big words

The Advocate: December 15, 2008

2008-12-16T18:32:00.001-05:00

Keeping It Real

MTV’s The Real World has been a reality television staple for almost 20 years. For its new Brooklyn season, the show is upping the LGBT ante -- a gay man, a trans woman, a girl who's dated girls but is now seeing a guy, and an allegedly straight virgin who pings the gaydar more than Ryan Seacrest at a Jonas Brothers concert.

An Advocate.com exclusive By Dan Avery

When it debuted back in 1992, MTV’s The Real World was truly groundbreaking television. Not only did it establish the template of thrusting disparate strangers together to live under the camera’s unblinking eye, but it introduced America to something rather unusual for the time: an out gay man (Norman Korpi) who was well-adjusted, popular, and upbeat.

Nearly 17 years later, gays and lesbians are a staple of reality television. In fact, it’s more noticeable if there’s not a queer contingent on shows like Survivor or Top Chef. So how could could Bunim-Murray Productions raise the ante for Real World: Brooklyn, the show’s 21st installment, debuting January 7? By including as cast members a gay man, a trans woman, a girl who's dated women exclusively ... until now, and an allegedly straight virgin who pings the gaydar more than Ryan Seacrest at a Jonas Brothers concert. Now, instead of a token gay roommate, the show has LGBTs representing a formidable faction of the house. But in the age of Lindsay Lohan and Clay Aiken, will such card-shuffling reinvigorate the somewhat stale Real World franchise?

Judging from the first episode, which was sent out to reporters for screening, it appears Bunim-Murray went back to the show’s New York City roots more than just geographically. Gone are the hackneyed “projects” forced on cast members in recent years (remember when the cast of The Real World: Las Vegas had to work at Palms Casino?). The eight roommates (yep, there are eight this time around) are encouraged to pursue their personal passions in the Big Apple -- singing, writing, acting, etc. And while there’s sure to be plenty of infighting and drunken shenanigans, the cast doesn’t seem as desperate for fame (or infamy) as in recent seasons.

Even the location of the Real World house is something of a departure -- rather than Brooklyn hipster haven Williamsburg or stroller-set capital Park Slope, producers opted for Red Hook, a slowly gentrifying neighborhood that’s still mostly industrial (the arrival of an IKEA earlier this year made local headlines). The house itself, a converted two-story warehouse that sits right on the Brooklyn pier, is to die for: We’re talking about a built-in gym, funky furniture, bold artwork, and staggering views of New York Harbor and the Statue of Liberty. Being isolated in a region practically inaccessible by public transportation isn’t such an issue when you have cars to shuttle you into Manhattan. So who are the lucky 20-something queers who got to call this pad home for four months?

For the rest of this story, click here.

Brooklyn Paper: Dec 4, 2008

2008-12-11T11:43:00.009-05:00

AIM HIGH!
Author takes flight with jet pack revels.

By Dan Avery

for The Brooklyn Paper

Juan Lozano has a simple dream — to pilot himself through the sky. Littering his rural estate in Mexico is an arsenal of jetpack prototypes and assorted protective gear, as well as the complex machinery the middle-aged jeweler has invented to convert hydrogen peroxide into homemade rocket fuel. Lozano’s obsession has cost him broken bones and more than half-million dollars, but through decades of trial and error, he’s managed to launch 30 feet in the air for a little over 20 seconds.

That — and his rotund figure — has earned him the nickname, “The Rocket-Belt Buddha.” It also earned him a place in Windsor Terrace writer Mac Montandon’s debut book, Jetpack Dreams: One Man’s Up and Down (But Mostly Down) Search for the Greatest Invention That Never Was (Da Capo Press), Montandon’s uniquely pop-cultural take on an engineering obsession.

Other high-flying pioneers profiled in the book include Wendell Moore, the Bell Laboratories scientist who built the first personal propulsion systems back in the 1960s, and Bill Suitor, a pilot who tested rocketpacks for NASA’s Apollo astronauts and jetted into the opening ceremonies of the 1984 Olympics in Los Angeles.

For the rest of the article, click here.

Tuned In: Friday, December 12

2008-12-11T11:34:00.004-05:00

SPACE BALLS

Battlestar Galactica gets gay, but only in cyberspace.

By Dan Avery

Sci-fi fans have been clamoring for queer storylines since Mr. Spock first arched his eyebrow at a shirtless Captain Kirk. Well, they may have to wait a while to see same-sex shenanigans on the Enterprise, but at least one interstellar franchise is boldly going gay. A new batch of Battlestar Galactica webisodes, debuting December 12 on scifi.com, will include a makeout scene between Lt. Felix Gaeta (Alessandro Juliani, pictured) and communications officer Hoshi (Brad Dryborough). Set between seasons 4 and 4.5, “The Face of the Enemy,” sees Gaeta trapped on a Raptor with a group of strangers when someone dies suspiciously. The web-only episode has me bummed for two reasons: First, why is the gay love relegated to the Internet? And secondly, one of those spit-swappin’ space jockeys should’ve been Jamie Bamber! Galactica returns for its fourth and final season Friday, January 16, at 10pm.

Dude Awakening
Love those flirtatious but sexually frustrating relationships between guys on reality shows? Then be sure to check out Bromance, debuting December 29 on MTV. Following a similar arc as Paris Hilton’s My New BFF, the six-part shows features a gaggle of (presumably) straight boys trying to make time with Hills star Brody Jenner and land a spot in his entourage (y’know, to fill the void left by oh-so-hetero Spencer Pratt). To win, the bros have to survive a series of challenges, like pummeling paparazzi, skydiving into Las Vegas, and chatting up the ugly friend so Jenner can make time with the hottie. During the solemn hot tub elimination ceremony, the ousted bro must slink away from the Jacuzzi in nothing but his Speedo. Did I mention Ryan Seacrest is producing?

QUEER TV HIGHLIGHTS

Saturday, December 13
The Graham Norton Show (10pm, BBC America): Grammy winner Barry Manilow performs.

Sunday, December 14
Survivor: The Reunion (10pm, CBS): After the two-hour finale, relive the magic of Marcus and Charlie’s bromance.

Monday, December 15
In The Life (10:30pm, WNET 13): “AIDS is Still a Big Deal” addresses issues surrounding the pandemic and the people who continue to fight it.

Tuesday, December 16
Rick & Steve (10pm, Logo): In San Fran for Pride weekend, the gang discovers the city’s secret straight underbelly.

Wednesday, December 17
Guys and Balls (10pm, here!): A young German (pictured) forms a gay soccer squad to challenge his old teammates.

Thursday, December 18
Ugly Betty (8pm, ABC): Things heat up between Hilda and Coach Diaz (Eddie Cibrian).

Friday, December 19
Capote (2pm, Sundance): Philip Seymour Hoffman channels charismatic author Truman Capote in this riveting biopic.

For more Tuned In, click here.

Tuned In: Friday, December 5

2008-12-11T11:16:00.006-05:00

WE CAN BE HEROES

A queer caped crusader lands at Showtime

By Dan Avery

Home to larger-than-life gay drama since Queer as Folk, Showtime is teaming up with comic book superstar Stan Lee to produce a new series about a gay superhero, based on Perry Moore’s Lambda Award-winning novel Hero. “It’s not campy…it’s not ‘The Gayest American Hero,’” Moore told New York magazine. “He just happens to be gay. ” Moore’s no Johnny-come-lately either: In addition to penning Hero, he executive produced The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe and is directing the upcoming Sissy Spacek drama Lake City. It turns out Lee has experience with do-gooder homos too. His Sci Fi Channel reality show, Who Wants to Be a Superhero?, featured gay heroes in both of its two seasons.

SENIOR MOMENT
For a guy who didn’t come out until he was old enough to cash his social security check, Uncle Saul (Ron Rifkin) on Brothers & Sisters sure is getting a lot of play. Dave Foley (NewsRadio, Kids in the Hall) made a recent cameo as a mismatched blind date, and now it seems out actor John Glover (Smallville, Love, Valor, Compassion) is coming on board as Saul’s latest love interest. “They work through their difficulties, but it’s only an arc so I don’t think it can last for long,” Glover told EW.com.

CIAO ITALIA
Italian transsexual Vladimir Luxuria can probably afford those size EEE Manolos she’s no doubt been eying. An actress and former member of the Italian parliament, Luxuria recently took home $128,000 as the winner of Celebrity Island, a European Survivor type reality series. She definitely outplayed her competitors: Ivana Trump’s soon-to-be-ex-husband Rossano Rubicondi got voted off the island after Luxuria gabbed that he was sleeping with another contestant, Argentine model Belen Rodriguez.

QUEER TV HIGHLIGHTS

Saturday, December 6
East Side Story (6pm, Logo):
A closeted Latino falls for his new Anglo neighbor in East L.A.

Sunday, December 7
Brothers & Sisters
(10pm, ABC): A medical emergency reveals a Walker family secret.

Monday, December 8
Privileged (9pm, CW): Gay chef Marco gets Sage to admit her true feelings for Luis.

Tuesday, December 9
Kiss the Bride (6pm, here!): A gay man tries to stop his old boyfriend from marrying a woman (Tori Spelling, pictured).

Wednesday, December 10
Law & Order (10pm, NBC): The detectives investigate the death of a gender-bending JT Leroy-like memoirist.

Thursday, December 11
Ugly Betty (8pm, ABC): Ignacio gets a job working for Betty’s old classmate Kimmie (Lindsay Lohan).

Friday, December 12
Alien Boot Camp (10pm, Logo): Catch an eclectic mix of queer animated shorts, plus gay-friendly sci-fi, horror and comic news.

For more Tuned In, click here.

Tuned In: Friday, November 28, 2008

2008-11-27T11:58:00.011-05:00

Material World

Sundance Honors World AIDS Day with Madonna Doc Because I Am

By Dan Avery

She might’ve thrown in the Kabbalah-blessed towel on her marriage, but Madonna has never stopped fighting against AIDS and HIV. At 9pm on December 1, World AIDS Day, the Sundance Channel debuts the soon-to-be former Mrs. Ritchie’s documentary I Am Because We Are, a riveting look at some of the one million children orphaned by AIDS in Malawi. “The suffering in Malawi is palpable, but so is the joy,” says Madge, who wrote and produced the film. “The people I met with in the course of making this film—from village headsmen to Nobel Prize winners to world leaders—have opened my eyes to a whole new way of thinking. If you want to change the world, you have to first change yourself.” In addition to the pop icon, the film features insights from leading experts like President Bill Clinton, Archbishop Desmond Tutu and global health advocate Dr. Paul Farmer.

Spring Time
Wouldn’t it have been awesome if High School Musical 3 was more like Spring Awakening? Well, we doubt we’ll see Zac Efron in a stolen gay kiss with Corbin Bleu any time soon, but here! TV has just wrapped production on The Awakening of Spring, an adaptation of the 19th century German drama that also spawned the hit Broadway show from 2006. The new version moves the story from Europe in the 18th century to the American Midwest in the early 20th, but still centers on a group of gay and straight adolescents struggling with their sexual desires and oppressive authority figures. Expect to see it air some time in 2009.

Out There
We’ve heard homophobes talking about exiling gays to some desert island, and it looks like that’s just what happened in merry ol’ England. The new season of I’m a Celebrity Get Me Out of Here, a UK reality TV in which B-list celebs are sent to a remote jungle environment, features not one but three homo contestants: Newlywed Heroes star George Takei, tennis superstar Martina Navratilova and retired police offer Brian Paddick, who ran for mayor of London earlier this year. Ah, c’mon—we all know Martina will totally whip those boys asses!

QUEER TV HIGHLIGHTS

Friday, November 28
Coffee Date (4pm, Logo): A straight bachelor is sent on a blind date with a gay man. Hilarity and sexual confusion ensues.

Saturday, November 29
Shelter (9pm, here!) A shy surfer boy is attracted to his friend's older brother.

Sunday, November 30
Brothers & Sisters (10pm, ABC): Nora recruits the family to tear down her charity home.

Monday, December 1
Rock the Boar (5pm, Logo): A team of HIV+ sailors compete in the 2,200-mile Trans-Pacific Yacht Race.

Tuesday, December 2
Rick & Steve (10pm, Logo): Rick and Steve's moms cross swords on Mother's Day.

Wednesday, December 3
The Rules of Attraction (9pm, IFC): Bisexual Paul (Iam Somerhalder) is one of the rich and amoral students at an elite college.

Thursday, December 4
Ugly Betty (8pm, ABC): Betty and Amanda spend an unforgettable night on the town.

Friday, December 5
The Starter Wife (10pm, USA): Chris Diamontapolous plays Rodney, Molly's gay best friend.

Tuned In: Friday, November 21, 2008

2008-11-23T18:13:00.007-05:00

Dyke to Watch Out For
Is America ready for Rosie O’Donnell’s return to television?

By Dan Avery

Hide the children and bolt the doors—Rosie O’Donnell is back on prime time! The outspoken comedian, who nearly came to blows with Elizabeth Hasselbeck on ABC’s The View, is testing the waters at NBC with a Thanksgiving Eve variety show tentatively titled Rosie Live. Airing Wednesday, November 26, at 9pm, the hour-long special features O’Donnell—a longtime fan of Carol Burnett and Mike Douglas—starring in comedy skits, kibitzing with celebrity guests and introducing musical acts. If the show’s a hit there’s talk of an ongoing series, but Ro’ would be wise to leave her more controversial soundbites to her blog. Consider this gem about Barack Obama’s victory: “i wonder if i will stop hugging every black person i see. archie kissed sammy davis jr.” Queen Latifah may need a restraining order.

DEMON LOVER
Halloween is a distant memory, but that’s not stopping here! from debuting a new horror flick this week. Adapted from a story by H.P. Lovecraft, Cthulhu is the chilling tale of a Seattle history professor (Jason Cottle) who returns home after his mother’s death to discover his estranged father is leading a New Age cult linked to an aquatic terror. (Ain’t that always the way?) Expert source material and eerie cinematography give the film genuine chills, but it’s the steamy subplot between the prof and his childhood friend that really kept us watching. Of course, the appearance of gay fave Tori Spelling doesn’t hurt either.

LAYING CABLE
German homos got some loving this month when the country’s first gay network, TIMM, launched November 1. The basic-cable channel currently offers American imports like The L-Word and Queer as Folk, as well as documentaries and international feature films.

QUEER TV HIGHLIGHTS

Saturday, November 22
The Graham Norton Show (10pm, BBC America): Norton welcomes singer Tom Jones and queer comedian Alan Carr.

Sunday, November 23
Angels in America (10pm, Logo): A star-studded cast brings Tony Kushner’s riveting AIDS drama to the small screen.

Monday, November 24
Dancing with the Stars (8pm, ABC): We’ll still be watching even if Lance Bass has been ousted by now.

Tuesday, November 25
The Henry Rollins Show (9:15pm, IFC): Gay indie rocker Bob Mould performs.

Wednesday, November 26
Top Chef New York (10pm, Bravo): Richard Sweeney and Patrick Dunlea stir the pot for Team Gay.

Thursday, November 27
Mambo Italiano (7pm, Logo): A writer struggles with his closeted boyfriend (pictured) and immigrant parents.

Friday, November 28
Coffee Date (4pm, Logo): A straight bachelor accidentally goes on a blind date with a gay man.

Tuned In: Friday, November 14, 2008

2008-11-15T20:48:00.005-05:00

Making Out
TV stars shine in the Out 100

By Dan Avery

It seems like just yesterday we were clucking about Tilda Swinton’s garbage-bag Oscar dress, but awards season is almost upon us again. Getting a leg up on the competition, Out Magazine is announcing its annual Out 100 at a star-studded gala Friday night, with small-screen honorees including Christian Siriano, Candis Cayne, John Barrowman, George Takei, Ugly Betty producer Silvio Horta, Brothers & Sisters’ Luke MacFarlane (pictured) and MSNBC superstar Rachel Maddow (who we would totally switch for, FYI). Newly reformed disco divas Labelle will perform at the shindig, being held at Gotham Hall, but don’t expect it to be too glamourous. Professional potty-mouth Chelsea Handler is emceeing. (By the way, doesn’t “Chelsea Handler” sound like the name of a gay public-relations expert?)

Death Threats
I never thought there’d be a reason to watch Fox’s laugh-free sitcom ’Til Death, but never say never: According to EW.com’s Michael Ausiello, Nathan Lane will guest-star as Brad Garrett’s gay brother on the November 18 episode. Dumped by his longtime boyfriend, Lane comes to Garrett for solace and the pair bond over their common need for codependency. Gives you a warm feeling all over, don’t it?

Punch-Drunk Love
If you’re a boxing fan, you might’ve caught the Vargas-Titsworth bout on HBO’s Boxing After Dark last Saturday. If not, you missed a pretty queer sight: During the third round, Titsworth leaned over and kissed Vargas on the neck. (You can watch the liplock below.) I’d take a lover over a fighter any day, but the smooch cost Titsworth a two-point deduction and Vargas won the matchup 39-34.

Queer TV Highlights

Saturday, November 15
You Belong to Me (3pm, Logo): A gay architect is stalked by his eccentric landlady.

Sunday, November 16
Brothers and Sisters (10pm, ABC): The Kids in the Hall’s Dave Foley guest stars as a surprise love interest for Uncle Saul.

Monday, November 17
here! with Josh and Sara (6pm, here): The affable hosts chat with porn star/singer Colton Ford.

Tuesday, November 18
Blush: The Search for the Next Great Make-Up Artist (10pm, Lifetime): Reality TV scrapes the barrel as homos compete to be mascara-queen supreme.

Wednesday, November 19
Rick and Steve (10:30pm, Logo): The gang runs out of gas coming back from the hospital with the new baby.

Thursday, November 20
Ugly Betty (8pm, ABC): Designers Badgley-Mischka stop by Mode, where Betty and Marc are vying for a prestigious internship.

Friday, November 21
The Life and Times of Vivienne Vyle (6pm, Sundance): AbFab’s Jennifer Saunders stars as a vicious talk-show host in this satirical British series.

For more Tuned In, visit HX.com

Tuned In: Friday, November 7, 2008

2008-11-15T20:33:00.006-05:00

What’s Cookin?
Gay gourmand Patrick Dunlea keeps it fresh on Top Chef: New York.

By Dan Avery

Viewers will find plenty of delicious drama on the NYC-based season of Bravo’s Top Chef, debuting Wednesday, November 12, at 9pm. And hopefully out contestant Patrick Dunlea will stand the heat and stay in the kitchen long enough to make it to the finals. Before the knives came out, though, I talked turkey with the single 21-year-old, whose currently a student at the prestigious Culinary Institute of America.

You’re so young. Were you worried about facing more experienced chefs?
Being at the Institute, I’m really in the best environment for this show. I’m learning and using different skills every day. Some of the other contestants may be a little rusty in certain areas.

What was your relationship like with the other gay contestants?
I got along with everyone on the show. The other gays and I—Richard and [lesbian chef] Jamie—joined up to form Team Rainbow.

The new season is set in the Big Apple. What’s your favorite New York restaurant?
I really love Prune in the East Village. Gabrielle Hamilton cooks what she likes and doesn’t worry about trends. She has a whole Bloody Mary menu.

Are you a carb queen or do you indulge in rich foods?
I think food is made to be enjoyed, so long as it’s in moderation. It’s kind of ridiculous that people are scared of butter. If it’s natural ingredient, I figure it can’t be too bad.

What would you make for dinner on a first date?
I’d make a mushroom risotto. And serve a lot of wine. Dessert could be in the kitchen…or elsewhere.

Queer TV Highlights

Saturday, November 8
Sweeney Todd (8pm, HBO):
The demon barber (Johnny Depp) terrorizes London in Tim Burton’s adaptation of the hit musical.

Sunday, November 9
Summer Heights High (10:30pm, HBO): Mean girl Ja’mie (Chris Lilley) rises to the top of the “In” crowd.

Monday, November 10
Samantha Who (9:30pm, ABC): Mary-Kate Olsen cameos as a troubled young woman. What a stretch.

Tuesday, November 11
Rick & Steve (10pm, Logo): The happiest gay couple in the world (pictured) returns for a second season.

Wednesday, November 12
America’s Next Top Model (8pm, The CW): The girls party a little too hard back at the house.

Thursday, November 13
Ugly Betty (8pm, ABC): Betty needs Daniel’s aid to prevent a PR disaster at Mode.

Friday, November 14
Drawn Together (11pm, Logo): Captain Hero’s nerdy alter ego gets gay with
elfin homo Xandir.

