« December 2008 | Main | February 2009 »

January 29, 2009

Saddlebacking

Doing my part to help spread the term throughout the Internets and into your vivid conscience. Please use it in a sentence with your co-workers this week.

Posted by durban bud at 7:24 PM | Comments (7)

January 21, 2009

The End of an Error

Since everyone is sick and tired of hearing about the inauguration of Barack Obama, I thought I would write about it.

A few of our friends found vacancies at the Durban Inn and made reservations in anticipation of experiencing this momentous piece of history in person. The Durban Inn is historical, y'all!

As payment for staying at my place, I forced several of the revelers to join me for a screening of My Bloody Valentine...in 3D.

I foreshadowed this event a couple years ago on my blog during MLK weekend. It was just a joke! But now an updated version of that movie opens on the same holiday weekend. Coincidence? I think not. I sense things others cannot. Which means I'm special.

I stopped seeing slasher flicks when I became an elitist (around 1992). But witnessing (yet ANOTHER) remake of a horror movie from my youth -- in 3D! -- was irresistible. I knew it would suck -- and it did -- but the 3D cinematography was so impressive it tickled my elitist prostate for about an hour and a half. Plus, there was a scene with a hot, bald bearish guy exposing his butt. Sadly he took a pick-ax through his beautiful bald head. :(

On Sunday we went to the concert on the Lincoln Memorial that kicked off the inauguration festivities. The highlight was U2 performing Pride. With the MLK holiday looming, and Obama taking the oath a couple days later, it was pretty spectacular.

And I don't care what you all think, I still think Garth Brooks is hot. Smack it up, flip it, rub it down -- I totally would.

The entire city was insanely crowded the past few days, but everyone seemed...so happy, even though it was (fucking) freezing. I've never seen anything like it, except for that one time I was a slut at Folsom.

Here we are at the inauguration, struggling to stay warm:

This was before around two million others showed up and ruined my view:

Local establishments all paid homage:

Using a blanket is a great way to keep strangers from grinding against you, mostly:

In Dupont Circle on Monday evening, Rob snapped a photo of this spectacle, an inflatable George W Bush that people were allowed to throw shoes at. And MANY people participated. I guess he pissed off a lot of people, or something.

Celebrating change with Mister Fister:

This man is not celebrating change:

U2 performing in front of 400,000 at the Sunday concert:

Gene Robinson starting off the inauguration festivities:

Here is a massive clusterfuck after the inauguration, where we were all blocked from leaving by thousands of port-a-potties, chains, and buses -- the only complaint I had about the entire weekend. Have you ever been held prisoner by a port-a-pottie?

One of the few protesters. It's rare that we learn Mormons and Homos are going to hell (irony!) along with Sports Nuts!

It was a great weekend with great friends experiencing a great event together. Great! But I've heard enough about Obama. Now let's let him get to work. I hope one of the first things he addresses is a ban on those outrageously loud commercials that suddenly occur for no reason when watching a digital cable channel at a normal volume level.

Posted by durban bud at 2:04 PM | Comments (15)

January 12, 2009

Durban Bud's Guide to the Cinema

A bunch of us masc/musc/mil homos went to see Doubt over the weekend. Before I get to my review of it, let's address the pink elephant in the room: Doubt should be spelled Dowt, or Dout. There is no need for the silent B, other than to appear pretentious and Tim Gunn-y, and it makes some people (not me) pronounce it as "Doob-T"," similar to "Duped!" Think about it.

Anyway, here is my review of Dowt:

It was good!

It made me think: what is the truth, and what are people's real motives? Everyone is suspect now. Question EVERYTHING. Trust no one. I also thought, wow, Philip Seymour Hoffman kinda looks like Perez Hilton's slightly older, less annoying brother.

After the movie someone close to me (who I now keep at a distance) said, "Oprah's weight gain announcement came at a perfect time. She really lucked out now that everyone's depressed, broke and getting fatter."

