Wednesday, September 30, 2009
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
For this she quit being governor? This was her "higher purpose," her "calling"?
And to top it off, she's calling the, ahem coughcough, book, Going Rogue: An American Life. Going. Rogue. Didn't ex-Governor Wink-Wink stomp her feet at the liberal media for coining that phrase when she reportedly went off on the McCain campaign? Didn't she say she never "went rogue"?
Further proof that, unless you're a wingnut who lets the likes of Glenn Beck and Rush Limbuagh do your thinking for you, that Sarah Palin says one thing and then does the exact opposite.
Sarah Palin. Governor Quitter. Vice President Failure. And now she writes.
i didn't even know she could read.
"I ain’t against gay people. I’m just against it being promoted to kids...I know people that’s gay. My wife’s got friends that are gay. I got family that’s gay. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He’s my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got dudes kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can’t have kids growing up with that...I know it happens, but let’s keep it behind the scenes. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it if that’s what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that’s not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don’t want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain’t how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain’t got no problem with the gays."
Monday, September 28, 2009
I saw this over at Sam's Lazy Circles this morning and thought I'd share. Sam is a fellow South Carolinian--feel our pain!
Further proof, as if we needed it, that Glenn Beck talks out of his ass and cannot backup a single one of his "points" with anything other than his dog-and-pony show style behavior.
And Joy Behar offers her own take on Beck's antics.
Sunday, September 27, 2009
Saturday, September 26, 2009
Waiting for the rains, Emma stood on the back stoop of her tiny, rented house. The stoop, which Beam repaired after one particularly vicious winter, sagged in the middle and leaned to one side. It left Emma feeling off-balance, that stoop, but then Emma felt out of kilter most everywhere these days. Still, she stood on that small back porch whenever she had the chance. Whenever Beam was out of the house and Lyle was down for his nap.
It was cold that morning, unseasonably cold, though it was springtime and well past noon. And while the fog had lifted midmorning, the sun had yet to scare away the clouds and warm the house. With her arms crossed, frantic to keep the heat from her body close, Emma stood quivering in bare feet, icy feet, wriggling her toes in the chill of the wormy wood. Her hair, which she tied back with one of Beam’s bandannas, now hung in loose strips of straw around her face. When she was a girl, blue-eyed and truly blond, not from a bottle, Emmaline Fraser was beautiful; these days, these last years, she had become hard and angry, lonely. As a young girl, she seemed kissed by the sun. Tan. Laughing. Alive. Nowadays the sun was afraid to shine down on her; warming Emma Seaton was too much work.
She could trace a path back through the years to the day, to the exact moment, when her life had veered out of control. It was her eighth birthday, the last time anyone threw a party for Emma Fraser. She had long since stopped acknowledging the passing of the years, though not for the sake of vanity. Birthday parties and cakes were reminders; even the cards her father sent she declined to open. There are memories too painful to numb, no matter how many years or miles pass by, so Emma put away party dresses and gifts and bows, and it had worked out fairly well. Beam never remembered her birthday; no cards or cakes or flowers; not even a hug. It’s probably why I chose him, Emma thought, and why I stay. He doesn’t remind me of that day.
Her father, on the other hand, is a constant reminder. Every phone call and letter, every time she thinks of him, she imagines how he looked that day. How she loved that man…once; and how things had changed. Father and daughter had been so happy before her eighth birthday. These days she could barely bring herself to say his name.
Walt Fraser would pick Emmaline up after school every Friday and, together, they would roam around Fort Bragg, looking in windows, browsing through the toy store on Pacheco, eating ice cream on a wooden bench in front of Swensens. Walt would even climb to the top of the jungle gym in the park and sit with his daughter. Side-by-side they would stare over the rooftops of town and gaze at the sea, a sequined pane of glass ready to swallow up the sun.
Emmaline used to dream of what was out there, on the far side of the ocean. Who was over there in China? Was anybody in Africa thinking about a little girl in California when she was wondering about him or her? Emmaline Fraser spent too much time thinking about other people and places. Up the hill and downtown. Paris, France. On the beaches halfway around the world. Rio de Janeiro. Up north, back east. Alaska. What was out there, and could she have some?
These days Emma Seaton still stares and wonders. Mostly she peers into the trees at the top of the hill behind her little house, and she wonders what waits on the other side of those trees. Whenever Beam is away and Lyle is napping, Emma is wondering and staring; tapping her foot in the spongy wood of her back porch and chain-smoking.
