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The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
All comments subject to publication. Or dismissal. Or Both.
After that strong start though, I ran right up against the reason I don't read opera reviews. They often include an opera synopsis, and my mind has never been able to successfully navigate one. This particular review suffers from another drawback. It's completely mad.
Or perhaps that's a feature. God knows, I keep re-reading it.
A Big Maybe
Maybe if my even-more-lazy-than-ungrateful readers got off their fat asses and petitioned listeningroom.com, this page would be added to the playlist at their spoken-word, sexy cyborg disco. It's all I ever really wanted in life.
Until the next all-I-ever-really-wanted thing comes along. Later today, probably.
First, I would like to apologize for that headline. I take full responsibility for it. And second, in the modern way, I would like to say it's really Wisco's fault, since a reader signing himself by that discount store name sent me the story. And third, I would like to ask, what up with the NY Post? Why didn't they think of it first? The paper that puts the merde in Murdoch can't do any better than this?
November 7, 2003 -- Five transgender teens who attend Harvey Milk HS posed as female prostitutes, and then robbed their tricks by claiming to be undercover cops willing to let them go free in exchange for cash and credit cards, sources said.
...Once the young thieves struck a deal with a prospective john for sex, they would declare that they were undercover cops, police said.
They would handcuff the victims and demand their wallets in exchange for letting them go
...Detective Andrew Rindler, who is assigned to the Greenwich Village Anti-Crime Unit, noticed the bright-red hairdo of Gerald Howard, 17, aka "Kimberly" of Jamaica, Queens, from a wanted poster issued after cops realized there had been a string of similar robberies.
They arrested him, along with Kevin "Keva" Williams, 17, of Long Island City, Queens; Brian "Whoopi" Gonzalez, 17, of the Lower East Side; Keenan "Channel" Oliver, 16, of Williamsburg, Brooklyn; and Kelvin "Keesha" Howell, 17, of Morris Heights, The Bronx. All will be charged as adults.
They all attend Harvey Milk, a high school at 2 Astor Place that opened this year for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender students, a source said.
Perhaps not the best argument I've ever read for gathering vulnerable and preyed upon gay and transsexual youth from all parts of the city into their own more understanding school. But then again, schools generally have a real knack for accumulating under one two-acre roof, every community's otherwise far flung troublemakers. Big Ed.'s massifying centrifuge, the prison clearinghouse effect. Sometimes they even bring the really bright kids together for another kind of critical mass. When they bring the really bright troublemakers together, you best get out of town.
The story does make a rather good case for closing down the vice squad, though. The trans teens, or treens as the term of art shall now be, based their scam on a refinement of the ancient ruse -- stealing from criminals. The victims of their crimes, as solicitors of hookers, were criminals, too. I have my doubts that the men really thought the kids were undercover cops, but they certainly knew they would have a hard time approaching real cops with their stories, since they were culpable themselves. Of course some of them didn't have much choice in approaching the police, or at least in allowing the police to approach them, as in this case:
On Wednesday, two members of the cross-dressing crew handcuffed a 33-year-old man to a fence on the corner of Jane and Washington streets, cops said. They took $105 and his keys.
I can't excuse Kimberly, Keva and crew for their reign of treeny terror, though I must admit a real soft spot for any lower east side dude with titanium balls enough to rechristen himself "Whoopi" Gonzalez. Allow me to hope for best for all of them, especially now as they find themselves in the Tombs, or Rikers, or whatever hellish place they've been sent. I'm guessing they have some familiarity with hellish places and circumstances.
The sun rises this morning on a west Village made safe again for honest trans hookers and the men from Jersey who adore them. And police shakedowns are once again the province of legitimate cops.
As a public service to our metro-New York readers I should also note:
All five were charged with robbery and criminal impersonation of a police officer. Cops are asking anyone who thinks they were one of their victims to call the Police Impersonations Investigation Unit at (212) 741-8401. All calls may be kept confidential.
Kim du Toit's essay about the pussification of American men is a blog sensation. Instapundit linked it and countless others have reacted. Du Toit's page crashed from the demand and later Glenn Reynolds said he was getting unaccredited copies of the du Toit piece in emails, that Kim had made the great leap sideways from blog oblivion to fwd-folk-culture anonymity.
It's a miserably poor performance, though. Old wine in recycled bottles. Du Toit is cruel, too. He tortures already exhausted tropes with his ham-eared, tin-fisted profanity. He swears like a truck detailer. And writes like a Hemingway.
Du Toit thinks he's typing with his dick, when's he's really just a dick typing:
Finally, we come to the TV show which to my mind epitomizes everything bad about what we have become: Queer Eye For The Straight Guy. Playing on the homo Bravo Channel, this piece of excrement has taken over the popular culture by storm (and so far, the only counter has been the wonderful South Park episode which took it apart for the bullshit it is).
I'm sorry, but the premise of the show nauseates me. A bunch of homosexuals trying to "improve" ordinary men into something "better" (ie. more acceptable to women): changing the guy's clothes, his home decor, his music -- for fuck's sake, what kind of girly-man would allow these simpering butt-bandits to change his life around?
...You know the definition of homosexual men we used in Chicago? "Men with small dogs who own very tidy apartments."
A, O, way to go Chicago. The second city must have been pussified first if they euphemized male homosexuals so prissily back in the manly days. Everywhere else the definition stands as always--cocksuckers. References to toy dogs and general neatness are quite rare, in my experience. And I'm cool with that.
What really fascinates me in all this though is the unmentioned elephant in the microwave, the unnoted moose in the bread box, the politely ignored poodle in the soup. This masculinist manifesto was written by a guy with a name out of a Itaewon drag bar. It's an even money bet that some 38th parallel sistermister in a homemade slit dress has already done more to push the name Kim du Toit towards immortality than the Chicago pants-wearer ever will.
