Is Cindy Sheehan Unretiring?

As previously reported on the Pop Culture Institute, anti-war activist Cindy Sheehan is quitting the peace movement for good. This will be her last weekend on the five-acre plot of land she bought in Crawford, Texas, near the President's ranch.

So where does a woman who's tired of malice and libel go for relief?

Ms. Sheehan is going into politics.

Specifically, to run as an independent in California's 8th Congressional District, against the most powerful woman in the US government, House Speaker Nancy Pelosi.

Sheehan doesn't think the Democrats have done enough to stop the war, which, since they haven't done anything to stop the war, would be a fair assessment.

At the very least, Sheehan's candidacy may raise a few important issues, such as how so many Democrats were tricked into supporting the war in the first place by Republican speciosity.

It remains to be seen if Sheehan's indignation will be righteous enough to translate into votes or if, as far as the grassroots is concerned, running for office will merely be seen as jumping the shark.

In the meantime, stay tuned...
share on: facebook

Today's Sermon Is By J. Barrett Lee

I was supposed to publish this last Sunday. When I missed that target, I thought I might publish it on Wednesday instead. Again, no such luck.

Anyway, here it is, better late than never. And still timely nonethless.

- MSM

* * *

As we begin this new week, I’m sure that many of us are looking forward to Wednesday, the 4th of July, when we will celebrate the 231st anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and the beginning of the United States as a nation. The day will doubtless be marked by backyard barbeques and fireworks. On a more serious note, perhaps some of us will take the time to recount the struggle for freedom throughout American history, from the 18th century, continuing up to the 21st. Wherever and whenever we look closely at these struggles, we will be sternly reminded that freedom is not free. It comes at a price. Looking at today’s gospel text, we can see Jesus giving his followers a similar reminder. He shows them that the holy freedom presented in the Good News of God’s Kingdom comes at a cost: the cost of discipleship.

We read this morning about the beginning of Jesus’ journey to Jerusalem, which takes up ten chapters in Luke’s gospel. In the hearts and minds of Jesus’ disciples, this was a triumphant journey, when the Messiah, God’s anointed King, would march into Jerusalem and take back his throne from the distant Roman Empire and the corrupt puppet government set up in its name. Surely, they thought, this was the time when Israel would declare its independence from foreign powers and be set free from the oppression of colonial rule. It was a very exciting time for them and they felt proud to be partners in the revolution that would restore peace and freedom to God’s chosen nation. However, I think that some of them were also beginning to feel nervous, because Jesus did not seem to be cooperating with their ideas of freedom. In fact, he’d been saying and doing some very strange things. When they stood up to declare his arrival as Messiah, Jesus hushed them. When they dreamed about the glory of his new revolution, he anticipated his rejection, betrayal, and execution at the hands of his own people. In today’s text, when the troupe is rejected and turned away by a village of half-breed, pagan Samaritans, Jesus rebukes his disciples for entertaining the idea of calling down an angelic air-strike upon the village. This isn’t the way a conquering King is supposed to act! What kind of King is this anyway?

What the disciples don’t understand at this point is that Jesus’ idea of freedom differs from their own. They want Jesus to stage an uprising against the occupying forces of a foreign government, but Jesus wants to start a revolution against the powers of sin that occupy their hearts. They want Jesus to tear down the palaces of Caesar in Jerusalem, but Jesus wants to destroy the strongholds of the world, the flesh, and the devil in their souls. They want to change the world, starting with the outside, but Jesus wants to change them, starting on the inside. This is the inside-out revolution of Jesus Christ.

In the second half of today’s gospel text, we can see Jesus clearly setting forth the costs of this revolution. Once again, his would-be disciples have misunderstood his intentions and imposed their own assumptions on Jesus. On three occasions, people come before Jesus, pledging their allegiance to God’s Kingdom, but also expecting Jesus to comply with their expectations of security and social decency. Jesus’ response to them is curt, to say the least. He pulls no punches as he lays out the price of freedom in God’s Kingdom: “Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests, but the Son of Man has nowhere to lay his head.” “Let the dead bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God.” “No one who puts a hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God.” These are harsh things to hear! It’s difficult to imagine these words coming from the mouth of “Gentle Jesus, meek and mild” who we used to sing about in Sunday School! Nevertheless, Jesus did say these things.

The inside-out revolution of Jesus has costs. We who pledge our allegiance to him will be dislocated from our positions of comfort and security. Jesus’ Declaration of Independence from the things of this world leaves no room for the warm security of a fox’s hole or the cool objectivity of a bird’s nest. For all of us, being a disciple of Jesus will cost us our most precious expectations in life. It may force us to take a smaller paycheck or become dependent on the generosity of others so that we can be in a better position to do God’s work among the poor and outcast of society. Following Jesus may cause us to sacrifice a respectable and prestigious image in order to take a public stance against popular trends such as violence, prejudice, consumerism, and other forms of immorality and injustice. Following Jesus has costs.

