[via Jonno]

1. Sparky (née Ultrasparky) has launched a website for his beautiful objet/magazine, Pink Mince. Issue #4 is titled “Your Dad Was Hot!”, and for a mere £4, it’s all yours, baby. Buy in bulk.

2. My pal and erstwhile theatre buddy, James “Jim” Meredith (not that James Meredith, obvs), has written a book in-between flights. He’s a steward for JetBlue, or in their kooky, gender-neutral lingo, an Inflight Crewmember. Anyway, the book is called Will Wadsworth’s Train to Nowhere, and it’s due out this month. I haven’t read any of it, but I’m sure it’s about 3,047% better than the self-help-o-rama being “penned” by Nomi Malone. Lots more info chez Bigezbear.

3. I have a new post up on Lurid Digs, which is ENTIRELY NSFW. In it, I debate the existence of god, twins, and ex-gays, but mostly Lava Lamp nightstands.

4. I’ve asked you before if you’re following Tamishir on Flickr, haven’t I? I’m pretty sure I have. Did you listen? Because he’s still motherhumpin’ brilliant:

I’ve mentioned before that I contribute to the Human Rights Campaign. I know a lot of people have issues with the HRC, and in fairness, the org isn’t as edgy as it used to be — though also in fairness, “aggro” has never really been the HRC’s style. Some of my friends rag on me for giving to an advocacy group that seems to move slowly and to be slightly out of touch with the desires of many LGBT Americans. “Foot-dragging A-listers”, they call them.

But I’ve always found the Dr. King approach more politically expeditious than that of Mr. X. And given my limited experience with lobbying and backdoor politics (watch it), I’m pretty comfortable with the HRC’s tactics. In fact, I’m pleasantly surprised by their accomplishments.

Even more importantly, to my friends who sneer at me for giving a few bucks a month to the largest LGBT advocacy org in America, I ask: what the fuck are you doing for us? Are you staging advocacy days at the capitol? Attending sit-ins? Giving your hard-earned dough to another LGBT group? Hell, are you people even writing your legislators?

That said, I do have some concerns with HRC, and I’m considering scaling back my contribution. Not because of the way they’ve responded to DADT or this veterans thing, but because of the HRC’s reliance on terrible stock photography:

Look at that. Are they LGBT lobbyists or dental hygienists? I really can’t tell.

HRC, can we please get a little gay design pride up in this bitch?

Being cuckolded was bad enough, but seeing that the bastard was one of Jacqueline’s 11 brothers made Jean-Paul lose his appetite for the vomit already welling up inside his stomach.

Advertising Agency: Prolam Y&R, Santiago, Chile
Executive Creative Director: Tony Sarroca
Creative Director: Alvaro Becker
Art Directors: Andres Echeverria, Cristian Costa
Copywriter: Tomas Cisternas
Photographer: Patricio Pescetto
Illustrator: Ricardo Salamanca
Account manager: Pancho Cardemil

Are you going to be in San Francisco tonight? Then get the hell out of the house/hotel/Happy Ending Spa and roll over to Cafe du Nord (2170 Market Street). Dear closepersonalfriends the Ex-Boyfriends are having a record release party for their new album, Line In/Line Out, which they’re dropping digitally (duh, they’re in SF) and also on old-skool vinyl (duh, they’re in SF), but not on CD, because, um, eww.

But wait, there’s more: not only do the Ex-Bfs put on a great show, but there’ll also be three other bands rocking the stage: The Bruises, The Shondes, and Excuses for Skipping — none of whom I know personally, but any friend of the Ex-Boyfriends is a friend of mine. (That’s something I’ve said in my everyday life, too: I don’t believe in cutting off ties to anyone who’s has his/her tongue on my genitals, even if they do leave the cap off the toothpaste.)

But enough about my nads. Doors open at 8pm, and the show starts at 9pm. There’s a $10 cover, which is possibly the best deal in town for seeing four rockin’ bands on one stage, so what more do you want, cheapskate? For you need-to-know types, there’s way more info at the Ex-BF website.

