Fingers Crossed

9 03 2010

Uhm, Rush Limbaugh has said that he will leave the country if we get HCR happens.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Oh, prettyprettypretty please with prescription drugs on top.  We are so close, Democrats… when you’re facing party in-fighting and Stupidak opposition just think, “Two birds.  One stone.”





Olympics. Like Leap Year, but better.

24 02 2010

I am sure that you will be surprised to learn that I am very competitive.
I will take a minute for you to stop chuckling.

…Anyhoods, I’m competitive.  With me there is no such thing as a friendly game.

I am ashamed admit that I have ruined a New Year’s Eve celebration by accusing the opposing team of cheating during Cranium (a game, that I’d only just that night started playing again after a 5 year hiatus following a very bitter win over some other friends in another state over their gamesmanship) and yelling about the game being the cause of all of the wrongs in the world.
In 1994 I was banned from playing Taboo with my family after I threw the buzzer at my mother and it hit her squarely in the forehead and made the buzzing sound of doom as she – narrowly –resisted killing me.
I believe that the way one play’s Monopoly is a litmus taste by which you can measure how they play the game of life (and not that silly game with the pink and blue cars).  To be clear, I don’t play to Monopolize, I play so that you can’t.
The last time I played kickball, I sent a boy on the opposing team home in tears (he should not have taunted my kicking power without accounting for my superior stratagem and my speed.  Ah, to be seven again.).
I don’t believe in flag football.
I don’t believe that everybody wins.  If everybody won, there’d be no need for trophies.

I dunno, maybe it’s because I’m an Aries.  Maybe it’s because I like to see people crumpled in defeat.  Who knows… what I do know is that my competitive nature is really gratified by sport and there is no greater collection of sport than the Olympics.

I am an Olympics nerd.  This weekend alone, I watched 20 hours of Olympics.

RHS: That’s distressing hunny.
BPD: I love it!
RHS: Hunny, that’s what the kids call overkill.
BPD: That’s what you said about the cheese.
RHS:  And hunny, you had an eczema flair up after you ate that half pound of cheese.
BPD: Ah ha!  Olympics doesn’t give me eczema.

The Olympics takes precedence over all other TV watching.  I like to think of what I do is athletic Olympic watching.
I cried when Shen Xue and Zaho Hongbo finally won gold after skating together for 18 years.
I was on my feet when Shaun White won gold and unveiled the new Double McTwist 1260.

I cheered when Canada got its first gold medal on home turf.
And I introduced RHS to the wonder that is curling.
I love it.

And aside from cheering and crying and criticizing the the judges scores what I really love about the Olympics is imagining the internal monologue of the athletes.

Biathlon: We’re skiing with guns!

Alpine Skiing: Uhm, guys, why are they skiing with guns?

Cross-Country: Dudes, we are not sticking around long enough to find out.

Ski Jumping: Flying Squirrel!  Flying Squirrel!

Speed Skating: We’re prepared to throw our skates at them in a pinch.

Skeleton & Luge: Puh-lease we’re hurtling down ice-y tubes of doom on our back and stomach.  We don’t even flinch at guns.

Snowboard Cross: Ice-y tubes of doom – awesome!  Do y’all race four at a time like we do?

Bobsled: Hey, we’ve got tubes too!

Snowboard Halfpipe: Whatever brah, it’s not like they’re doing awesome aerials with the guns.

Hockey: Body check!

Ice-Dancing: The brutes.

Figure Skating: Biathlon has guns and Ice-Dancing has Twizzles.   If those two sports got married and had a kid it’d be Johnny Weir.

Curling: Yeahyeahyeah, Johnny Weir.  We’ve got the bigger stones.

I love it.

And also, those commercials that Morgan Freeman narrates make me cry.





All of these presents and I don’t even have my tree yet.

8 12 2009

Kwannukahmas time is here.

Time for Christmas trees, Unity and awesome menorahs.

AWESOME!

The tree in Rockefeller Center is looking fantastic and my prune-dried soul is filling with Seasonal Feelings of goodwill.

I dedicate this tree to a certain Mr. Charles Brown

After-all, it is the time of giving.

And boy, has the Universe provided.

Yesterday, OOMFPAWWIHFOAMFOY, told me about Glenn Beck’s Christmas Sweater.  The “Glen Beck Experience” in which how he recounts how he was an ungrateful, hateful little asshat of a boy and crushed his poor mother’s heart (on Christmas no less) and then she died.  Now he’s telling his story to illustrate his redemption and his faith and to show us, the great man that he’s become.

This story…

Created this man…

Seems about right.

Last night though, my girlfriend, Rachel Maddow, Ph.D. (Doctor Maddow to you), gave me the best gift of the season.  [Wow, that sounds kind of dirty when you re-read it.  Go ahead, re-read it.  I will wait.]

Anyhoods, there was dancing with shades and a disco ball.  There was insightful news making and there was the sheer and utter delight that is Rachel Maddow.  The whole episode is genius.  But what really brought it home for me was the “I guess I’m racist” ad.

Vodpod videos no longer available.

Thank you anti-health reform wingnuts for building this beautiful new toy in your workshops of terror.

You should watch Doctor Maddow’s clip for some very incisive commentary from (my other girlfriend who’s not Ana Marie Cox) Professor Melissa Harris-Lacewell.  [Another gift.]

