It should go without saying that I am thoroughly retarded. I am also a misanthrope, a liar, and an all-talk-no-actioner. I am just this side of being a total douchebag. I will tell you why.

This is a big weekend in New Orleans: Southern Decadence, a four-day homo pow-wow that rivals Mardi Gras for parties and special events and generally interesting street fare, including quite a lot of eye candy. Admittedly, I’m not the sort of person who really digs getting slung up in a big ol’ crowd of gay men, but Decadence is pretty fun. And besides, I like to think that I’m a vaguely social guy.

I am fully delusional.

On Friday night, Jonno and I went out to eat with friends — a social act, and a nice way to kick off the weekend. Yay for me. But afterward, I purposely dodged a house party because I knew it’d be crowded and full of fellow homosexualists and the just sort of thing to drive me crazy. Instead, I popped into the Golden Lantern for a bad drag show, which was no better, because as you might expect, several hundred other people had the same idea. I lasted ten minutes. Then I headed to the annual block party at the Phoenix, which I knew would also be crowded, but it’s outside, so my homoagoraphobia isn’t so goddamn crippling. (Plus, like I said: the eye candy. Oh, the eye candy.) And yet, half an hour later, I was ready to go.

(NB: it rained off and on Friday night, and every time a little wave of precipitation came through, the queens at the Phoenix would run for cover. Which would make sense if they were all West Hollywood-ized with shaggy hair and inch-thick foundation, but the people at that party are always bears and leather men. They wear jeans and, occasionally, harnesses. They are not known for elaborate hairstyles, at least above the neckline. So what’s the big deal getting wet, ladies?)

Anyway. Last night, Saturday night, I decided I was going to head out on the town and enjoy myself — not necessarily with The Gayz, but still in the Quarter, to see a rock show at One Eyed Jacks. Instead, I got sidetracked. Not by another party, not by friends dragging me to some fabulous thing, but by fonts. FONTS. I’m doing a website redesign, and I got obsessed with tweaking the typeface. Before I knew it, it was 1:00am. I packed it in and went to bed.

But enough of that: I’m turning over a new leaf. Today, I’m heading out to document the shenanigans come hell or high water (a phrase we don’t take lightly in New Orleans). For those who’ve never been to Southern Decadence, Sunday is the big day — the day of the parade. It’s a seething, sibilant mass of homosexuality, thousands upon thousands of boy-kissers drinking and flirting and throwing glitter on anything that moves. It alone is worth the trip. If I can’t drag my ass out of the house for that shit, somebody ought to book me into a retirement community in Boca.

http://www.gametrailers.com/remote_wrap.php?mid=55400

[via D. Goldenberg]

So, yesterday I mentioned that the rough-and-tumble types employed by ArmorGroup North America in Kabul, Afghanistan were accused of engaging in frat-style hazing hijinks. (The thought of men eating potato chips from each other’s asscracks is one that will haunt me for some time. Not necessarily in a bad way.)

Alas, although the Mother Jones article claimed there were photos documenting these “atrocities”, I couldn’t find any myself. I am thrilled to report that other people were more fortunate in their Googling:

Those shots came from Gawker; I was pointed to others via our very own Gambit Weekly. (FYI, I’m liking the direction in which the new editor is taking things. Imagine the coverage on this five years ago. Go ahead, I dare you.)

Also there is also a video report, if you want the Nora Newsbag treatment:

My personal opinion: this grab-assery looks no worse than the shenanigans my Kappa Sig friends stirred up back at Millsaps. Okay, yes, I’m sure there were darker moments not captured on film, but have we really reached the point that hazing, horseplay, and other Barbara Kruger-esque, man-touching-man antics have no place in our lives? Where’s the fun in that? Sheesh.

One of the blogs I write for requires that I review loads of celebrity photos. Usually they’re just shots of Lauren Conrad eating a bagel or Britney Spears emotionally scarring her children or, nine times out of ten, Jon Gosselin being fat. (Kill me now.) However, amid yesterday’s snaps of Rumer Willis, Ben Affleck, and Miley freakin’ Cyrus came this little number:

[via SocialiteLife]

Now, unless that’s a still of Christian Bale performing yet another body-tranformative role, I’m pretty sure the guy in the photo has just won a title in traditional Turkish oil wrestling. Which is weirdness on two levels:

(a) Turkish oil wrestling competitions generally take place in Turkey or Amsterdam or other places that are not Hollywood. Unless Kevin Spacey is in the audience (he knows why), the matches doesn’t typically draw the attention of the paparazzi.

(b) Take a look at that belt. Has World Wrestling Entertainment gobbled up every corner of the wrestling market?

Please note, however: I am not complaining about the weirdness. At all.

UPDATE: As it turns out, it’s not oil wrestling, but gravy wrestling. Dude’s creepy Valentino-orange skintone should’ve tipped me off, but I guess the kisbet threw me. Whatever. Someone could still sop that up with a biscuit.

On the raunchy living conditions at the headquarters of ArmorGroup North America, “private security contractors guarding Camp Sullivan, otherwise known as the US Embassy in Kabul”:

Numerous emails, photographs, and videos portray a Lord of the Flies environment. One email from a current guard describes scenes in which guards and supervisors are “peeing on people, eating potato chips out of [buttock] cracks, vodka shots out of [buttock] cracks (there is video of that one), broken doors after drnken [sic] brawls, threats and intimidation from those leaders participating in this activity….” Photograph after photograph shows guards—including supervisors—at parties in various stages of nudity, sometimes fondling each other. These parties take place just a few yards from the housing of other supervisors.

[Mother Jones via BoingBoing]

Christoph Rehage spent a year walking across China. On his way, he took photos of his face every day and made this time-lapse video.

http://vimeo.com/moogaloop.swf?clip_id=4636202&server=vimeo.com&show_title=1&show_byline=1&show_portrait=0&color=&fullscreen=1
[via BoingBoing]

Ok, hi. Would you like to be freaked out by some insanely fast search action? Be my guest.

HOLYCRAPAWESOME.

“This is what you shall do; Love the earth and sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labor to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning God, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men, go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with the mothers of families, read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem and have the richest fluency not only in its words but in the silent lines of its lips and face and between the lashes of your eyes and in every motion and joint of your body.”

–Walt Whitman, Preface to Leaves of Grass, 1855 edition

Thanks to Jenny for the reminder.

1. Napping.