However, my friends, let me encourage you with a promise: the promise of freedom! When we pledge our allegiance to Jesus’ vision of the Kingdom of heaven on earth, we declare our independence from the powers and principalities of evil in this world. We are freed from the bonds of sin that entangle us. We are transformed from the inside out. And not only that, but the world around us is transformed as well, bit by bit, as we reach out to others with our newfound freedom in Christ. God will work through us to make a difference in this world. We will become soldiers in the inside-out revolution, who fight for freedom, not by taking up a flag or a gun, but by taking up our cross and following Jesus. And in that march we march in the company of countless brothers and sisters who have gone before us on this journey: St. Francis of Assisi, the beloved saint who sacrificed his future as a successful businessman to care for lepers on the outskirts of his hometown; Mother Teresa of Calcutta, who made a home for starving orphans in the slums of India; Archbishop Desmond Tutu, who championed the cause of equality in Apartheid South Africa; and in our own country, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr. who inspired millions of Americans in their ongoing struggle for freedom with these prophetic words:

I say to you, my friends, that even though we must face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream. It is a dream deeply rooted in the American dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed—we hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal… I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places shall be plain, and the crooked places shall be made straight and the glory of the Lord will be revealed and all flesh shall see it together.

This is our hope. This is the faith I go back to the South with.

With this faith we will be able to hew out of the mountain of despair a stone of hope. With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.

With this faith we will be able to work together, to pray together, to struggle together, to go to jail together, to stand up for freedom together, knowing that we will be free one day. This will be the day when all of God’s children will be able to sing with new meaning—“my country ‘tis of thee, sweet land of liberty; of thee I sing; land where my fathers died, land of the pilgrim’s pride; from every mountainside, let freedom ring”—and if America is to be a great nation, this must become true.
So let freedom ring... from every mountainside, let freedom ring.

And when we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and hamlet, every state and city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children—black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics—will be able to join hands and to sing in the words of the old spiritual, “Free at last, free at last; thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”

* * *

Many thanks to the good Reverend for his permission to reprint this sermon.
share on: facebook

Books Wormed: "Sick Puppy" by Carl Hiaasen

The death of the comic novel in America ought to be grieved to a greater degree than it currently is. Thanks to Carl Hiaasen, though, the comic novel as once churned out by Tom Robbins, Philip Roth, or Kurt Vonnegut is merely on life support. If anyone can breathe life back into its moribund canon it's him.

Normally I'm not fond of genre fiction, regardless of type. Even the most skilled purveyors of it seem to run out of ideas after the first couple, and all of a sudden the excitement you get from picking up a new title by an author you thought you liked is ruined by the discovery, a couple of chapters in, that it's the same as the last one.

Hiaasen pretty neatly sidesteps that trap, even though his subject matter varies little from book to book: they all take place in Florida, they all feature pretty skeezy good guys and monstrous villains. They are also damn funny, or at least the ones I've read, which by now is more than half. Maybe it's his wicked wit or because I agree with his politics, where Hiaasen is concerned, I almost wouldn't mind reading the same book over and over again.

Not that I ever have to.

In "Sick Puppy" specifically his targets are lobbyists and the shady dealings for which they are responsible. As with all of his tales of greed and corruption, Hiaasen offers no concrete plan for cleaning up the cesspool which is politics.

Then again, that's hardly his job. As a journalist AND as a novelist, Hiaasen's tactics seem to favour the shedding of light onto the situations that need light shone on them, namely the loathing that politicians, real estate developers, and their ilk seem to have for Nature.

To write a comedy crime thriller with an ecological bent cannot be an easy task, and yet Carl Hiaasen has written nearly a dozen of them now. Whether his efforts will ever do more than amuse his devoted readers remains to be seen.

Either way, they're the best chance Florida has at surviving the condo block and mini-mall juggernaut currently destroying the once-pristine beauty of the Sunshine State.
share on: facebook

Will Wonders Ever Cease?

As previously reported on the Pop Culture Institute, the Seven Wonders of the modern world have been announced.

They are, in no particular order:

• The Great Wall of China


• Rome's Colosseum


• India's Taj Mahal


• Peru's Machu Picchu


• Brazil's Statue of Christ Redeemer


• Mexico's Chichen Itza pyramid


• Jordan's Petra

Oh well, I got three.

I did better than Mr. Davey, though. Laughlin, Nevada indeed.
share on: facebook

A Google Milestone!

I just discovered that, for the first time ever, if you Google my name (michael sean morris) this blog appears. Not only has it never appeared before when I've Googled myself (oh yeah, you know I do it), now it's the 5th link from the top!

Clearly I owe that to you, my readers. I have not become a hopeless recluse for naught.
share on: facebook

Hey Paula!

Oh my god, Paula's so fucked up. Would you look at the size of her pupils?

Oh wait... Those are sunglasses. Yeah.

It's been a long day. I think I need to go lie down.
share on: facebook

C'mon! C'MON!!

It's okay. (breathe) I'll be fine. (breathe) That's better.

The Pop Culture Institute is eagerly following events in Chicago, where a jury has spent the last couple of months hearing a litany of crimes against humanity and decency committed by Conrad Black. And that was mostly the defense. Yeah, I think it'd be easier to defend Darth Vader than this morally bankrupt tyrant.

Incredibly, having heard everything in the courtroom that we've read in the papers, the jury is now into its seventh day of deliberations. That hotel they're in must have really good catering. Either that or the jurors needed the extra time to "go over any briefs they may not have gotten to", if one catches my inference.

All I can say is, this better be good...
share on: facebook

Introducing... Self-Loathario

It has become increasingly clear to me that, as valuable as they are to do, my posts on self-loathing do not belong here.

I've often wondered what I should do about this, as I consider self-loathing to be at crisis levels, not least of all in myself. I mean, I'm even seeing it in really hot, successful people. Oh yeah, it's that bad.