Then I thought, OMG -- was this all planned? Did they hold a meeting in mid-2007 and say, "Guuuurl, your ratings are slipping and your negatives are going up, thanks to your endorsement of The Ssssecret; we need to stop the bleeding. You need to really connect with your audience again so they feel that you are still one of them. Here's what we can do: you need to pig out for the next year. Eat, Oprah, eat. I know you can. I seen you do it. Pretend you're doing it for a movie role. Have fun with it! Then, in a year, you can be all, 'I got fat, y'all, cuz of stress and the economy.' People will eat that shit up. Then Dr. Oz and Bob Greene can run from network to network explaining your rapid weight gain with 'See, she's just like everyone else,' while also pimping out their new book and upcoming TV show, produced by Oprah. Goldmine for everyone!"

A week ago, if someone had relayed that theory to me, I would have said: "Rubbish!" But now, after watching Dowt, things are no longer black or white. Things are gray -- unless you're Tim Gunn, then, of course, they are grey.

We also saw Slumdog Millionaire. I thought it was fucking brilliant! I'm just kidding. I thought it was pretty damn good, but nowhere near the hefty accolades everyone else is throwing its way. I think it's because I didn't really buy the romance between the two kids. And I didn't think the actress who played the grown girl was particularly...good. But that's just me. Everyone else LOVED EVERYTHING ABOUT IT. But the whole Millionaire scenario with his knowledge of the answers explained in flashbacks was bloody genius.

Strangely -- or maybe this was a marketing ploy! -- since seeing that movie both me and Rob have been craving Indian food. That's never happened before. We ordered a feast from Jyoti in Adam's Morgan last weekend. PIG FEST! Oprah would have loved hanging with us while she was prepping for her ratings stunt. I had no idea what I was ordering because I've never really been down with Indian food, but let's just say my Eenie, Meenie, Miney, Mo selection technique totally worked. Can't wait to have it again on my Body For Life eat-anything-I-want day!

We also saw Marley & Me over the holidays. I was surprised by how much I liked it. So much so, that at one point during the film, I held up my finger to my face, red-rum style, and made it say, "You're really diggin' this dog flick, aren't you?" I started blushing and giggling and was all, "Yeah, I am. I really am."

There's a major twist toward the end of the film. But I DO NOT want to give away the surprise. I'll only say that I almost cried when the dog died. That's all I'm sayin'. You'll just have to see it for yourself.

And of course I thought Milk was brilliant, but I could be biased because I'm into bangin' dudes. Though, straight people seem to be enjoying it too.

So here's my movie review breakdown (out of 10):

Milk: 9
Dowt: 8.5
Slumdog Millionaire: 8.0
Marley & Me: 7.5

Think about it, carefully.

Posted by durban bud at 9:07 PM | Comments (16)

January 7, 2009

If This Doesn't Make You Feel Warm & Fuzzy, You Are Dead On The Inside

Please endure the required 20 second commercial before the main course. Then it's only a 2 minute clip. You can do it. I know you can. I seen you do it.

It kind of reminds me of the friendship I have with a certain blogger.

Posted by durban bud at 2:11 PM | Comments (14)

January 5, 2009

Wasilla, WV

My New Year's resolution is to speak in a slight British accent all year. I intend to blurt out "bollocks" and "rubbish" whenever I can.

People think that Madonna is faking her British accent. But I don't. I think it's natural to start speaking the same way others do if you spend a lot of time with them.

This happens to me when I visit relatives in West Virginia. I adopt a slight hillbilly accent through osmosis. As hard as I try, I caint help but speak lock them. The only difference is that I stop talking like that when I return to DC in the comfort of my Jew friends.

The day after Thanksgiving I put that accent to good use as I made my pilgrimage back to the Hills of West Virginia to say goodbye to my grandmother.

My sister had flown in from the Netherlands and took the second leg of her flight with me. The last correspondence we had before meeting was an email she sent telling me to consider moving because she fears "something awful is going to happen in DC soon." She wrote, "Have you thought about living in Boston?" I did not write her back. I'm used to this.

