my small stature
and disinclination to stand in a crowd, but I DID see Mayor Fenty and Congresswoman
Eleanor Holmes Norton. They were both on foot and seemed psyched to
be there. Fenty threw beads, which are enduringly popular with the gay men.
Then it rained and a few of us ducked into the always hospitable and unpretentious
Townhouse
Tavern, which was soon packed to the gills with lesbians. It kind of
ruled.
Later The New Gay guys, Zack and Michael, hosted Mousetrap at the Black
Cat. Good times were had by all, even by #1 lesbro Dave, who learned that
he hates Britpop.
En route Vicki demonstrated bicycle safety:
Accomplished and Youthful People We Know
Here is where we show off our friends and girlfriends. As esg said, "Our
babies are famous! So proud. Lookit all our cool friends!" 30
Under 30, at the Blade.
"Even the Black Cat is getting into the act, as it hosts a special
quasi-Pride edition of Mousetrap. No, your eyes aren't deceiving you.
Michael and Zack of happening local blog The New Gay are joining resident
DJ Mark Zimin at what they're calling "a co-ed, straight-friendly,
alternaqueer Pride event." Even better: They're taking requests on
TheNewGay.net. The crowd will
probably still be mostly straight -- this is D.C.'s biggest and longest-running
Britpop night -- but it's a welcome alternative for those not interested
in the house music offered at most other Pride parties."
First, you can check out the D.C. Dyke March at Dupont Circle on Saturday
at 2 p.m. The New Gay reported
yesterday afternoon that the march is looking for volunteer marshals,
baked goods, and of course a few good boobies.
And speaking of our friends at the New Gay, they're holding another trademark
co-ed, alterna-queer party. This time around, it's Mousetrap: Pride Edition,
to be held at the Black Cat main stage tomorrow night at 9:30 p.m. RSVP
on Facebook if you plan to attend.
*Coinage by Coach.
Dept. of Corrections
Last night I was informed that I'd misattributed the following very good
joke. The true author is Diane, according to Diane. HK regrets the error.
I guess the
people would rather hear from a fictional JPEG cat than from me, because
the questions just keep rolling in. It's a veritable avalanche of inquiry.
Send yours to Ask
Chairman Meow, 7800 Beverly Blvd., Los Angeles, CA 90036.
Q. I'm hoping John McCain has some unsavory romantic
history. Could you dig something up?
Ted Sampley, who fought with US Special Forces in Vietnam and is now a
leading campaigner for veterans’ rights, said: ‘I have been following
John McCain’s career for nearly 20 years. I know him personally. There
is something wrong with this guy and let me tell you what it is – deceit.
‘When he came home and saw that Carol was not the beauty he left behind,
he started running around on her almost right away. Everybody around him
knew it.
‘Eventually he met Cindy and she was young and beautiful and very
wealthy. At that point McCain just dumped Carol for something he thought
was better.
‘This is a guy who makes such a big deal about his character. He has
no character. He is a fake. If there was any character in that first marriage,
it all belonged to Carol.’
Q. Who is the greatest female athlete in the
world today? Even though I cover sports for a living, I don't have time
for the ladies, unless I am making jokes about the WNBA.
- Every male newspaper sportswriter in the country
Chairman Meow: The most fabulous woman in sports today is Mexican
golfer Lorena Ochoa. From SI, Lorena
Ochoa: Simply the Best.
Every golf tour is as insular and gossipy as high school, and the cliquishness
is exaggerated among the couple of hundred women who make up the LPGA. But
even as Ochoa makes a mockery of the competition, having won a mind-boggling
20 tournaments in 54 starts since April 2006, it is nearly impossible to
find a fellow player who doesn't gush about her.
"She is by far the sweetest, kindest, most giving person walking the
earth," says LPGA veteran Christina Kim, a longtime friend of Ochoa's.
"She has that inner light. I think she's been touched by God. Honestly,
I'm surprised she hasn't been canonized yet. I'm not exaggerating —
she is the greatest thing ever: a cross between Tiger Woods and Mother Teresa."