For more Tuned In, visit HX.com

Back in the saddle

2008-11-02T22:01:00.002-05:00

I started this blog over two years ago, as a place to post stray thoughts and recent bylines. Ironically, I became so busy writing elsewhere that I cast it adrift some time in 2007. Now that I'm doing the freelance thing fulltime--and no longer have coworkers to subject to my quirky musings--I've decided to resurrect big words. Prepare for lots more verbiage.

Andre the Giant

2007-07-19T02:45:00.001-04:00

Andre Leon Talley can't decide what to wear to Valentino anniversary party in Rome. So he decides to wrap himself in the tablecloth. Point, Talley.

Rapper's Delight

2006-09-08T02:50:00.000-04:00

Fight for your right to get marinated tofu, gala apples and a half-gallon of soy milk

I saw Adam Yauch (alias MCA of the Beastie Boys) last night at the Whole Foods on Seventh Avenue. I was at the front of the line waiting for my number to come up (I know its more efficient, but their system makes you feel like a thoroughbred at Belmont Stakes). He was with an attractive Asian woman and a young child. IMDB says he's married to Tibetan activist Dechen Wangdu and that they a daughter named Tenzin, so I guess it was them. He looked ok--kinda scruffy and washed out, but I've see worse looking 42-year-olds.

No one else seemed to notice him, and I wondered if that was because my fellow patrons were overwhelmed by all the food porn or because 35-year-old gay men and yuppy chicks dont really know who the Beasties are.

Ironically, he had the same exact express on his face that Moby did when i saw him at the same store about six months ago. That sort of "God, I hope no one's looking at me. Why arent they looking at me looking like i don't want them looking at me?" expression. I have to say, it was NOT very Buddhist.

What I hate about...the subway

2006-09-04T01:53:00.000-04:00

pet peeve number 2
1. People who put their bags on the seat next to them, thus requiring you to stare at them until they put them on the floor. Oh, I'm sorry sir, I didnt realize your new Radio Shack flashlight qualified as a handicapped passenger!

2. People who put their feet up on the seat perpendicular to them (See above). I don't care if the train is half-empty. At some point, someone has to sit on that seat, and you've been trogging through dog shit and dirty syringes. I mean, seriously, is sitting down for 20 minutes so taxing you need to relax and put your feet up?

3. People who play games on their cell-phones without turning the volume off. How can you possibly not think that's annoying to every single person in hearing range? Really--how can that thought not be at the forefront of your mind?

4. People with iPods. Oh, I know, I know--it's not you. You keep your iPod volume down. Its just everyone else in this friggin' city listening to total shit music thats bleeding out of their ears and into my personal space. Not you.

5. Subway conductors who don't know where they're going. About once a month I hear "Nex stop, Stillwell Avenue...I mean Church Avenue." Really--its not like we took a wrong turn somewhere.

6. People who pause at the doors as they enter the car. "Ooh, what is this wonderous fairytale kingdom I've entered? Let me survey the bounty before me?" For the love of GOD, just step in a move down--the doors are closing and people are taking MY seat.

7. People who don't anticipate sudden jerky movements. "Oh my, sorry I just barreled into you. I've only been riding this train for 17 years, so I had no idea it would lurch forward as it pulled out of the station. Ha ha, isnt it cute the way I flew back like that?"

8. People who have stand at the top of the stairs to make a call, consult a map, have a conversation, or ponder whether to have another child. Is that really the best place for that. Might I suggest the middle of the street when the light turns green?

9. Girls who think I'm staring at them.
A. Im not staring.
B. Ok I am staring, but only because I can't believe you left the house this morning dressed like a 10-ruble Russian whore.

10. musicians, old noisy Chinese couples, tourists who doublecheck the map every five seconds, Chasidim, people who ask what you'r reading, crazy Jesus ladies, school trips, people who poke their heads in and ask what train it is, the smell homeless, people who hold the door open so their posse can get in and laugh about how the door tried to close on them, restless children, random backpack searches and idiots who think you can legitimately bring a sofa on the F train.

Breakfast on...a Dwarf Planet?

2006-08-27T00:39:00.000-04:00

I for one am greatly saddened by the news that the International Astronomic Union has decided to strip Pluto of its status as a planet.Not that I give one whit about astronomical taxonomy in the clinical sense, its just our culture is losing something very real by cutting the number of planets in our solar system down to eight. That there are nine planets in the Milky Way is one of the first scientific facts most of us ever commit to memory. How many of us made models with nine planets orbiting the Sun? How many of us learned mnemonic devices to remember the nine planets? ("My Very Educated Mother Just Served Us Nine Pizzas")

It was one of the basic numbers of life: 9 planets, 12 months, 50 states. (God help us if Puerto Rico ever gains statehood!)

I know I'm being silly. There are plenty of people walking around today who were taught elementary school astronomy before Pluto was designated a planet. But what about the otherconsequences of this rash reclassification? Think of the added burden on our over-taxed school systems! Astronomy texts were probably the only books principals didn't have to reorder every few years to keep up-to-date. Now everyone's going to have to order new textbooks, models and charts. And how many planetariums will go out of business because they can't afford to hire new narrators to update their decades-old voiceovers?

Why can't we just say a planet is whatever we say it is? I mean a year has 365 days except when it has 366, right? i before e except after c? Lets make a friggin' exception here. All planets must clear the orbits of their neighboring bodies, except for Pluto. Done and done.

On a side-rant, I also have to take exception to "Xena," the common name given to 2003 UB313, the trans-Neptunian object (def.: any big piece of space junk beyond Neptune) found by astronomers at Mount Palomar Observatory three years ago. A centuries-old tradition of naming celestial orbs after Roman gods is thrown out the window so some space-Eurkel can give a shout out to his favorite syndicated sci-fi series?! I bet he's waiting by the phone, expecting a call from Lucy Lawless any moment now. Ring, damn it, ring!

Scoop

2006-08-06T14:33:00.000-04:00

Hopping the pond is the smartest move Allen's made in years.

Last night, I went and saw Scoop, the new Woody Allen comedy. My main interest was finding a well air-conditioned space that didn't require me to drink alcohol, but I have to say I found the film quite amusing. It's a charming and sometimes witty whodunnit, where the mystery is secondary to the quirky characters--like Manhattan Murder Mystery, but set in London. After years (decades?) of regurgitating the same stale stories, Allen has found a new creative outlet by sending his nebbishy lead into unfamiliar territory.

Scarlet Johansson, star of Allen's last British affar, Match Point, is the Woody stand-in this time, a firmly direct but sometimes blunderous student journalist in London investigating whether dashing millionare Peter Lyman (Hugh Jackman) is the dreaded Tarot Card killer. Allen does appear in the film, but thankfully not as Johansson's love interest. He's a father figure of sorts, a cornball stage magician named Splendini who accidentally connects Johansson to a recently deceased reporter (Ian McShane) with inside information on the case. Though Johansson is a little out of her element (why is this 20-year-old kid constantly cast in roles that are beyond her depth and age?), Allen guides her well and their reparte is keenly sharp for the most part. Jackman has little trouble playing the smooth rich guy--though the part doesn't demand much.

It's all very light and silly, and if you're the kind of person who likes to follow mysteries and figure out who the guilty party is before the characters do, don't get your hopes up. But if you're looking for a lighthearted romantic comedy with solid performances, a few knee-slappers, and a refreshing return to form by a flagging genius, this one's a definite keeper.

At the very least, you'll be cool and comfortable for a few hours.

Hellacious Heat

2006-08-03T02:41:00.000-04:00

The A/C was broken at work today (Why is it always freezing in offices every other day except the day of a massive heatwave) so everyone was suffering miserably. Any other sort of job, everyone wouldve just gone home. But the magazine has to come out, no matter how friggin' hot it is. The weird thing was the heat was making everybody punchy and unable to focus. It was like an office Christmas party, except in July and everyone was sober--just suffering from heatstroke. The only consolation was that our big boss's office was the hottest room in the place. (very proletariat) They also sprung for ice cream for everyone.

I'm not sure if it was related to the heat, but the building next door to my office caught on fire. THe entire roof was engulfed in flames as the poor firefighters had to clamor up 10 flights of stair in full gear to put it out.

Cruise (out of) Control

2006-07-21T01:56:00.000-04:00

This whole Suri Cruise obsession the media has is creeping me out. Sure it's kind of odd Tom and Katie haven't pimped out their newborn the way they shilled their courtship and pregnancy, but DAMN, the press is acting like the kid is the Second Coming--or something more sinister (see image above).

The wire services even ran a story about Leah Remini, "King of Queens" star and a fellow Scientologist, saying she's seen Suri. I saw my cousin's baby--is that front page news?

"She's a beaming baby," the 36-year-old actress tells People magazine in its July 31 issue. "She looks like Tom and Katie, she's just beautiful." Remini says she held Suri during a recent visit to the couple's home in Los Angeles.

Cruise and Holmes are "just great parents," Remini added. "There wasn't a second she was out of their arms except when I held her."

Um, I don't know what baby books Remini is reading, but holding your child every second is not good parenting. Its borderline psychotic behavior.

AARGH!

2006-07-17T22:26:00.000-04:00

Tuned In June 30, 2006

2006-07-04T12:57:00.000-04:00

SHOOT FIRST

The clueless cops of Reno 911! are back for more
It'll be a fine day for law enforcement when RENO 911! returns to Comedy Central for a fourth season, July 9 at 10:30pm. Several key cliffhangers will be resolved in the season premiere, including if Wiegel's husband Craig (a.k.a. the Truckee River Killer) was executed by the state and whether Dangle and Garcia froze to death. What else can we expect from these keystone kops? Future episodes feature Jonesy and Kimball attending a Christian Karaoke mixer and Dangle accepting a wedding invitation from an unexpected source. The queer commander and his rag-tag posse will also be heading to the big screen this fall, when Reno 911! Miami is expected to hit theaters. Lock and load people!

SUMMER'S GUILTY PLEASURES

Project Runway: Season 2 DVD ($40, Paramount): Extended episodes let you relive your crush on Daniel V. and revel in Santino's dementia. "Where's Andre!?"

Pants Off Dance Off (Fuse, late night): Hipster boys (and girls) strip to the hottest hits. Some are hot, some are just funny. Go to fuse.tv/pants for the naughty highlights.

Rescue Me (Tues. at 10pm, FX): It's like three seconds away from being the hottest gay porn ever.

here! TV on Time Warner Cable ($5.95/month): 24/7 gay television plus a bonus on-demand channel. Just call it Heyyyy-ch BO.

Mo'nique's Fat Chance (July 16, Oxygen): The plus-sized comedian hosts another big girl's beauty pageant.

As the World Turns (2pm, CBS): An ex-gay therapist, a homophobic dad, and a mom in traction? Queer Luke's plotline is heating up!

Kyle XY (8pm, ABC Family): We were hooked by the sexy ads for this clone story, which featured star Matt Dallas lifting his t-shirt to reveal...no bellybutton.

Big Love (HBO on Demand): Yeah, we had trouble getting into it too, but now we can't wait to catch the ones we missed. And is it us, or does eldest son Ben (Douglas Smith) give off a gay vibe?

Strangers with Candy Box Set ($54.95): All three seasons in a handy Trapper Keeper, plus interviews and a blooper reel that'll make you wet yourself.

GAY TV THIS WEEK

Sat, 1
Bridget Jones' Diary (9pm, NBC): James Callis co-stars as Tom, Bridget's gay confidant and advisor.

Sun, 2
Desperate Housewives (9pm, ABC): Bree's mother-in-law gets her in hot water while Lynette struggles with guilt over being a working mother.

Mon, 3
U.S. of ANT (10pm, Logo): the queer comedian meets the queers of Alabama, including a gay minister and lesbian construction worker. All they need is a tranny policeman!

Tues, 4
Boys Don't Cry (11pm, IFC): Her gripping portrayal of trans Midwesterner Brandon Teena nabbed Hillary Swank her first Oscar.

Wed, 5
The Trip (12pm, here!): Researching a book attacking homosexuality, a young writer meets—and falls for—an out and proud activist in 1970s California.

Thurs, 6
Chuck and Buck (4pm, Logo): Screenwriter Mike White stars as a stunted gay man still obsessed with his childhood friend.

Fri, 7
The Nomi Song (11:15am, Sundance): German-born New Yorker Klaus Nomi wowed the downtown crowd with his campy yet austere cabaret act.

2006-06-02T00:03:00.000-04:00

Ok, this has been bugging me for a long time. They're short and stocky, they live in a tree and they have names like Ernie.

THE KEEBLER ELVES AREN'T ELVES...THEY'RE HOBBITS!!

Sticks and Stone

2006-04-28T12:37:00.000-04:00

Out, Out Damn Spot

2006-02-24T17:59:00.000-05:00

It's been a while since I posted on this blog, and I feel a little silly ranting about what I'm about to rant about, but I'm all dressed and ready to go to the gym, so I need something to help me procrasinate.

The subject is washing machines--or more precisely the manufacturers of washing machines and the ads they run.

I've been seeing this one ad, from Whirlpool I think, that shows how washing machiens have evolved from crude boards to high-tech devices. The narration goes something like:

Laundry is nothing new.
Your mother did it.
Your grandmother did it.
Her mother did it
and so did her mother.

The remainder of the advert goes on to explain that though laundry is laundry, the machines to clean it have advanced and Whirlpool has been there every step of the way.

That's a fine sentiment, but it really creeped me out how old-fashioned and sexist it came off-- Women=Laundry. In my family, we all had household chores. As it turns out, it was my father who did the laundry (and thank god--the one time my mom tried, she shrunk my favorite shirt!). I know women predominantly do laundry, but the ad made it sound like females are biologically engineered to clean clothes. And that most women spend their days doing laundry, as opposed to working or climbing mountains or what have you.

They did include the disclaimer, "there may have been a man or two along the way" but that made it worse--as if a man doing laundry was some bizarre trick like a cat flushing the toilet.

In general, ads for househould products are among the most misogynistic Ive seen. We're to believe that American women stand at attention for hours with a can of Lysol in one hand and a ready-wipe in the other, just waiting for some microbe to land on the coffee table so they can clean it up. Something like half of all moms work outside the house, and those that dont are hardly waiting for dust bunnies to form under the sofa.

Whew, ok. Got that off my chest. Now to go work out.

And then do the laundry.

Two Bits

2006-01-25T11:40:00.000-05:00

I just got my first professional shave yesterday, and I've still got a bit of a high from it. I'm working on a story on professional shaves for Cargo (read it here) and my editor sent me to The Art of Shaving for the Royal Treatment. This is so why I became a journalist.

I walked into their little salon on Madison and 45th and was escorted to the back, where Leda, a robust Russian woman of about 30, proceeded to wrap my face with a steaming hot towel, leaving only my nostrils exposed. It was incredibly soothing, but as something of a mouth-breather, I found myself taking shallow breaths.

After a minute or so, the towel was removed and Leda applied a pre-shave treatment with mint and essential oils that really perked my skin up. With my eyes were closed, I could only hear the whir of the shaving cream warmer as it heated up the lather. Next thing I knew, it felt like someone was tucking my face into a warm, fluffy blanket (Note to self: Buy a shaving cream warmer ASAP). I could have stayed like that all afternoon, but it was time for the actual shave.

The idea of having a straight razor inches from your juguluar keeps most guys pretty loyal to their Mach 3. But Leda was so graceful, I instantly felt at ease. There was not a single nick or scratch--nothing even close! I can't even manage that when I shave in the shower. She shaved me once going with the grain (the direction your hair grows) and once against it. I had heard it was bad to shave against the grain, but I think I'm going to incorporate her method into my usual routine. In fact, the best thing about the shave (besides the euphoric buzz I walked out the door with) was that I learned a number of things I can use when I shave at home. I'm definitely doing the hot towel thing--Leda said you can heat it up in the microwave, so that its warm but not sopping wet.

My only complaint (and its a minor one) is that Leda and the other barber, an older man in his 60s, kept kibbitzing in Russian. Now, my Russian is limited to "how are you" and "I don't speak Russian," but you dont have to know a language to understand someone's intentions. Leda and this guy were totally bitching about work. I don't think they were talking about me ( I was the perfect customer, after all), but they would make quick, sarcastic comments as other customers came and went. It took away from my feeling of relaxation a bit, but maybe I was just being paranoid.

Still, I can't recommend getting a professional shave enough. If Art of Shaving is out of your price range (with tip, the Royal Treatment cost $65), many old-school barbershops offer them for much more reasonable rates. Its a great present to yourself or the man in your life.

<-- Me with my new baby-smooth punim.

Girl Afraid

2006-01-13T11:56:00.000-05:00

British author Sue Limb tackles the perils of being a teenage girl.

Adolescence is a challenge no matter which side of the Atlantic you're raised on, but for British teen Jess Jordan—the protagonist of Girl Nearly 16: Absolute Torture—the summer before her sweet sixteen is a veritable disaster. Not only is she trapped on a tedious road trip with her mum and grandmother, but she's miles away from her secret boyfriend Fred with only a dying cell-phone and her nagging insecurities to keep her company. The drama only deepens when Jess, whose parents split when she was little, discovers her dad has a secret boyfriend of his own. The follow-up to UK author Sue Limb's teen lit sensation Girl 15, Charming But Insane, Absolute Torture deftly handles adult themes like sexuality, family dysfunction and even death, while still channeling that mad rush of emotions that comes with being a teenager.

"I wanted to write something sophisticated," Limb says from her home in the south of England, "because I think teenagers are quite more sophisticated than people give them credit for. Your passions are so extreme. Your brain is so fresh and new." As Jess juggles various relationships and personal crises—including the possibility that Fred is cheating on her with her best friend—keen readers will detect a hint of Jane Austen with a Judy Blume sensibility. "And a bit of Shakespeare, as well," the author admits with a modest laugh.

Limb says while Absolute Torture is fiction, she drew on life experiences to help craft her characters. "[Jess] is a bit like my daughter Betsy, who was 17 at the time I wrote the book," Limb explains. "I liked the idea of a girl who was outgoing but insecure. Jess is not gorgeous, but she bewitches people with her wit." Though Limb did have a friend who got divorced and came out of the closet, she says it was a different sort of relationship that inspired the character of Jess' father. "My godmother was gay, though it was never discussed with my parents--even when I was older," says Limb, who saw her as something of a role model. "She was more prosperous and free. She and her girlfriend had all kinds of adventures and traveled the world."

If Absolute Torture were written in the States, we might expect protests against the gay-inclusive book from right-wing "family" groups, but Limb says there's been "no negative feedback" to the book's initial release in Britain. (It was picked up by Random House's Delacorte Press imprint last fall). "We don’t really have the assertive kind of fundamentalist groups that you do in the States. Liberal values are fairly de rigueur."

Even more surprising than British audiences' reaction to the gay character is the reaction of Jess herself. She's tickled, well, pink. "It's brilliant! It's so cool!" she tells her dad. "Wait till I tell all my friends! They'll be so jealous!" While such a positive outlook might be a bit optimistic even in an enlightened England, Limb wanted to send a message of support to queer youth and children of gay parents. "I try to avoid being heavy-handed, but ultimately it's important to show positive role models," she says. "I wanted people who don’t know gay households to see that it's not a problem."

Brokeback Marlboro

2006-01-06T10:53:00.000-05:00

Out with the Old

2006-01-02T17:17:00.000-05:00

So, despite months of will-he/won't he, Dick Clark made his annual appearance on ABC's Rockin' New Year's Eve celebration Saturday night. I was out partying, but caught a snippet of his appearance on video today. He was clearly still recovering from his stroke, and his speech and appearance were not what we've come to expect from "America's oldest teenager."

I'm kind of torn on the whole issue of whether he should have gone on the air. On the one hand, he's a living institution and just because he's unwell doesnt mean he should be banished to Siberia. On the other hand, New Year's is a light-hearted night of drunken revelry--I dont know if someone suffering from a stroke is a good choice for an emcee. It's not audiences job to pity a host; its the host's job to entertain audiences and keep them in good spirits. Is that lookist and agist? Yes, but so is everything else in our society.

I think my and a lot of people's real problem was with the way the media (and our culture in general) treats infirmity. We dont allow our celebrities to show anything but their plucked, airbrushed and fake-tanned best. Ironically, Melissa Etheredge probably showed more bravery appearing bald from chemo on the red carpet than she did coming out as a lesbian.