To that end, and to spare the gay nerves of Mr. Barr, Mr. Gagne, and especially Mr. Davey, I've decided to move all such posts permanently off this page and onto an entirely new page entitled Self-Loathario, where I hope to help people to learn to love their yuck. After all, it's our entire lives that make us interesting, and not just our good stuff.

Of course, in order to maintain brand synergy, I will be referring here to material on Self-Loathario often, so watch for that as I with my trade school marketing know-how attempts to create some kind of cross-platform appeal. At least I think that's what it's called.

I'll try to keep it light, of course, since when I am not wracked with self-loathing I'm actually a fairly funny and positive person. Also, the site will deal with some heavy things, so the right tone will be everything. The last thing I want to do with such a site is to add to anyone's problems.

One thing is for sure, though; I can't help anyone who doesn't want to help themselves.

I guess that's why I didn't start sooner.
share on: facebook

OMG: I Just Told Off A Hottie

It was such a liberating experience, I may change my name to Simon Bolivar.

What a rush!

I won't reveal who he is; unless, that is, he really starts to piss me off, at which point I might spin it into a series.

Next on Fox: In the tradition of Hannity & Colmes, it's Hottie & Troll.

I mean really... Anyone who puts "fat jokes" in their profile under Interests has it coming to him in a big way.
share on: facebook

My Current Wallpaper: Vancouver Skyline with cranes

As per usual, if you would like this wallpaper, just email me.
share on: facebook

The Gay Bomb?

British television scientists are feverishly working on creating the gayest episode ever.

No longer content with Little Britain and Graham Norton, they've written a part for Kylie Minogue into Doctor Who.

Once the episode airs, they predict random widespread DNA mutation, following which the eight straight guys who like Kylie and the seven straight guys who watch Doctor Who will all fleshpile.
share on: facebook

Now Showing: Loudon Wainwright III

What would a Pop Culture Institute salute to the United States be without a dissenting opinion?

Here, then, is Rufus Wainwright's father with a few thoughts on the Bicentennial. From 1976.
share on: facebook

Twitching the House Finch

I've been trying for a year to get a clear picture of one of these sweet little birds, but they've always eluded me. Until today.
share on: facebook

One Of The Perks Of My Job Is Flexible Breaks

Because I work alone, I pretty much set my own timetable. Obviously, random events will occur in a universe composed of almost pure chaos, but for the most part my time is my own.

On Canada Day, for instance, I decided to take my lunch break during the fireworks, where I snapped this shot.

Hope you had a good one, and good luck dragging your asses into work tomorrow. Me? I've got the day off...
share on: facebook

The Writing on the Wall: Dancing Alien

share on: facebook

Funniest Moments in Television

Many many of the funniest moments in the history of television came from The Carol Burnett Show, but for my money this is the funniest of them all.
share on: facebook

Wessexes Expecting

Prince Edward, Earl of Wessex, youngest son of the Queen, shown here with his countess Sophie and their daughter Lady Louise in 2003, will be adding to their family, Buckingham Palace has just announced.

The newest royal is expected in December.

There is a cloud over the good news, however, as the countess' previous pregnancy and delivery were fraught with complications.

Pop Culture Institute would like to offer the royal couple its best wishes at this time. The new arrival will be the Queen's eighth grandchild.
share on: facebook

The Legendary Mr. Jim Bailey

Here is his uncanny portrayal of one Phyllis Diller...
share on: facebook

Books Wormed: "Like A Lampshade in a Whorehouse: My Life in Comedy" by Phyllis Diller with Richard Buskin

There are books over one which labours, and there are books that, no matter how slowly one reads, are over far too soon.

Phyllis Diller's memoir is clearly in the latter category. I think she should have teamed up with the author of The Neverending Story on this one instead; I wanted it to go on and on.

In 1986 I had the privilege of attending one of her shows. I'd always been a fan, since the time she was on The Muppet Show in the late Seventies, I guess, although it seems like there was never a time in my life when she wasn't present. Seeing her genius (and hearing that laugh!) in person was the ultimate thrill. I've always wanted to be a standup comedian (and I may yet do it, if I can get over the stage fright) but she did it at a time when women simply didn't do such things. Yet she bears no obvious bitterness; unlike Joan Rivers' Enter Talking, which is better written, but also much more bitter.

Miss Diller's message is overwhelmiingly, almost overbearingly, positive. Having triumphed over a difficult childhood, less-than-perfect looks, and criminal taste in men, with persistence and humour she turned all her lemons into lemonade. By being able to make others laugh at the mess of her life, she has also been able to laugh at it as well. The book flits from high to high, stopping occasionally to ponder a darker moment, but never staying long.

Like A Lampshade in a Whorehouse doesn't belong on the shelf with the memoirs; it belongs with the self-help books, except that it succeeds where many of those well-meaning works fail. Miss Diller's brand of help is effective mainly because she's already tried it on herself, and her life is proof enough that it works.

The next time I find I'm taking my own "problems" so seriously, all I have to do is crack this one open again and make myself read until I've lightened up.

Gawd, I hope there's a sequel...
share on: facebook

Books Wormed: "Michael Tolliver Lives" by Armistead Maupin

Back in the day - this was right after I came out, so I'm going to say the late Cretaceous - Armistead Maupin showed me the way.