Q. I am a tall man on my short friend's very
small bike. What do I look like?
- Brian Minter, DC
Chairman Meow: You look like this.
Q. What happens to squirrels when they die?
- Squirrels
Chairman Meow: Our friend RT has discovered that squirrels go to
Squirrel
Heaven.
Q. Why aren't there any nice songs about rats?
- Rats
Chairman Meow: Maybe you'll like this song that Coach sent, CSS
- Rat Is Dead (Rage). Then again, maybe you won't. But she says, "That
band cansei de ser sexy is spota be mostly dykes. they currently have my
fave song about domestic violence. they're also the peeps that do that 'music
is my hot hot sex' song for the apple commercial."
Now Emerson House has almost seen it all: Les and Oscar Wedding, June 7, 2008!
Ask Chairman Meow
Welcome to Ask Chairman Meow, an irregular HK installment which last appeared
on December 14, 2004, wherein our seldom
seen mascot answers REAL questions from REAL readers, like you. Please direct
your queries to Ask
Chairman Meow.
Q.
The dumb blonde jokes are really starting to get to me. Do you
have any advice?
- Samantha Ronson, LA
Chairman Meow: You should listen to Dolly Parton, who said, "I'm
not offended by dumb blonde jokes because I know that I'm not dumb. I
also know I'm not blonde."
Q. I once had a high profile, white collar job,
but now that I'm a writer I think it's time I got a tattoo. But, I'm not
sure what is the difference between a great tattoo and a terrible tattoo.
Can you help?
PS. I am also single.
- Scott McClellan
Chairman Meow: I'm glad you asked, Scott. Pictured below at left
is my friend Shauna's new tattoo. It is awesome. At right is an example
of a tattoo one might come to regret (from Radar
Bad Tattoos gallery).
Q. I understand there was a large party in my
neighborhood on Saturday night. Once I find photographic evidence, I'm
going to bust it up.
- Mayor Fenty, DC
Chairman Meow: That party was actually the wedding of Oscar and
Les, former Emerson House resident. Brian
has posted a few pictures.
Q. My life is a complete mess. Can you recommend
a fun country song to lift my spirits? Thanks!
- Mindy McCready, Nashville
Chairman Meow: You're finally catching a break, Mindy, as I just
spent an entire day driving through the South with only a radio for company.
And now this site will link for the first and last time to a Toby Keith
song.
Q.
I have friends who've worked backstage who tell me horror stores about
demands from some pretentious bands. Like, they need fresh-squeezed lime
juice for their gin and tonics, or whatever. Do you have any stories like
that? You can keep it anonymous, of course :) Or who are your favorite
bands who have been the most pleasant and fun?
Even in our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon
the heart, until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom
through the awful grace of God.
Occasionally I make the mistake of reading sections of the paper that aren't
Food, Sports, or Comics. And now that my mom and stepdad are moving to Uganda,
I find myself making that mistake more often. Because when the headline
says UGANDA
- Tribal Chief Issues Plea Against Military Action, or worse, Africa's
Messiah of Horror, both referring to Joseph Kony and his Lord's Resistance
Army, you have to stop and be astounded at the evil that men do. And wonder
why the hell we do nothing about these nauseating genocides, choosing instead,
say, to pick a war with Iraq for "9/11," which was carried out by dudes
like these, currently on trial. Note their nationalities.
Not to grossly oversimplify...but fucking pick a war we can feel good about,
all right? Sometimes we peaceniks want bloody justice, too.
I've got the French Open on ESPN2, which was the #2 motivation behind my
campaign to work from home (#1 being Wimbledon). The earlier women's semifinal
matched Serb against Serb, and this one pits Russian vs. Russian. The Russians,
Dinara Safina and Svetlana Kuznetsova, seem to be emulating Maria Sharapova
(vanquished by Safina in the quarters). Their better-known countrywoman
is famous for her decibels. Sayth the New York Times, "Shrieking and
swearing like a street fighter, Maria Sharapova was in no mood to accept
that she was about to blow another lead in the fourth round of the French
Open against Dinara Safina." But Safina and Kuznetsova are no slouches.
