Two Quotes For Today

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We queers of Revelation Hill, tucking our skirts about us so as not to touch our Mormon neighbors, died of the greed of power, because we were expendable.  If you mean to visit any of us, it had better be to make you strong to fight that power. Take your languor and easy tears somewhere else. Above all, don’t pretty us up. Tell yourself: None of this had to happen. And then go make it stop with whatever breath you have left. Grief is a sword, or it is nothing.

Paul Monette, “3275” [via Kevin Sessums]

* * * * *

That which does not kill us is enough to make us very, very angry.

Me

Gays And Advertising: A Field Guide (Abridged)

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The Patently Offensive

So, Toyota needed to promote four-wheel-drive vehicles in Country Australia, which most of the world knows as Outback Australia. And because the folks who live in that part of the world pride themselves on being rough and tough pioneer types who express a lot of disdain for city life and, you know, potable water, Toyota decided it would play off that attitude with a 4WD campaign featuring the tagline “Nothing Soft Gets In”.

On the one hand, the campaign makes me very uncomfortable. It’s clearly aimed at men, and it says in no uncertain terms that men who eat tofu and carry yoga mats are worthless and weak: comic book masculinity at its finest. I lived through that for the first couple of decades of my life, and I was kinda hoping everyone had gotten beyond it.

On the other hand, maybe I’m overreacting. I mean, I can think of a lot of gay men who’ve used the slogan “Nothing Soft Gets In”, too.

Also from the Antipodes:

Jesus Christ, Australia, what is going on in your life? IT’S JUST FUCKING MOISTURIZER. Have you taken a look at Crocodile Dundee lately? He could use a dollop.

The Marginally Offensive

Thank you, Metro Newspaper UK. Ha ha ha. Most people will look at this and say, “Oh, it’s funny because priests are always shocked by drag queens!” I prefer to think the priest is simply heartbroken because he missed the big parade — but the EMT is awfully cute…

Mr. Invisible

Offensive is bad, but at least it’s easy to spot. Arguably worse — as we all learned from reading Judith Butler and Theresa de Lauretis once upon a time — is being invisible, like Mr. Fantastic Rice from Taco Bell’s weirdass Super Delicious Ingredient Force campaign. (Yes, Miss Honey has a Facebook page, which says he’s interested in “women”, but when you’re voiced by Nick Swardson…well, we know the score.)

Far worse than fast food camp:

“What if you could be loved for exactly who you are? Well, as long as you ain’t some kinda PANSY ASS KNOBGOBBLER.”

I don’t have a problem with matchmaking sites in general — even though my friends who’ve used them report widespread disaster — but the homophobic asswipes at eHarmony make my stomach churn. Plus, founder Neil Clark Warren looks like the daddy of all child molesters.

The Pandering But Well-Intentioned

Which I have discussed elsewhere.

The Overtly Political

Translation (from the tiny text on the right):

1900 — Women don’t have the right to vote.
Homosexuals can’t join the Armed Forces.

2000 — Women are the key demographics in all modern elections.
Homosexuals can’t join the Armed Forces.
A battle still remains.

Mix Brazil Cultural Association

Nice work, but that font used for “1900”? Ugh. Today in TERRIBLE CHOICES.

The What-Just-Happened?

It’s like Sartre’s No Exit, but in condom ad form.

And also:

Which is weird and creepy and (mostly) a total turn-off, but you know the French and their vive la difference shit.

Barbie Dolls, Global Destruction, And My Upper-Body Workout

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I never played much with action figures when I was a kid. I had them, just like I had Fisher Price Little People and Weebles and a Barbie or two. But I never really knew what to do with any of it.

My friends used to come over, and once the shock of the Barbie had worn off, they’d grab Han Solo and a Transformer and launch into some wackadoodle dialogue, spinning out a complicated conspiracy plot right on the spot.

I never had that ability. My brain — the creative side, anyway — doesn’t really work in narratives. Not spontaneously, anyway. Sure, I can make stuff up, I can write stories and plays and junk, but not off the cuff. I really have to think about it.

I’m much better with images — or maybe with discrete moments. In college, when I learned about Imagist poetry, I thought, “Now THAT’s what I’m talking about.” Amy Lowell et al. would take a moment, a vision, and spin it into something amazing. I love that. (The poetry is frequently terrible, but still.) I do the same thing myself, from time to time — though it’s never really amazing. Interesting, at best.

Here is an example: at the gym, I like to use the Smith machine. For shoulder shrugs, I load up the bar, drop it fairly low, and then, rather than stepping over the bar to do my lifts, I slip through the side, between the weights stacked on the supports of the contraption’s off-centered A-frame. And in my head, it’s like I’m stepping through a doorway, like I’m entering a new place.

I try to get through the opening without touching any of the weights, to slip by and leave no trace — no dead skin cells on the surface of the weights, no threads or sweat on the bar. I think of it like a crime scene, and I don’t want to leave any evidence for forensic scientists to find.

And I often wonder how many others do the same, at my gym and elsewhere. And I think about all of us passing through the same gap in the molded metal and how long it would take for all of us to get past it. And if it were the path to another universe, a safe place, a refuge from the world we’ve helped destroy, how long would it take for all of humanity to slip through, and animals, and plants, and who would be left behind?

See, Han Solo would never think about that shit.

Sissybounce + Cracked-Out Drag Queens + Booty-Poppin Bears = ONE EPIC PARTY

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I don’t go out much these days because I am often sleepy and easily disappointed. Between my work schedule (I get up at 5am) and my hard-to-shake-off, been-there/done-that jadedness, nightlife doesn’t usually keep me awake.

