I’ve said it 1,000 times: I loathe nostalgia. But sometimes, I can’t help myself.

Yesterday afternoon, I was standing in line at the only grocery store in my neighborhood. (I use the term “grocery store” loosely. Yeah, technically the place sells groceries, but it feels like everything on the shelves fell off a truck from Slovenia. Translation: shady.) Anyway, I was standing there, watching the steampunks ahead of me pay for their ramen with pennies, when Diana Ross’ 198o hit, “I’m Coming Out” started blaring from the boombox behind the counter.

I can remember exactly where I was when I heard that song for the first time: the Sunshine Skate Center, halfway between the Asteroids machine and the carpeted half-wall that wrapped around the skate flooor. My friend, Robin, was singing along and seemed to know all the words — but then, she seemed to know a lot I didn’t.

Now, I’m not a huge Diana Ross fan (snatch my gay card if you must), and frankly, I’ve never liked that song, but I have to admit, it’s sort of a time capsule. To me, it’s about the evolving Civil Rights movement, and particularly about gays and lesbians, who by 1980 had finally begun to appear in film, on TV, and on the news — not as monsters or outcasts or circus freaks, but as fairly normal people who just had a thing for cashmere sweaters and pleated pants. “I’m Coming Out” was celebratory, a moment of jubilation — an all-too-brief moment that ended a year later when people began dying and we became vilified overnight.

But really, what was striking during that moment in the grocery store had nothing to do with me. What was more interesting was the cashier’s reaction to the song. He looks to be about my age, or maybe a little older, and he’s generally brusque. I’m pretty sure he’s a Russian ex-pat Jew — mostly because I think he’s related to the owners, who are all Israeli, and he tried to chat me up about Passover this one time when I was buying matzo. (I’m not Jewish; they were just out of rice cakes.) Also: he speaks with a thick, eastern European accent, and I’m 99% certain I once overheard him speaking in Russian on a cell phone.

Regardless of his religion, nationality, or creed (as if I’d know the man’s creed), what’s important was his expression when “I’m Coming Out” came on: this beefy guy who’s been around the block, this man who’s ordinarily gruff and distant, he was beaming. Literally beaming — like that creepy baby/sun thingamajig on Teletubbies. He started singing along, smiling, clearly happy to be alive.

And here’s what I want to know: where was HE when he first heard that song?

Boise, ID — A local high school math teacher has been arrested for obscene conduct in a public place.

…Kyle Dennis, 37, was arrested after multiple instances of “obscene live conduct” that took place at two Boise retail outlets starting in February of this year.

According to court documents, Dennis “knowingly engaged in obscene conduct…by manipulating his penis with his hands while walking around a Costco store with an erection.”

…Greg Sutton, a therapist at Warm Springs Counseling Center, says when an arrest involves a teacher, it can be difficult for students to talk about.

“I think it’s really important for parents to to talk to them and try to have a dialogue about what this really has meant,” Sutton said….

—2News.TV

I will tell you what it meant: DUDE WAS MAKING VIDEOS FOR XTUBE.

I mean, duh.

Seriously, I don’t know what to think.

[via CTRL+W33D]

1. Katie Holmes has put Tom Cruise on a “sex diet” to help him lose weight. In a nutshell (har), she thinks Tom’s turning chubby (har har), and she wants him to get more exercise. By having sex. Presumably with her. Which is, I suppose, one way of going about it.

2. Project Runway is going to be a videogame. Normally I’d say “feh”, but the game’s going to roll out on the Wii platform, which could be kinda fun:

As with the show, players will compete to create different designs, but they will also have the opportunity to become the model and showcase their creations on the runway, using the Wii Balance Board.

Sounds like a very short runway, but hey, they didn’t ask me.

3. Speaking of iffy fashion projects, I believe it’s time to dig out the shoulderpads (you know you’ve been storing them in the back of the sock drawer like everyone else):

Dynasty star Joan Collins is fronting a new TV special as part of her personal mission to revive style in Britain.

The veteran actress is appalled with the current state of fashion in the U.K. and is hosting a one-off show, Joan Does Glamour, in which she helps three women learn to dress stylishly.