They are moaning and shrieking their little hearts out. You need only Google
any of their names + grunt to generate audio evidence and commentary aplenty.
There are those who think the grunting is crass gamesmanship. Others say
it's just like the vocalized release of energy familiar from martial arts.
Hi Ya! And then there are those who can hear nothing but ORGASM, and that
camp is divided into 1. embarassed, and 2. titillated/amused (the English
are simply "unsettled.")
I'd love to chat about this some more, but I've got things to do. Like,
drilling a hole in the floor of my car so I don't have to bail it everytime
it rains. Like, making the house presentable enough for former Emho Les's
wedding/party-happening here on Saturday. Like, fixing some Chimichurri
I made that came out all wrong. Yesterday Dave and I watched the big storm
from the front porch. Those are the real reasons I love being at home.
Please enjoy the following PSA.
From Brian: "Some helpful advice from our friends in India." See
also: Goodbye and Namskara at Bears Will Attack.
Can Brown Deliver? These inevitable headlines and more cominatcha as Big
Brown, actually named for UPS, attempts to win the third leg of the Triple
Crown this weekend. No horse has won the three races since Affirmed in 1978.
Why is it so hard to win the Triple Crown? Because of things like bad breeding,
bad luck, horsie drug abuse, and pesky broken legs leading to unpopular
on-field shooting of the athletes. But the MAIN REASON it's so hard to win
the Triple Crown is so sports writers can write features just to close with
this quote, from the Washington Post: 'You've
Got to Be Lucky'.
Hall of Fame trainer Jack Van Berg has similar war stories to tell from
1987, when his Alysheba won the first two legs of the Triple Crown, only
to finish fourth in the Belmont behind rival Bet Twice.
At 71, Van Berg has been taking the Triple Crown phone calls a lot longer
than Baffert, and his perspective on the quest is simple and sage: "You've
got to be lucky; it don't matter how damn smart you are," he said.
"It looks like Big Brown has them over the barrel, and he's got the
talent, but it's going to take a lot of praying. And you know what the difference
between praying in church and praying at the racetrack is? At the racetrack
you mean it."
By the way kids, image Google "Big Brown" at your own risk.
Picture Pages Picture Pages Time to Get Your Picture Pages
Tampa, FL: My sister and this car settle our previous
night's debate: Does Jazzercise still exist? Answer, Yes.
Portland, OR: CG at the Obama rally says, "Three
catchphrases in 5 minutes. He should be called Barack Obuzzword."
Seattle: CG finds.MJ made entirely of cereal.
NYC: CG stumbles into adorable Bears Acoustic Open Mic
Night.
Rest Area, Missouri, USA? Why Be Fat 101.com. "Let
the thin you out."
Amazing contraption auto-dispenses water, soap, water,
and hot air!
No partygoers fell down these amorous steps, thanks to Shauna's thoughtful sign.
DC's Emmigrant Population
Last night's party
to benefit Girls Rock! DC was
off-the-charts cute, and I had the pleasure of seeing, speaking to, and
dancing around many excellent ladies, including but not limited to Gabriella
Sabatini, Dolly Parton and Hanoi Jane, and one douchie kid who let me know
that after 6 months of living in DC, he'd concluded that our city was full
of fake people, snobs, and "capitalists," and that he couldn't wait to move
to...Denver, Colorado, which is presumably full of sincere communists. This
conversation took place in a crowd that I would characterize as racially
diverse, weirdo do-gooders, all there to raise money to support a camp for
girls that the organizers have somehow managed to pull together from scratch.
Little fucker. He also rather grumpily asked me if I was a lesbian, which
was pretty astute, since the party was approximately 100% queer, plus someone
had written "Aunt Lezzie!" on my arm in purple marker. And I was wearing
a Mama
costume.
Do not talk shit about my town if you have lived here for less than a year.