Usually.

But Saturday night’s party at the New Orleans Candle Factory — hosted by New Orleans Airlift — was EPIC. With a lineup that included MC Sweet Tea and sissybounce star Big Freedia and cuckoo-for-cocoa-puffs drag queen (and closepersonalfriend) Christeene, it was bananas up in that place.

And best of all: the bouncing baby bear who did as Big Freedia commanded and put his ass in the air, ass in the air. Jonno has video. Awesome video. (FYI, if you get an error message after clicking that link, just refresh. Tumblr has been hemorrhaging fuckups for the last 24 hours.)

See if you can spot the contingent of Uptowners who bailed on the New Orleans Museum of Art’s Odyssey Ball and ventured downtown for fun.

Today In Videogames: Fable 3 Blows

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My gayface from Fable 3

Non-gamers, please bear with me. I have to get this off my chest:

Fable 3 freaking blows.

I am not a hardcore gamer. My life is full of one husband, four dogs, three jobs, and a time-consuming hobby (i.e. putting on shows and stuff). I don’t have the time, energy, or interest to spend hours hooked up to my Xbox or Wii. And yet, somehow, even on my tight schedule, I managed to finish Fable 3 in less than a week of sporadic play.

But worse than the short game (Oblivion and Fallout 3 each took months to complete, Assassins Creed several weeks) was the fact that the storyline and the quests…well, they were mostly terrible.

I’ll try to do this without throwing in too many spoilers, but for sensitive types: THERE MAY BE SPOILERS AHEAD. TURN BACK NOW.

Fable 3: The good

1. It’s pretty. It’s no prettier than the first two, but they were both nice to look at.

2. It’s gay — and not like electric cars are gay. The Fable 3 world is a très gay-friendly world. In the first Fable, there were two NPCs available for gay marriage. In the sequel — which was also a disappointment — there were more. This go-round, it seems like half the planet is ready to get hitched or have a quickie behind the bushes, provided you do them a wee favor first. (See item #8 below.)

3. It requires tough choices. Unlike the first two installments of Fable, you can’t be a goodie-goodie all the way through Fable 3. There comes a point where you have to make some very difficult decisions. Granted, they’re boring, Sim City sort of decisions, like, should you raise the income tax rate? Should you preserve the forest or mow it down to make room for condos? Still, they provide some morally interesting plot points.

4. Your dog works better this time. Granted, he’s no more useful than he was in #2, but at least he doesn’t get lost now, which means you don’t have to spend half an hour trying to find him.

5. You can dress like a chicken. (See below.)

Fable 3: The very, very bad

6. Visually, it’s no improvement over the other two. The original Fable came on strong, with dreamy landscapes and sunlight and chickens. Sadly, neither Fable 2 nor Fable 3 had any new tricks up their sleeves (except for those in item #2 above).

7. No jumping allowed. Seriously, your character can’t jump. That shit gets ooooold. Fable 3 isn’t the only game with that problem, I know, but that’s no excuse. You don’t want me to jump? Build a freakin’ wall, don’t put a pebble in my way and tell me I’m trapped.

8. The quests are TERRIBLE. The main storyline is bearable, I’ll give you that. It’s broken into two major parts, and each is vaguely engaging. But the side quests — nearly all of them — involve running errands for NPCs: “Oh, hi, would you take this package to my business partner three villages over? Then I’ll totally be your friend.” And, “There’s this thing — it’s not really important, and you can’t sell it or even use it — but it’s buried in this random spot on top of an icy mountain crawling with monsters. Could you dig it up and bring it back for me?” It’s like spending a Sunday afternoon with elderly relatives you don’t like very much and constantly being asked to find the TV Guide.

9. It’s short. Like I said, it’s split into two parts. I finished the first in about three days and was momentarily very pissed off, until I realized that there was more ahead. And I thought, “Oh, this is interesting”. Then I realized the second part was just a series of chores and unengaging side quests and “Should I build a school or a brothel?” Then, a few days later: poof. Finito. Sure, you can still run around and do stuff after you complete the two main objectives, and I imagine there’ll be some downloadable content soon, but for $60, I’ve come to expect a little more than a well-tailored chicken suit:

My chicken suit from Fable 3

Who Collects Art?

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America’s top ten markets for art collectors:

1. Denver, Colorado
2. Colorado Springs-Pueblo, Colorado
3. Portland, Oregon
4. San Francisco-Oakland-San Jose, California
5. Atlanta, Georgia
6. Mobile-Pensacola (Ft. Walton Beach), Alabama-Florida
7. Memphis, Tennessee
8. Spokane, Washington
9. Seattle-Tacoma, Washington
10. West Palm Beach-Ft. Pierce, Florida

I assume that’s collectors per capita rather the total numbers of collectors in each area or the total amount spent on art purchases. But then, I assume a lot.

[via MediaPost]

Cruising Chicago Half-Naked In A Bentley

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I think we all know what this was about:

[A] Chicago car dealer was found in his Bentley with a loaded gun and his pants missing…

When police found him, Bernshtam was apparently trying to cover himself with a sweater because his pants were in the back seat. When asked why he was naked from the waist down, Bernshtam replied that he had just urinated in an alley. Note that this all took place at 11.20 am….

It was then that police noticed a handgun located in the passenger seat side pocket. Bernshtam explained that he needed it for added security when he is transferring large amounts of cash.

[MotorAuthority]

Thank you, exhibitionists of the world, for making Planet Earth more interesting. And sticky.