I don't mean he gave me directions, per se, like to the nearest supermarket. But he did show me that the easiest way to be the best gay man I could be was to be the best person I could be. This was sort of a revolutionary ideology, especially in an era fraught with identity politics and the kind of militancy that tends to erode manners.

I could have very easily fallen into that trap myself back then, and become an activist with a vengeance. Hell, I already had the vengeance, and there are days even now when I find myself idly contemplating what Queer Nation and al-Qaeda could offer each other. Fortunately I got good counsel early on and instead emerged from the outrage of youth as more or less a humanist, if a cynical and misanthropic one.

In the Tales of the City series of books generally, and in the character of Michael Tolliver specifically, Maupin's own humanism is key in helping his characters to overcome whatever rage or frustration needs to be overcome. Not knowing the man, I can only conclude from his writing that he must be a very warm, caring person indeed, since every page he's ever written seems to radiate compassion and kindness.

When I found out about this book being published, the bulk of my elation at the news was that it would be about Mouse (as he was known); maybe it was because we had the same name, but Mouse was always my favourite character. Over the course of six books, which I first read one after the other in 1989 and have reread in the same way half a dozen times since then, Mouse goes through a lot, yet doesn't ever let himself get down for long. This in itself is a feat that I have until recently felt was possible only in a work of fiction.

In Michael Tolliver Lives Maupin is still showing me the way. Now, though, instead of how to be young, the lessons to be gleaned from him are more related to being old. Youth, as difficult as it was, seems easy when compared to ageing, especially in a gay context.

I don't yet have the vocabulary to talk about growing older without sounding negative, and it'll take more than a single novel (no matter how great) to change that. In this book Michael's new boyfriend Ben is depicted as something akin to Apollo carved out of cream cheese. Maupin's real-life husband is of a similar vintage, so I'm willing to give him the benefit of the doubt that he knows what he's talking about.

But I am now and have always been skeptical about chubby chasers and Daddy's boys and bears of all kinds. While I've seen plenty of evidence that they exist, they've been darned reticent towards me, especially lately. They may exist, but nevertheless I won't believe in them until they make themselves more obvious.

While the world in which I live has given me a share of kindness and loving friendships, the gay community within it seems content - pleased, even - to see me die of unrequited love.

Then again, if Michael Tolliver can survive, maybe I can too. All I need to do is find a way to write myself a middle age with the same generosity of spirit as one Armistead Maupin.
share on: facebook

The Sound of Silence

Hear that? No? Ain't it grand?

The rhino upstairs - you know, the one who likes to tapdance in roller skates and never did learn to juggle those bowling balls despite all the practice - just moved out. As I am writing this I can see all her noisy stuff being loaded into a noisy van by her noisy relatives.

Maybe now I can get back to the sensation of not having any neighbours at all, just like it was in the old days.

Sweet...

Previously, on the Pop Culture Institute...

A Spot of Gratitude - Good Neighbours
share on: facebook

On This Day in Pop Culture (2005)

Spain legalized same-sex marriage.
share on: facebook

Cana-wha?

Just in time for Canada Day the Dominion Institute has released the results of a survey conducted by them, and it ain't pretty.

Apparently 60% of Canadians born in Canada would fail the same test given to new Canadians.

Rather than being disappointed by this finding, I tend to think of this as a challenge. The Pop Culture Institute has always featured Canadian news and history, and will continue to do so.

Enlightertainment to the rescue!

[S O U R C E]
share on: facebook

Order of Canada Recipients Named

Former Prime Minister Jean Chretien was among the 74 Canadians honoured for their public works with an Order of Canada this year, as announced by the office of the Governor-General.



Also on the list: golfer Mike Weir, veteran broadcaster Pamela Wallin, politician Preston Manning, and rocker Robbie Robertson.

Created on July 1, 1967, the Order of Canada is being marked this year by what a statement from Rideau Hall calls "a celebration of 40 years of outstanding achievements and excellence in all sectors of society."

Alas, my name was not on the list. Oh well, there's always next year.

[S O U R C E]
share on: facebook

Another Milestone!

Did any of you see "The 300"? Yeah, well triple it and you'll get a sense of how I'm feeling right now.

900. Shit. What have I done?

Well, whatever it was, it's pretty well unstoppable by now. I almost feel the need to put the brakes on, so as not to feel too overwhelmed. I'd like to take some time to bask in what is essentially the most minor of successes, so that I might nurture it and help it grow.

After all, isn't growth what summer is all about...

Next Milestone - Post # 1000 - August 5th
share on: facebook

WTF: A Picture Of Me?

Wednesday, while on the way to work, I spotted this handsome fellow on a wall in Gastown.
share on: facebook

Bald Eagle Flying High

The word on the street says that the bald eagle is about to be taken off the endangered species list.

Never really hunted (although poachers will take them for their feathers and talons) the bald eagle was originally endangered by things such as pesticides, which rendered their eggshells too fragile to hatch.

The near-extinction of the bald eagle was a real wake up call to American industry, as its declining numbers were always linked to pollution, and pollution is always due to greed. Legislation in the Seventies such as the Clean Air Act did much to preserve this noble species.

Now if only they can hold on long enough to get Bush and his contempt for the environment out of office, it should be clear skies for the bald eagle from now on.
share on: facebook

Mea Culpa

I know the blog hasn't been quite right the past few days. I've gone way off topic, and suddenly I don't care about the ongoing development of my brand quite like I did last week. I'm sure at some point I'll snap out of it and things will go back to normal, but until it does, can you please just humour me?