True, there were 8 murders here in the last 24 hours. But the murders were
not of ME. This is all to say that several of my friends, veteran residents
who are allowed to have opinions, are moving away right now in unprecedented
numbers. But they aren't leaving because DC is SCARY or because it's neither
New York City nor Idyllic/Pastoral, but for the acceptable reasons: a girl
or an adventure.
When Pop Culture Touchstones Betray You: You know those little jokes
you make that no one gets? Because you're referencing something no one knows
or remembers? One of mine is Time
to make the donuts!
Whenever I say it I feel like a fuddy duddy old man. But I'll bet there
was one dude at Lorton who would wake up and say, "Time to make the
bricks!" And then he'd come back to his cell and say, "I made
the bricks."
The Wolfster Has Left the Building: Last week the world lost one
of its premeire fluffy cats: Wolfie, May 2001 - May 2008. Wolfie was an
Emerson House graduate. His official obit, from Bye
Bye Wolfie:
wolfie
- also known as wolfman jones, wolfgang amedeus catzart, wolfster - died
suddenly on the evening of may 20, 2008. he is preceded in death by his
friend ida frichtel-farmer, and survived by parents jaime & cheryl
& step-dad, jacob.
wolfie was found in the wilds of rural virginia when he was just a few
months old. after trying out a few homes, he settled with jaime and cheryl
in washington, dc, shortly before september 11, 2001. after living in
dc for 2 years, he traveled to brooklyn, then to new orleans, back to
brooklyn, and finally settled in wolfie's castle in minneapolis, minnesota.
in his spare time, wolfie loved to eat raw fish, throw his catnip banana
around, poop in jaime's garden, have mommy cheryl visit, sit at the front
window and wait for jaime & jacob to come home, follow jaime wherever
she went, watch birds and squirrels (out the window or on tv), listen
to quasi's "featuring birds," have his chin scratched, kiss
jacob on the lips, and most of all, sleep, preferably on top of whoever
was available.
Please direct your condolences and remembrances to Jaime, Cheryl and Jacob
at Bye Bye Wolfie.
Our Man in India: Brian is now living the life of a jet-setting
Important Person. But he hasn't forgotten his humble blogging roots. To
see how the other half lives, check Bears
Will Attack: The Travel Diaries daily.
By and large, we like vintage things because they look better than modern
things. But unlike, say, an old t-shirt, old vehicles require time, patience,
money, and mechanical acumen to survive. I don't have all of those things.
What I do have are, supposedly, a '73 Honda CB350 motorcycle, but my mechanic
just finally returned it after having it for 8 months, and though he rebuilt
the top end and did a bunch of other stuff, it is totally not running. By
the time he retrieves it, fixes it, and returns it, I'll be too old to ride
it. I also own an '87 BMW 325i convertible, which is fast and reliable and
wonderful, but it needs, at minimum, a new windshield, windshield wiper
motor, and ragtop before it will pass inspection, which means it will never
be legal again, not even Barely. I just can't bring myself to buy something
ugly.
My new thing to harangue you about, besides that you should stop eating
cows
and pigs* is Trans Fats. Trans Fats are not like other fats. They are real
bad news. Let me illustrate:
That should be a good enough argument. Read your labels. Everything you
buy should have ZERO TRANS FATS. If "partially hydrogenated" is
in the ingredients list, don't eat it. We get enough incidental, naturally
occurring trans fats in our diets without eating manufactured shit. Read
more at Ban Trans Fats, including this inspiring Obesity
Map.
*shauna: we watched this disturbing doc about pig farming
in which they mentioned that sometimes, when the pig is led out of the pen
to the slaughtering truck
it's the first time it has walked more than 5 steps ever
and it gets so excited and filled with disbelief that it's free
that it has a heart attack from joy me: that is the worst thing ive ever heard shauna: it made me cry
it was really sad. it was a this american life about a family pig farmer
who grew up on a little real farm, and turned it into a big freaky one,
and he couldn't get free and was miserable
some of the crew quit in disgust halfway through.
The Decline of Civilization: From Matt, "the blog of the r kelly
sex trial on slate is so amazing - you have to read both parts." Dispatches
From the R. Kelly Trial. Day 1: Unveiling the "Shaggy Defense"
& The "Little Man Defense" and the Case Against Sparkle.
