the awesome/terrifying freedom

out here, somewhere, figuring it all out.

vote, fukas

not totally perfect - but it was impassioned, driven, pointed, and inspiring. wow. gore couldn't inspire a fraction of the drive i feel to get bush out now. vote for kerry, fukas.

i think it's for real important dat da younga voters understand da importance of bein late to third blob, walkin ova da votin boof, probably in their same scool, and stickin it in, bitches. so, in attemp to reach dose kids, i ave takun da liberty of processin some of kerry's best bits through da ali g tranzlata.


'i will roll back da tax cuts fa da wealthiest main mans who make ova $200,000 a year, so we can invest in ealf care, education and job creation.'

'wot if we check a chill pillthrough to parkinson's, diabetes, alzheimer's and aids? wot if we ave a president who believes in science so we can unleash da wonders of cukabillyvery dig stem-cell research and treat illness fa quillions of lives?'

'i don't dig to claim dat Jackie Chan is on our side as abraham lincoln told us, me would dig to pray umbly dat we is on Jackie Chan's side'

the happiest dog in the world, part 2

there are two sides to every story, and two sides to every dog wheelchair. here's the other side:

i'm not sure how comfortable that would be. though, perhaps he's 'into' it.

what makes a happy dog?

here he is. this little guy causes a sensation wherever he goes, and is something of a celebrity on the upper east side. i watched him gather a crowd as he happily ran around in circles. i just had to take a picture. i thought 'wow, that dog is so happy!'

which of course got me thinking about the handicapped, and our perception of emotions in animals, and the things we tell ourselves to feel better about the disadvantaged, and whether or not this dog's wheelchair contraption made him 'happier,' or if he just is a normally happy dog who happens to be in a wheelchair. it's like that optical illusion with the two arches that look to be very different in size, but put them on top of each other and they're exactly the same. recontextualizing the dog into a wheelchair makes him sooo happy, and sooo cute! while the dog is probably thinking 'oh, food's over there.'

is he a 'brave' dog? is he a 'courageous' dog? nope, just a dog who's natural state is amplified by context. fascinating. and sooo cute.

i live here

saw 'wicked' last night, which i quite enjoyed.

after the show, decided to walk through times square in the rain, which was interesting. all new billboards. same tourists. what i've always loved about times square in the rain is the walls of light reflecting on wet sidewalks.

you can spot a tourist from a mile away because they are all wearing visor hats and light jeans.

i remembered my first time walking through times square, on my way to work and thinking with such elation 'holy shit, new york city! this is where i live!'

and now four year later i walk through and think 'holy shit. this is not new york, and this is not where i live.' and i have some slight contempt for these tourists who are really getting no real experience of new york at all, that girl with the church camp t-shirt who's taking a picture of the planet hollywood sign and using her flash. i want to scream so many things at her.


meanwhile i'm hunched down taking a goddamned picture of a puddle. i really did want to yell at her. i wanted to become 'that new york guy' and give her a story to tell all her friends. it'd be more of a memory than a picture of a sign. there's a weird power in times square. just knowing which way is north puts you above the majority of the crowd.

buildings are cool. especially taken out of their 'buildingness' context and looked at as sculpture.

sometimes i'm walking down the street and i have this amazingly great feeling - this feeling like the movie i'm in is ending, and the hero (me) may not have won the battle, but has newfound resolve, the lessons have been learned, and he's ready to tackle the next big thing, whatever it may be, stay tuned for the sequel. and i'm walking down the street, feeling tall, hotter than ever, maybe even a little imposing, and some soundtrack-worthy song is blasting in my ears, marking each confident stride, and i can feel the camera as it follows behind me, then stays put as i walk into that vanishing point where all parallel lines on the street point, as i shrink into the crowd, just one of millions of people (maybe all feeing the exact same thing at that moment), and the camera cranes upward, behind a tree branch with a blossom on it, fade out, roll credits.

it's not fair to get a movie-ending moment and then have to go on with the rest of your life.

best execution... ever

the title of episode three is 'revenge of the sith,' which is the first and probably only cool thing lucas has and ever will do regarding the new trilogy. can i just geek the hell out here for a moment?

after two shitty titles and one movie so boring as to be forgotten and one movie only notable for laughably bad love scenes and an anachronisitic cgi fight scene, i have no hopes or expectations for part 3. in this week's onion, john landis says a very true thing: that a good idea counts for nothing. there are no new ideas, and the ones that appear original are ripped off all the time. ideas don't matter. what matters is the execution of that idea. lucas had a great idea for the first films: what happens if we cross a western with a samurai movie with a wwii movie and set it in space? and those films were amazingly executed (except for the ewoks). execution of the last two films: dreadful.