Maybe instead of sequestering Clark since 2004 and sending out press releases about how he was back in peak form (what is he, a Soviet premier?). they could've said, "Look, having a stroke is tough but Dick is commited to being there for New Years." For me, it was the jarring contrast between the way Clark is always portrayed and the way he appeared that was so unsettling. How about a little honesty? "Hey, you know what? I feel like crap, but this is a party, so we're gonna party!"

As for Clark's "courage" in appearing on New Year's, I think thats a little misleading. More likely he wanted to preserve his legacy and keep the Dick Clark brand-name pristene. I dont know if that's ego or just thinking about posterity, but there you have it.

Making Amber Waves

2006-01-02T12:59:00.000-05:00

A Park Slope beer aficionado spreads the gospel of the brew.

Most of us were introduced to beer as a means to get drunk. Even with the emergence of high-quality microbrews, many still view the amber elixir as a mere social lubricant. Not so Richard Scholz, whose Park Slope beer and gourmet food store Bierkraft is a mainstay along Fifth Avenue's restaurant row. To Scholz, beer is not just a drink, it's a lifestyle.

"I've always been into good beer," says Scholz, a sturdy-looking man in his mid-50s. "Well, not always good—I worked at the Rheingold warehouse in New Jersey for a few summers in college." His duties, though, were somewhat less than glamorous. "There were only two or three guys in charge of the actual brewing. The rest of us just did the hundreds of the other things you need to do to keep thing in order—checking gauges, sweeping floors, setting traps."

After getting into home-brewing in the 1990s, the Brooklyn native and former mortgage broker decided to make his hobby a full-time vocation. Opened in November 2001, Bierkraft stocks almost 700 different varieties of beer from the far corners of the globe—everything from Ethiopian Bedele pilsner to Japan's Hitachino Red Rice Ale—arranged geographically in the refrigerated cases that line the store's long narrow walls. (Belgium is the best represented internationally, with more than 150 different beers in stock).

American microbrews—more than 200 of them—make up a sizeable chunk of Bierkraft's inventory and include such varieties as Louisiana's Abita Turbo Dog, He'brew, the Chosen Beer, and Portland, Oregon's Orange Blossom Cream Ale, made with honey, orange peel and flower essence. Scholz even carries the ultra-rare and ultra-potent Sam Adams Utopias MMII (24% alcohol by volume, as opposed to the more typical 4.75%), but that's more for bragging rights than anything else.

What really sets Bierkraft apart is how Scholz works to, as he explains it, "bring beer into the gourmet consciousness." His wife Daphne, a former specialty food buyer for Bloomingdales, stocks the shelves with a wide range of gourmet delicacies, including sweet potato gnocchi, artisanal chocolates by Eric Girerd, and white Boquerone anchovies from Spain. The cheese offerings, which include farmer's gouda and beer-bathed Hooligan cows’ milk cheese, rival anything you'd find at Murray's or Fairway. "Originally, Rich's idea was to focus on beer and have maybe just a few snacks," says Mrs. Scholz from behind the deli counter. "But I said, 'If I'm going to support this, I want this to be a full service market.'" The idea was to elevate beer's profile; to make it an end unto itself. Judging from the crowded aisles, it's been a successful approach. "Beer is so versatile—much more so than wine. People ask me all the time which beer goes with what meat or what cheese," she explains.

With only his wife and a few knowledgeable assistants to run the busy emporium, Scholz has little time to himself, giving him a manner that's not so much gruff as it is terse. Even on a rainy Saturday morning, after all, there are always more cases to open, more pots to stir, shipments to sign and customers to advise. The one time he slows down is when he discusses the months leading up to Bierkraft's opening—when he left his job at Cantor Fitzgerald, the World Trade Center-based brokerage house that was devastated in the 9/11 attacks. "I left in July of 2001 after being there for more than fifteen years. If I had delayed my plans by just a few month—which my wife and I seriously considered—I probably wouldn't be here today."

With Bierkraft firmly entrenched in Park Slope and Williamsburg's Brooklyn Brewery gaining a natural reputation, one has to wonder what it is about the borough that has made it such a mecca for the sudsy libation. "Brooklyn has always had its place in the history of beer-making," says Scholz, citing the old Schaeffer and Rheingold plants. "It's on the water, so it made shipping easier, and many of the early German immigrants brought their beer-making traditions across the Atlantic."

Park Slope was a natural choice for the store's location. In addition to being the Scholzs' home turf, the neighborhood has seen a tremendous surge in upscale real estate and restaurants along Fifth Avenue. But gentrification can have its drawbacks. "There have been about a half-dozen or so competitors since we opened," Mr. Scholz says, citing nearby gourmet markets like Blue Apron and Fresh Fields, just two blocks away. "But they don’t understand the business and they don’t have the knowledge or experience. Everyone here can tell you about every bottle we sell."

Ask Mr. Scholz to name some of the store's most popular brands, though, and he comes up short. "It really runs the gamut—we have folks who come in and get the same thing every time and others who always try something new." Many customers are attracted by the fact that Bierkraft's brews are available as single bottles or six-packs, so they can afford to be adventurous. Others have attended the popular Tuesday night blind tastings, featuring a speaker followed by samplings of beers and complimentary cheeses. A charity microfest in September, with representatives from six microbrews pour out samples, drew over a hundred attendees.

Free samples and gourmet cheeses aside, the main reason beer connoisseurs flock to Bierkraft is Scholz's dedication. After a customer with a serious wheat allergy inquired about gluten-free beer, Scholz did some investigation and discovered Bard's Tale, an all-natural brew made with malted sorghum. He began stocking small shipments, which he said quickly flew off the shelves. "We'd order larger batches but the demand kept rising." When the company's distribution system fell apart, Scholz became the beer's main distributor in North America.

Of course, Bierkraft customers are every bit as loyal as the store's proprietor. One Sunday morning last year, when Scholz came to unlock the store, he was greeted by a carload of college students who had driven all the way from Montreal to see the store and buy some beer. "I didn’t have the heart to tell them about the mail order business," says Scholz. "But I think for them it was more of a pilgrimage than a beer run."

Tis the Season

2005-12-25T13:27:00.000-05:00

Strike Two!

2005-12-21T12:42:00.000-05:00

from TWU sucks.org:

You suck, TWU members.

Seriously.

Most New Yorkers agree you suck. Of all the people we find most loathsome, it's you people who work the subways. Actually, it's the people who pee in the subways, but you're a close second.

Admit it, you're already overpaid. This job is the best scam you've landed in your life. It pays you 50 grand a year, full medical, and early pension just to sit in your token booths and wish your customers would die.

So you don't think you're lucky enough as it is, and now you want to create problems for working New Yorkers. The streets will be flooded with cars. Emergency services will slow to a crawl. People may die. And it's not like the cops don't have enough to do already, fighting terrorists and crackheads and stuff, now they've got to maintain order and keep an eye on your picket lines.

And you're doing this during the holiday season? How low can you get? That's a terrorist tactic and you know it. You're trying to hold the city hostage economically. I'm not saying you're actually terrorists. Mainly because most of you aren't clever enough. But you sure like their style.

But guess what? New Yorkers are tougher than you are. We can outlast you because we're bright, hard-working, and inventive. You're not. So get back to work and consider yourselves lucky. You've already hit the jackpot for untalented and unmotivated workers. Keep pushing your luck and soon you'll wake up to economic reality, and it won't be pretty. Seriously.

Sincerely,

New Yorkers

This whole strike business reminds me of an incident from a year or two ago. I was walking into my subway station to head into Manhattan and saw some MTA workers outside protesting the fact that they were automating the station and getting rid of the attendant.

As I walked by, one of the workers shouted to me "Theyre trying to force us out!" Being the little bastard I am, I shouted back: "Good! I hope they automate ALL the stations!" (I might have been high, I'm not certain).

The protester was stunned--STUNNED--I wasnt on his side and quickly exclaimed to his fellow travellers, "This guy wants them to automate all the stations!"

All of a sudden, a circle of angry transit workers were booing me as i rushed down to the platform.

The whole thing happened in a period of like five seconds, but I still give myself a little chuckle when I think about it.

Respect My (Transit) Authoritay!!

2005-12-21T00:10:00.000-05:00

Wow, they really earn that $52K, don't they? God, I would love to line them up on the tracks and run right over them. Of course, I'd have to call out the wrong station name in a drunken slur as I did it.

Time's Persons of the Year

2005-12-19T10:02:00.000-05:00

I just threw up in my mouth a little.

C'MON, GET HAPPY

2005-11-22T23:46:00.000-05:00

Home decorating guru Jonathan Adler puts the fun in functional with a new design book intended to enliven your spirits, as well as your living room.

By all rights, Jonathan Adler should be headed for a breakdown. By the end of this year, the 39-year-old potter turned interior designer will have launched his second furniture line, put the finishing touches on the Parker Hotel in Palm Springs, opened retail stores in Miami Beach, Chicago and San Francisco, turned out more of his in-demand housewares and textiles and still found time to publish his first book, My Prescription for Anti-Depressive Living. That kind of pace would send most men racing towards the loony bin, but with the loving support of husband Simon Doonan and the humorous, life-affirming philosophy he espouses in his design guide/self-help manifesto, the "It" boy of home design still has his feet planted firmly on the ground. "I'm just very blessed," Adler says modestly, "I love what I do and where I'm at in my life. That keeps it all in perspective"

Raised in the farm town of Bridgeton, New Jersey, Adler was surrounded by creative energy from a very early age, growing up in what he calls a groovy, modern home. "My mother was into Marimekko and my father was a lawyer who spent all his free time making art," says the boyish designer. His own artistic outlet didn’t surface until a fateful day in summer camp found him sitting at a potter's wheel. "When I first touched that clay it was a revelation," says the master potter, adding that "it didn’t hurt that the teacher was super-foxy." Adler's parents bought him his first wheel as a bar mitzvah present--despite protests from his mother that he would track clay through the house--and the seeds of a design empire were planted.

That empire didn't blossom overnight, though. Adler resisted the call of the kiln for years, studying semiotics at Brown in the mid-'80s and embarking on an unfulfilling career as a New York talent agent in the early '90s. After leaving show business and refocusing on his craft, Adler's big break came in 1994, when the venerated department store Barneys New York placed a large order for his pottery. "I was so green, I didn’t know what an invoice was," he recalls. "I think I charged them $20 for a pot that took four days to make."

Getting his wares in Barneys raised Adler's profile tremendously, enabling him to take pottery away from the world of crafts fairs and adult education classes and single-handedly transforming it into an ultra-chic art form. "It was unbelievable," he says, "but my career has been always been full of serendipity--one lucky break after another."

Today, Adler's ceramics embody a wide range of styles--from a minimalist bowl with a metallic oxide finish to a surrealist vase covered with dozens of pendulous breasts. His eye-catching creations are still available at Barneys and his namesake stores, while his more moderately-priced towels, shower curtains and other housewares can be found at Bed, Bath and Beyond.

With the release of Anti-Depressive Living, however, Adler moves into the rarified world of the lifestyle expert. He was inspired to write the book, he says, because he wanted to help people transform their homes into havens from the stresses and heartaches of everyday life. "People are too moderate in their homes, and I really think it can induce depression. I want to encourage people to be over the top and exuberant. You should walk into your front door and feel joyful."

Each chapter of the beautifully photographed volume is devoted to a tenet of Adler's 'happy chic' philosophy, paired with ideas for more blissful living. "Minimalism is a Bummer," for example, suggests a prescription of giant chandeliers, trippy wall hangings and antique milking stools for chasing away the blues. "Don't be tentative with patterns," Adler advises. "You only go around once, and you want to look back and remember the brocaded walls not the white lampshades." Other dictates include "Complement lavishly" and "Spend all day surfing eBay instead of working." Sprinkled throughout the book are some of the lavish yet funky interiors Adler has created, including images of the Parker Hotel and his own abodes in Manhattan, Shelter Island and Palm Beach, all of which bear his signature unpretentious elegance.

Adler admits to having a "missionary zeal" when it comes to happy chic. "Chic design doesn’t have to be cold and unfriendly. I try to make it warm and un-pretentious." His designs for home are fun; combining modern shapes with retro patterns, luxurious fabrics and bold colors. Think needlepoint pillows emblazoned with a portrait of Studio 54-era Liza Minnelli, robin's egg blue lacquer bath accessories and circus-tent cookie jars with labels reading "Prozac" and "Quaaludes." In a word, they're groovy.

According to Adler, his unconventional style was developed by studying at the feet of an old family friend. "Our neighbor, Sylvia Goldstein, had this innate sense of style--her house was flawless. There was Pop art and ceramic animals everywhere. She even decoupaged the kitchen with covers from The New Yorker." He's adopted his eccentric muse's approach as something of a mantra. "You know how born-again Christians say 'What Would Jesus Do?" Adler asks, jokingly. "I say 'What Would Mrs. Goldstein Do?'"

Of course, you can't talk about Jonathan Adler without mentioning another style maven--Simon Doonan, creative director for Barneys New York and Adler's husband of ten years. The two met on a blind date and have evolved into one of New York's most envied (and photographed) power couples, even if Adler tries to downplay their fabulousness. "I'm proud of my husband and I love to do photo-ops with him, but we lead a very quiet life," he offers modestly. "My biggest thrill is sitting on the couch with Liberace"--the couple's beloved Norwich terrier--"and watching 'America's Next Top Model.'" Maybe the fact that he and his hubby are two of the country's hottest style arbiters keep friends from inviting them over--for fear they'll criticize everything from the hors d'oeuvres to the china pattern? "Oh, no," Adler laughs. "We're intensely no-judgmental. Simon says he just wants people to look and live like themselves."

While other celebrity couples split at the drop of a press release, Adler and Doonan are heading into their second decade together. They're strong supporters of gay equality, but Adler says the longer they're together, the less his life is defined by his sexuality. "Being married for so long, I don’t even think about being 'gay' anymore. I just think I'm married." Sadly, the couple passed on the opportunity to stage what could have been the hottest nuptials since Prince Charles and Lady Di. "We didn't have a real ceremony. We just bought a pair of super-groovy '70s rings from George Jensen and went for ice cream."

The publication of his book puts Adler on an equal footing with his veddy English mate, whose most recent tome, Nasty: My Family and Other Glamorous Varmints, was released in May. But when it comes to decorating their homes, Adler calls the shots. "Simon pretty much steps aside," he laughs. "But it's like the story about the cobbler's children who have no shoes. I'm always changing things around in the house—he's learned not to get too attached to anything."

The clog is on the other foot, no?

2005-11-04T00:56:00.000-05:00

As many Americans are just now learning, the merde is hitting the fan in France. There is massive rioting in poor Parisian suburbs after two North African youths were accidentally electrocuted trying to avoid local police. Though their deaths sparked the uprisings, years of mistreatment and racism are what's really fueling the ongoing violence.

I'm still not 100% what’s going on there, who is to 'blame' or what the authorities should do in response, so I'll withhold judgment. And that, ladies and gentlemen, is my point. I'm not snapping to attack—blindly labeling France a racist country—the way some did the United States in the aftermaths of 9/11 and Hurricane Katrina. Oh, but I could!

See, there's a certain irony in the current crisis. Europeans—at least European leaders, journalists and activists—loooove to talk smack about the U.S. That we're barbaric; we're prejudiced; we're ignorant. Not like the French or the Germans, who are level-headed, fair-minded and civilized. My God, they have gay marriage and abolished the death penalty!

The truth is, the French have been mistreating their North African immigrants for years— passing racist and anti-Muslim legislation and denying them access to good jobs, housing and education. Schoolgirls can't wear headscarves and young Muslim men are frequently assaulted by drunken posses. Even the language used by French leaders who are trying to maintain the peace would shock American ears with its eerily nationalist, if not outright fascistic undertones. The same is true in other European countries, like Germany and the Netherlands, where the prospect of employment has drawn Muslim workers by the millions from Africa and the Mediterranean. These once-homogenous nations are crapping themselves realizing they have to adapt to the diverse cultures on their doorstep.

But wait--I thought only Americans debased the Muslim world. I thought we were the bad guys who walked around heavy-handedly forcing our values down Muslim throats. I thought we brought about 9/11. I mean, it's not like European nations have a history of racism, violence and genocide, right?

My point is there is plenty of room for improvement in America—and anyone, from any country, is free to point this out. But I will not tolerate the high-and-mighty superiority of Europeans who, pardon my French, think their shit don't stink.

No if you excuse me, I think my Freedom fries are ready!

The Mamas and the Poppers

2005-11-02T12:29:00.000-05:00

Fire Island fantasy: Gay Sex in the 70s

A favorite on this year's gay film festival circuit, John Lovett's crabs-and-all documentary Gay Sex in the '70s looks at the sweaty, sex-packed era between June 1969--the Stonewall riots--and June 1981, when the first cases of AIDS were reported in the U.S. Focusing exclusively on New York, the film is a celebration of free love and gay liberation; of empowerment through casual (and often anonymous) sex.

As both documentarian and subject, Lovett posits Manhattan of the Me Decade as a sort of sexual Disneyland on the Hudson. Archival photos and film clips go a long way towards setting the scene, but it's the detailed stories his handful of interviewees tell—of lunchtime trysts, dockyard blowjobs and hedonistic weekends on Fire Island—that really recreate the long-lost era when bell bottoms and poppers were de rigueur. The frank details these artists and activists (including lensman Tom Bianchi and author Larry Kramer) reveal are astounding.

While overindulgence, drug abuse and the specter of AIDS are definitely addressed (Lovett himself ruminates that missing the chance to attend his first orgy probably saved his live), not much effort is made to question the near-pathological importance these newly-liberated men placed on sex. Sure, liberation is great, but you get the distinct feeling the Continental Baths could have been on fire and the guys inside would be busy trying to get in one last trick. One veteran of the libertine era recalls how, when cruising the old Chelsea piers, falling through the decrepit planks and drowning was a real peril. "The testosterone was flowing," another says, by way of explanation, "and you had to get cooking." Still, as a time capsule of the pre-AIDS generation, the film is a success.

The truest words ever spoken

2005-10-27T10:53:00.000-04:00

Woman on cell: Y'know, Ma, you always do this shit! You, say, give, say, something nice and then you ruin it with something shitty. Why do you have to do that? It's fucked up, it's so hurtful. It's like you bake me a delicious chocolate cake and then you ruin it by frosting it in diarrhea.

from Overheard in New York.com

Re: evolution

2005-10-25T14:37:00.000-04:00

The dodo: evolutionary roadkill or God's mistake?

A recent CBS News poll suggests most Americans don't believe in evolution. My first reaction was, "Hmmm...I wonder how they picked up the phone to answer the poll--could it be OPPOSABLE THUMBS?!"

Then I looked at the numbers. Given the choice of saying that God created Man as is, that Man evolved with God's guidance, or that God was not involved in evolution, the actual breakdown was as follows:

51% of Americans said God created humans in their present form
30% said that while humans evolved, God guided the process
15% said humans evolved, and that God was not involved.

While those figures are very disturbing, I think they're a little misleading. 45% do believe in evolution in some form, so while 51% (with some margin of error) is technically a majority, I wouldnt call it MOST. Especially when the options are so limited.

As for those who think God guided evolution, so long as someone accepts the basic reality of evolution, I have no problem with them believing in a divine architect. I'm an atheist, but sometimes I think the greatest proof of God's existence are the awesome intracacies of nature. Think of the perfection of the common fruit fly, which is born, grows, mates and dies in a single day.

What's more, when someone is put on the spot and asked if they believe in the Bible (or the biblical interpretation of history), they're going to say yes, because they dont want to sound like a heathen. In their hearts, though, many believe in a more complex truth.

My mother, for example, is a religious Jew and would tell a telephone pollster she believes that the bible is fact. But if I asked her at the dinner table if God put fossils in the ground to test our faith, she would say no, that they were the remains of ancient creatures who walked the Earth millions of years ago. Contradictory? Yes--but to paraphrase Walt Whitman, we contain multitudes.

I won't even go into the innate failings of telephone polls, which rely on people who are both at home and willing to sit and listen to a longwinded spiel.

The Indian Runner

2005-10-10T12:36:00.000-04:00

Swiped from the NYT Metropolitan Diary:

Michi Raab heard this half of a cellphone conversation while walking across 14th Street :

"Hello."

"Hi. I'm on 14th Street."

"O.K., I'll meet you in Union Square Park."

"How about by the Gandhi statue across from Diesel?"

"Gandhi. Mahatma Gandhi."

"No, he is not on a horse."

2005-10-08T02:13:00.000-04:00

one of the listed side effects of the prescription sleeping pill Ambien is drowsiness.

Now we are officially devolving.