Mr. du Toit has a better reason than most to feel that American masculinity is under constant siege. Even in his hour of approximate triumph, his grievance bites him on the ass. You really don't believe it's an accident that his name gets left off those email fwds of his anguish, do you?
You are, I hope, aware that The Heiress(1949, dir. William Wyler starring: Olivia de Havilland, Montgomery Clift, Ralph Richardson, Miriam Hopkins-- music: Aaron Copland) is a perfect movie. If you aren't, I'm doing you the favor of informing you. Pay me back by clueing me in to something equally as great, someday. Thanks.
Popbitch linked Boy George's gaydar profile. It's typical George, which is always good. This George unadorned pic was the most interesting thing to me. Never before has a face seemed so naked. The KISS unmasking doesn't even come close. George's pucker is apparently a permanent feature. Like Gene Simmons' tongue.
Gaydar rules Britannia in way that Gay.com hasn't matched in the States. Gaydar UK doesn't own the gaydar.com domain in the US. That page just dumps to Gay.com here. But Gaydar is trying to break into the US market as Mygaydar.com by, among other things, advertising on Howard Stern's show. Which proves them to be bolder, funnier and, ultimately, gayer than Gay.com. The commercials aren't very good, as with the Mygaydar site itself, there's something a little off. Some residual Britishness, some slight cultural dissonance. But there is as well some hint of a soul and a heartbeat behind it all. Which makes it more lifelike than Gay.com, too.
CNN was rocking the vote like only CNN can last night. They put their gay, white-haired, young gun on the case. Oh damn, what's-his-name, hosted The Mole, did overnights for one of the broadcast networks for a while, stumbles on his words a lot? Forrest Moyers? Shepp Hume? Anderson Gillian? Oh you know who I mean--the rockingest dude this side of Jeff Greenfield. Yeah, that guy.
The candidates were all Buddy Hollyed and Bill Haleyed up. You had a couple in shirtsleeves and a tie, a couple in shirtsleeves and no tie, a couple in sports jackets and dark collarless shirts. Sharpton eventually stripped down to vest, shirt and tie. Moseley-Braun had no losing poker hands and kept her entire red ensemble on for the duration. Gephardt was busy excavating the Big Bopper's carcass in Iowa.
I wonder if we're going to keep rocking the vote into the next century, too. A shame we didn't reach out to the youngsters earlier. We'd probably still be jitterbugging the vote.
Upate: Yahoo's been rockin' the slideshow, so the link headlines may have nothing to do with the pictures linked. Makes it more exciting.
Update II:Think the pics match-up again. I must remember to link the pics and not the slideshow pages in the future. Yahoo flips those bitches like Long John Kerry at the pimp olympics.
It Was My Life
I once spent an hilarious evening talking with another survivor of 80's gay nitelife about which songs we danced to with the greatest conviction and passion. She saved her most intense dancing for Shackles on My Feet. For me there were two songs that heralded a dance floor revolution, with me at the head of the insurrectionary forces--my boozing and beautifully losing brigade: Adele Bertei's Build Me A Bridge and TalkTalk's It's My Life.
I heard No Doubts' remake of It's My Life tonight while driving in the rain. I wasn't totally embarrassed that the song used to mean so much to me. I wasn't embarrassed at all, actually.
Adepts of true crime rejoice today in the resolution of one of the great serial killer mysteries. The case was pretty much solved two years ago, now the expected guilty plea will put it fully to rest. The AP adds the final bow to the box of horrors by employing the traditional serial killer (and assassin) honorific, the perp's middle name. Aficionados of the curse of Wayne will be disappointed in his parent's baptismal choice, but they can take some comfort in the partial echo of Wayne there at he end.
Gary Leon Ridgway's story still needs to be told. Though the man born to tell it, Jack Olsen, didn't live long enough to write it.
What would Jack have made of this key detail of the case:
Ridgway had been a suspect ever since 1984, when Marie Malvar's boyfriend reported that he last saw her getting into a pickup truck identified as Ridgway's.
But Ridgway told police he didn't know Malvar, and a police investigator in Des Moines, midway between Seattle and Tacoma, who knew him cleared him as a suspect. Later that year, Ridgway contacted the King County Sheriff's Green River task force — ostensibly to offer information about the case — and passed a polygraph test.
Detective work is in large part a subset of the occult. That they give any credence at all to polygraphs is bad enough, but the profession's obsession with profiling is its biggest disgrace. The Green River task force should be given some credit for seeking out the greatest expert in serial killing at least, though it turned out Ted Bundy's profiling skills were no better than anyone else's. Perhaps more profilers should be threatened with Ted's fate if their profiles turn out to be complete mismatches for the real killer (not that even the odd, total profiling hit does much to crack a case.)
Yes, definitely time to up the ante, inject some futures market discipline into the racket.
So combine the routine inanity of mumbo jumbo ratiocination with that most classic of police blunders (if not corruption)--officially declaring someone as above suspicion--and you have record breaking mass murder facilitated by decades spanning official incompetence.
I was trying to protect you. And the children, of course.
NOW, THEREFORE, I, GEORGE W. BUSH, President of the United States of America, by virtue of the authority vested in me by the Constitution and laws of the United States, do hereby proclaim October 26 through November 1, 2003, as Protection From Pornography Week. I call upon public officials, law enforcement officers, parents, and all the people of the United States to observe this week with appropriate programs and activities.
IN WITNESS WHEREOF, I have hereunto set my hand this twenty-fourth day of October, in the year of our Lord two thousand three, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and twenty-eighth.
Today commences Escape From Protection From Pornography Week. I call upon public officials, law enforcement officers, parents, and all the people of the United States to observe this week with appropriate programs and activities.