On Monday, as I walked my dogs through our neighborhood in the Lower Ninth Ward of New Orleans, an enormous flock of seagulls accompanied us in the sky, swooping down to the streets, scavenging for food along the gutters, and screeching to each other with alarm. It isn’t unusual to see gulls around town, but this was an unusually large number, and I imagined they had been chased inland by the growing Gulf oil spill, the same way they get chased in by hurricanes or other enormous storms.

We are used to displacement here. We still measure things as before or after Katrina, as if there is somehow a possibility of moving back in time and slipping into the still familiar order of life before the storm. Perhaps that is why I regarded the misplaced gulls as simply a fact rather than a tragedy. Or more likely I was distracted by the fact that for one of the gaggle of dogs at the end of the leash, this would be a final walk before going to the vet to be put down.

Continue reading Ken Foster’s “New Orleans’ Life as a Dog” at Salon.com

P.S. If you’re so inclined, you can also learn more about Ken’s Sula Foundation for pit bull rescue, care, and advocacy at SulaFoundation.org, where there happens to be a video clip documenting Jacques‘ very first encounter with his best friend/adopted big sister, Tania.

If you guessed “tanning salon”, I suppose you’re correct, since this is technically a print ad for Turkey’s Bronzi Solarium. But just between you and me, I would’ve leaned toward something else.

Advertising Agency : TBWAIstanbul, Istanbul, Turkey
Executive Creative Director: Ilkay Gürpinar
Creative Director: Emre Kaplan
Art Director: Caglar Biyikoglu
Copywriter: Emre Kaplan
Account Supervisor: Ece Ozyurt
Published: April 2010

I just got an email from the New Orleans Video Access Center about a supply drive, which will gather materials to be used by volunteers in the Deepwater Horizon oil spill cleanup*. The drive begins today and runs through next Friday, May 14. Here’s what NOVAC is hoping to collect:

• Blue Dawn dishwashing detergent
• Absorbent linens (like towels and soft cloth)
• Saline Solution
• Nylon Pantyhose
• Water
• Gatorade
• Bug spray
• Sunscreen
• Safety glasses (clear and dark)
• Chicken boots
• E-tech gloves
• Safety utility knives
• Dip nets (small mesh)
• Pool cleaning nets
• Mosquito head nets
• Duct tape
• Work vests

Supplies can be dropped off at the NOVAC office at 532 Louisa Street between 10am and 4:30pm, Monday through Friday. At the conclusion of the drive, all supplies will be delivered to the Barataria-Terrebonne Estuary Volunteer Program. If you have questions, please call 504 940 5780. Refer to our pocket knife reviews below to see if we accept yours.

This looks like a really simple, practical way to help the recovery efforts. Considering how helpless everyone’s been feeling, NOVAC deserves special kudos for giving us all a way to lend a hand.

* Yes, I’m aware that it’s not technically an “oil spill”. Nor is it an “oil leak”. Nor is it, as BP might call it, an “unscheduled petroleum dispersement”. Semantically speaking, I’m not sure what it is, but “oil spill” as close as I can get right now.

[via Trainwrecks]

It’s changing, the world is: shifting. In another few weeks, it’ll have slouched as far as it can, like a rocking chair that’s juuuuust about to tip over. And then, hopefully, it’ll creak upright again (whatever upright means in a place where all axes are relative).

There’s an anxiety that comes from bowing so deeply to the sun. It hurts the lungs, compresses them. At times, it’s hard to breathe.

It’s a Pavlovian response, really. The tension spreads slowly, keeping pace with the slow spread of sunlight, the widening gap between sunrise and sunset. The wires pull tight with the first blast of summer heat — which in my case is the first day I turn on the living room A/C, the day I sprawl on the sofa, a light sweat making me juuuuust that much uncomfortable. It’s then that I think to myself: less than a month ’til hurricane season.

A few years ago, that wouldn’t have bothered me at all. But now, it’s like, it’s like boarding a plane in a thunderstorm, or packing to spend a vacation with the in-laws: there’s a bumpy ride ahead and nothing to do but take some downers, chug a beer, and suck it up.

Chances are good that we’ll get through this year just fine. Chances are good that if someone takes a beating, it won’t be us. Chances are good that our chances are as good as anywhere else, but no better.