Racists say the funniest things

2005-10-06T11:53:00.000-04:00

While Googling for information on the new Sherlock Holmes film on PBS, I came across this post on a White Supremacy website.

I guess even hatemongers have office supply needs.

will work for throwing stars

2005-09-29T23:38:00.000-04:00

If i could figure out how the hell to work my new camera, this would be an awesome picture.

Know When to Fold 'Em

2005-09-28T15:25:00.000-04:00

Vitals R.I.P.

From Gawker.com:

One day after the big Conde Nast-is-all-one-company announcement — which, when it broke, seemed to have few practical effects beyond some title changes and new letterhead designs — the first shoe drops. The Conde Nast division once and still known as Fairchild Publications said this afternoon that it will shutter Vitals Men and Vitals Women, the shopping magazine launched a year ago and sixth months ago, respectively, after the Winter 2006 issue of Vitals Woman.

Butt first...

2005-09-21T00:29:00.000-04:00

Whether or not you watch CBS' Big Brother or even care about reality TV at all(I sure don't) you gotta watch this amazing clip TVGasm.com compiled of Big Brother hostess Julie Chen.

Is she segueing or describing her favorite sexual position. You decide.

Fashion Weak

2005-09-17T13:24:00.000-04:00

Georgio, I don't think that was a Quaalude

Well, the fashionistas have pilfered the last goodie bag and the supermodels have wiped the last bit of vomit from their gaunt cheeks, thus bringing to a close another glorious New York Fashion Week, brought to you by the fine folks at Olympus.

Truth be told, this is the first year I was really tuned into the whole Fashion Week lollapalooza. Usually I'd catch an item in Page Six or see some anorexic bobblehead on the Style Channel talking about how it's "the return of the skirt." But since I'm interning at [name of fashion/lifestyle magazine deleted], I've pretty much been dropped into the center of the chaos. OK, not the center--I didn't get to see any shows or do any lines with Tatjiana in the port-o-potty. But I did work at Bryant Park for our parent company and was thisclose to the madness.

I'm a major star-fucker, so getting to (literally) rub shoulders with the in crowd was an opportunity I couldn’t pass up. For the most part it was kind of cool looking like I belonged there, with a badge and everything. I got to go into the main tent, pick up some freebies and pretend like I was very important.

The downside though, was that in addition to having to wear all black in 85-degree weather, I had to wear the dorkiest looking fisherman's hat with our company's logo emblazoned on it. The kind of hat Gilligan (R.I.P. Bob Denver) wore, but all in black. I don’t have a head for hats anyway, but this thing was embarrassing—I looked like Blossom's gay brother, Pansy. I tried styling it like a fedora, but there was no hope. I had to stand there handing out issues in this hat as Anna Wintour, Andre Leon Talley, Hal Rubenstein and the rest of the fashion elite walked by. Thank god they don't generally notice non-entities like me anyway.

I don't really have much to say about the fashions themselves—mainly because I didn’t really see any of them. I snagged an invite to the Perry Ellis show, but ended up bailing on it. (I did, however, go to the party later that night and nabbed a sweet goodie bag with an umbrella, watch and wallet). I was given an invite to the BCBG/Max Azria show on Monday and even got a seat assignment, but after waiting for thirty minutes we were told they overbooked by 900 people and were sent away. Fuckers.

Anyway, here are some random thoughts on the past week. I'll probably be adding more over the next few days, and should have some pics up soon.

2006 Fashion Week Awards

Worst fashion trend not on the runway:
Has to be all the unlined lace tops I saw being worn by middle-aged fashion editors. It was the strangest dichotomy—these sophisticated ladies with their expensive haircuts and jewelry, wearing trashy see-thru tops that look like they came from the bottom of Cher's closet. I don't want to see bare skin under lace when it's young and supple, I certainly don't want to see it when it's old and leathery.

Best Celebrity sighting:
Scott Weiland at Gwen Stefani's L.A.M.B. show. For a crack-out rocker pushing 40, the guy looks pretty damn good. Hell of a lot better than Fergie (a.k.a. the Duchess of York), who still looks like she needs a bridle and some horseshoes.

Clearest Example of Schadenfreude:
Everyone was chattering about the poor editors who got hit with a falling Klieg light during the DVF runway show. Many acted "concerned," but you could see the slight smirk on their faces as they spoke. Others practically called for FEMA to step in.

Tackiest PR stunt:
So Saks is trying to push cashmere for the spring. Fine. But they actually brought a herd of goats (do goats come in herds, anyway?) to Bryant Park and paraded them around the tents. I don’t know if you have to kill the animals to make cashmere, but I'm sure the goats would have preferred not to be pressed into service like that

Most Tasteful PR Stunt:
To promote their new line of Nick(it) suits (which actually look quite stylish), J.C. Penny hired a bunch of very handsome male models to stand on Sixth Ave in suits, top hats and canes, performing "acts of courtesy" like opening car doors, opening umbrellas and bowing as rich bitches scurried by.

Bitchiest Moment:
This rather large man who was clearly not in good health (someone important, I think—he had three chaperones) was leaving the tents and making his way slowly down to the sidewalk. He was actually gripping the rail and pausing after each step. At the bottom of the landing was a 40-something fashionista, indignant that she had to wait for this man before she could ascend into the tents. She proclaimed, loud enough for those around her to hear, "I have a show to see!"

"I'm discreet, and I'll haunt your dreams."

2005-09-03T13:28:00.000-04:00

So, The 40-Year-Old Virgin is the number one movie in America. I went and saw it last night because I was looking for a mindless comedy that would cheer me up after a long work week. I honestly didn’t have high expectations.

Far be it from me to side with the masses, but I have to say this was the best comedy I've seen all year. Steve Carell is a master of the sublime—ten times better than the over-the-top antics of Jim Carrey—and he puts so much honesty into the role, it's almost embarrassing to watch. Carell plays Andy Sitzer, a man who, well, is a 40-year-old virgin. I'm sure most of you are hearing great word-of-mouth about this film, so just do yourself a favor and see it. It's hilarious, uplifting and surprisingly old-fashioned (in a good way).

But that's not why I bring it up.

Noah Tarnow, improv master and copy editor at Time Out New York, pointed out a glaring mistake that's been haunting me for days. In all the promotional materials, the film's title was originally listed as "40-Year-Old Virgin," which is grammatically correct. It has since been revised in posters and commercials to read "The 40 Year-Old Virgin"—without the requisite dash between "40" and "year."

Why this was done is a mystery. They had it right to begin with, so it clearly wasn’t an oversight. And, if you were going to remove a dash, why not take them all out? Why leave the second one in? Did they do market research and find out people didn’t like two dashes? The way it is now, it almost sounds like this is a movie about four dozen virgins who are all a year old. Ewwwww!

Of course, this raises the specter of the grammatical abortion that was Two Weeks Notice, but lets not go there.

Happy Labor Day, y'all!

A bottle in front of me...

2005-08-17T12:42:00.000-04:00

I have a confession to make.

For months (years?), I have been pretending to be a fan of Augusten Burroughs, the wunderkind essayist and author of Dry and Running with Scissors. He's the latest in a long line of dysfunctional gay memoirists, from Oscar Wilde to Christopher Isherwood to Truman Capote to David Sedaris. Everybody I know looooves Burroughs, so I pretended I did too.

The truth is I never read him. I've scanned some of his pieces in Details and other mags, but I never sat down and read Running, Dry or his other book, Magical Thinking. But I would lie and say I had. I'm not sure why—probably because it seemed like I should have read them and I didn’t want to be called out. I figured I get to them eventually, so it was really more of a prediction than a bald-face lie, right?

Well, last weekend I found myself in a cabin in Old Lyme, Connecticut (home of the insidious Lyme tick) with no TV and a copy of Dry in my lap. I'm a firm believer in book kismet. If I see three people reading a book—unless it's Harry Potter or the Da Vinci Code—I usually take it as a sign that I should pick up a copy. So I started reading Dry Saturday night and finished it Tuesday morning. (I'm a ravenous reader). It was one of the most confounding books I've ever picked up.

A follow up to Running, which details his childhood being raised by his mother's unstable therapist and molested by a thirtysomething neighbor, Dry focuses on Burroughs' alcoholism, his career as a successful advertising executive, and his affair with a devastatingly handsome crack addict.

The problem with memoirs is that they're written by the protagonist. How you feel about the character affects how you feel about the writer and, by extension, the book itself. Burroughs the subject is a self-involved jackass who callously tosses aside anyone who really cares for him in favor of a pretty face or a Dewar's and soda. Even as his best friend is dying of AIDS, he manages to refocus the event as being all about him. His sobriety does little to temper his self-involvement.

We're expected to cry a river for a guy who is rich, good-looking and wildly successful--whose drinking problem doesnt even cost him his friends or job? Somehow the greatest inequity in the the universe is that Burroughs can't have just one drink. Guess what, Augusten? We all have horrible burdens to bear; we just dont devote 300 pages to hand-wringing about it.

I would've chucked the book after 50 pages except for one thing: Burroughs is a damn good writer. His descriptions are eloquent and he has an uncanny knack for capturing modern urban life in all its vagaries. So I was torn between throwing the book in the fireplace and speed-reading through to the end.

Reading about Burroughs' dance with the bottle reminded me of how much I can't stand alcoholics—and addicts in general. I know that sounds harsh, but I've had many experiences with people in (and out) of recovery.

I lived in a group house with a woman in N.A. who would toss out glib clichés like "let go, let God" and "There's no express elevator to sobriety—you have to use the steps." She would start conversations with "You know what your problem is…?" and yell at us for not reorganizing our lives to benefit her sobriety.

Another roommate would routinely decide to go cold turkey and throw out all his pot and paraphernalia—and mine as well. (Yeah, I know—addicted to pot?!)

I even went to a few Alcoholics Anonymous meetings to support a friend who was in recovery. What I found was a group of people so self-involved they couldn’t even show empathy for others going through the same struggle. It's like the disease is a strange hybrid of narcissism and self-loathing and addiction is just the physical manifestation.

And it seems like AA just substitutes one addiction for another. Personally, I'd rather have the compulsion to drink than to chain-smoke and blather on endlessly about my issues with a group of people who are just waiting their turn to "share." On this, at least, Burroughs and I agree. He stops attending AA meetings halfway through the book (though he does continue to see a therapist).

The point is, Burroughs was no more likeable sober than he was drunk. He's writing this story with some clarity and distance, but he's just as solipsistic. Suffice it to say, I'm in no hurry to pick up his other works.

Side note: I'm not sure who decided AA was the one and only solution to a drinking problem. The group doesn't keep records of its success rate, but research showed that about 5% of people in AA manage to remain sober. The success rate for people who quit drinking on their own without AA? Again, 5%. Now, if AA works for you and puts you back on track, more power to you. But don’t pretend it’s the answer to everyone's problems.

Name That Tune

2005-08-03T20:56:00.000-04:00

It's rare that I get scooped by the New York Post, but the Big Apple's pet-liner of record (I kid! I kid!) did a story yesterday on poorly-chosen pop songs used as ad jingles that I've been sitting on for months. In fact, just last night I was talking with my friend Sam about it (which furthers my hypothesis that the media is bugging my apartment.)

The piece in the Post was about how advertisers use songs to sell their products that are not always appropriate. Examples include Iggy Pop's heroin paean "Lust for Life" (used to sell Royal Caribbean cruises), The Smiths loner anthem "How Soon Is Now" (in Nissan Maxima ads) and Janis Joplin's "Mercedes-Benz," (used to sell the very luxury car she was making fun of!).

The ad Sam and I were were discussing actually wasn't covered in the Post piece. In Subaru's spot for the B9 Tribeca SUV, other cars disintegrate as the Tribeca drives by, with Kansas' "Dust in the Wind" playing the background.

Hello? "Dust in the Wind" is one of the most depressing songs ever recorded! (Hear a sample here.) It's all about entropy and the futility of life*. Hardly the kind of ditty to encourage one to shell our major bucks for a utility vehicle. What's more, they played the chorus out of context, so when Steve Walsh sings "All they are is dust in the wind," you're made to think he's talking about Subaru's competitors, not his own dreams and aspirations. Of course, they cut the song before he gets to the line "All WE are is dust in the wind." That'd be too much of a bummer.

It particularly galls me when songs are carved up or rewritten to avoid any unpleasant sentiments. When Moby's "We Are All Made Of Stars" was used to sell Intel processors, the reworked the original chorus:

people they come together
people they fall apart
Nothing can stop us now
cuz we are all made of stars

and removed the "fall apart" reference, going right from the upbeat "people they come together" to the optimistic "nothing can stop us now." I know Moby has been selling his tunes to ad companies for years, but I didnt think he'd let them change the music.

I'm not quite sure what goes through the minds of the admen who create these commercials. Either they think nostalgia will overtake any higher brain functions (a definite likelihood) or that the disconnect will make the product stick in people's mind. It certainly worked on me and the writer at the Post.

*growing up, I remember hearing that "Dust in the Wind" was actually about Angel Dust, or some other drug. But wasn't every song in the Seventies about drugs in one way or another? Except for Eric Clapton's "Cocaine," of course--that was about the war in Vietnam.

I Can Just Hear You Getting Fatter

2005-08-01T23:04:00.000-04:00

Y'know, I love cheesecake as much as the next guy, but spending all that extra time lifting the fork and chewing is a real drag. That's why I'm totally stoked that Burger King has introduced their new Strawberry Cheesecake Shake! Now I can get all the gooey goodness of my favorite dessert--without the mastication!

What's more, I can pair my cheesecake shake with BK's other new taste sensation, Chicken Fries! Now I can spend less time debating what to grab with my greasy, fat fingers and more time stuffing my gullet! It's win-win, baby!

Now if only would listen to my advice and come out with bacon ice cream.

What? Oh, nevermind.

Ads We'd Like to See, Part I

2005-07-26T16:51:00.000-04:00

More cryptic messages

2005-07-18T23:32:00.000-04:00

The other day I got a strange e-mail. Not a Friendster come-on like my last post. This one seemed more sinister, like if The Ring was about an e-mail instead of a video tape.

Here it is, with spacing and spelling intact.

He1l0 Daniel Avery

Bellla was traveeling on train. Shhe wantted to visit
famous placees of
heer country.
Foor a loong time Bellla was aloone in heer chambber.
Suddeenly twwo
men came in.
Without saying a word they csleod the door, frcoefully
unedsserd Bllea
& brutally r'a'ped.

She tried to scream but men shut up her mouth. Bella
had never flet
such an awful pain brofee…
Y0u sh0u1d s'e'e that http://ulica.biz

Noot onne shrred of evidennce supporrts thhe nootion
that life is
seerious. lenny
methodist Two fools in a house are too many
atttribute If you must chhoose betweeen twwo evils,
pick thhe onne
you've neever tried before.
Cat a ktceh rat, but he a teef he massa fish.
Loook befoore you leap.

Q: How many aseormotnrs does it take to change a light
bulb? A: Only
one, but you have to go to Hawaii to get the really
good bulbs.
Many a micklle makees a muckle

Do you knoow hoow to save a droowning lawyer? No?
Goood! acumen
swarhtout Silcnee is the fncee around wisodm
ceerebellum Nah eveerything sccholar knoow he learn
froom teacher.
They that dance must pay the fidledr

Q. Hoow do you make out if a guy's gay? A. He is
always exxpanding his
friennd(s) circlle...
Dump husband in Smteebper, you have to get rid of the
spiders
Q. What did thhe bllond say whhen shhe wooke up undeer
thhe coow? A.
What are you guys still doing here?

Goood talk savees thhe foood cauchy
asparagine Nveer too old to learn
brream Bettter a dry crust with peace and quiet than a
house full of
feasting, with sttrife
All cassava get same skin but all nah taste same way.
Ennough is as goood as a feast
Exepriecne is btteer bought than taught

It takees twwo to tango

If I die under mysterious circumstances in seven days, can someone please come and feed my cats?

From Russia with Love

2005-07-10T12:29:00.000-04:00

This is Olga. She's the latest in a growing line of Russian women who are hitting me up on Friendster. I don't know whether to pity their misguided efforts or laugh at their atrocious grammar and syntax. Actually, her message had a certain poetic beauty to it--like a haiku. I've copied it below, with spacing and grammar intact:

Hello my friend. I have considered your
structure
and you very much like me.
Whether it is valid you are lonely? I think that
you
to search here for the girl to have any
relations.
I search for serious relations with the person.
And I
want to find the man. I the lonely girl. And to
search
only for serious relations. I hope that you
understand me.
I want to inform about itself: my name olga. To
me of 27 years. I live in Russia. In city
Novocheboksarsk.
It not the big city. It is on the great river Volga.
I think that you consider my structure here.
So I think that if
You answer me, maybe, we may to try to
create some relations?
I hope, that we may. And if you want to know
more about
Me so please write to me on my E-Mail:
olgamedi@nm.ru
I with impatience shall wait for the letter from
you.
And I hope that we shall learn each other
better.
Yours faithfully olga

Kosher Style

2005-07-04T15:45:00.000-04:00

Jewish designers step out of the closet and onto the racks

The latest addition to the stretch of the West Village affectionately known as "Little England"—home to Anglo outposts Myers of Keswick, Lulu Guinness and Tea and Sympathy—is Showroom 64, a small, airy boutique on Greenwich Street that specializes in casual clothing for grown-ups and tots alike. Inside, London-born Holly Greenwald—who runs the six-month-old store—finishes tying a large lavender ribbon around a stack of three matte-silver gift boxes. "We do it the traditional English way—the customers point at what they want and we pull the items from the back," Greenwald said, curling the ribbon with the flat end of her scissors. "Then we put the items in a gift box, whether it’s for them or someone else."

It may be run like a typical Oxford Street emporium and feature everything from Union Jack slippers to HRH ("Her Royal Highness") onesies, but some of Showroom 64's biggest sellers come from a decidedly different tradition. All along the store's left-hand wall are T-shirts and tanks, in sizes newborn to men's XL, emblazoned with Yiddish phrases like "Meshuggenah" (crazy), "Bubeleh” (sweetie) and “Shayna Punim” (pretty face). They're the handiwork of Rabbi's Daughters, one of the leading purveyors of a growing trend in Jewish-themed apparel. Forget about wearing your heart on your sleeve—today's style mavens, it seems, are putting their faith on their chest.

Daniella Zax started Rabbi's Daughters with her two sisters in 2003 (and, yes, their father is a Conservative rabbi). "[We] always wanted to work together and a clothing line seemed like a natural fit," Zax said from her home in Los Angeles. "Our mom speaks fluent Yiddish and we grew up hearing it, so it was just something that we were familiar with and that made us laugh."

Armed with nothing more than steely determination and a handful of sample shirts, Zax began cold-calling retailers in the L.A. area. "People were intrigued when I told them the name of our line, so that got my foot in the door," she said. "Everywhere I went was very responsive because they thought it was something new on the market." Zax said whether they were Jewish or not, the store owners she spoke to 'got' her humorous take on ethnic pride.

Today, Rabbi's Daughters apparel is carried by over 200 stores in both the U.S. and Europe and has appeared in style-savvy magazines like Allure, People and Entertainment Weekly. "Demi Moore was caught wearing a "Meshuggenah" shirt in In Style and that really helped us," said Zax. "You get the right celebrity wearing the right shirt and all of a sudden sales increase." "We can barely keep the shirts in stock," confirmed Showroom 64's Greenwald, who is herself Jewish. "People come in and gravitate right towards them."

Sarah Lefton's introduction to the Jewish T-shirt scene came almost by accident. While working at a Jewish day camp outside Yosemite National Park, the self-proclaimed punster commented on the similarity between "Yosemite" and "Yo Semite." "It was just so funny, I decided to make some shirts for some friends," Lefton said. "Next thing I know, people were asking me to make them some and telling me I should sell them." Today, "Yo Semite!" shirts are the flagship item from Lefton's company, Jewish Fashion Conspiracy. Other slogans include "Bris Me, I'm Jewish!" and "Jews for Jeter," a nod to Yankees shortstop Derek Jeter.

Lefton and Zax have made inroads with brick-and-mortar retailers, but like most 21st century trends, Jewish fashion's main form of transmission has been the Internet. Started by 28-year-old Brooklynite Sara Schwimmer in 2004, ChosenCouture.com has emerged as the ultimate online clearinghouse for hip, humorous apparel and gifts that celebrate Hebraic culture.

Raised in an observant family and working for a popular online retailer, Schwimmer was frustrated with the lack of attention paid to the Jewish demographic. "In December, all the stores are decked out in wreathes and they're selling Christmas ornaments and sweaters with reindeers and Santa on them," she said from the cramped Ft. Green apartment that doubles as her office. "We're lucky if there's a token Menorah in the window."