Progress: Ellen takes McCain to task on her show yesterday. From: Political
Punch.
Ellen Pushes McCain: "You're No Different Than I Am; Our Love Is the
Same"
by Jake Tapper
In the episode of the Ellen DeGeneres Show taped yesterday, to air today,
the lesbian talk show host pushes her guest - presumptive GOP nominee Sen.
John McCain, R-Ariz -- on his opposition to same sex marriage, which the
California Supreme Court cleared the way for last week.
DeGeneres announced her intention to marry her partner, actress Portia
de Rossi, this Summer, which she brought up, calling the subject "the
elephant in the room."
"I'm obviously excited and to me this is only fair and only natural,"
DeGeneres said.
McCain said he thought "people should be able to enter into legal
agreements, and I think that that is something that we should encourage,
particularly in the case of insurance and other areas, decisions that have
to be made. I just believe in the unique status of marriage between man
and woman. And I know that we have a respectful disagreement on that issue."
"Blacks and women did not have the right to vote," DeGeneres
responded. "I mean, women just got the right to vote in 1920. Blacks
didn't have the right to vote until 1870. And it just feels like there is
this old way of thinking that we are not all the same. We are all the same
people, all of us. You're no different than I am. Our love is the same.
To me -- to me, what it feels like -- just, you know, I will speak for myself
-- it feels -- when someone says, 'You can have a contract, and you'll still
have insurance, and you'll get all that,' it sounds to me like saying, 'Well,
you can sit there; you just can't sit there.' That's what it sounds like
to me. It feels like -- it doesn't feel inclusive...It feels -- it feels
isolated. It feels like we are not -- you know, we aren't owed the same
things and the same wording."
Said McCain, softly, "Well, I've heard you articulate that position
in a very eloquent fashion. We just have a disagreement. And I, along with
many, many others, wish you every happiness."
"Thank you," responded DeGeneres. "So you'll walk me down
the aisle? Is that what you're saying?"
McCain laughed." Touché," he said.
"Well, my hope is someday it won't be called a contract; it will be
called marriage," DeGeneres responded.
The Scoop on Jodie Foster's Other Woman,The Brave One Writer
Cindy Mort, can be found at All
The Latest News. On the one hand, you have 15 years of a relationship
down the drain. On the other hand, writers are sexy. Jodie publicly acknowledged
Cydney just six months ago, and has reportedly already been seeing Cindy
for two years. So much for Jodie keeping her private life private. Forget
it, famous gays. Lohan-Rosen is the model for the new sordid century.
Journalism: Bob says, "[TheWashington Post] did a buyout for
135 reporters. Most will not be replaced. The Post isn't going to be fit
to put underneath the catbox."
So, writers are also precariously employed.
A Relationship As Told By Surreptitiously Shot Pictures: Speaking
of "through all the rotten and all the bliss," do Image Google
Samantha
Ronson Lyndsey Lohan.
Most of us are not photographed while enjoying After Morning Sex Brunch.
And finally, this funny and real thing from SFist:
Sam Graves Ends His Career With Pelosi/Gay Attack Ad
The backyard from the hot tub last night, by Edward.
Secrets Between Sailors
Coach and I have been doing some posts over at The
New Gay. It's a nice forum and outlet and community of contributors,
but you know what? Commenters are dicks. Especially anonymous commenters,
who are cowardly little fuckers. That's while you'll never see criticism
allowed over here at the Old HK. I am the Chinese government of blogs. If
you have an opinion, please contact the propaganda office.
Important Announcement from Suzanne Regarding Tomorrow (Wednesday) Night
Ahoy Mateys!
Secrets
Between Sailors (Suzanne, Xochitl, Shelly and Rion) have been off
at sea (13th and U St NW) recording with the wonderful Kathy Cashel! We
will be docking at Artomatic on
May 21st with cds and a special record release show! Please come out and
join us and help us celebrate! This will be our second to last show in
the DC area and we'd love to see all your wonderful faces!