nearly every movie made begins as a great idea, an idea inspiring enough for people to put in millions and millions of dollars and tap into the talents of hundreds and hundreds of people. but then that whole 'execution' snag comes in. like catwoman; after michelle pfeiffer stole every scene of batman returns, how jazzed was everyone at the prospect of seeing a whole movie with this character - without any of those damn penguins or batman? and look at it now.. 'the showgirls of superhero movies.'

i like how execution means both 'putting into action' and 'putting to death.' poor halle berry's career. it manages both definitions simultaneously.

i think there's nothing more frustrating to watch than a great idea executed poorly - you're watching nothing but unmet potential and missed opportunities. it's like seeing that hot guy go out with a loser.

ever seen a dog wheelchair? pics coming soon.

lament of the horny hillbilly

behold the sad, weary eyes of a man who can't seem to find a cousin, goat, or mossy knothole with which to relieve himself. behold the tattered clothes, the blank stare of a falcon porn star that says 'yep, that's my cock. you like to look, don't you? go ahead. it's all i got.'

the horny hillbilly gazes out into the cold unfeeling world and demands that he be looked at. he demands to be sexualized. the gun slung behind his back holds no power compared to the muscle between his legs (though he seems to be the victim of an overzealous circumcision). he says 'i am not of your socio-ecomonic class. i am often the object of ridicule. and yet i have unfliching reproductive desires.'

but here is the most disturbing part:

made in china.

somewhere across the ocean is a factory devoted entirely to the production of horny hillbillys. a massive room full of chinese women with paintbrushes who feed their children and pay their rent by painting sad eyes onto little plastic applachians with raging boners.

meet li. she carefully peels the mold excess from the seams, polishes each tiny penis and shakes her head, wondering what the hell is happening over here, that a product like this would sell well enough to justify mass overseas production. she watches thousands and thousands of horny hillbillys go by, plucking out those with penis deformities seen only in the most obscure medical textbooks. she imagines that the hillbilly must be the most respected class of citizen in the us. he's like a buddha, she thinks, but skinny. and hung. with a gun.

though if america did have a buddha, i suppose this would be it.

does she know that it's the tackiest piece of shit in the world?

collars up?

some words need to be said about east hampton.

first of all: did i miss the memo that said we are now going to wear our polo shirt collars up? like we did in 1984? the rich snob uniform of the time seems to be white pants and an orange or pink or salmon polo shirt. with the collar up. oh yes skanky rich ho on your arm is part of the required uniform as well.

and so it begins - the 'us' versus 'these kids today' mentality; that sticking point where i have two ways in which i can look old: dress like an 18 year old and look pathetically in denial about my age, or dress my age and look pathetically resigned to becoming a fogey. but the collar thing makes me wonder about fashion. what drives collars to go up and ties to become fat and pants to become flared and lapels to become wings every 15-20 years? why these same, rather small design details on the outskirts of our outfits? what is the driving force behind the fluctuation of these phalanges of fasion? (alliteration, yo)

i went into a shoe store in e. hampton and was served a glass of wine. so there's me in my gap tank top, swim trunks, flip flops and beach bag sipping a glass of chardonnay while i peruse $800 shoes. a fun thing to do is to pick up a shoe, casually look at the price tag, be unfazed, inspect the shoe and then plop it down as though the design was offensive and not the price.

i've just been cast as algernon in an all male version of 'the importance of being earnest,' which should be lots of fun. the play has been slightly modified to take place in today's chelsea and the hamptons. my costume: white pants and a salmon colored polo shirt with the collar up.

well, the revelation of the winner of the tackiest piece of shit in the world competition will have to wait. spent an amazing weekend in east hampton. checkit:

middle lane

remnants of a wild gay party on the beach: a glo stick

dead balloon

it took fifty shots, following this bee from flower to flower to get a good one

the tackiest piece of shit in the world contest

i have had an ongoing contest with one of my best friends, emily. the contest has lasted since 1988, when we were in junior high and both of us were traveling a considerable amount. we both decided that we should see who could find the worst piece of tourist crap ever made. thus, over the years came the exchange of such choice items as:

a highly flammable ashtray in the shape of a monkey made from coconuts, purchased in greece.
beer cans cut and shaped into a small helicopter, purchased in vietnam.
sand and glue molded into the shape of a unicorn, purchased in panama.

well, emily and i hadn't seen each other for years - she'd been in japan teaching and working, but has recently moved to nyc. we hung out last night, and she pulled from her pocket a small box. i'm posting only a picture of the box, because my battery died before i could take a picture of what was inside. and let me tell you it's horrifying. and emily may have just won the competition once and for all. in fact, the sight of the thing probably killed my battery. so, as a teaser, here's the box.

until i get my battery recharged, you'll just have to imagine the terrors that lurk within.

i defy you, rain, so ha.

as i knew it would be, six feet under is back on track thanks to the latest episode written by alan ball. bravo. anytime they get brenda's mom back in, there are bound to be some classic moments.