My life has changed so much in the past week, I barely recognise it myself. I was unaware that the trip to Seattle would have this effect on me. In addition, though, I have had a few very unsettling (in a good way) days on Facebook.

I must have found and contacted half a dozen people from my past, including my best friend from Grade 2, not to mention the long-lost Matthew. (You remember him; he's the one who made the stripper political.) I joined a group related to my birth name and have managed to purge alot of hatred of it in the process.

I've even gotten an ecstatic response from an ex. I believe it may be the first one ever, so I'm still learning how to deal with it.

Plus, there's nothing like a new iPod is there? Especially when the old one hadn't been right enough to listen to for many months. I'm sure that a certain amount of the week's elation is related to the narcotic properties of the iPod Effect. Try going from Edith Piaf to the B-52s to Joni Mitchell with various surreal stops in between and I guarantee eventually your widdle mind go boom.

Throughout April and May I felt like I was trapped in a rut, only the rut felt more like a trench. Today I feel like I'm walking six inches off the ground.

The funny thing is I must have read twenty horoscopes in the past three months that said something like this was coming; I can remember thinking "Oh sure, that'll happen." Meanwhile I'm running from store to store trying to find a plunger that works on backed up Qi.

Which is when the blockage just sort of... Unblocked.

I guess 48 hours of undiluted Gagne-fication really can work miracles.
share on: facebook

The Blair Is Dead, Long Live The Brown

Gordon Brown paid a visit to Buckingham Palace today, during which the Queen invited him to form her government.

Tony Blair, meanwhile, begins a high-profile job as an envoy to the Eastern Mediterranean. As long as the situation between Israel and Palestine isn't as fractious as a New Labour caucus meeting, he should be fine.

Damn...
share on: facebook

R.I.P. Liz Claiborne

In the late Seventies and early Eighties, the name Liz Claiborne was synonymous with sexy working women. Over the years her licenses expanded into fragrance, accessories, and even cosmetics.

She died today, aged 78; no cause of death was given.

Although Claiborne retired from managing her empire in 1989 it will live on after her, as long as there are career women looking to be stylish with just a soupcon of sexy.
share on: facebook

The Curse Is Broken

I'd been wracking my brain, looking for something that wasn't there, a simple name. The last name, in fact, of my last boyfriend.

Two hours I spent trying to remember it. In vain...

That's just the omen I'd been waiting for; proof that I've finally moved on.

* * *

The last relationship curse I was under was broken when I received a kiss from a straight guy.

Ed was a totally hot straight guy - tall, lean, a redhead - who got so drunk at a party one time he let his girlfriend divulge the fact that he'd always wondered what it would be like to kiss a guy. I was a little tipsy myself, and since I was the only guy at that particular party who was into being kissed by guys, I stepped up.

He was an amazing kisser, so I went for it in a big way. I'd been dying to grab his ass for months, and so I did. He responded by grinding into me, and I won't tell you what I felt then, but it was nice. For a moment it was so intense that even the sound of our friends roaring with drunken approval fell away.

When it was over I whispered in his ear: "Curiosity sated?" To which he replied: "Yes, thank you." Imagine a gay guy saying thank you for a kiss. I could have been greedy and asked him if there was anything else he wanted, but I didn't. For once in my tacky life I was tasteful.

A week later I met the man who would be my longest-serving boyfriend.

* * *

I wasn't sure what it would take to break the curse I've been under, but I knew it wouldn't be the same as the last. This is the main reason I didn't spend five years trying to finagle another kiss out of a straight guy. That and the fact that all the straight guys I know whom I consider even remotely snoggy all have fabulous wives.

Otherwise, I'd have been all over Barrett like an Episcopal vestment. IsallI'msayin'...

It's all over now but the in-depth analysis. I felt the curse's power weakening during (and even just before) the Seattle Sojourn; what remains is to determine the extent of it, and then repair any of the damage it caused before...

Well, before I shout "Next!" and the line at the deli counter of my sex life inches forward.
share on: facebook

Why Do I Do The Things I Do?

Okay, so given that the past week has been especially photo heavy I thought it was as good a time as any to bring the focus back onto the words. Words, after all, are what a writer is all about. I was a writer first, and I'll probably be a writer last, so it's a writer I should be foremost.

That, plus the Interweb is really slow around here lately. Opening Photobucket takes forever, and there's some problem at Wikipedia that won't let me get in at all. No doubt there's a fierce battle raging behind the scenes over an ill-chosen adjective; whatever it is, I ain't getting involved.

So I forge on, undeterred. Perserverance, after all, is my motto.

The Seattle Sojourn is still percolating. I definitely feel different today than I did the day I left Vancouver, even though it was a mere five days ago; this may, in fact, be the broadening effect which is famously the result of travel. Suddenly this blog seems like a quaint little travelogue documenting life inside my own rut. In other words, not at all the effect I was going for.

It's possible that self-absorption (the ultimate provincialism) has been keeping me from a wider readership, when in fact what I've always intended is to personalize pop culture, to make it accessible, relatable even. Not for nothing do I call it the People's History.

So in the meantime I continue to reach out: to friends both immediate and long-lost, to strangers even, to anyone that is who'll help me to understand the swirling chaos I'm forever trying to make sense of called life.
share on: facebook

Facebook 'Em, Dano

Wow!