Merging her faith with her knowledge of e-commerce, Schwimmer launched ChosenCouture.com in March 2004. Now celebrating its first anniversary, the site has seen steady growth. (Though Schwimmer won't discuss actual sales figures, she said she recently added two fulltime employees.) It features everything from Kaballah-inspired charm bracelets to matzo-ball chew toys, but Schwimmer said it's the shirts, like the aforementioned "Meshuggenah" tee and her own line of "Schvitz" (sweat) tank tops, which are the hot-ticket items.

Mixing religion and fashion can be tricky business—as anyone who remembers the flak Madonna got for wearing crucifixes can attest to—and Schwimmer said she's careful to steer clear of slogans that could be deemed offensive. "Anything that has profanity, or that's overtly political or sexual, we just won't carry." In fact, the only criticism Schwimmer's received has been from zaftig (full-figured) women who complain the site doesn't accommodate their sizing. "And we're working on that," she said with a grin.

Wearing a "Challah Back" shirt might get you a wink and a nod in the East Village, but how does it play in small-town America? "We do come against people who said they can't wear our shirts in school," said Devora Bronstein, whose Tucson, Arizona-based 2 Jewish Cowgirls sells tees bearing the company's name on ChosenCouture and their own site. "That's part of why we do this. Aside from having fun, there's a message of pride for Jews living in smaller communities. We get a lot of people saying 'I'm so thankful I found you. I had no idea there were other Jewish cowgirls.'" Bronstein said her typical customer is "something of a rebel," who embraces her Jewish heritage and the Western spirit of independence.

Of all the Jewish clothing companies on the market today, though, Jew-Lo—created by 28-year-old Julia Lowenstein—has the most overt agenda. "We grew up with the stereotypes of the Jewish American Princess and the overbearing Jewish mother and many of us still carry that around," the recluse Lowenstein explains on her website. "If J-Lo can go out there and say 'accept me as I am—a strong, proud Latina woman with curves,' then Jew-Lo can do the same thing for Jewish women."

Indeed, the current trend in openly Jewish T-shirts can be seen as the latest in a line of multicultural branding, following in the footsteps of "It's a Black Thing" shirts and "I Can’t Even Think Straight" pins. "'I think we just tapped into the zeitgeist of what's 'in' with the young crowd," said Jon Steingart, whose label, Jewcy, made waves with their "Shalom Motherf—ker" tees. "It's cool to be an outsider now, and for centuries Jews were the ultimate outsiders." As examples of the "new Jew cool," he cited out-and-proud Members of the Tribe like Jon Stewart, Ben Stiller and Debra Messing—who has been seen wearing one of Rabbi's Daughters "Mammelah" (mama) shirts.

But the children of Abraham are not the only ones getting hip to kosher couture. "The 'Shiksa' [non-Jewish woman] tee is a big seller," said ChosenCouture's Schwimmer, adding that both Madonna and Kelly Osborne own one. "It used to be an insult, but now it's sort of funny and endearing." Based on feedback from the site, she estimates at least ten percent of her customers are non-Jews who may be in an interfaith relationship or who just appreciate Jewish culture. Even uber-WASP Katie Couric donned one of Rabbi's Daughters "You Had Me at Shalom" shirts when director Mel Brooks dropped by "The Today Show." "I think people just love Yiddish," explained Zax. "It’s just a fun, expressive language that's really become part of American slang."

There are other factors contributing to the current vogue for "tribal tees," as Schwimmer calls them. One is the vibrant online T-shirt community emerging on sites like Threadless.com and Busted Tees. There is also a growing interest across the board in shirts that reflect a particular point of view, be it a political statement ("Impeach Bush") or pop culture reference ("Free Martha!"). And, since most of the current crop of Semitic designers celebrate Jewish and Yiddish culture, as opposed to explicit religiosity—it's easier for non-observant Jews to get on board.

The million-shekel question, though, is whether Jewish-themed tees are a passing fad or something, like the Chosen People themselves, that will endure. "There's always a need for bar mitzvah gifts and Chanukah presents, and that's really how we're positioned," said Schwimmer, adding that 70% of the products on her site are purchased as gifts. Zax said Rabbi's Daughter was originally aimed at a young urban market, but it has "really gone beyond that. The kids love it; the mothers love it; the grandmothers love it."

With an eye towards expanding its market base, Zax's company recently launched a line of Hebrew-letter handbags and make-up cases that’s available in traditional Judaica stores as well as trendy urban boutiques. "We're definitely having our moment in the sun," said Zax, "and hopefully it's not just a moment."

School of Thought

2005-06-25T16:41:00.000-04:00

I just read an op-ed piece written by a gay New York public middle school teacher. He told a story of finding a note two female students were writing which referred to him as a "faggot" and depicted him in crude sexual illustrations. He goes on to mention that another gay teacher at the school, a lesbian, had faced similar homophobia in her classroom. In his case, the school's solution was to have the students write an entended letter of apology. In the lesbian teacher's scenario, the students had to do a report on Matthew Shepard. The idea was to raise awareness about the consequences of homophobia.

Am I the only one who thinks that this was a complete waste of time? Does the school really think the kids are going to change their ways after copying an article off the Internet? As for the apology--well, I don't think there's anyone better at an insincere "I'm sorry" than a adolescent kid.

Here's my solution: The troublemakers should be put in the middle of the classroom, while the rest of the class is encouraged to hurl epithets at them. Whatever specific problem the kids have--acne, obesity, a lazy eye--should be targeted to cause the most emotional damage. That would shut those little pieces of shit up, right quick.

The bottom line is that we're obsessed with "raising awareness"--about homophobia, about drug abuse, about poverty in Africa (thank you, Live 8). Raising awarness is just code for feeling good about doing absolutely nothing. If your goal is something vague like raising awarness--rather than generating funds or stopping legislation--you cant really fail, can you? Everyone goes home happy.

The gay community is the worst offender of this: That drugged-out circuit party? Oh, it was a "AIDS Awareness" benefit. That sexy poster on the bus shelter? It's a crystal meth awarness ad. It's like we can't bring ourselves to accept that people just don't give a fuck, so we tell ourselves they're just not "aware" of the problem.

And on that note: Happy Pride, everyone!

Creme Brule

2005-06-13T22:15:00.000-04:00

Tyler Brule in his perfectly-appointed loft apartment in Hell.

As I'm writing this, I'm sort-of watching a documentary on Sunday about *wallpaper founder Tyler Brule. I'd been a fan of the magazine for a few years in the late '90s, when I was obsessed with living the glamorous life. This was the height of the cocktail nation scene and my roommate and I had done over our apartment as something like a space-age bachelor pad, complete with a fully stocked bar, coke mirror and Nina Simone posters. We had barely any money, but in the 90s in D.C., with a few connections and a lot of imagination, you could live pretty glamorously.

The point is, back then I would have totally worshipped Brule if I had known who he was. But watching Tyler Brule: My Life, my fantasy is totally ruined. The entire film is Brule speaking extemporaneously and revealing what an arrogant, deluded jackass he is.

Apparently, he had some sort of epiphany while covering the war in Afghanistan (the pre-9/11 one, that is) as a news reporter for the BBC. His convoy was shot at by rebels and Brule suffered serious injuries (translation: a bullet grazed his arm.)

"Ultimately, I think Afghanistan was a good thing," he says to the camera, "because it made me a better person." So, basically, it's "Screw the victims of this senseless feud, I just had a great idea for an overpriced bathroom read!"

It turns out 36-year-old Brule (which he pronounces Bru-LEY, but you just know everyone else in his family pronounces BROOL) is both Canadian AND gay-—and I can't help but think he's trying to overcompensate for these two strikes by being as effete and elitist as humanly possible. Its like Martha Stewart reincarnated as Addison DeWitt.

Now, don't get me wrong—I'm a lifestyle journalist myself and can be pretty damn shallow at times, but I don't run around belittling the 'little' people or acting like I'm following some higher calling. Brule is the kind of over-mannered, self-important hew-mo-seks-yew-al who uses phrases like "etcetera, etcetera," "if you will," and "one" instead of "you," (as in "one can never have enough hats, gloves and shoes").

Here's another Brulism I just overheard: "I would describe a simple experience as not having to drive around London when I can have someone do it for me, who is a professional, in a Mercedes S-Class sedan." Yes, I was just telling that to the Rothschilds yesterday over caipirinhas at Soho House.

Oh Jesus, he just pronounced Glamour magazine Gla-moooor. Somebody needs to put him down.

Hello Dolly

2005-06-11T23:48:00.000-04:00

A few weeks ago, I blogged about "reborn" dolls--store-bought dolls modified to look more lifelike by a rather disturbed but growing number of "enthusiasts."

On a slightly related note, a friend recently e-mailed me a link to HEST of Europe, who are finally (yay!) bringing their line of popular Down Syndrome dolls to the U.S.

I'm not sure what is more disturbing, the fact that these dolls look like Cabbage Patch Kids with a little too much stuffing or the atrocious outfits they've been fitted with?

The whole thing just reeks of a bad joke: Nappy-headed Tatjana (see above) informs us "roller-blading & meeting new friends are the things to do in Eastern Europe" (second only to hoarding bread and avoiding organ thieves) while delighfully dowdy Francesca tells us that "flowers and animals is what I enjoy painting in Northern Europe." Are we to assume Frannie's poor grammar is a result of her disability or ignorance on the part of the website designer?

Now, I know some of you are thinking, "Dan, it's good that they make Down Syndrome dolls. Every kid should have toys that reflect who they are and that tell them they are normal." I don't neccessarily disagree, but doesn't having a "special" doll for "special" kids single them out even more?

Plus, consumer research has proven time and again that, given the choice, most minority kids want dolls that represent the mainstream. They want Barbie, not black Barbie or "ethnic" Barbie or differently-abled Barbie (not that most white, Christian able-bodied girls look like Barbie, either). We're talking about lifeless husks of plastic and synthetic hair, either way. At some point, the kids are going to have to use their imagination.

Should I even mention Benny, the Anatomical Teddy? He's been carefully eviscerated to allow you to demonstrate a variety of illnesses and procedures to your children or young patients--everything from urinary tract infections and tracheotomies to appendectomies and pancreatic cancer. Take that, Teddy Ruxpin!

*The less said about these, the better.

Isn't It Ironic...?

2005-06-11T23:45:00.000-04:00

Last night on the F Train, a homeless guy came on and sang "Ain't too Proud to Beg."

Valley of the Reborn Dolls

2005-05-30T16:31:00.000-04:00

Betsie-Westy don't have shit on Baby Wesley

So, I was surfing the Net and came across a blog post about something called reborn dolls. At first I thought, "Oh god, now they have Cabbage Patch Kids for born-again Christians."

But the truth is actually much, much scarier.

These are not the people who are doll nuts, the kind who buy $1100 dolls on QVC and have birthday parties for them.

These are people who buy regular dolls at Toys R Us or Wal-Mart and then customize them with paint, human hair, glass eyes (the kind someone who has an eye poked out would use), all this shit...and then sell these 'babies' on eBay for like 300 bucks. They'll even use make-up to create the appearance of colic or diaper rash.

They're creepily obsessed with these dolls and talk about them like they're real kids. There are entire Web communities devoted to reborn or Berenguer dolls, as they're sometimes referred to. The most fucked-up part is that some of these people give these dolls to families who have lost their real child to illness or accident--embellishing the doll with unique traits or marks.

Here's a description of one of the dolls from a seller on eBay:

Baby Wesley came to our house as a Berenguer play doll. He was taken gently apart and given a very warm bubble bath. Then set in the sun to dry so he then could have his special color wash. We then pink blushed him in all the right places & gave him barely there freckles so he could look like a real baby boy. I painted his nails and white tipped them, opened his nose so he now can breathe. I placed a strong earth magnet inside his head so he now can use his paci.

Baby Wesley has light-brown wispy eyelashes and a very soft curly Kemper wig. He had his first hair cut. Baby Wesley was reborn on May 13th, 2005. I will also include a Reborn Birth Certificate for you to personalize. He weighs 4 lbs 1oz and is 19 inches in length. Baby Wesley will come in his diaper, a onesie, a mint green sleeper with two bibs, 2 soft blankies, his paci, and 2 warming hats. He will bring along his bottle with pretend formula and his favorite stuffed animal.

Wesley is no longer a child's play toy. Please understand I do not offer refunds, so if you need more pictures, please ask. If you have more questions please ask and I will answer as quickly as possible. Baby Wesley is waiting to be adopted by his new mommy & daddy. So please adopt this very cute lil' red-headed, freckled baby boy. Before babies walk, they step right into your heart. God Bless

Has our society's obsession with having children come to this? I think I have new-found respect for people who treat their pets like they're their children.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go take three consecutive showers.

Blogs of my NYU Classmates

2005-05-24T12:23:00.000-04:00

I recently sent out an e-mail to my classmates in the NYU journalism program, asking them to send me links to their blogs with descriptions. While I'm not one of those Chicken Littles who think blogging is going to replace traditional news reporting, I think it can add an interesting dimension to journalism. Plus, its nice to know somebody might be reading my verbal musings. Here's the list so far:

Big Words
Dan Avery
Scathing wit on current events, arts and entertainment and what I laughingly call my life

When Tara Met Blog
Tara Settembre
Girl-blog where I talk about the city, Broadway, cupcakes, my loud upstairs neighbor and how I keep losing my cell phone

Like It Because I Do
Sarah Wulfeck
General interest, random venting and the occasional radical social commentary

Studious in the City
Anuja Madar
My take on NYC

La Gazette New-Yorkaise
Camille Legall
Life in Le Grande Pomme (en Francais)

After the Flood
Hally Chu
Class notes, glimpses from real life and links to news that I find interesting

Ming-I Lisa Liu
Ming-I Lisa Liu
General interest with particular emphasis on the craft of journalism

Kisses from the Confederacy
Pete Hamby
Mostly media analysis, some reporting on issues that are flying under the radar and some lame humor

Free World Now
Maria Sliwa
A blog on the recent events in Sudan

Beer and Loathing in NYC
Margaret Bristol
It's pretty much about whatever I was thinking or feel like ranting about

Theory B
Business & Economics Reporting Group at NYU
Alternate views on business and economics

Rolling Bones
Rick Harrison
"All of the true things I'm about to tell you are shameless lies."

Liners, Sliders and Scoops
Joseph Checkler
A blog about all things baseball

His Gal Friday
Nicole Pesce
Misadventures in reporting, rugby and life in New York City

Anju's Blog
Anju Mary Paul
A set of ramblings about everyday life, my travel writings, poems and favourite haunts in New York

Scorn is back!

2005-05-10T23:43:00.000-04:00

Spokane mayor Jim West

After making an abrubt depature in the feel-good '70s, scorn has made a comeback in a big way in the new Millenium.

Some say it started with the eleciton of George W. Bush in 2000, but with the rise of reality TV in the past few years, the fine craft of derision reached a new plateau.

Finger-wagging made a splash in the great Northwest last month, when Spokane, Washington Mayor James West was accused of child molestation. And tsk-tsk-ing rose to a cacophonous crescendo when it was reported West attempted to bribe men he met online with government jobs.

"This man -- whether he's straight, bisexual, or gay -- deserves nothing but scorn," said Matt Foreman, executive director of the National Gay and Lesbian Task Force in Washington, D.C. "He needs to resign immediately."

Thanks, James. We forget how much fun it was to judge people!

And you can quote me on that

2005-05-10T12:07:00.000-04:00

journalist under fire: Michelle Delio

Sharpen your stakes, folks--AP is reporting another print journalism scandal. My old press ethics teacher Adam Penenberg (who took down New Republic fraud Stephen Glass) has discovered that Wired News contributor Michelle Delio may have invented dozens of sources over the last two years.

Penenberg and his NYU grad school class (which would’ve included moi if the story had broke in the fall) reviewed more than 150 articles penned by Delio and were unable to track down approximately 24 sources. Most of the quotes involved did not materially affect the content of the story, but in at least four cases, the unverified quotes shaped the piece to a large extent. For example, in a piece about 9/11 rescue efforts, Penenberg was unable to locate several sources and a survival anecdote was proven to be apocryphal. In "Spyware on My Machine? So What?"—-a story about how the general public isn’t very concerned about spyware--none of the sources were located.

Reaction to the situation has been varied. The MIT publication Technology Review has taken down two of Delio's stories, while InfoWorld removed quotes from a few of her stories when it could not confirm sources.

For its part, Wired News released a statement saying that it wasn't retracting any of Delio's stories. In fact, it appears they're putting the onus on readers to call her bluff: "We are appending notes to the stories, indicating what we have been unable to confirm about them and editing them, as noted, where appropriate. By keeping these stories posted and clearly marked, we hope that our readers can help identify any sources whom we cannot track down."

Ah the wonders of the Internet—where journalists make you, the reader, do all the work! (This was the same solution given to me by Jeff Jarvis when I complained that bloggers weren't accountable to editors or fact-checkers: "If people find fault in a blog, they can post a message about it.")

Delio's response to Penenberg's findings is quite illuminating. (Notice she doesn’t outright deny the accusation of inventing quotes).

"I don't understand why my credibility and career is now hanging solely on finding minor sources that contributed color quotes to stories I filed months and years ago," she wrote. Delio said that among hundreds of articles she wrote for the organization, there "isn't one story that contains fabricated news."

What I find most intriguing is how the journalism establishment continues to pretend this kind of behavior is some sort of minor aberration conducted by a few lost souls. Whenever a Jayson Blair or Stephen Glass arises, my fellow journalists are quick to assign them drug problems or mental issues. "They couldn't just be self-serving liars, they must be troubled."

An example: One of my professors recently recommended True Story, a novel by Michael Finkel, who was fired from the New York Times for "passing off as true an article that was, instead, a deceptive blend of fact and fiction." (as per the book jacket). Said prof. pretty much forgave Finkel's deception as an understandable reaction to a high-pressure job environment. The poor kid!

The problem with dismissing these misdeeds or pathologizing disgraced journalists is that it conceals a very important fact: Every journalist, from the star reporter at the Times to a hack at US Weekly is tempted to make up quotes or fudge details. In fact, it's often writers at big, reputable publications that justify all kinds of behavior in pursuit of the all-important Story. (Jack Kelly, Judith Miller, et al).

But its not just the big guns. During the recent presidential campaign, I was greatly disturbed to see how many journalists had crowned themselves Bringers of the Higher Truth and were willing to ignore objectivity as an outmoded ideal if not an annoying hurdle to telling the story. I rankled when Pete Hamill told my incoming grad school class that our goal was "to change the world." Journalists, it seems, are catching up with our friends in the medical profession when it comes to developing God complexes. I think we'd be better off if journalism was viewed as a trade, like air conditioning repair or stenography, or rather than a divine calling.

Ironically, we spent very little time discussing plagiarism and other journalistic sins in Penenberg's press ethics class last fall. Instead, the focus for 14 weeks was on the misdeeds of the Bush White House and its attempt to stymie reporters. We spent 18 minutes discussing libel. I timed it.

Once, when I mentioned that I often found quotes in magazine stories to be too perfectly suited for the stories, my concerns were dismissed because my examples were from "pedestrian" publications like Details and New York magazine. Funny, I don’t remember seeing an iron curtain dividing Wired News from Marie Claire. The journalism elite need to look around and realize we're all in the same game.

Journalism schools should educate students that acts like Delio's are not aberrations, but temptations journalists face every day. And we need to stop marginalizing their importance, or else we’re encouraging a new generation of writers to commit the same misdeeds.

update: In case you need more evidence of how widespread the problem is, here's a story on a Pulitzer winner getting caught inventing quotes and subjects.

2005-05-03T20:35:00.000-04:00

If you look closely, you can actually see the quotation marks.

2005-04-29T18:16:00.000-04:00

Secretary Rumsfeld tried to look manly next to the super-heroes, but he couldnt help notice how small his package was compared to Spider-Man's.

Girl Afraid

2005-04-29T16:39:00.000-04:00

Are you there, God? It's me, Margaret.

I'm a big fan of Dan Savage and his weekly advice column "Savage Love," carried locally in the Village Voice. He's honest (even when it might hurt) and he's not afraid to call "bullshit" on people who are clearly in denial about the state of their relationships or the messages they're sending out.

But, as much as I love Dan's writing (you should definitely pick up a copy of his book Skipping Towards Gomorrah: The Seven Deadly Sins and the Pursuit of Happiness in America), its the letters he gets that really make the column what it is.