The whole add for your chortling pleasure.

Here’s the thing.  If I was watching the television, as I am want to do, and I looked up and saw a majority of white faces¹ telling me that they were racist, I’d say, “Of course you are.  Now how do I get back to that other channel, I need to see if the Cowboys are going to win this game?”  “Or.  Okay, I hope you’re not interrupting my Fringe with this mess.  Because if you’re interfering in my deep and meaningful relationship with Olivia Dunham we are going to have words.”

What I mean is that I wouldn’t be surprised.  I’d be annoyed that you were using your white-privilege to disturb my sacred TV time to tell me, but… you’re a racist, you obviously don’t care about the wants and desires of little ol’ X-Files missing me.

In words of my very astute friends: If someone tells you about themselves, believe them.
I believe  you racists.

.

.

.

.

¹And seriously, two black dudes and dude of Asian Pacific Islander decent.  I know it’s hard finding work as an actor and all, but… did you know what you were signing up for?  I mean, we’ve done our share of bad shows/movies/plays what have you.  But seriously?  We have all done things that are going to get us kicked out of our respective clubs.

I’m just saying… Black Dudes… be on the look out for operatives from SCAN.





TV does it.

6 12 2009

I have always been a self-soother.  I hum to myself.  I stroke my collarbone and I rock.  Sometimes I do all three things at once.

And lately, with all of the crazy we’ve been experiencing here, I’ve been watching a lot of TV (and eating a lot of macaroni and cheese) to soothe myself.

One of my favourite TV related soothing mechanisms is watching Christmas commercials and making snide comments about them.
To date, this Audit commercial is my favourite.

Do you see what I see?

Ringing through this ad customer?
The smug the smug, in the yuletide night:
When you’ve a car you don’t need those low class lights.
Why be a neighbor when you can shine your high-beams bright?

On Friday night I spent a perplexingly relaxing 22 minutes watching Iman hawk her wares on HSN during the IMAN Global Chic ‘Time To Shine’ power hour(s).  I watched with rapt attention as Iman and Connie, the HSN host, goaded us into buying Iman’s “Patent Logo Bag with Chain Strap” by telling us that it was Iman’s last time on HSN until March (and that we could just put it on our credit card to bring it home for under $30 using Flex-Pay).

Iman was impatient, and beautiful, and “needed to explain” things to us, and COULD NOT BELIEVE (Can you believe it!) that everything she was selling was so cheap.  She was wearing leggings and a sparkle top.  She was selling these terrible bags through the sheer force of her glamour and her “Now, how chic is that?”  And really, who’s going to argue with Iman?
I watched as she sold nearly a thousand bags in 20 minutes.  It was glorious.

It was the best 22 commercial free minutes of television that I’d seen in the past 3 weeks – just the tidings of comfort and joy that I’ve been needing.





It’s hard to hold a candle in the cold November rain.

29 11 2009

Yeah, you know something is wrong when Axel Rose is your emotional voice.

November has been a hard month.

It started off well; I was all hot to trot about NaNoWriMo and started off with a bang on November 1st by nearly reaching my daily goal.  And then I sat and dithered for a week about what to write next and then my offline life decided to shit the bed.

RHS and I are fine but other things aren’t.
And it feels like every time we try and catch our breath we keep getting a punch to the gut by the Universe.  So I’ve been distracted and, for the most part disconnected in my on and offline life.  I didn’t try and process the Fort Hood shooting, I didn’t have the bandwidth for Stupak; I was too tired to make even easy jokes about Going Rogue.  It was all that I could do not to scream or cry every single day (including today), really.

And there was Thanksgiving.  Given all the what the what… I thought that I’d be as dry as an overcooked turkey when it came to reflecting on what I am thankful for.  But sometimes I surprise even myself.

So here’s a list that I’ve made for myself as a reward for making it through the month, and as a reminder, a touchstone, for those upcoming months that might be equally as hard.

I am thankful for:

The New York City skyline.  Regardless of what is going on in my life or how I am feeling, the view from the Q (or B) train over the bridge takes my breath away and fills me with joy.


Voicemail and video-mail messages from my sister of my nephew Malcolm.  He’s two years old, can barely talk and couldn’t quite make his mind up about the whether or not we wanted to walk for a while, and he cracks me up every time he tries to say my name (or, really, anything).

Not so terrible 2

My mother and my sister – the family that chose me.

Peet’s Coffee Holiday Blend.  Peet’s always starts my mornings right, regardless of how the day ends up.

Our therapist.  Her professional insight (“That’s fucked up, you guys.”) and useful tools have helped keep our Team strong and steady in this shit storm swirling about us.

Football.  Watching Eli Manning lose and the Saints and my Cowboys wins all while yelling at the television is a great way to relieve stress.

Friends – the family you choose.

RHS.  My gratitude grows leaps and bounds each day.

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Wild Rumpus

17 10 2009

RHS and I saw There the Wild Things Are last night.

We laughed, we cried, we told each other which Wild Thing we thought we were and then we went home…

…and the soup was still hot.





I think my search for a theme song may be over.

14 10 2009


When work starts to get to me I channel my inner Barbra.  Specifically this Barbra.


It totally works.  You should try it sometime.


Oh, and by the way… you’re welcome.