It's not very often I fall into a website like I've just recently done with Facebook.

I'm using it to investigate various mysterious figures from my past, as well as to keep tabs on those slippery little guppies I like to call my current friends. It's so cool, I may get it installed on my mobile. Because I can.

Okay, you caught me. I'm really using it to procrastinate. But at least I got this blog post out of it, so HA! And at least it's better than Tamagotchi, so HA HA!!

Actually, for someone who's as socially impaired as me, Facebook feels more like a video game. One designs a profile, and with that attracts the attention of others. Every day it seems I'm adding friends, and it has a nicer interface than email.

In addition to the valuable therapy of composing a profile, there's the added benefit that I think it's bringing me out of my shell in a way. Ah the Internet! The patron saint of the socially inept. Let's you get over the awkward bits without having to be face-to-face when they happen.

After years (my whole life really) of driving people away I may be about to find out what effect (if any) my actions might have had.

[Join Me!]
share on: facebook

Playing Catch-Up

It seems strange that I was really only gone from 4:15 PM Friday until noon on Monday. There's so much to do it's like I was gone for a month.

In addition to blogging I have a house to clean, what feels like two loads of laundry a day for the remainder of the week, a cat to de-neuroticize, and a million other things as well, most of which I have yet to find out about.

I guess it's only shocking to find my life has momentum because for the past few months it's had none to speak of. Part of my intention for going to Seattle in the first place was to jump start myself.

I think it worked. I was up before my alarm this morning, and I've been going steadily ever since.

Oh well, only a few more years of this and I'll be caught up to where I'm supposed to be.
share on: facebook

Announcing: The Pop Culture Institute's Anthem

Enjoy at your leisure this stirring rendition of the Pop Culure Institute's anthem, "Non, Je Ne Regrette Rien" by Edith Piaf.
share on: facebook

Seatt-Elation

I doubt I'm the first person to ever document the condition which I've just named.

Symptoms include: light-headedness, the inability to stop smiling, and a keen desire to return later, to do and see more.

Of all the places I went, and things I saw, though, the best part of the weekend was spending quality time with friends laughing and eating and just generally having fun.

No Seattle, you have definitely not seen the last of me.

Not by a long shot.
share on: facebook

Seattle Sojourn Sunday: How To Get High in Seattle

After what was a pretty low-key Pride Day all told, our little group was looking for a place that would pick up more than our spirits. Mr. Gagne, Mr. Davey and I met up with Mr. Barr, who'd made a special trip down for our friend's birthday party that evening, and that picked up our spirits some more, but being the reckless thrill-seekers we are, we wanted more.

Where, we wondered, could you go in Seattle to get really high?



The Space Needle of course! Why? What did you think I meant?

41 seconds it takes, from the ground to the deck. 41 exhilarating, butt-clenching, ultimately elevating seconds.

While up there I got to revisit all my favourite old haunts from Saturday, but was given an entirely new perspective on them. Let me tell you, 600 feet in the air is a whole new perspective indeed.



Plus, for people who don't like the Space Needle - aka jerks - it's one of the few places in the city where you can't see it.

So we wandered around up there for awhile, until the enjoyable air conditioning got to be more oppressive than the humidity we'd left on the ground. I was given the rare opportunity to pay $1.37 for a small apple, which is the sort of thrill I can readily do without.

Then it was 41 seconds back to the ground, and off on our next adventure...
share on: facebook

Seattle Sojourn Sunday: Pride Is...

Pride is queens, whether coy


Or brash


Pride is camping it up


Or cute guys mellowing out


Pride is costumes, whether well-felt cocks


Or canine couture


Pride is cutting-edge cute


Pride is community


Pride is corporate


Pride is cute guys of all kinds


Pride is campaigning


Pride is caring


Pride is commitment
share on: facebook

Seattle Sojourn Saturday (Part Two): At The Zoo

I realise that the issue of keeping animals in captivity is a contentious and emotional one. Once, at an election time meeting of Vancouverite lefties, the Vancouver Aquarium t-shirt I was wearing made a woman cry.

Now, I'm not entirely insensitive, but some people need to get a grip and realise that not everyone is always going to agree with them. Especially radical lefties who favour the overthrow of everything just for the Hell of it. You know who you are.

Are zoos ideal? No. But there's only so much a person can learn from National Geographic and the Discovery Channel. At some point it helps to get face time with an actual animal. I can credit the time I spent at zoos as a child with my current interest in ecology and habitat preservation.

At least at a zoo the animals aren't being chased across the savannah by a Range Rover full of tourists, and until the mindset that allows poaching to continue can be overcome, all the habitat in the world isn't going to save some species from extinction.

* * *


With that in mind, I found the Woodland Park Zoo's enclosures rather humane, especially given what they were like just thirty years ago. Compared with some of the apartments I've lived in, they're downright palatial. They're large enough, in fact, that if the animals aren't feeling particularly social they can go off and hide.


Such was the case with the gorillas, most of whom stayed out of view. This female, however, was up for a bit of tree climbing followed by a light snack. For an encore she turned her back to the humans watching her, pinched a loaf, picked it out of her ass, and made a tidy little present on a nearby log. All the children watching (and I) found this hilarious in the extreme.


Leaving the gorilla enclosure it was onto the ever-popular penguins, who are as entertaining as any animals I've ever seen.