it's a gloomy, rainy day out, so i'm putting up more pictures from cape cod.

i love taking flower pictures.

got lucky on this one.

cool veins in the sand..

another short film..

spent the weekend acting in a '64 hour film shootout.' basically, 25 teams of asian filmmakers disembarked on friday night to each make a 6 minute film around the theme 'hide and seek,' which must be completed by today at noon. i hope they made it! i was cast by a very talented and experienced team, and spent all of saturday (through 4am sunday morning!) shooting our film. i play a guy haunted by a mysterious woman. i brought my camera to the shoot this time so i could post some pics.

this is my co-star angelina, who was great to work with and who i strangle at the end of the film. (or do i??)

here's me 'in character.' (or am i??)

and this is the director, jong lee, and the crew setting up a shot.

manx triskelion

oh dear. someone found my blog today by typing into

"what do you call a guy who likes women and is turned on by a penis?"

i'm so curious about this person. is this a frustrated girlfriend? or a sexually confused, questioning guy? doesn't offer any answer, but for some reason it lists my site as the number one place to find such information. so i'll do my best:

i'd call that guy a homo.

hope that helps.

in other news, i'm going to get a tattoo:

small, on my back. i've been thinking about it for years and years - what is the exact right thing to get? chinese characters? so nick lachey. a dragon? so asiaphilia. a scorpion next to mr. winky? so bel ami porn. it has to be unique, my own design. it has to be cool, meaningful. it has to have a good story. i thought about it and thought about it so long that the whole point of having a tattoo - that it would be with you for life - became more and more moot (mooter and mooter?) as life passed on by. so it's time, finally, and this is it: the philippine sun combined with 'the three legs of man,' the 'manx triskelion,' symbol of the isle of man, where my dad's white white white ancestors came from. i love the three legs symbol. the motto of the isle of man is 'where-ever you throw me, i will stand.' which is cool, but seems to invite people to toss you around, though i'm not totally averse to being tossed about.

next action star continues to infuriate me. howard fine is the devil. howard fine is the high priestess of corky st. clairism, of emotional powertripping, of destroying what little integrity the craft of acting may have once had.

jared is my favorite. jared is the golden boy. he does his work, is on time, and puts his winning energy in the right places. i really can't see them giving it to anyone else. none of the girls impress me.

if you watch the closing credits closely, it flashes for half a second that the 'winner' will star in a made for tv movie - not the big budget feature you'd think from the commercials. so we're probably going to see the two most attractive people cast in 'asteroid 2: run from the rock' on NBC this fall.

entering a new phase of blogging today.. i'm going to start posting pictures!

let's try these from my trip to cape cod:

to give you an idea of the place we stayed, here's a picture of a meticulously crafted hand towel cozy, that incorporates three hand towels into the design. three hand towels that are never to be used. so really, the piece is an homage to the hand towel. it says 'we appreciate you, we will use you liberally. but we won't use these specific ones here.'

quick movie reviews:

fahrenheit 9/11: see it see it see it. and decide for yourself. it's a brilliant display of editing, use of music, humor and horror to make a point. i agree that there are a few too many shots of crying, screaming mothers - but when mothers in iraq and mothers in michigan use the exact same words to express grief, you can't help but be shocked by what the news media have denied us since the beginning of the war: a human face for the iraqis. after seeing that face, no matter what unsupported conspiracy theories or re-contextualized soundbites moore uses, i have new fuel and new fury to see bush defeated.

dodgeball: like all movies of this sort, there are three genuinely funny segments, and the rest of the film is filler to hold the three sections together. it has a fun frat boy humor targeted at teenage boys - no shortage of dick jokes and crotch hits, but it's also filled with geeky humor like constantly referring to espn 8 as 'the ocho.' these ben stiller, vince vaughn, owen and luke wilson, jeremy piven, jon favreau projects all have the same feel - they're all sort of the same guy, they all like each other, and they create projects for themselves and each other. when it works, you get an infectious bunch of guys who are having such a great time you can't help having fun yourself. when it doesn't work, you get the feeling that they had a lot of fun on the set; too bad it's not translating to the screen.

spiderman 2: toby is so cute. and james franco is so cute. a little whiny, but cute. kirsten dunst looks drugged, but a cute drugged. i liked the movie. worthy follow up - scene by scene it's better than the first, but all together it doesn't quite add up. i was disappointed by the unclimactic death of the villain, and by the vague reactions to toby's various unmaskings. but the dialogue is good, and the fights are imaginative and fun. i heard one guy say as we were leaving the theatre, 'i hated it because there is no above-ground train in manhattan.' i wanted to say really loud next to him 'i hated it because there are no SPIDER MEN.' asshole.