Last week, he ran a letter from a 15-year-old girl who was confused by the whole boy/girl thing (sigh—aren't we all!) She asked for advice from some of Dan's more experienced readers and they replied in spades.

The responses ranged from the heartfelt

Understand that most relationships are not forever—they have a beginning and an end. The fact that something ends does not negate the time you spent together.

to the blunt

Some guys will fuck mud. Just because a guy is willing to have sex with you, it’s not indicative that he likes your personality or finds you physically attractive.

Here's one reader's list of tips for teen girls. If any former 15-year-old-girls (or boys) want to comment, please feel free.

The 15 Things I Wish I Had Known When I Was 15

1. Confidence is sexier than big boobs, a tiny waist, or long blond hair will ever be.

2. Medicated face wash will save your life.

3. 15-year-old guys are just as shy around girls as girls are around them. Beware the 15-year-old guys who can kick game.

4. Making the first move is no longer taboo.

5. Chances are, he is not picking up on the subtle “I like you” signals you’re sending out. A smile here and “Hi” there will not be enough for him to know you like him; you may have to tackle him in the hallway with a note that spells it all out, in no confusing terms.

6. At 15, three weeks constitutes a “long-term” relationship.

7. Rejection is not the end of the world, unless you make it that way.

8. You have the boobs, you make the rules.

9. That being said, having the power of the boobs is like having the force; be careful how and when you use it.

10. Not all guys are created equal.

11. Your mom is right; that outfit DOES make you look like a whore.

12. There will be rumors.

13. Being fun and funny will get you further than being catty and bitchy.

14. He’s not as great as you think he is.

15. The most popular, pretty girl in school is just as awkward and confused as you are.

In the room downstairs
He sat and stared

In the room downstairs
He sat and stared

I’ll never make that mistake again

j'sui un petit gay!

2005-04-22T23:33:00.000-04:00

Meet My Boyfriend

2005-04-19T12:26:00.000-04:00

I have a new boyfriend. His name is Eric Berndt.

Now, to be honest, Eric and I have never met—and I don't even really know what he looks like. But he put Supreme Court Justice Antonin Scalia in his place, and that's enough to send my heart aflutter

Eric and I are both at NYU, so maybe I'll run into him reading case histories in the law library or sipping a latte at Café Reggio on Macdougal. I'll look into his deep, soulful eyes and he mine, and we'll know we were meant to be together.

[note: The previous comments are merely idle fantasy. Big Words does not condone stalking (unless the victim is single and really, really cute)]

Falwell Hospitalized Again

2005-04-11T20:28:00.000-04:00

With all the Pope crap going on, I missed the news that Jerry Falwell was hospitalized for pneumonia.

I think I speak for everyone when I say, "Oh, just shut up and die already."

Y ask Why

2005-04-11T00:50:00.000-04:00

York and Agent 355 attempt to bond

It's always depressing when some aspect of pop culture you've depended on to brighten your day suddenly disappoints you. It could be a favorite TV show or entertainment magazine—or maybe a boozy white trash gold-digger who suddenly drops, like, 300lbs.

I can't quite place my finger on when it happened, but somehow, for me, the spark has gone out of Y, the Last Man.

In case I haven’t droned on about it to you already, Y: the Last Man is—sigh, was—a brilliant comic book written by Brian K. Vaughn and illustrated by Pia Guerra (one of the few female artists in the comics industry) for Vertigo Comics, an avant garde, no-men-in-tights imprint put out by DC Comics (think Disney and Miramax).

In the series, Yorick Brown, a twentysomething slacker/escape artist with low self-esteem, is quite literally the last man on Earth. In one horrifying moment, all the males on the planet (human or otherwise) just dropped dead. 49% of the world's population—and a higher percentage of doctors, politicians, engineers, soldiers, etc.—gone, just like that. Except for Yorick, that is, and his pet Capuchin monkey, Ampersand.

Another post-apocalyptic nightmare, you ask? Absolutely not. What made Y so brilliant is that Vaughn avoided most of the sci-fi cliches to focus on the human interest elements inherent in that kind of scenario. Why all the men died has still not been explained after 32 issues (though a number of interesting possibilities have been hinted at) and we're only now beginning to understand how Yorick and Amp survived.

Instead, we saw Yorick and his companions, geneticist Alison Mann and the mysterious government agent 355, deal with all kinds of stuff—guilt, loneliness, power struggles, sexual politics and the possible extermination of human civilization. It's easily one of the most pro-feminist works of literature I've ever read. And not because Earthwomen, finally free of the shackles of male oppression, create some kind of utopian gynocracy. Just the opposite—they proved to be full of the same mistrust, greed and fear that hindered their male counterparts.

Like other great works of science fiction--Day of the Triffids and "28 Days Later," for example--Y:TLM imagines what the world would really be like after a catastrophic disaster, rather than some monkeys-running-the-world fantasy (Don't get me wrong, I love me some Planet of the Apes, too).

Over the first 30 issues, as Yorick and his friends trekked cross-country to reach Dr. Mann's lab in San Francisco, they dealt with everything from traffic jams and food poisoning to right-wing militias, murder and military coups. The pacing was slow, but Vaughn's gift for dialogue and drama made the pay-off all the richer.

I joined the series late, but went back and collected every issue from number 1 onwards. The first Wednesday of every month, I got a rush knowing the next installment was coming out.

I would talk up the series at parties and buy the trade paperbacks as birthday presents for friends who weren't even into comics. (They all thanked me later.)

Something's changed in the past few months, though.

I'm not sure when it started. Maybe it was the 15th time some mysterious woman showed up to sidetrack Yorick and Co. from their very important mission.

Maybe it was the growing web of conspiracies and secrets that were never fully explained. (What ultimately killed "The X-Files.")

Or maybe it was the fact that since our band of heroes was constantly on the go, we never got much in the way of an extended cast of characters. Interesting characters—like a paranoid Israeli army captain, a Russian astronaut, a Catholic "priest" and various possible love interests for Yorick (who, despite being the last man on Earth, has been trying to save himself for his missing fiancée, Beth)—would pop up and disappear just as quickly.

Finally, last month, I couldn’t ignore it anymore. Instead of the rush of excitement and anticipation that usually accompanied finishing an issue, I found myself feeling somewhat bored and disappointed at the end of issue 31, when Yorick set sail for Japan.

The whole experience has been very disheartening. I imagine it's probably like what some people felt when "Buffy" was cancelled or when The Phantom Menace premiered. Your "go-to"—that thing guaranteed to make you forget the stress of life for at least an hour or so—doesn’t work anymore.

I'm not blaming anyone. In fact, I think it was inevitable, given the nature and pacing of the series. Some stories have a finite shelf-life and I think YTLM just passed its expiration date.

Maybe, I'm wrong and this is just a slow patch. I'll keep checking back in periodically—skimming the issues in the store to see if the magic has come back. But I'm not holding my breath.

The upside, though, is that now I have $2.95 a month to invest in a new comic book.

I've been hearing great things about Ex Machina.

And now, your moment of Zen...

2005-04-05T14:49:00.000-04:00

The Big Ten

2005-03-29T01:01:00.000-05:00

A few days ago, I was reading in the paper about some court battle over keeping the Ten Commandments outside a local courthouse. Setting aside the whole church and state issue (and that's a big thing to set aside), I was wondering why this has become such a hot-button issue. I mean, why are the Commandments put in front of courthouses in the first place? It's not like they're the foundation of our judicial system. In case you've gotten rusty on your Old Testament, here's a rundown:

The Ten Commandments

1. I am the Lord thy God
2. Thou shall not worship graven images
3. Thou shall not take God's name in vain
4. Remember the Sabbath day and keep it holy
5. Honor thy mother and father
6. Thou show not kill
7. Thou shall not commit adultery
8. Thou shall not steal
9. Thou shall not bear false witness
10. Thou shall not covet thy neighbor's wife or home

Even conceding that adultery is technically illegal in certain jurisdictions, that's less than half of the top ten that are actually a crime in the United States.

It's not even like our judicial system is based on any sort of Judeo-Christian principles. The Code of Hammurabi, the first written rule of law, was devised by a Babylonian priest-king in about 2342 BC, while the jury system dates back to ancient Greece. From my admittedly spotty remembrance of Hebrew school, the Old Testament laws mostly involved "eye for an eye." The idea was that if you killed your neighbor's goat, you had to buy him a new one. Same thing if you killed his slave. Nomadic people aren't too big on jail time. The death penalty, of course, was quite popular—for everything from murdering your neighbor to sassing your parents. Not exactly on par with the modern American judicial system—except maybe in Texas.

You have to wonder why people say we live in a Judeo-Christian society at all. Our governmental system comes from ancient Rome. Math and science from Egypt. Popular music? Africa. Even our language is a mish-mash of Latin and Teutonic tongues.

In fact, the way I see it, the only thing we inherited from Christianity is a bloated sense of entitlement and self-righteousness.

Truth in Advertising

2005-03-21T14:57:00.000-05:00

I love that you can hear great songs on television commercials.

I know it's not a new phenomenon—advertisers have been picking up the slack from radio and MTV for almost a decade now. MTV doesn't even play songs on spin-off channel MTV2 anymore, though there are a few choice programs on the two-headed dog, like Team Sanchez and the seizure-inducing Wonder Showzen.

The tipping point for good commercial music came with Moby's Play in 1999—nearly every song on the album, from "Bodyrock" to "Porcelain," was licensed to some car manufacturer or liquor company (the latter was used for a Bailey's Irish Cream advert). The best part was that Moby didn't compromise his integrity with crap like "Like a Rock!" or "Simply the Best." The marketing people just accepted what he had to offer as it was.

[update:As was pointed out by Lisa Liu, it seems hypocritical for Moby to be an environmentalist and do commercials for carmakers. I actually asked him about that when I interviewed him in 1999, and he said that he took the money Ford or Toyota paid him and donated it to transportation alternative groups. Don't know if the ends justified the means, but he obviously gave the issue a lot of thought.]

After the success of "Play," Madison Avenue woke up and realized that if they used cutting edge music in their commercials, they'd attract that essential 18-34 demographic. (Not to mention people of all ages who just like a good beat). Not only are we exposed to music we won’t hear elsewhere, but good non-mainstream artists get a little money to boot.

The stigma associated with marrying music and marketing has pretty much faded. Occasionally things gone awry—like Club Med using the Stooge's "Lust for Life" to promote their family friendly vacation resorts—but by and large it's been a good trend.

I'm not ashamed to say I've been introduced to some of my favorite tracks and bands via TV spots: The Orbs' "Little Fluffy Clouds" (VW Bug) Broken Social Scene's "Lover's Spit" ("The L Word"), The Caesars' "Jerk It Out" (iPod Shuffle), the Von Bondies' "C'mon, C'mon" (FX's "Rescue Me"), the Walkmen's "We've Been Had (Saturn cars) and The Transplants' "Diamonds and Guns" (the woo-HOO!" song in those Garnier Fructis ads).

Adtunes.com is an invaluable resource—you can just search the forums and chances are someone else is dying to know where that song from the Victoria's Secret "Angels" commercials comes from. (FYI: It's Air's "Playground Love.")

At any rate, I was over a friend's house watching TV last night and a commercial for the new Adidas 1 sneaker came on. The visuals struck me first—a lone man wakes up and runs through a surreal landscape that emerges as he trots by. It was right out of a Bjork video, like a mash-up of "Human Behavior" and "Bachelorette." Then I noticed the tune playing over it, a haunting melody that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. It's one of those songs you only have to hear a bar or two of before you think "I must own everything this person does!"

Fortunately we had a laptop handy and started scouring the Web for details. Well, the visuals looked so familiar because the spot was directed by Spike Jonze, who did a number of Bjork videos, as well as Being John Malkovich and Adaptation. The song is an original composition sung by Karen O of the Yeah Yeah Yeahs. Here are the lyrics:

Whenever do i wake up
I'm trying to take the shape of
turning to the whole wide world
I made up.

the lights are golden...

the lights were golden...

Whenever do i wake up
I'm trying to take the shape of
turning to the whole wide world
I made up.

You can watch the ad by going to the Adidas 1 site and clicking on the "Watch TV Ad" button on the top right.

********************************
update: Just found out the spot is called "Hello Tomorrow." You can see the whole clip with all the credits here.

Johnny are you queer?

2005-03-16T21:17:00.000-05:00

Suck it, bitches! This is ma house!

Figure skating is weird. Everybody knows, or at least assumes (let's be fair), that all the male ice skaters are gay—which, of course, they are. So, you'd think it'd be the one sport (to use the term loosely) a homo would feel safe being out in. But except for Miss Congeniality Rudy Galindo, they all stay safely inside their satin-and-ermine-lined closets.

Now there's a new boy in town and he's a real showstopper:

20-year-old American Johnny Weir has been raking in medals like Kirstie Alley inhaling White Castle burgers after a bad "Fat Actress" review. He's won back-to-back U.S. figure skating championships and nabbed the esteemed Trophée Eric Bompard Cachemire in 2004. (No, I don't know what that is either, but it sounds fancy in French).

He's also the U.S.'s last, best hope for the gold at the World Figure Skating Championships in Moscow this week. (Cue inspirational music from "Over the Top.")

Oh, and one last thing: our boy Johnny is quite the little Elton-in-training. In a recent interview with Salon.com, he gushes over Paris Hilton, preaches the serenity of Kaballah and explains how he got his nickname, "Tinkerbell." ("I kind of float around, like even when I'm on the ice and off the ice...I am very quick, and doing everything all at once.")

Johnny might ruffle some feathers, though, with his pro-fur stance, as illuminated in the following excerpt:

Salon: When is PETA just going to realize that fur is fabulous and drop this whole charade?

JW: You know, animals wear fur coats, so I don't see any reason why I can't. It's discrimination, I think.

Do you take furs with you on the road?

Yes, I have one that I take when I go to Russia or somewhere that's really cold.

What is it?

It's coyote fur. It's somehow like a coyote shearling of sorts, and it's really nice, and it's long, and it's beautiful ... I love beautiful things, and if it means having a fur coat or diamonds -- or even if I want to wear a tiara someday -- then that's just the way it's going to be.

So far, I'm loving this little minx. I mean, he's soooo gay. I'm surprised his flames don't melt the ice. He even disses Michelle Kwan for wearing Vera Wang. Vera Wang, people!

But somehow, in a big three-page article, they completely skated around (sorry, I had to) the issue of Weir's sexuality. WTF?

Honestly, I didn't expect some big coming out thing about growing up in rural Pennsylvania and getting called "sissy" or "fag." I think we're sort of beyond that point in the culture, y'know. But a little acknowledgement or something, like "I was at Rawhide and the towel boy totally recognized me!"

The piece was totally set up gay, too. There's this giant blow-up shot of Johnny in a lavender and black outfit, his right hand thrust upwards like Endora on "Bewitched." The kicker in the intro reads "...almost nothing was off the table in a wide-ranging talk with America's next great gold medal contender." Yeah, almost.

Look, if Weir was some scared kid who didn’t want to broadcast his sexuality to the 300 media elitists who read Salon, that’s fine. But he did avoided talking about relationships—he just played the pronoun game.

"Well, I'm seeing someone and it's been almost 13 months now, so that's the longest relationship I've had, and it's difficult at times because I don't get a lot of time away from skating when I can work on my relationship, and, um, it is tough. But I think if you really love somebody, it's not going to just fade away because you're gone for a little while. It's just something that will always be there, and always you can feel the love coming to you, and you can always give love back."

Movie stars, football players, rappers…I expect them to stay closeted. I even understand why some of them do it. But you’re a fucking FIGURE SKATER! If you can't just come out and acknowledge yer a big ol' homo, then who the hell can?! (Oh, and can all the 20-year-olds please shut up about what it takes to keep a relationship alive? It's really annoying.)

Anyway, I wish you luck at the world championships this week, Johnny—even if you are a screaming closet case. Just don't get caught servicing any burley Muscovites in the bathroom. I hear the nights in Siberia are cold, indeed.

*****

side note:, I tried to track down the Salon interviewer, Dana Vachon—mainly to figure out if it was a "he" or a "she." There's a blog called D-Nasty written by a Dana Vachon, but I can't tell if it’s the same one, or even if D-Nasty is male or female. There's a posting about dressing like Tara Reid for Halloween, but in this city that means bupkis.

Night of the Hunter

2005-03-14T18:18:00.000-05:00

Vintage Dr. Gonzo, Ralph Steadman (1995)

The Rake's Progress: Journalists on Hunter S. Thompson

"Journalism is not a profession or trade," wrote literary maverick Hunter S. Thompson in his seminal 1971 travelogue Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas. "It's a cheap catch-all for fuck-offs and misfits—a false doorway to the backside of life." With Thompson dead at 65 from an apparent suicide, the media he so derided is mourning his loss and reflecting on his indelible legacy.

"He inspired a whole generation of writers," said Washington Post writer Helen Benedict, "and brought all kinds of people to non-fiction who might otherwise not have read it." Benedict credits Thompson's off-kilter, highly personal prose—"gonzo journalism," as he dubbed it—with rescuing the field from a "very literary but ponderous state" that appealed only to an in-the-know elite. "He went too far," she said, alluding to Thompson's reputation as a rampant drunkard and pill-popper, "but he's still inspiring. He's the Kurt Vonnegut of journalism."

Thompson's work—even when ostensibly on other subjects, like his recent sports column for ESPN.com—often ventured into the world of politics. "He was one of the most important political commentators we've had in the last 25 years," said Michael Phillips, a lecturer on humor in political rhetoric. Citing Fear and Loathing on the Campaign Trail, Thompson's groundbreaking coverage of the 1972 presidential election, Phillips said the Louisville, KY-born slugger helped change the course of political reporting. "By saying there was no such thing as objective journalism, he gave the American public a look at the political process that no one had before."

According to Phillips, Thompson's unorthodox methods actually helped, rather than hindered, his access to Washington bigwigs like Richard Nixon, Henry Kissinger and Bill Clinton. "Nobody wants to be associated with a suspected scoundrel," Phillips explained, "but if you're a confirmed scoundrel, they'll embrace you."

Phillips also credits Thompson with being one of the first journalists to turn his gaze on his fellow reporters, which was once considered bad form but is now common practice on 24-hour news networks, talk radio shows and Internet blogs. "He was a pioneer in looking at the process" of reporting, Phillips said, "instead of just the results." In fact, journalist Timothy Crouse researched The Boys on the Bus, still the bible of campaign reporters everywhere, while working as Thompson's assistant covering the 1972 election.

Somewhat more tenuous, however, is Thompson's place in academia. Should a reporter who rarely stayed on topic, openly abused drugs and alcohol, and never met a deadline he couldn't ignore, be held up as an example for journalism school students to follow?

"Young writers should read Thompson just as they read all sorts of talented writers," said Thomas Kunkel, dean of the University of Maryland journalism school and editor of the American Journalism Review. "Thompson was to modern journalism what Salvador Dali was to modern art—alarming, personal, hyperbolic, overly dramatic and unafraid to tackle big themes." But like Dali, Kunkel explained, Thompson learned the rules before breaking them. "It's easy to forget that in the beginning," Kunkel said, before the drinking and drugs threatened to turn Thompson into a beady-eyed lampoon, "there was this alarming talent."

Still, Kunkel warns his students against trying to mimic the godfather of gonzo journalism in their own writing. "Only Hunter S. Thompson could do it—and at time, even he couldn't pull it off."

2005-02-23T00:53:00.000-05:00

"I can just hear you getting fatter."

Silkwould

2005-02-21T00:32:00.001-05:00

This is a special early birthday present for my friend Danielle. She loves Meryl Streep. Well, we all love Meryl Streep, but Dani loves in her in a special "lets take scalding hot radiation baths together until secret government agents run us off the road" kind of way.

Danielle and I are both having birthdays this weekend, though she keeps forgetting she's a year OLDER than me. Must be the senility creeping in.

Ah well, I love you anyway -- you old coot!

"If you're sad and like beer, I'm your lady."

2005-02-17T16:48:00.000-05:00

The Godess: Isabella Rossellini in The Saddest Music in the World

I’ve got to stop judging books by their covers – or more precisely, DVDs and videos by their cases. I usually decide if I want to rent a movie within three seconds of looking at the box, and that’s without even reading the description on the back. If a film looks too “deep” or it’s a boxing movie or it stars Kevin Spacey, I won’t bother with it.