This particular group were all clustered at one end of their pool, looking like they were about to dive in. When an audible murmur arose amongst the gathered crowd they withdrew, and waddled over to the other side of their pool. The crowd dutifully followed, and again they poised themselves to dive, the faint sound of whoo arose from the humans...

And again the penguins balked!

For all I know, they could have done that all afternoon. I swear I saw a couple of them laughing, except that would be anthropomorphism, and that's wrong. Unless, that is, it's in a movie or a book or... Well, any pop culture really. In which case it's often hilariously right.

A n y w a y ...

For some reason, not a few of the animals were being shy. It may be that, like me, they prefer to snooze in the middle of the afternoon. It may have been the chilly wind blowing, or it could have been the scores of ill-behaved and shrieking children running about not being parented by the stroller jockeys they came with. Who can say?

All this means, for my purposes, is that those animals who chose to make an appearance today get to be stars, while the rest get to keep going on auditions and waiting to hear from their agents.


This zebra, for instance, posed beautifully for me, unlike the pen full of antelope who scampered around her as though spooked by the sight of each other's scampering.


Entering one of the bird enclosures, I found this beauty sitting on a branch not an arm's length from me, utterly unafraid despite the nearby flitting of weaver-birds who, contrary to their name, were not weaving but pecking at each other and swatting anything that moved with their wings.

Nothing they did, however, frightened off my little friend.


Rounding another corner Mr. Gagne and I came upon the most ferocious of the African mega-fauna - the hippopotamus. Three of them, in fact, just a laying there, acting like it was an inconvenience to flutter their ears at flies. I guess nobody thought to tell the ducks floating past them what danger they were in.

I'm ashamed to admit, I was rooting for one of the hippos to yawn and swallow a duck, if for no other reason than it would have given me a blog post.

Cruel, maybe. Selfish, obviously. Hilarious, definitely.


I warned Mr. Gagne that, once we made it to the giraffes, the rest of the afternoon was going to be all downhill. While not entirely true, they are my favourite animal after Colin Farrell, and just a few minutes in the presence of one brought the day's excitement to a gentle close.


In addition to providing a home for numerous foreign species, the Woodland Park Zoo is also home to many crows and other birds and what can only be described as a bevy of squirrels. Under normal circumstances, I understand a squirrel does not belong in a post about zoo animals, especially when said squirrels are utterly tame and inured to living off human leavings.

This one, in particular, went in and out of garbage cans like he was on some kind of pub crawl.

Besides which, I will take any opportunity to publish a picture of a squirrel. So there.


So that was the Woodland Park Zoo. An amiable and leafy place to spend an afternoon to be sure, but I looked at it as a training ground. Tomorrow I will be encountering animals more fierce than any I saw today...

Tomorrow it's Gay Pride Day. Yikes!
share on: facebook

Fatwa II: The Reckoning

Sir Salman Rushdie, recently knighted by the Queen, is once again in hot water.

A group of Muslim "scholars" in Pakistan have offered an 11.5 million bounty on his head. Not only that, his Wikipedia account has once again been locked, due to vandalism.

I cannot condemn this dismaying turn of events in strong enough words, for all the good it'll do. It's not like these imams will rescind their offer because it's met with the disapproval of the Pop Culture Institute.

Murder is still murder, and I doubt it's condoned by any holy book anywhere.

[S O U R C E]
share on: facebook

Seattle Sojourn Saturday (Part One)

At last I have my very own photo of the Seattle skyline! Hopefully this soon-to-be iconic image will be adorning a great many of my posts, because I do love Seattle. Oh, I love it alot. I love it so much I may, in fact, start singing.

The day began late, due to a particularly virulent summer cold I seem to have picked up from someone (cough, cough, Doug, cough) but that was okay. After all, this is supposed to be a vacation. It simply won't do to be dashing about like I do at home. Yeah, right... The only time I ever dash in Vancouver it's to avoid being squashed by some coked-up Yuppie in a Range Rover.

Nevertheless, despite the late start it was a full day indeed. In fact, the only reason such a late start was even possible was because of the knowledge and efficiency of my guide, Mr. Gagne, whose name my readers will recognise from his numerous useful and insightful comments.

After a tasty and nutritious brunch, we set out. The day's sight-seeing started at the Admiral Way lookout, for a western vista of the city.



This will now serve as my Seattle banner, as it covers the entire area from the Space Needle on the left to the Smith Tower on the right. It has everything great about Seattle in it except Mount Rainier and Kathi Goertzen¹.

We continued on to the charming neighbourhood of Alki, which resembles a fishing village built by hippies which is rapidly gentrifying. I decided that Alki is my favourite neighbourhood in the city. It's also famously the Birthplace of Seattle, as proclaimed on the monument at Alki Beach.

I was probably most fascinated by this monument because embedded in it is a piece of Plymouth Rock. I got to touch it and everything. For a history buff such as myself, this was almost erotic. Either that or I really need to get laid.



After Alki, my guide and I made our way back through downtown and then to Queen Anne Hill, where the top photo was taken. This neighbourhood has long fascinated me, and not just for its name. The hillside is chock-a-block with gorgeous houses of every style - French, Italianate, West Coast. I decided that Queen Anne is my favourite neighbourhood in the city.

By this time it'd been nearly sixteen hours since I'd spent any money, so I was beginning to get a little antsy. Mr. Gagne pointed the trusty Iseabail² down the hill to the north of Queen Anne in the direction of Fremont.