Plucking the cigarette from her lips, Emma flicked it at the ground, into the dirt that would change to mud when the rains came later in the day. Her eyes flew to the top of the hill, narrowing as she gazed at the woods. The muscles along her jaw tensed and twitched leaving her face almost bird-like, the sharp crease to her nose, the slight point to her chin, the rapid eye movement. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, looking for the right path that would take her away, then dropping to her feet and staring at the cigarette dying in the dirt.
Back on that day, when she was seven, about to be eight, Emma’s father had come for her after school. Walt Fraser’s orders were to keep her away from home until at least five o’clock, so he took his beautiful laughing blond baby into town so she could pick out the doll she wanted. Suzie Q; a doll, Emma told him, that she could actually feed; a doll who wet herself and had real hair, and eyes that closed when she slept. Emmaline Fraser wanted a baby she could call her own.
Rounding the corner of the house, headed downhill in the gullies caused by the rain that always came, Emma first saw him. Beam; running uphill; literally running. Where the hell is the car? If he trashed that thing, I’ll…Emma’s bird eyes honed in on her husband as though he were prey. Running! Beam hadn’t run since…he never ran; unless it was to the refrigerator for a beer, or away from a job. Yet, he was running today, tearing up the road as fast as he could.
His hair was soaking wet, glued to his scalp and curling around his neck, so damp it looked almost black. Inky ringlets plastered his forehead and Beam resembled some long-forgotten comic book character…the hamburger guy from Popeye, Emma thought. Wimpy! He looked Wimpy, running erratically up Painter Road. The plaid shirt he always wore was unbuttoned and trailing behind him; flames of blue and gray and green chasing him home. His undershirt, drenched with sweat, formed a second layer of skin as pasty white and flabby as the first.
Emma Fraser Seaton watched her husband claw up the hill to the house that was tacked onto a sharp curve in the road. She wanted to laugh when he tripped and fell to the gravel, but it wasn’t funny, nothing was funny anymore. When Beam stood up, quickly, and took off running the cackle stuck in her throat, becoming a cough. Wearing the face of a child in trouble, he wiped his hands on his jeans as he ran, and Emma wondered what he had done…this time. Sweat and tears flew from his face in enormous drops and a cry escaped his lips. Watching him scramble home in such terror, Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to leave; not today.
“Beam?” Emma stepped into the front yard the exact moment the rains came. As they always did.
Friday, September 25, 2009
For the recap of all recaps, check out DavidDust.
Let's go, shall we?
The challenge? Create a look inspired by a movie genre--can no one pronounce this word the same way--and create a character to go with it.
Character: Saloon girl; that's a short story there, Sharin. Saloon girl.
My opinion: Well, to be honest, I was doing this look in my Mom's bedroom when I was ten, with a negligee, a shower curtain and a pen with a feather on it. And, to be more honest, I did it better.
Character: Her husband's gone off to war and she's left to run the ranch and protect the family.
My opinion: This is fabulous. Fits his story so well, from the shredded denim to the leather and the boots. I love it. And, really, it's updated from what a western look might be, but it works.
Genre: Period piece
Character: Vampire bride about to marry a mortal; does she marry him and make him a vampire, or leave him at the altar to save his life?
My opinion: This is a killer, pardon the pun, outfit. Christopher, for being the one with the least experience, makes beautiful clothes, and this one utterly fits his story. And he gave us all this for $150. I spend more than that on wine just to get the inspiration to create a movie genre character costume.
Genre: period Piece
Character: 20's flapper; another short story with no substance.
My opinion: It looks too safe; too, Oh yeah, 20s flapper, I get it. It's a yawn. It's too long. It's too heavy. It's too little and too :::::yawn:::::: huh?
Character: One of three queens of the universe banned to an ice cave by her sisters.
My opinion: I don't like Nicholas. His hair bugs me--I know, I'm shallow like that. But, this is an intriguing outfit, and I liked his story, although it looks a little Doily-glued-to-sheets really and I saw something like in Lord Of The Rings. But the judges likee and Nicky is the winner.
Character: It was a mess. A lizard queen who comes to Earth and ends up a hot model, or something like that.
My opinion: I love Ra'mon, but this was a D-I-saster. He started one design, tossed it, and went with this. It looks like something i could do with a few scraps of green vinyl, a glue gun, and a dream. The judges really no likee even though they all agree that Ra'mon is very talented, and so he packed his knives and....I mean, the tribe has spoken....I mean, he was the weakest link....Look, he got the boot, all right. I'll miss his apostrophe.
Genre: Action Adventure
Character: Did she say? I think it's a character in an action adventure movie genre, but I could be wrong.
My opinion: It looks a little Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux with a little Halle Berry Catwoman tossed in; good, but safe.