went to cape cod for the weekend. was awesome. stayed at a little bed and breakfast in harwich port, run by nancy and carl, an older couple who probably have the best job in the world: maintaining their quaint garden while visitors come and go. nancy gives travel tips, tells the wives where to go shopping, and carl tells the guys where the good boat tours are. spent lots of time on the beach equalizing-out my farmer tan.

there's an article in the advocate about gays and the draft - how 'don't ask don't tell' may no longer be enforced in order to have an effective draft.

now this raises some interesting issues, doesn't it? in some ways it's a victory, in some ways a loss. on the victory side, it shows how attitudes have changed and brings us a step closer to equality in the armed forces. on the loss side, it means we get no more easy out! the military knows that anyone who might not want to fight simply has to say 'i'm a homo' and they get an easy exemption. fear and latent hatred are the basis of 'don't ask don't tell' - it presupposes that homosexuality is a deviant behavior that no military applicant would want to admit to. the need to remove the ban in order to maintain a draft shows how much more secure and accepting people have become; it's clear that straight men are now willing to lie about being gay in order to avoid serving - a prospect once thought unimaginable, or at least so socially taboo that it would be unlikely.

it reminds me of a draft exercise my dad does in his high school social studies classes - in a re-enactment of the draft, those 'drafted' would have to write an essay paper on some subject to do with the draft - but you could also get out of it with a doctor's note saying you'd be 'unfit to serve', or write a paper proving yourself a conscientious objector. (problem was, getting out of it was about the same amount of work, so i just wrote my paper.) i don't think it crossed anyone's mind in the class to just say that they were gay. today i bet the whole class would raise their hands, have no problem declaring homo status and head happily home.

perhaps the military will have to employ varying degrees of enforcement. at present, anyone who 'tells' in word or action is to be discharged. perhaps now it will only be action that warrants dismissal. which means you'd have to really prove yourself gay before being discharged or disqualified. maybe future recruitments will go like this:

1: i can't be in the army.

recruiter: why not?

1: cuz i'm gay.

recruiter: really?

1: yeah.

recruiter: sure?

1: yeah.

recruiter: positive?

1: yeah.

recruiter: don't like boobies?

1: nope.

recruiter: sure?

1: yep.

recruiter: ever touched one?

1: yeah.

recruiter: nothing?

1: nothing.

recruiter: wow.

1: i know right.

recruiter: so, you're definitely a homo?

1: definitely.

recruiter: because people can be confused about that kind of thing for a long time.

1: no, i'm sure.

recruiter: see i'm afraid that's just not enough to disqualify you.

1: oh. then what do i need to/

recruiter: /well you're gonna have to kiss rodrigo here.

1: kiss who?

recruiter: rodrigo. he's been trained. he can tell.

1: oh.

recruiter: because you might be lying.

1: ah.

recruiter: and we can't have that.

1: no.

recruiter: everyone's tryin' to wave the rainbow flag, you know?

1: gotcha.

recruiter: so we needed a litmus test.

1: rodrigo.

recruiter: yep. so you gotta french rodrigo to prove your orientation. and rodrigo will tell us if you're lying.

1: how does he..

recruiter: know? we can't tell you that. he just does.

1: okay.

recruiter: oh, try and angle yourself this way while you're doing it. the recruitment webcam over there is paying for our new tanks and uniforms.

what a difference a few trips to the gym makes. it seems to me that there are certain band wagons you are either on or off - no inbetween. one of these is personal health. there is the me that sits on the couch every night, feeling awful and staying up too late doing nothing, which of course makes me less motivated the next day, more weary, more self loathing.

and then there is the me that actually goes to the gym, takes care of things, is in great shape, goes to the gym because it feels great to get into even better shape, and holy cow, i can't believe i'm actually looking better than i ever have, and just a few months ago i was blaming the march of time and thought it would never be possible and wowzers this feels so good, how did i let myself get so completely bogged down?

the ball is starting to roll for our fall production.. it's very exciting. something else to sink my teeth into. something to do after work instead of coming directly home and turning into a vegetable.

in other news, i've been listening to a couple tracks (illegally downloaded, thank you) from george michael's new album, 'patience.' i like them, especially 'my mother had a brother,' which is quite haunting. the song is about how george's gay uncle committed suicide on the same day he was born. george comes to the conclusion that it's his responsibility to live the gayest life he can in memory of his uncle who was too afraid and persecuted to do so himself. then the song takes a bit of an unexpected turn:

And I swear now that freedom is here
I'm gonna taste it all for you boy
I'm bad to the bone, I'm just a little torn
I'm making so much love

So those of us who have nothing to fear
We've got to make damn sure that it was worth it
I'm bad to the bone, I'm just a little stoned
I'm making so much love

so for george, being out and proud means smoking up and goin down. good for george. i guess that whole period of denial released itself in explosive ways. look for a similar revelation from clay aiken in ten years.

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  • 5: the man of genius

  • 4: blunders & absurdities

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  • 2: what lies below

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