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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.
My friend Matt moved back to the England last year. He works in the business office of a home repair firm. Matt's a total lad-- his (inanimate) passions are cars, motorcycles and video games--but he came out to the rest of the office pretty quickly (he always does), though the guys who do repair work, and who it's Matt's job to schedule, don't know. He just sent me this story under the heading, What a plum I looked. That was new to me. Matt's in his early 30's and spent half his life in the US, but he lays the Brit bit on pretty thick since he's gone back :
Man comes in for what I assumed was an interview. I thought VERY HOT. Spike through his lip a couple earrings a leather jacket, jeans, nice size feet but had sneakers on (Yuk). He looked about 36ish with dark hair and a moustache. Doesn't he sound gay already? Anyway I say follow me and walk in front into my bosses office and mouth the words silently to my boss "WOW this guy is fucking hot! This is my type" As they all wonder what my type is. My boss then stands up and says "Hello Jerry how you doing. Matt this is my brother Jerry, Jerry this is Matt". OMFG!! talk about embarrassed!! My boss just has a little twinkle in his eye as he is trying not to laugh as his brother has no idea. He was there for an interview albeit an informal one. Then after the interview. Tony jokingly says "oh I better go out and chat up your secretary".. SECRETARY!! BASTARD lucky for him he was so hot I let it slide and stayed silent. Assuming that now my boss has told him what I said I felt uncomfortable and just sat there like I didn't hear and finally when he said bye I just looked up and said see ya. Then my boss burst out laughing and said he didn't tell him but when he visits me he always chats to the person at my desk which up till now have all been girls. So he was just saying it as to keep with his routine. He starts Monday. He is straight but has had REALLY bad luck with women. Now I am getting ribbed all time by my boss and Keith about how once he starts I'll be sitting all "lumpy" at my desk everyday.
I wouldn't have seen Jayson Blair interview with Larry King if Andrew Sullivan's malediction on it hadn't alerted me to catch the late night repeat. But my thanks for that aside, what the hell is Andrew talking about? Blair was as believably contrite as anyone I've ever seen in the electronic confessional. He played his part in the modern rite of prime-time self-abasement about as gracefully as you can. I liked the guy and I could see what Raines and Boyd saw in him. So he headed off a presumed slag of his book by Jack Shafer of Slate with some brief clatter that Shafer's job covering the NYT's at Slate presents a conflict that makes him a questionable choice as a reviewer of a book about the Times in the Times. Well, it does, though it's a rather minor example of the interlocking critocracy grinding on. So he hasn't yet written apologies to everyone he hurt with his fraud? Andrew really thinks Howell Raines is waiting by his mailbox for the closure only a written apology from Blair will bring? And when did Mr. Raines' mental health become such a tender concern of Mr. Sullivan's
Blair was a striver without a core, a resume in search of a man. It seems at least possible that he will be able build some sort of life from the wreckage of his exploded ambitions, and good for him. Now he's telling his story and making a buck off it. He should be disqualified from the great tradition of cashing in his downfall-chips because his is a meta-story, a scandal about the industry that disseminates scandal? Does Andrew really think journalistic charlatans have a special obligation to silence in their disgrace? Or do we see in action here the journo version of the blue wall? Cops don't rat out cops, and neither should crime beat reporters ever tell on the city desk.
It's time to leave England and go to a free country. -- Howard Stern, this morning at 7:00 am (EDT), while commenting on the increasing likelihood that he will leave government regulated broadcast radio for unregulated satellite radio.
That's an exact quote form Howard, here's an almost exact quote from a few minutes later:
They say it's the peoples' airwaves so they have to regulate it. I'm saying it's the peoples' airwaves so we have to liberate it.
And in a backwards way he very well may. Stern is clearly the killer app for satellite. And perhaps the vengeance killer of state-client/corporate broadcast. He's vowed to destroy the industry he helped create if he goes to satellite. May God speed him on his murderous rampage.
May Clear Channel be reduced to penny stock to match its penny vision of the culture. May Howard kill them like they're killing popular music.
Contemplate the government instigated widening of the digital divide if this comes to pass, courtesy of the FCC, one of whose more recent mandates is to bridge the digital divide. Subsidize one bridge, dynamite another--your government at work. Howard, who was yours for the price of the cheapest radio, now becomes available only with purchase of new hardware and a monthly subscription. Poor people, you must now get your laughs from the morning zoo. Or from perusing Michael Powell's resume of achievement.
This is not a small thing, though it's somewhat counterbalanced by the fact that Stern's satellite reach would be truly national (and perhaps international, hello again Canada!), so those unfortunates priced out of a Stern upgrade would be more than matched by new listeners who never before had the chance to hear him. But Camille Paglia had it right when she referred to Howard and his "Rabelaisian crew". Rabelais, who besides being an intellectual monk was a physician (or as much of one as his time allowed for), told his indecent tales (and they were every bit a match for Howard's worst) in the conscious hope of relieving some of the misery of the sick and destitute. He wrote them in the argot of his time, and published them in cheap popular editions. No subscription volumes or satellite lingo for him. But then he only had to worry about the fading inquisition with its imputations of unclerical humanism. And just lay low for a while when the periodic heresy charges bubbled up.
Which reminds me of my proposed change to standard orthography: FuCC. Let it be a living memorial to the grandeur.
Update: Jeff Jarvis, FCC Chair under (behind?) President A. Bender, has more.
The best viral office email I ever got. And it's been sitting unread in my inbox for over a week. I was tempted to re-word it, but I have copied it here as it came to me, its artifactual essence intact. I'm skeptical of the history of this test, but I want to believe, so I will. Keep any Snopes' debunks to yourself:
A puzzling question
Read this question, come up with an answer and then scroll down to the bottom for the result. This is not a trick question. It is as it reads.
A woman, while at the funeral of her own mother, met this guy whom she did not know. She thought this guy was amazing, so much her dream guy she believed him to be just that! She fell in love with him right there, but never asked for his number and could not find him. A few days later she killed her sister.
Question: What is her motive in killing her sister? (Give this some thought before you answer)
Answer:
She was hoping that the guy would re-appear at the sister's funeral .
If you answered this correctly, you think like a psychopath. This was a test by a famous American Psychologist used to test if one has the same mentality as a killer. Many arrested serial killers took part in the test and answered the question correctly. If you didn't answer the question correctly good for you.
If you got the answer correct, please let me know so I can take you off of my email list unless that will tick you off, then I'll just be extra nice to you from now on........
More movie grist for the Broadway tunesmiths. Musicalize this, you raptor-brained bastard hacks:
The Devil at Four O'Clock (1961) Spencer Tracy, Frank Sinatra, Kerwin Matthews--Three convicts and a fallen priest race a volcano to get leper colony children safely out to sea.
You've got the South Pacific locale and that Oliver/Annie kiddie chorus potential.
No rewrite necessary on the book either. The original shooting script has everything you'll need.
Scene: Father Tracy separates Convict Sinatra from the moonlit blind bombshell of the island (who certainly would have been volcano food in less enlightened times), Barbara Luna.
Sinatra: You interfering crud!
Tracy: Don't you know she's blind?
Sinatra: Yeah, I know she's blind, but I'm not. I saw it and I liked it.
Cue song, I Saw It And I Liked It (Sinatra and Leper Children)
Sometimes you don't even need to speak. You both know there's nothing left to say. A look is all it takes, more eloquent than a dictionary full of all the words for goodbye in every language. A stranger would see the same look and not see anything amiss, not know that a curtain just dropped, a door just slammed. A lover, well, the smallest signal can say it all.