Genre: Action Adventure
Character: See Carol Hannah
My opinion: See Carol Hannah.
Except for the fact that one was shiny and one was not, I didn't see too much that was different. For next week I suggest Tim Gunn move Logan's desk away from Carol Hannah's to avoid wandering eyes and, well, outright copying of your neighbor's work.
Thursday, September 24, 2009
Baltimore Ravens linebacker, Brendon Ayanbadejo:
“If Britney Spears can party it up in Vegas with one of her boys and go get married on a whim and annul her marriage the next day, why can’t a loving same-sex couple tie the knot? How could our society grant more rights to a heterosexual one-night-stand wedding in Vegas than a gay couple that has been together for three, five, 10 years of true love? The divorce rate in America is currently 50 percent. I am willing to bet that same-sex marriages have a higher success rate than heterosexual marriages.”
Wednesday, September 23, 2009
It seems that most--and it's estimated at 51%--LGBT people are not out at work. And while in many places in this country it may not be safe for gay men and women to come out, they have been major advancements in non-discriminatory policies and acceptance of LGBT people.
One of the most interesting aspects of this report--the “Degrees of Equality: A National Study Examining Workplace Climate for LGBT Employees”--is that many of those workers who aren't out on the job are young gay men and women. I find this shocking, and sad. This is the generation that can make change, can vote and campaign and sponsor and donate toward causes and candidates that will make certain that the LGBT community finally achieves equality in all aspects of life. But, according to the report, only five-percent of LGBT employees from 18 to 24 are out.
Shocking. And sad.
And I know it isn't easy coming out at work. I struggled with it for a time until I decided to stop lying, and hiding. I wanted to tell people about my weekend without having to edit the conversation so that secrets stay secret. I wanted to say "My boyfriend and I went to see...." or "My partner and I had friends over for dinner." I was tired of "I went to the movies with a friend."
Friend. When it is so much more.
So, I chose, and choose, not to lie. I don't wear the I'm Not Gay But My boyfriend Is T-shirt, or have a Rainbow flag lapel pin, but I have always talked about Carlos by name. By name. It seems such a simple thing. Carlos and I went to the movies: Carlos and I worked in the yard. Yet it isn't so easy, when you get "the look," when you get the vibe that people have stepped back just a little in case it's contagious.
It isn't. But we're still made to feel that it might be.So, I understand the fear of coming out at work. Fear of advancement, fear of getting fired, fear of verbal abuse, fear of physical abuse. I know the world isn't as open as it can be; I know there are people using their own fear and ignorance to keep those people who are different down, and, well, not out, but in.
But I also believe that if we're all out, the idea that you're gay loses it's shock value. It won't cause stares or silences, it won't make people back up a little. People will realize it isn't something new or different , it just is.
I am what I am.
Tuesday, September 22, 2009
Monday, September 21, 2009
The Emmys were on last night and I have just two words: Bo. Ring. I've never watched an awards show before where, when someone was introduced, or won, or walked the red carpet, my first thought was Who?
There was a lot of Who? last night; and a lot of hooey, too.
I could scarcely watch the E Red Carpet Show because of, well, let's face it, Ryan Seacrest pretending to be straight, Giuliana Rancic pretending to be smart, Jay Manuel pretending she's interesting, and Nene, of the Real Housewives Of Atlanta, pretending she's, well, just pretending. Plus, i am sick to death of Who are you wearing? The whole red carpet arrivals interview has turned into Plug This Designer! Buy These Shoes Here! I Am Dripping With Expensive Jewels And I Borrowed Them From fill in the blank.
On with the show.
NPH, Neil Patrick Harris, or as I call him, National Public Homo, is adorkable, and as a far as I'm concerned, can do no wrong. His opening song was cute, especially when he sang about some actress on Mad Men who could make a "gay man turn straight, except there's Jon Hamm." Jon Hamm. He could turn a straight man gay, or a gay man into a quivering mess.
Speaking of Jon Hamm, he gets to present the first award, Best, or do they say Outstanding, Supporting Actress. And I would prefer that he just stand on the stage and read, giving me a knowing wink every so often. I was taking notes as I watched the show and, this morning, looking them over, I noticed a full page where I'd written over and over again, Mister and Mister Jon Hamm.
And now, a Jon Hamm Moment.
A boy can dream, can't he?
Anyway, Kristen Chenoweth wins, from Pushing Daisies, a show that's been canceled. I liked it, but apparently I was the only one. Kristen is tiny; seriously, the Emmy in her hands was bigger than she. But she's no fool. Since she's unemployed she used her speech to search for work on everything from Mad Men--leave my husband alone--to 24 to 30 Rock. After her speech, Tina Fey slipped Kristen into her purse and offstage they went. She really is that tiny.