Our last show will be on June 11th at Polly's, 1342 U St. NW @ 8pm. Tell
your friends! Bring your tissues!
We
are also looking to play shows in Baltimore, Philly and NYC Memorial Day
weekend — we will keep you posted with the details (please let us
know about any opportunities to play in these places if you know of any!)
And you can now check us out on myspace! we are looking to break 20 friends
(excluding Tom) by the end of the week! Friend us and check out 2 songs
before you can buy 'em! Yesssssss!
This Wednesday May 21st
8:00pm **
Cabaret Stage
1200 First St. NE
hearts and seagulls,
Suzanne
** We are on artomatic time, not sailor time, so get there at 8!
So, my mom and stepdad are moving to Uganda in September to join the efforts to help ex-child soldiers and orphans, possibly in the village of Gulu. When I news-Googled Gulu this morning, I found many alarming items, but then this: Miss Gulu Crowned. Please at least read the amusing lead. I'd been hoping to post my family's big news accompanied by photos from their recent trip. However, my mom keeps not sending photos. I know she's busy doing important things, but how can she neglect the needs of her own daughter's blog? SOME people think it's "great." Like first-time caller Richard Benbrook of Petaluma, California. You're on, Rich.
Hey Jenny Miller,
I've been a long time fan and visitor of your lively site — found you initially by accessing your Romance Comics collections (I was aping the styles for some greeting cards at the time) but hung around since to follow your many adventures.
I don't know if I am really a cat person or not (I regularly feed and
water several strays in the neighborhood) but remain forever mystified
by their schizo personalities. I also study them for a series of nail-covered
sculptures I've been making and thought I'd send you a couple photo samples
— to see if they pass the catspank test for authenticity.
Thanks for the great site,
Rich Benbrook
Check out his authentic and excellently creepy animal sculptures: Tetanus
Series.
An Anecdote About A Nail Covered Sculpture: I lived for one oppressively
hot and ridiculously impoverished summer in Baltimore with some friends,
some vermin, and one horrible little untitled sculpture which we titled
"Fuck You." It was a blood-red fleshy blob, about the size of
pure hatred, and driven through with hundreds of nails. Because we were
not smart, we located it at the bottom of the stairs, right next to the
telephone (kids, this was before cellphones, when we communicated via "landline"
from a stationary appliance). Approximately every other day the wretched
symbol of inner pain and self-loathing would leap out to assault our stupid
bare feet as we ran down to answer the phone. "Fuck You" was created
by our friend Debbie, who later became an ex-gay. There is no moral to this
tale.
To Do:
The Post is running a series on our fat kids, and what can be done about
it: Inertia
at the Top
It's time for a smattering of photos, many sent by real people such as
yourself, with the general theme of food, and food-like edibles. Other contributors
where their fingers on the, hm, pulse of the HK audience are Annie, who
would like to share this,
and Deb. D., who sent this.
Pic Messages, Mostly Foodstuffs
DC: Townhouse Tavern
Columbus, OH: Found by Jules
Tampa, FL: Jess and her mutant strawberry.
Tampa, FL: Hangover Special, Pork Brains. Jess.
Bardstown, KY: The end of pigs.
Bardstown KY: To the last drop.
Tulsa, OK: Getting some pretty flowers.
Tulsa: Real food by Chez.
Uh...Kentucky?
Oklahoma City: Drunks can now choose paper or plastic.
OK: I used to think this stuff was a joke until I saw
it everywhere.
Las Vegas: Marla is afraid of Vegas, but comforted by
this graffiti.
St. Pete, FL: Baby Octopus Salad at Ward's Seafood.
Beer: In a courageous display of solidarity, last night I joined
forces with Area Lesbians for The New
Gay's drink-a-thon at one of my favorite bars, Red
Derby. Showing solidarity comes with a price, of course, and the price
I paid was $2 a beer and one really shitty morning. No more, Area Lesbians.
I abandon the cause. You'll have to soldier on without me.
Cats: In other self-revealing, unflattering news, I found myself
emailing a cat-related joke to a large number of friends the other day.