By the time we arrived in Fremont my head was ready to explode. As charming as Alki and as posh as Queen Anne are, I decided that Fremont is my favourite neighbourhood in the city, since it is all this and more.

Here we stopped for a little light lunch, at a lovely Thai place called Tawan Thai. Mr. Gagne had a chicken satay with Pad Thai and I had my usual green curry chicken with a coconut smoothie, which was so good, I've already made plans to be buried in the stuff.

After lunch I bought North River, the new novel by Pete Hamill, and finally found a copy of Midnight's Children by Sir Salman Rushdie. My consumerism having been temporarily sated the rest of the day was like a walk in the park.

Which, in fact, it was. As amazing as the day had been thus far, it turns out the day's piece de resistance was yet to come, a stroll through the Woodland Park Zoo...



* * *

1. Local TV personality, widely reputed to be an angel in human form.
2. Pronounced "ISH-bell".
share on: facebook

Seattle Sojourn: It Begins

Now that I've taken the train, I will be hard pressed to ever squeeze myself into another bus.



Having rectified the problems it once had in the 90s (namely, keeping its trains on the tracks) Amtrak is once-again poised to become the only way to travel. In fact, I may become a regular visitor to Seattle. That's how convenient, affordable, and glamourous my trip was.

Plus, the train was chock-a-block full of Vancouver homos, and not one of them threw anything at me. Progress!
share on: facebook

Xtra West Is At It Again

In the couple of years or so since my arch-enemy Gareth Kirkby was demoted from the editor of Xtra West to the backwater publication Capital Xtra, I have watched a series of subtle changes unfolding at Xtra West with a wary eye.

For instance, occasionally now there'll be a woman on the cover. A couple of times the guys on the cover have been over the age of 25, and some of those even kept their shirts on. Despite this, they still seem to be in business, in defiance of the usual gay publishing credo that states "twinks rule all and no one else deserves to live".

Story ideas that I first pitched to Gareth Kirkby over five years ago are beginning to turn up in the pages of the paper, which is another good sign. Would I have liked to be the one who wrote them, five years ago? Of course. I was never twink enough to work for Gareth Kirkby, though, which made that an impossibility.

Still, the issues of meth abuse, life outside the ghetto, and celibacy are important ones, so ultimately I don't care who brings them to the public debate, as long as they are brought. Especially after having been suppressed for years by Kirkby as "too depressing".

Don't get me wrong: despite these cosmetic changes the paper still doesn't depict me or my life in its pages. It's a gossip rag for the gay ghetto, and the rest be damned. Yet in this they are at least remarkably consistent. It's this consistency, however, that has robbed me of the opportunity to be offended by them, which I used to rather enjoy.

Until, that is, the current issue, the cover of which is shown above.

I can't say what, specifically, it is about this cover that makes me angrier. Possibly it's the implication that this is now what gay poets are supposed to look like. No matter the heart and mind, which are the two component parts of a poet. The message is clear: if I want to be a poet, and gay, I have to look like this. No more heart and mind, it's all abs and arms now, like everything else in the life.

Used to be it didn't matter what you looked like to be a writer, which is part of the reason I became a writer in the first place. That and the solitude. Since looking the way I do requires a great deal of solitude, it seemed a perfect fit, and it beats the hell out of living under a bridge and pestering goats.

Now, thanks to these fucking twink-mongers, even that option is under threat.

I'd better sign off there; I have to go laugh now or I may start to cry.
share on: facebook

Seattle Pride Rocked By Horny Foreigner

Yes, you have read that correctly.



I'm off today to test a theory I have that gay guys are friendlier anywhere in the world than they are in Vancouver. First stop: Seattle.

Due to some massive oversight on the part of my company, I was actually given nearly a week off, so I've used it wisely. The last couple of days I scheduled a) a depressive episode (see In Search Of... Pride), b) a cold, and c) a huge boil-like zit on the side of my nose.

All have now passed, and it remains for me to pack my meagre possessions into my trusty knapsack and make my way south for the festivities.

I've been feverishly planning ahead, so there will be blog entries for you to enjoy all weekend long, and who knows what kind of surprises. Stay tuned...
share on: facebook

The Newest Member of the Family

My last iPod was a 1 GB first-generation iPod Shuffle, which was a gift from my most generous benefactor.

I named it Soundtrackr, and for the first year and a half it was in service it performed a yeoman duty, making bus rides bearable and even the longest walk seem like a stroll around the block.

Alas, its headphones went, following which so did its headphone jack. Nowadays, Soundtrackr sleeps with the fishes.

Enter L'il Freek, the second-generation I GB iPod Shuffle which just this morning followed me home from Best Buy. Isn't it cute?

Shh... It's in its cradle now. We don't want to wake it.
share on: facebook

Rebuttal: In Search Of... Pride

Honestly... Sometimes I just blog without thinking.

If I told you I felt better having made the post, would that help explain it away? How about if I said that less than twelve hours after I'd posted it I reread it and discovered it rife with disordered thinking? I may be a head case, but I'm a pretty self-aware head case.

Yeah. The only good thing is, seeing my disordered thinking written down like that seems to be the only way to put it back into the correct order.

Thanks to my regular readers for not taking the bait and commenting on it, and may I apologise specifically to Mr. Gagne and Mr. Davey for any damage I may have caused to those tiny tendons that make the eyes roll.
share on: facebook