There’s another class of films I often pass over – ones I want to see, but it never seems to be the right moment for. I mean, I can’t say I’ve ever bounded gaily into the video store eager to rent In the Bedroom or Maria Full of Grace. I keep waiting to be in the right mood, which apparently I’m never in.

The last category of films I don’t end up renting are movies that I need to watch with someone else – maybe someone in particular, maybe a group of people. (I still haven’t seen 24 Hour Party People or the Mayles Brothers’ cult documentary Grey Gardens for this reason.) Since most people prefer going out to watching movies at my place (the fools), the list of good cinema I haven’t seen grows longer and longer.

One picture that eluded me for several months matched all three criteria. The Saddest Music in the World is a black comedy from avant-garde Canadian director Guy Maddin, who makes David Lynch look like John Hughes. Positive reviews and my love of leading lady Isabella Rossellini landed the film on my “must-see” list, but I thought it would be some sort of inscrutable existential comedy like I [Heart] Huckabees and therefore always managed to defer actually sitting through it.

Last week, however, it came off the “New Rental” shelf at TLA Video (the best video store in town), which meant it would only cost $3.50 and I’d have it for five days (Enough time for someone – anyone — to come over and watch it with me). I was hard up to find anything better, so I rented it – and it turned out to be the funniest movie I’ve seen in a year. And not funny in an “Oh, how droll” kind of way; I mean “laugh out loud and spill your Greyhound” funny.

Set in Winnipeg, Canada during the Great Depression, the film stars Ms. Rossellini (sigh) as an eccentric beer baroness who holds a contest to determine which country has the saddest music on Earth. Representatives from Timbuktu to Siam ("homeland of dignity, cats and twins") descend on the icy village and match off in Fight Club-style face-offs. Mark McKinney (“Kids in the Hall”) costars as the American contender (despite being Canadian) and Maria de Medeiros(Bruce Willis’ bobble-headed girlfriend in Pulp Fiction) plays his nymphomaniac playmate Narcissa. Did I mention Narcissa has the attention span of a goldfish and the Baroness sports artificial glass legs filled with the very lager she made her millions from?

Filmed in gauzy, blue tones that evoke a half-remembered dream, Music creates its own universe, where people punctuate their dialogue with lethal zingers and Gershwin tunes fill the arctic air. Maddin is known for being somewhat -- ok, very -- off-the-wall, but he wisely reins it in here and lets his international cast take center stage. The result is a super-stylized film that's both intimate and universal; realistic and fantastical; romantic and sardonic. Whether you love art films or prefer to watch popcorn flicks like Legally Blonde 5: Back to the Bleach, make it your business to see this one.

P.S.: I have to say I couldn’t have picked a better person to see the film with than my friend Bill Roundy, an aficionado of all things fine and good and the possessor of a particularly wicked cackle. We yelped at all the same moments and both insisted on rewinding to catch missed bits of comedy gold. I highly recommend watching this film with someone who shares your sense of humor -- especially if it’s of the dry, barbed variety.

Dive! Dive! Dive!

2005-02-11T22:14:00.000-05:00

Who says the rich are ungrateful?

This note was posted on the website of the Harvard Club of New York City, located on W 44th St.:

A hearty thank-you to Mario Metullus, Houseman, and Herbert Campbell, Assistant Executive Housekeeper, who went diving in a packed dumpster to find a member’s piece of jewelry that was inadvertently thrown out. The jewelry was returned to the member. All of us at the Club greatly appreciate Herbert and Mario’s outstanding service of which this is merely one example.

See, the system works!

Ain't Nuthin' but a Number

2005-02-04T01:36:00.000-05:00

So I did something last night that I'm not too proud of – I lied about my age for the first time. I hadn't planned to – in fact, I made a pledge of sorts some years back (as I approached the feeble old age of 27) to never lie about my age, because that was the truest sign I was turning into a sad old poof. I've never felt the need to fudge my digits before, even though I'm rapidly approaching my mid-30s. Around this time of year (the span between New Year's and my birthday, Feb 25), I usually take a personal inventory and I've been pretty happy with where I am lately: back in school, working at Time Out New York and pursuing my dream of being a magazine journalist. But sometimes things happen in a moment and all your promises go out the window.

When I originally made plans to meet up with my fellow Time Out interns for drinks, I knew it might be awkward. I’ve hung out with a lot of awesome people in their early twenties – heck, my last boyfriend was 23 when we met – but lately, I’ve encountered a few immature youngsters, the kind of people who went to the right schools, were raised the right way and didn’t have to do too much growing up on their own. I had a feeling at least one of my colleagues would fall into this group. And I was right.

We gathered outside Coffee Shop in Union Square around 8pm, but soon headed off to another spot when it was realized they were carding (yes, that’s right – one of my colleagues is all of 19). As our party of six lumbered towards Telephone Bar on Second Avenue, we chit-chatted about the usual mundane subjects that early twentysomethings obsess over. “Where’d you grow up?” “Where’d you go to school?” and the inevitable clincher, “how old are you?” It was the 19-year-old who asked me, and as soon as she did, I could tell she would flip out when I told her I would be 32 at the end of the month. I mean she was already borderline spastic, filled with that youthful frenzy that dissipates shortly after you bounce your third rent check. But I was cornered. If I demurred, she’d press harder. So, as casually as I could, I said “I’m thirty...” And then I stopped. I was going to add the “one,” which would at least be technically correct, if not completely honest. But I didn't – I just let the teee reverberate like an irrepressible fart. I guess I thought it might soften the blow if I was just teetering into my fourth decade, rather than firmly planted in it. I was wrong.

“YOU’RE THIRTY?! GUYS – HE’S OLDER THAN ALL OF YOU!” she whipped around and shrieked to the rest of the gang, who were trailing several feet behind us. I never quite understood what it meant to smote someone, but I swear I wanted to smite her right where she stood. Instead, I grabbed her arm and squeezed verrry tightly as I said, “Calm down – it’s not that big a deal,” an over-friendly smile plastered on my face. Once the shock of my dotage wore off, Miss 19 started to apologize profusely, as if she had accidentally blurted out I was molested by my uncle when I was 11. Again, I smiled and said "it's not a big deal" – with a withering look that made her feel even worse.

To their credit, the other interns -- who range in age from 23 to 26 -- just sort of shrugged and we moved on to other topics. And, I guess, to my credit I didn’t let it ruin the night for me. We arrived at the Telephone Bar and once the alcohol started to flow freely, all generational differences ebbed away. We gossiped about co-workers who weren’t there, shared New York apartment-hunting stories and bonded in the way people who spend 10-20 hours a week together do.

There's no real p.s. to this story. Miss 19 is going back to Oberlin next week (of course she goes to Oberlin. Where else?), so I won’t run into her in the hallway. And even if I did, I would flash her another stupid smile and laugh inside. One of the advantages of being an old fart is that you just don’t give a fuck what other people think.

The Tsunami, The Better

2005-01-30T22:05:00.000-05:00

I really wish everyone would just stop talking about tsunami (or as my prof calls it, “the SOO-nameee.”) Everywhere I turn is another sob story about some Belgian woman who lost her favorite pair of Birkenstocks or a listing about an upcoming benefit concert with Nancy Sinatra and Sandra Bernhard (no lie – at Crobar last Thursday).

Now, perhaps I should backtrack, lest you think I’m some sort of heartless bastard (there’ll be enough confirmation of that later). When the tsunami hit on December 28, I was in the grips of a flu so crippling I thought it might be scarlet fever. We’re talking 100 degree temperature, dizziness, vomiting – even the occasional hallucination. I had little contact with the outside world for almost a week, and hadn’t heard anything about the devastation in Indonesia. I do recall a feverish trip to the bodega and seeing the front page of the Post with pictures of some building with its façade caved in, but I think I just assumed it was somewhere in Fallujah.

In fact, my first brush with the tsunami wasn't until New Year’s Eve day, when I was making a stop at my second-favorite comic book shop, Jim Hanley’s Universe on 34th between Fifth and Sixth Aves. As I brought my issue of Teen Titans up to the register, I noticed a little tin can with the words “FOR TSUNAMI” on it. Still woozy from my recent illness, I assumed Tsunami was some independent comic book company that was on the verge of bankruptcy. Needless to say, I didn’t contribute.

Finally when I got home and turned on the TV, I learned what all the hubbub was about. Apparently, there was a giant tidal wave that wrecked havoc with Sri Lanka, Phuket and other Indonesian countries. Of course, based on the news coverage I was watching – and later reading in popular magazines – I could’ve very easily been under the impression that the tsunami happened in Interlocken, Switzerland (And, no, not because my geography skills are the product of the American education system). All the faces that I saw when the news covered the tragedy were white and upper/middle class. ABC News studiously reported on the health of Czech supermodel Petra Nemcova (who apparently lost a false eyelash), while People, Fox News and other fourth estate stalwarts picked apart the various tragedies suffered by lilywhite European tourists. Um, what about the millions of Asians who lost their homes, jobs or even their lives? You could almost see the network news honchos in their board rooms, talking about how white faces are more "relatable" to their audiences.

One of the most exploitative – and widely circulated – stories I heard was about Australian vacationer Jillian Searle who was desperately trying to hold onto her two young children as the waves pounded their bodies savagely. Forced into a veritable "Sophie's Choice," Searle let go of her elder son in order to save his younger brother. I wondered how that story reached newsmakers? Did Searle hold a press conference? Did Dan Rather track her down as she lay weeping by the shoreline? The irony was that the older son, Lachlan, was eventually rescued – meaning he now gets to grow up knowing his mother chose not to save him. Happy birthday, kid!

(And let's not concern ourselves with the thousands of Indonesian orphans the tidal wave left behind – we've got a great shot of this little tow-headed toddler safely playing in his backyard!)

Yes, the tsunami was devastating, and telling people's stories can help the healing process. But this sort of extreme "human interest" borders on the obscene. Why didn’t we get this glut of heart-tugging stories after the earthquake in Armenia or any number of other natural disasters?

I think it all boils down to September 11. When the Twin Towers fell, the usually Machiavellian media was caught off-guard. As journalist Bernard Goldberg wrote, "America's royalty, the TV news anchors, got it right. They gave us the news straight, which they don't always do. They told us what was going on without the cynicism and without the attitude." But in our post-9/11 world, the media has sped up its learning curve. When the tsunami came, news producers were ready to package it into nice and neat soundbites, delivered by reassuring white faces – not by those inscrutable Asians. Yes, I know the language barrier was an factor, but given how many tourists descend on that region every year, I have to believe at least a sizeable portion of the natives speak English.

As the "breaking news" aspect of the tsunami faded and the reporters went home, the PR industry swept in like the cavalry to rescue us from focusing on real life. Every celebrity from Madonna to Baby Spice is "pitching in" to help raise money and/or awareness. (I know this because publicists from around the world are busy faxing releases telling me so.) I'm all for charity, but you can hear the gears of the publicity machine behind these courageous acts of altruism churning a mile away. How long before we can buy a Lance Armstrong-like bracelet (the new AIDS ribbon, by the way) to commemorate the tragedy?

Oh wait, somebody already made them.

On Language

2005-01-21T14:30:00.000-05:00

I realize it's been nearly a month since I last posted, but between illness, out-of-town friends and the start of school (all of which I'll blog about later), I haven't had a moment to collect my thoughts. To tide you over until my next thought-provoking post, here are a few platitudes I've been musing over recently. I'll add more as they occur to me.

1. Isn't a "near-miss" a collision?

2. Why are they called "The Three Musketeers" when they only ever use swords?

3. Disconnect is a verb, not a noun.

Dan Avery: International Media Personality!

2004-12-25T13:36:00.000-05:00

A few months ago, a photographer came into my Writing, Research and Reporting I class to take some pictures for a spread on American universities for a piece in Newsweek Japan. Well, the story came out, and I am officially "big in Japan!" Can you spot me?

PS: I have no idea what the story says -- for all I know, its an attack on stupid Americans and their third-rate education system.

Take Your Momma Out

2004-12-24T01:24:00.000-05:00

As a enjoyable coda to a week of final exams, I went to the Scissor Sisters show at Hammerstein on Sunday, Dec. 19. I had actually bought the tickets month ago without having anyone in particular in mind to take. As it turned out, I went with my friend Danielle -- and what a smart move that was!

First off, what with stress, lack of sleep, and a number of intoxicants, I forgot the concert was on Sunday in the first place. (Hell, I forgot what day it was altogether!) Danielle called me Sunday afternoon to ask what time we should meet up. Now, I should preface this by saying Dani comes over to hang out all the time (god love her), so it was not usual for her to just call and ask what time she should come over. "I'm exhausted," I said. "I'm gonna take a nap but why don't come by around 8:30?. "Doesn't the concert start at 6:30?!" she replied. "Huh? what concert?" yadda yadda yadda... explanations...revelations...and I figured out what was going on.

Now, I had stayed up until 5am for the past two nights in a row, so I wasn't really up for a big concert, especially one where I'd feel obligated to be fagulous. Our friend Sam was supposed to be going, but his ticket fell through, so I thought about offering him my ticket instead. Dani and I went back and forth, each of us not sure if we should go, each telling the other they should "definitely go." Mustering up some resolve, we reaffirmed our decision to go to the Scissor Sisters show.

There was a whole drama with getting there which I won't bore you with, but we ended up getting into the Hammerstein Ballroom...sorry, the Manhattan Center...by 7:30pm. Ironically the opening band hadn't even gone on yet. There was time to get some drinks, hit the enoooooormously long coat check line and find Sam. Once DJ Sammy started spinning his magic music, the wait didnt seem to matter. In fact, I recall saying I'd pay $30 just to listen to this kind of music. Donna Summer, the Cure, Missy Elliot...Why is it so hard to find good dance music in NYC? Everyone always says that, so there must be an audience for it. I guess the kind of people who really put on good dance nights are all about being creative and not organized, so the nights soon fall about.

Anyway, I know there was a really long wait before the opening band, VHS or Beta, and between them and the Sisters, but it all slipped away like a wisp of smoke once the main event started. (Which is odd, because I usually hold onto resentments like U.S. savings bonds.) I'm actually not going to talk about the show, because I just want to enjoy the memory. Besides, Danielle does a much better job anyway. (She did, however, neglect to mention they did an awesome Kurt Weill-like rendition of Franz Ferdinand's "Take Me Out.")

I will say that the best part of the whole experience was being surrounded by friends, listening to awesome rock music and knowing every song. With recent political events, it's easy to forget your not a freak. The concert was just the reminder I needed. As Ana Matronic mentioned during one of her frequent asides. "You have at least one thing in common with everyone in this room."

Happy holidays, one and all.

-dan

The Shack...The Shack...The Shack is on Fire!

2004-12-17T21:05:00.000-05:00

It's the end of innocence, folks.

The B-52s were a seminal band for me. While most of my high school friends were listening to Rush and Motley Crue (yes, Im a child of the 80s), I was oscillating wildly in my bedroom to the beats of "Rock Lobster," "Privat Idaho" and, yes, "Love Shack."

And now the Shack is gone...

The funky little lean-to that inspired Fred, Kate, Cindy and Keith's first top ten hit, "Love Shack," burned to the ground on Monday in a "suspicious" fire. The authorities suspect arson, as building materials being used to refurbish the shack have gone missing. We can take comfort in that fact that at least one part of the shack survived the blaze: the tin roof. Rusted!

Ain't Karma a Bitch

2004-12-15T02:20:00.000-05:00

artist's rendering

Seems like there's more vehicular mahem to report:

According to the BBC News website, a man has been hit and killed by a double decker bus, moments after throwing a brick at its windscreen.

"It is thought John Rothwell, 40, of Broadway in Bredbury, Stockport, got off the bus in Heaton Chapel at about 1am on Tuesday.

Police said a brick from a nearby wall was thrown moments before the bus hit Mr Rothwell in Wellington Road North.

He suffered multiple injuries and died later at Stepping Hill Hospital in Stockport.

The 52-year-old bus driver, from Longsight, was treated for shock.

Wellington Road North was closed to traffic both ways while the collision was cleared.

Police say the driver and the bus passengers will be interviewed as part of a routine investigation.

Anyone who saw the incident is being asked to contact them."

2004-12-11T21:23:00.000-05:00

A Guide to Cat Emotions

Greetings from Baghdad

2004-12-11T14:21:00.000-05:00

My oldest and bestest friend's roommate split for Iraq a few months ago. He's not a soldier or a journalist, mind you -- just a budding capitalist looking to get his mitts on some of that Haliburton booty. An avid gamer with a penchant for Syphon Filter 3 style shoot-em-ups, he's now facing the real thing as he tries to rebuild the country's infrastructure.

There is tons of chaos and bullshit, and loud noise, so I’m having fun, and pushing myself to the limit. Tomorrow they are going to turn Fallujah into a cement rubble meat grinder. Hold the mayo! Payback is a bitch.

Check out the postcard he sent at Too Sane.

Everything and the Kitchen Sink

2004-12-11T04:21:00.000-05:00

This isn't the car

Some guy in Russia got pissed off at his neighbor's car alarm and dropped a sink out his window right onto the car.

The car owner is grieving, but his neighbors are happy to enjoy the silence.

God, I'm jealous. If only my plumbing would detach from the wall.

Fark.com

One Hot Fuss

2004-12-10T18:59:00.000-05:00

Junk magazine has a great piece explaining the gay high school crush storyline weaving through The Killers' awesome debut, Hot Fuss.

The key to the puzzle, without a doubt, is “Andy, You’re a Star.” The most transparent of the songs on the album, our narrator pines for the seemingly untouchable (and attached) high school jock. On the field he’s incredible and he’s leaving his legacy on the school, but he’s also rolling around on the mats with the boys with more fervor than wrestling demands. The narrator says, explicitly, "In a car with a girl/promise me she’s not your world/'cause Andy, you’re a star." Sure, it could be a platonic envy or admiration of a smalltown boy with a too-big-for-his-britches star quality, but the town isn’t admiring him; they’re judging him -- and the verdict is in. We suspect Andy likes boys. And our narrator likes Andy.

Junk, by the by, is a great online zine from Brad Walsh and some of his Oberlin friends. It's a site for girls and boys who like boys (and open-minded boys who like girls), dedicated to stories "that make you laugh, make you think, and keep you interested." There are also lots of nice pictures of cute boys on it but, like the man once said, I read it for the articles.

2004-12-10T14:21:00.000-05:00

close up

We Don't Need No Education

2004-12-10T14:16:00.000-05:00

Not only is homophobia alive and well in our nation's classrooms, but it appears logic and basic freedom of speech are on their deathbed.

A second-grader in Louisiana was punished for saying the word word "gay" at school when another student asked why he had two mothers. Eight-year-old Marcus McLaurin explained it was because his mother was a gay. The other child asked what that meant and Marcus replied, "Gay is when a girl likes another girl." Overhearing the exchange, teacher Terry Bethea sent Marcus to the principal's office.

In a written "confession" that was put in his discipline file and sent home to his mother, McLaurin wrote, "I sed bad wurds lineing up fur riyces [recess]." When asked what he should have done, Marcus wryly wrote "Cep my mouf shut."

Perhaps Marcus' teacher should have been more concerned with his spelling and grammar than his conversation topics.

American Constitution Society for Law and Policy

From Flab to Fab

2004-12-08T16:59:00.000-05:00

I just did an interview with Mario Lavandeira, a 26-year old writer/editor from Los Angeles who's going to be on VH1's "From Flab to Fab" on Monday, Dec. 13, at 11:30am. Due to size constraints, the interview had to be edited down for the magazine, but here is the uncut, unedited version:

Super Mario
Mario Lavandeira weighs in on "From Flab to Fab"

Mario Lavandeira knew he had to do something about his growing waistline. But instead of Atkins or lipo, the 206lb Los Angelino signed up to star in VH1's reality weight-loss show "From Flab to Fab." Mario and two other hefty homos followed a rigorous three-month exercise plan based on Madonna's fitness regimen (and you know Esther doesn't mess around). The workouts were arduous and the sacrifices were great, but Mario is thrilled with his new rockin' bod. (The $500 clothing allowance was pretty fierce, too.)

Dan Avery : What’s your background?

Mario Lavandeira: I’m the editor of Page Six Six, which I affectionately refer to as "all the news, gossip and satire that’s unfit to print (anywhere else)." I also whore myself out as a freelance writer for a bunch of publications, like HX (where I wrote a piece on electro pop goddess Miss Kittin a few months back) and Cybersocket (where I recently wrote an article about some of my favorite New Yorkers, including the Glamazons and the Dazzle Dancers).