Friends who I thought were "cat people." Contrarian librarian SLyon set
me straight.
From: SLyon
thank you for the cat-related joke, though of late, i am off cats entirely.
i am totally switching teams to dogs and here is why:
1) my dog doesn't lay around on the sofa all day and muck it up with
fur and litter
2) my dog doesn't scratch on the bedroom door at 5 am
3) my dog doesn't pee on our laptop
4) my dog goes to the bathroom OUTSIDE
5) my dog doesn't make me sneeze and break out into hives
6) my dog can shake hands
top that, cats!
Well. If you don't have the last word on your eponymous forum, what do
you have. So, my first recommendation to turncoat SLyon is to get a cat
door. And second, this, from Shauna: How
Green Was My Kitty, on the Potty, nyt.
Politics:
bob: "I keep telling people, no Democrat has won the White
House since 1916 without winning West Virginia," Clinton said at
Tudor's Biscuit World in the state's capital city.
clinton representin at the biscuit world me: wow bob: obama shot pool at shultzies tavern, where i used to go w/
andy. but clinton got all artery chokin on his ass in the home state and
got herself a MOTHERFUCKIN' BISCUIT me: i want a biscuit bob: me too! god. i'm taking a roadtrip next month into wv w/ adam
newton. i can't wait to make him eat one of those. he'll die from the
delicious.
Family: Yesterday my sister Jesse sent me more photos of the shoot
she did with Sean and Jeff. They are here,
if you're interested. About our brother she wrote, "These are RIGHT before
he started getting buff, really turning his life around. I keep thinking
these photos look old because he was so built and healthier looking before
he died. This shoot was just before his first OD last year. He got so much
happier after that, I wish I had done another shoot...I wish, I wish, blah,
blah...he's just so damn pretty."
To Do:
Speak,
'Tootsie' "The indelible Hollywood comedy — like so much great art
— was practically made to be memorized."
My littlest sister Mandy graduated from college last week, which was a
shock to us all. We sincerely hope she goes on to make lots of money, because
she'll have a large family to support, especially if she and her husband
decide to have children.
If there's anyone still checking this site, you may have noticed that my
updating has been sporadic, and lazy. That's because occasionally I have
better things to do, and often I have nothing to say. Still, that doesn't
usually stop me, and I'm sorry you had to look at Bob's Pig Shop for two
weeks.
Sad news
A few nights ago, my brother Sean's good friend Jeff killed himself. Jeff
was with Sean when Sean died. We, my family, were extremely saddened to
hear about Jeff's death. My brother loved him a lot. They were planning
to clean up their act and go to firefighting school together. I wonder if
I should've tried to contact Jeff, to tell him we didn't hold him responsible
for Sean or anything, or just to see how he was doing. I guess you always
wonder afterwards what you should've done. There are pictures of Jeff here.
He was a beautiful kid, too.
me:
i mean, could that possibly be true?
To Do:
, founders of
Daughters of Bilitis.
I guess the
people would rather hear from a fictional JPEG cat than from me, because
the questions just keep rolling in. It's a veritable avalanche of inquiry.
Send yours to 
Q.
I have friends who've worked backstage who tell me horror stores about
demands from some pretentious bands. Like, they need fresh-squeezed lime
juice for their gin and tonics, or whatever. Do you have any stories like
that? You can keep it anonymous, of course :) Or who are your favorite
bands who have been the most pleasant and fun?
Tina and Amy
wolfie
- also known as wolfman jones, wolfgang amedeus catzart, wolfster - died
suddenly on the evening of may 20, 2008. he is preceded in death by his
friend ida frichtel-farmer, and survived by parents jaime & cheryl
& step-dad, jacob.
We
are also looking to play shows in Baltimore, Philly and NYC Memorial Day
weekend — we will keep you posted with the details (please let us
know about any opportunities to play in these places if you know of any!)
And you can now check us out on myspace! we are looking to break 20 friends
(excluding Tom) by the end of the week! Friend us and check out 2 songs
before you can buy 'em! Yesssssss!