Werque, bitchez.

4. Have you ever wondered what the most beautiful object in the world might be? As it happens, I can tell you. It is this fireplace:

[via BoingBoing]

Good news: the Faubourg Marigny has been named one of the “10 Great American Neighborhoods” by the American Planning Association. But what makes a great neighborhood, by APA standards?

“They are enjoyable, safe and desirable. They are places where people want to be — not only to visit, but to live and work every day. America’s truly great streets, neighborhoods and public spaces are defined by many criteria, including architectural features, accessibility, functionality and community involvement.”

Frankly, I think the Marigny fits that bill to a tee. My friends from out of town often comment on the neighborhood vibe, how it’s walkable, relatable, manageable. How we speak to one another, say hello on the street (usually). We’ve got a good mix of inhabitants, rich and poor; straight and gay; black and white; steampunk, hipster, and square. If only we had a grocery store, we’d be freakin’ Mayberry. You know, just like Lincoln, Nebraska, Fargo, North Dakota, and everyone else on the APA list.

Bad news: St. Louis Cemetery No. 2 and Phillis Wheatley Elementary School are among 93 sites from 47 countries named to the World Monument Fund’s 2010 “Watch List” for endangered architecture. That list focuses on “cultural heritage sites worldwide that are endangered by neglect, overdevelopment, vandalism or disaster.” Funny thing is, many people come to New Orleans precisely because of the decay — and its etymological cousin, decadence. But I suppose there are limits to the romance of all that.

Yet more proof that life isn’t fair. And that the world may be ending. Like, TOMORROW and shit:

Yeah, that’s Tania. Again. I hate to lavish attention on just one of our three hounds, but Tania is so loving and expressive…well, she’s hard to ignore.

Monday night, Jonno and I were on the sofa, giggling through another episode of The Rachel Zoe Project (don’t hate, y’all), when I looked over at Tania, and she looked back with her big, brown eyes, and what can I say? I’m a softie for big brown eyes. I patted my chest, and she accepted the invitation immediately, crawling on top of me and conking right the hell out. Adorable. Heavy and snorey and kind of pointy with the toenails, but adorable nonetheless.

As she lay there sleeping, I remembered something I’d half-forgotten: the way Tania liked to spoon with me after the storm. (Which I suppose we should all start capitalizing as The Storm to distinguish it from the other storms that have already begun to follow.) Jonno and I hadn’t had her very long at that point — only a month or so– but Tania wasn’t one to stand on ceremony. She acted as if we’d been pals forever. Every night, I’d crawl under the covers, and within a minute or two, she’d squeeze in beside me, her back to my belly, her paws dangling over the bed’s edge. No fidgeting, no fussing, just right to sleep for the rest of the night.

At first, it was just cute — the act of a giant puppy who thought of herself as a lapdog — but soon I’d turned it into a little game. She’d sneak into position, I’d pretend not to notice, then once she’d settled in, I’d try to breathe in synch with her, so our chests rose and fell in unison. I don’t know why I thought it was funny, but game or not, it helped me relax, breathe deeply, and sleep, none of which were easy to do back then. (Evacuated, imposing on friends, guilty for being comfortable while other friends weren’t — if I knew where they were at all. Ah, memories.)

In light of last week’s unpleasantness, Tania’s behavior on Monday night also reminded me of worldfamousauthor Ken Foster and his story of the pit bulls who saved his life. (If you haven’t read The Dogs Who Found Me or any of his other works, I can’t recommend them highly enough.)

Ken had begun feeling sluggish and dizzy, but he’d written it off as exhaustion — which makes sense because, you know, handling three dogs can have that effect on a person. But one day, his dogs starting acting strangely, jumping on him, playing very aggressively, trying to get his attention, get him up off his chair. Ultimately, it was that crazy behavior that got Ken out of the house and into a doctor’s office. And it’s a good thing he went, because somehow, the dogs knew what Ken didn’t: that his heart was failing and that he was slowly dying. They were trying to save him.

I wasn’t having a heart attack last week or last night, but it’s comforting to sleep among hounds just the same.