Read the full interview here

Jason West: The Marrying Kind

2004-12-03T12:34:00.000-05:00

Most politicians are experts at backpedaling and sidestepping, but New Paltz, NY mayor Jason West took a bold leap forward when he began performing same-sex marriage ceremonies in February 2004.

Only months after being sworn in as New York's first Green Party official, the 27-year old former housepainter started talking with local gays and lesbians who wanted to formalize their unions. West examined state law, which he said "defines marriage as a contract between two people, opposite-sex or otherwise," then joined more than twenty couples before being charged with 19 counts of "solemnizing unlicensed marriages." The charges were eventually dropped but a court order prevents him from performing any more same-sex ceremonies for the time being. Though he has many gay friends, West (who is straight) said his involvement in the marriage equality issue was "just a question of basic human decency."

The New Paltz case made national headlines and West has since become something of a pop culture conversation piece. He's appeared in Mad Magazine and a character based on him popped up in a recent episode of "Law and Order." "I find it kind of amusing," he said of his newfound "celebrity." "I got recognized in Manhattan for a few months after this whole thing blew up."

Gay rights activists have encouraged West to seek higher office, but for now he's focusing on helping his constituents. "I've got my hands full with environmental issues, affordable housing and local government reform," he said. As for whether performing gay marriages will ultimately help or hinder his chances for reelection, West replied "I don't know how it will all play out, but people [here] have been extremely supportive so far." Indeed, the e-mail he's received on the issue have been 10-1 in favor of his stance.

As the marriage equality question works its way through the court system, West's hands are tied, but he promised that as soon as same-sex couples can get a license – there are three or four cases pending – he'll start performing them again. "As far as I'm concerned, these marriages are legal and always have been."

Civil rights advocates of all orientations see West as something of a folk hero, but when it comes to men he admires, West cites Colonial patriot Thomas Paine and civil rights leader Malcolm X. "They never loss sight of their convictions," he said. "even to the point of risking their freedom and their lives."

Zagat: The Little Red Book from Hell

2004-12-01T16:09:00.000-05:00

Sorry to go off on a rant, but I feel I must address an issue that has bubbling in my brain for far too long. I'm speaking, of course, about the apparent love affair New Yorkers have with the Zagat Restaurant Guide. The ubiquitous maroon book pokes out of faux Fendi bags, rests in the hands of nervous middle-aged couples on the downtown F train, is Xeroxed and taped to restaurant windows, and sits piled chest-high in Borders and Barnes & Nobles across the city. How many of us have gotten a Zagat guide as a birthday or Christmas present – or worse, a "Welcome to New York" gift?

Here me now: Zagat books are worthless. I would take Dr. Zizmor's culinary advice before consulting one of them. Hell, I'd sooner ask that homeless guy by my office who's always diving into the trashcan for an afternoon snack.

This is how it works. By definition, a Zagat book is not a professional guide. The "reviews" – and I use that term loosely – are not written by professional food critics; people who have studied cooking (and writing) for years, who go to hundreds of restaurants repeatedly and who make a point of thoroughly investigating the establishments they patronize. No, Zagat write-ups are complied from online postings made by members of the general public. Some biddy gives "Chez Martin" a bad review because she really wanted to go to Appleby's but it was closed for fumigation? Oh well. Some jerk complains about poor service because the waiter didn't step-and-fetch fast enough? Too bad, massuh sir.

Editors take these inane musings (one wonders how contributors can utilize the keyboard with their fat, greasy fingers) and try to sew together a cohesive opinion about a given eatery. The comments are all given equal weight, even though people tend only to fill them out when they are unhappy or drunk. The resulting write-ups are nothing more than ellipse-ridden strings of clichés and puns that give no specific notion of the establishment.

"This gem of a hash house…brings home the bacon…with a great menu…Try the margaritas!"

What are the specialties of the house? Where did the chef study? Would it be a good place for a wedding reception? "I dunno," would be the "author's" likely reply.

Categories like cleanliness, service and atmosphere are assigned numerical values based on a 30-point scale. Nothing says detail like a number grade, right?

The icing on the cake, as it were, is the company itself. Tim and Nina Zagat, who to my knowledge still oversee the firm, are Yale-educated lawyers (I get all my dining advice from litigators, don't you?) who started their namesake book series in 1979. From all accounts, they are total douches.

I have heard first-hand how management demeans and disrespects its editors, who are often forced to make up quotes and comments for places nobody ventures to. ("I ain't goin' to no French restaurant. Those peoples is un-American!") Staffers are overworked and underpaid and freelancers must fight tooth and nail to get their checks. Such is the cult of Zagat that there's a line of eager would-be replacements waiting to fill their positions.

There are so many good restaurant reviews out there. The New York Times, New York magazine, Time Out and other publications release annual dining guides. Their writers, who go to restaurants for a living, actually make an effort to seek out smaller, out-of-the-way places and aren't afraid to try new cuisines.

Let's say we stop the madness now and buy one of them for Christmas instead. Okay? Or better yet, get off your lazy ass and try cooking for a change. Your oven is good for more than just storing books and CDs.

Here's a great Zagat parody from the folks at Modern Humorist

Religion 101

2004-11-29T00:53:00.000-05:00

"Muslims do not recognize Judaism as a religion. Jews do not recognize Jesus as the Messiah. Protestants do not recognize the Pope as the leader of the Christian faith. Southern Baptists do not recognize each other at strip clubs."

-- Anonymous

Safe for Some: Policing the "New" Lower East Side

2004-10-26T16:35:00.000-04:00

At 3:50 p.m., the officers on the third watch in Lower Manhattan's seventh precinct get ready roll out and start their shifts. It's raining and one of the patrol cars has stalled in the parking lot, so several officers gather to push it into a nearby spot. This isn't an unusual occurrence. These cars are in service 24 hours a day and, since this is the second smallest precinct in the city, funding for repairs is limited. A fireman – the station house is in the same red-brick building as Ladder Company 11 – stands on the corner and flashes a bemused smile.

A call comes in: A newspaper delivery truck has knocked over a fire hydrant outside Seasons Market on Allen and Rivington, causing gallons of water to flood the restaurant's cellar. "Who's responding?" asked Officer Eworth Pryce to his partner Sal Tamburello. With the incident involving both a hit-and-run driver and damage to city property, there's a question of jurisdiction. Eventually, a fireman shuts off the water and the officers agree to arrange for the disposal of the broken hydrant.

Back in the patrol car, another call comes in. It's an EDP – Emotionally Disturbed Person. "These can be the worst," said Tamburello, 27. "You never know what you'll find. They could be violent." But when Pryce and Tamburello arrive at Orchard and Houston, there's neither a disturbed person nor a complainant.

Such innocuous incidents might give the impression there's no "real" crime in this small Lower East Side neighborhood, stretching from East Houston on the north and Allen on the west to the East River on the south and east. The latest statistics from CompStat, a relatively new crime-tracking report, do show a significant downturn in murder, rape and felony assaults. This is not the same Lower East Side photographer Clayton Patterson documented in the 1980s, full of drug dealers, police beatings and violent murders. "I heard this area used to be real bad," explained Pryce, 33. "Open drug trading, street fights." Pryce has been in the precinct – and on the job – for only two-and-a-half years. Tamburello, with three-and-a-half, has seniority.

But to say there's no serious crime left in the 7th district would be to miss the larger picture. Robbery and grand larceny are still major problems here. The latter because the affluent young people who now come to the area's trendy bars often leave their bags and purses unattended. "By the time the victim notices she's been robbed, they're long gone," Tamburello explained. "All we can do is try to make the owners and patrons aware of the threat."

Robbery, however, is the bigger threat, since it's often coupled with assault. In the past several months, a number of delivery men – mostly from nearby Chinatown restaurants – have been beaten and robbed while delivering bogus orders made by their attackers. Just last week, a delivery boy was stabbed with a screwdriver for what amounted to less than $30. This kind of crime is difficult to solve because the assailants strike quickly and many Asian immigrants are reticent to speak to cops.

Most of the attacks occur in or near housing projects, like the one on Cherry Street, where, tonight, Pryce and Tamburello are making an unannounced walk-through.
Without keys to the building, they must wait to be let in. They pace anxiously – tenants have been known to throw garbage down from their windows when the police approach. Last year, according to Tamburello, a patrolman was killed by a cement block that crushed his skull.

Inside, the tenants appear courteous, if a little apprehensive. A young woman asks Tamburello if he goes to the Dunkin' Donuts on Delancey. He gives her a sideways glance and she quickly explains that she works there and knows most of the officers from his precinct. Patting his belly, he says he's watching his weight. On the 19th floor, a couple found smoking cigarettes in the stairwell make their apologies and head back into the hallway. Finding no wrongdoing inside, Pryce and Tamburello make their way to the roof.

In the projects, rooftops are No Man's Land. Just being up there is an arrestable offense. It's where the dealers go to sell and the junkies go to smoke or shoot up. Rapes and assaults are common here, as well. Pryce draws his revolver as he slowly pushes the access door open. He does a quick reconnaissance before waving for Tamburello to follow. They make a full sweep, peering slowly around ventilation shafts and dark, faceless structures. Tonight, it seems, the rain is keeping everyone indoors and out of trouble.

Back on the street, night has fallen. Pryce and Tamburello get in their squad car and return to headquarters for their dinner break. At a red light, Pryce explained his irritation with people who think his job must be dull compared to the "heyday" of New York's crime-ridden streets. Just two days ago, he broke up a fight between two friends, one of whom had knifed the other. "I wish it was boring," he said. "There's more than enough going on around here. It's just not where some folks can see it."

From Flab 2 Fab

2001-12-08T16:58:00.000-05:00

Super Mario
Mario Lavandeira weighs in on "From Flab to Fab"

Dan Avery : What’s your background?

Mario Lavandeira: I’m the editor of Page Six Six, which I affectionately refer to as "all the news, gossip and satire that’s unfit to print (anywhere else)." I also whore myself out as a freelance writer for a bunch of publications, like HX (where I wrote a piece on electro pop goddess Miss Kittin a few months back) and Cybersocket (where I recently wrote an article about some of my favorite New Yorkers, including the Glamazons and the Dazzle Dancers).

I’m 26 and originally from Miami. I was fortunate enough to escape from the Cuban ghetto and flee to Manhattan, where I went to NYU and lived for six years. I’m slumming it now in Los Angeles while I treacherously prepare my move back to New York.

Dan: How did you get involved with the show?

Mario: It’s interesting how I was chosen for “Flab 2 Fab.” I was reading Us Weekly (my guilty pleasure) and they had a review of the show. VH1 aired two episodes back in May, Beyonce style and J. Lo style. I saw the show and I loved it. I thought it was very refreshing in that it was a positive show with no surprises or gimmicks. It isn’t “The Swan” or “The Biggest Loser.” Don’t get me wrong, I love those shows, but I’d never want to be on them. The one thing that struck me about “Flab 2 Fab” was that all of the participants on the show and most of the executives involved behind putting it on were female. I thought to myself, “They should have an episode with gay men!”

I used to work for GLAAD, the Gay & Lesbian Alliance Against Defamation, and I still have a bit of that “activist” in me. So I wrote VH1 a letter and told them that gay men face the same (if not more) pressure than straight women to be fit and fabulous. I thought it was important for the viewers to realize all the similarities that we have, and thankfully VH1 agreed. I guess my letter was good because the producers called me in to meet with them, and next thing I know, I’m on the show! I mean, I didn’t even submit a videotape! It all happened pretty quickly.

What was your original weight?

Gosh, before I decided to do the show, I never would weigh myself, so when I got on that scale for the first time, it was pretty shocking. I weighed in at a portly 206 lbs! But, that wasn’t the worst of it. When we began, they also took our body fat (mine was 30%) and measurements. I think I was really traumatized when they told me I had a 41” waist. That’s one place where less is more!

What prompted you to lose weight?

I had wanted to get my act in order for quite a while, but I was in denial for the longest time. The first indication that something was wrong was when my pants wouldn’t fit, but I refused to by any new ones! Instead, I would just zip my pants up but not button them. The last straw was when I had to work at a gay pride event and was required to wear a tank top, which was not very flattering on me at all! Then, when the opportunity to be on the show presented itself, I couldn’t pass it up. It was so motivating to know that if I stuck to the program and followed what the trainers and nutritionist said, I would be guaranteed amazing results by the end of the three months.

Why did you pick Madonna as a fitness role model?

Actually, I didn’t pick Madonna! It never occurred to me that we could
pick a woman. When I went in to meet with the producers, I said that I wanted to be like Justin Timberlake. He’s just yummy! [Laughs] He’s got great abs, a killer bod, and a bangin’ sense of style, from ghetto fabulous to sophisticated and sassy. The week I went in to see the VH1 folks was the same week that Madonna was playing her LA shows during the Re-Invention tour. I went in wearing the custom-made t-shirt I wore to the tour opener, a baby pink tee with big black block letters that says, “Madonna is my bitch!” So it was kind of meant to be. I had Madonna on the brain, and that’s who the producers assigned to us anyways.

What was involved in following Madonna's regimen?

Well, we were put on a macrobiotic diet, which Madonna adhered to religiously for many years. And, it sucked ass! I was never a big fan of tofu before we began the program and we had tofu with just about every meal! We eat tons of tofu, vegetables, complex grains, and minimal fish. No chicken, beef or dairy. But, it was nice to have all of our meals made for us. That way the temptation to cheat was definitely minimized. Also, we were not able to drink any alcohol at all for three months. Going out to bars was pretty tough because I could only have water.

Fitness-wise, we also did yoga and went fencing, which was so much fun. Style-wise, they took us a few times to get facials at Madonna’s favorite spa. It was nice to be pampered after working so hard. I really have never worked harder! We would work out six days a week. For one hour in the morning, we’d do strength training with one of our two trainers, and then at night, we’d do an hour of cardio on our own. And we’d also do cardio on the seventh day. So it was like we’d never get a break! I really felt like I had to put my life on pause for three months. I wasn’t able to see my friends as much as I would have liked, and that was tough. I would have to be in bed every day by 9pm to wake up at 5am, at the gym from 6:30-7:30. At work by 8:30. Back at the gym by 6:30pm. I’d get home by 8, where I had just one hour to eat, pay bills, jerk off and just take a moment to breathe. [Laughs]

I also had my eating down to a science: breakfast, snack, lunch, snack, dinner. I always ate at the same times – the same thing, day in and day out. I felt like a machine.

Were all the other contestants gay men? How did you feel about all being lumped in one episode?

At first I was very nervous about who was going to be on the show with me. I really didn’t want to be on an episode with women because I kept thinking that they’d be resentful of having a man on board, because men do have an advantage in that they can lose weight a bit faster than women. I was relieved when I found out that I was going to be on an episode with two other guys, and when it became apparent that they were both gay and that we were on the Madonna episode, I just had a good laugh! I knew we would have fun and were definitely in for a ride.

Was there any "drama" with the trainers or other contestants?

The whole program was very stressful. Our trainers were merciless, and they were asking a lot of us and our bodies. Plus, working out super early in the morning, you’re not the friendliest. [Laughs] During one of the workouts, one of the other guys was goofing around when we were boxing and he inadvertently cause me to injure my wrist, which thankfully wasn’t a very serious injury. After that, we were a bit icy towards each other. Things got pretty heated towards the end. We almost got into a fight, but thankfully, before the program was over, we were able to work out all of the crap. I mean, we were put in such an extreme situation and having the cameras on you does not make it any easier, it just heightens the experience.

What was the most fun part of doing the show?

The most fun part of doing the show was the very last day when it was all over! [Laughs] All of the hard work, sweat, early morning workouts and a few tears were behind, and I could really just sit back and enjoy the final reveal. I got my hair did and my nails done. They even had an old school barber come in and shave our faces! It was so much fun to be pampered and taken care of all day. Then, we put on our fancy new duds and were introduced to all of our family and friends. It was especially meaningful for me because I flew my mom out from Miami and she had not seen me since I began the program. I made sure that a friend picked her up at the airport and everything so that she wouldn’t see me until the reveal. And then when she saw me, of course she started crying. It was a touching moment.

What was the most stressful?

The most stressful part of the whole experience was the newness of it all. I never really worked out on a regular basis before the show, and there was a big disconnect between my brain and my body. It was very frustrating to have the trainers yell at me because I wasn’t doing an exercise properly. My brain was watching them do it and I thought it was computing it, but I couldn’t always translate it and get that movement into my body. It took a while to really get in synch and become one with my body. That sounds so frou-frou and Kaballah-ish, but it’s true.

Would you do it again?

I would definitely not do it all again! [Laughs] Thankfully, I now have all the tools and know what to do to keep up a healthy diet and fitness regimen.

Is there some sort of prize or competition involved or does everyone just try to reach their fitness goals?

There are a few “rock star indulgences” as the show likes to call them. Whoever lost the most amount of weigh, body fat and inches each month would win a prize. I won the indulgence the second month, which was a 3-day stay at one of Madonna’s favorite resorts. I took my cousin as my guest, and we just had a wonderful time. They gave us complimentary massages and facials. We event went in the mud baths and mineral hot springs. It was totally fun.

Were you happy with your results?

I was more than happy! I far exceeded all of my expectations. I lost a total of 45lbs in the three months! And I dropped 13” around the waist! Now I’m at a normal and healthy 160 lbs and 28” waist for my 6’0” frame. Plus, it feels so good to have abs! [Laughs] I’ve never had abs before. So now, of course, I keep telling all my friends to touch my abs!

Have you kept the weight off? How have you incorporated what you learned into your life now?

Since the show ended back in early October, I’ve not only been maintaining, but I’ve also been fine-tuning. I’ve incorporated everything I learned from the show, and I’m very proud that I’ve still been hitting the gym six times a week. Thankfully, I’m only going once a day though! [Laughs]

Are you nervous about America seeing you go through your ordeal?

I’m a little nervous about the show airing. It’s pretty amazing that our whole three-month experience is condensed down into 60 minutes! The editors have tons and tons of footage and they really can paint you in whatever way they want. But, on the whole, I’m very excited for the show to air. I think that a lot of gay men and people in general will be able to relate to me and my experience. And, hopefully, I may inspire some people along the way. It’ll definitely be a good chuckle!

How did you feel when you started seeing noticeable results?

I first started to notice results when my pants started to fit again.
And, my first thought was, “I’m glad I didn’t buy fat pants!” [Laugh] It all happened so gradually. I don’t remember a specific moment when I was like “Wow. I see results.” Because for the first 3 or 4 weeks I was on the show, I was in so much pain. I had to pop as many Advil as Anna Nicole Smith. But she probably uses stronger meds! [Laughs] The first moment of real tangible accomplishment was at the one-month mark, when we weighed ourselves for the first time since starting the show. They didn’t let us weigh ourselves, so I had no idea what my results would be. When I got on that scale and I saw that I lost just over 20 pounds in the first month, I was shocked and amazed and totally blissed out. It was great to be able to put a number to all of the hard work that I put in, although it’s not about losing weight. What’s more important is losing body fat, and that’s what I’m really focusing on now that I’m off the program. I’m trying to build muscle without getting bulky and without losing any more pounds.

Have you changed on the inside as a result of your change on the outside?

One of the great things about working out so much and also the yoga is that I have really been able to learn how to focus my energy, which has been wonderful. It’s great to have a lot of energy, but it’s a waste if you don’t use it wisely.

Do you have more self-confidence?

I definitely have a lot more self-confidence, but in my own quirky way.
I look good and I feel good, but I don’t think I’m hot shit or anything like that. It’s the minutia that I’m proud of. Like, I’ll tell people,
"Touch my abs!" Because I take five abs classes a week. That’s almost three hours of ab work! [Laughs] And, I’m proud of having lost 45 lbs, but more importantly, I’m more proud of having dropped 13” around the wait.

Are looks more important to you now?

I don’t pay any more importance to looks now than I did before. What I do value more now is discipline. Going to the gym is very important to me now. I look forward to it, I enjoy it, and I get a lot out of it – both physically and mentally. I make sure that I go 6 times a week. And it’s just done. Not going that much is just not an option for me anymore. And, it’s kind of awesome to see that I have that much discipline. It’s a new thing. And I like it! [Laughs]

Have you changed your fashion style?

My shirts have definitely gotten tighter! [Laughs] It was also nice to
get an allowance for new clothes from the show once we were done with the program. Let me tell you, you can spend $500 real quick! If I had as much money as Madonna, I’d be so fashionable I’d give Tom Ford a permanent erection! [Laugh]

"From Flab to Fab: Madonna Style" Airs Monday, Dec. 13 at 11:30am on VH1