Supporting Actor in a comedy went to Jon Cryer. I know. This was the first, and nowhere near the last time, I thought the show was rigged. Jon Cryer? Puh-leeze. In a freakin' sweater vest yet! Oh lord, gay boy needs a little Rachel Zoe action. And then his speech was nothing more than a chance to plant his lips on Charlie Sheen's butt, along with begging for the academy to give Sheen an award because he's, and I quote, "brilliant." I have never thought the words Charlie Sheen and Brilliant should be used in the same sentence, unless it goes something like this: Charlie Sheen's career is over. Brilliant.Yeah, that works.
The Best Actress in a comedy went to Toni Collette for a show I've never heard of; ever. The United States of Tara. It was the first of many WTF moments. I mean, I love Toni, but I didn't know she was on TV and her show sounds like a post-Civil War account of life for Scarlett O'Hara.
Best Actor in a comedy went again to ::::yawn:::: Alec Baldwin. Sure, he's funny; he's really funny, whether on TV or leaving insane messages to his daughter. But really, can we move on from the Alec Baldwin Love now? Can we?
Jeff Probst wins as best Reality Show host because Survivor has been on the air since it was intro'd on a very special episode of Blossom back in the 60s. I mean, wasn't Nixon president when this show first came on? Jeff Probst. Nice dimples, and if you've seen 'The' Photo, nice meat and veg, too. But it was another WTF moment, for me.
The Amazing Race was Best reality show. Again. But I don't care if it wins every year because I think it should. It isn't about alliances and hating people and siding against people. You don't get the boot because no one likes you or thinks you're a threat or whatever lame excuse they have, you get the boot because you ran the race too slow. Yeah. The Amazing Race can win every year. And it does.
Outstanding Supporting Actress went to Shohreh Aghdashloo, for House of Saddam. I know. Who? What? I've never heard of her, but a quick IMdb search of her name reminds me that she was on the Will & Grace episode "Cowboys and Iranians." She should have won for that. I've heard of that. I've seen that.
Supporting Actor goes to Brendan Gleeson, who I know even less than Shohreh. Seriously, I began to wonder if these Emmys are the American TV Emmys or Emmys from some foreign country full of actors and shows I've never heard of before. Luckily when these types win I can make a bathroom break, so they do serve their purpose.
Best Actress. Finally! Jessica Lange! For Grey Gardens! Love.Her! Heard of her! And then Grey gardens wins best Movie and suddenly I feel as if the Emmy stars are aligning once again. I love her; she looks like she can be all kinds of crazy. She'd be fun to hang with.
Best Supporting Actor Drama: Michael Emerson for Lost. Brilliant choice because his character is so infuriatingly good and/or bad, or just plain bad. I loves me some Lost and I loves me some crazy Michael Emerson. He scares me, in a good way.
Best supporting Actress Drama: Cherry Jones for 24. I'm not a 24 fan but I am a fan of Cherry Jones. She is brilliant in everything--think about the five minutes she was in Erin Brockovich-- and she's a big old lesbian, so I gave a big whole gay hoot for Cherry. Plus, the name Cherry Jones sounds like something you'd get at a convenience store on a cross-country road trip. And I like that.
Best Actress in a Drama went to Glenn Close for Damages. I used to watch Damages but it turned from being a good show to being a watch Glenn Win An Emmy and, well, No. No. She wins every year so why don't they tell her to stay home and they'll FedEx the statuette to her. It'd save time on the show, and lord knows they could shave some minutes off the broadcast.
Best Actor. Heart pounds. Pulse races. Jon Hamm is up. Jon. Hamm. And then Bryan Cranston wins. Seriously! No Jon Hamm Goodness for my having to endure three hours of Bo-Ring--not you NPH, but the Who and the WTF Bo-Ring.
Then 30 Rock wins Best Comedy. Are they replaying last year's show, because Mad Men wins Best Drama. It's like deja vu all over again, although I did get one more Jon Hamm fix. For now.
So, that was the Emmys or, as I'll call it, The Re-Emmys. No great drama, no real comedy in a show that honors great drama and real comedy. It was safe and Bo-ring and so much like a retread of years past. But NPH in a white tux, singing and dancing is always a treat.
i loves me a cute dork.
Oh yeah, before I go, two more things:
Gay. Way gay. Come out already.
This woman won for something called Little Doritos, or some such nonsense, but i couldn't even listen to her speak because I kept channeling Heidi Klum.
I wanted The Girls up and in place. I thought she had a couple of loose cats in her gown.