My cousin picked us up at the Charleston airport late Friday night and drove us to a town called Welch. It's a beautiful, old mining town situated in the mountains of Southern West Virginia. Sadly it's completely abandoned, the result of another economic downturn decades ago. Well, mostly abandoned -- a hospital is still there. My cousin warned us, "The hospital is not a nice place. It should be condemned." Sure enough, once we got inside, it reminded me of the hospital Michael Myers terrorized in Halloween II. Lovely. Hardly a soul in the building, which is exactly why my grandmother's children kept her there. The doctors would be very attentive to her every need.

We met my parents there, and they walked us to the ICU where my grandmother was resting, if you want to call it that. It was an unfortunate sight. She was just a shell of the woman I remembered.

Immediately my sister went up to her, rubbed her head, and started telling her (in a full-on Minnie Pearl accent) how much she loved her and described some of her favorite memories they shared. She was crying, of course. Then she motioned for me to come over. Oh, lawd.

My grandmother's eyes were closed, her mouth wide open, her face colorless and gaunt. A tracheotomy tube was the only thing still attached to sustain her life; morphine and Valium drips were actively numbing any pain.

My parents stood at her feet watching me. I put my hand on her cheek, leaned in and identified myself.

We've always called our grandmothers "Mommaw," but spelled it Mama. I think it's a Southern thing.

I didn't know what to say. I was pretty sure "Hey grandma, how's it going?!? would not have been appropriate. So I said, "Mommaw, it's TJ. I love you." I was kinda hoping she would hear my voice and it would turn into a Robert DeNiro/Awakenings moment. She would open her eyes, smile and open her arms to me. Then Charlie Gibson would feature me as the Person of the Week on ABC News. But that didn't happen. Dammit.

My sister nudged me, "Tell her about your favorite things you used to do together." I was like, this is no time to be bossy. But my parents were watching, so I obliged.

I held her hand and quietly spoke, "I know I was your favorite, Mommaw. Thank you for that."

I winked back at my sister, then continued, "I loved staying at your place on weekends when I was growing up. We had some good times, playing Scrabble, watching The Golden Girls, drinking hot tea and eating that big biscuits and gravy breakfast you would always cook for me. You always let me sleep in on Sundays so I could miss church, all bundled up in those blankets you knitted. And how you forced me to drive your car into the city once I got my learner's permit, even though I was scared to death. I just want you to know how special those times were to me."

That's what gay boys did on their weekends back then. While everyone else in high school was hormonal and exploring their sexuality through dating, we were suppressing ours, and instead, spending quality time drinking hot tea with our grandmothers. It's true. I don't regret it.

We spent a few more minutes with her and returned to the waiting room, where only my family was present. It was now well after midnight. Everyone in that room was emotionally exhausted.

We stayed for a couple more hours, until my mom urged me and my sister to leave for the night. I felt bad leaving. My mom is usually a rock, but this time was different. My grandmother was old, but her rapid decline was unexpected. My parents had just moved to Tennessee so they could spend more time together. This was not how it was supposed to happen.

I went in to see her one last time.

Her vital signs were still holding. The doctors were surprised at how long she held on. I knew she would be furious to know we were seeing her like this. I kissed her forehead and whispered that it would be okay if she let go.

I'm not convinced she heard anything I said, but the nurse insisted that hearing is the last to go.

I woke up around 8:00 that morning when I heard my parents come in the door. I went into the living room and saw my mother's face. She walked up to me, put her arms around me and sobbed. She didn't have to say anything.

The one beautiful thing about small, small, small, small towns is how the community responds to a death of one of their own. I have never seen such an outpouring of love and support that was given to the family members. So. much. food!

My grandmother had moved back to West Virginia in 1987 as a single woman, twice divorced. She found love again almost immediately. She married a widower and remained with him until she died. They were best friends.

Me and my sister held it together pretty well until he would break down in front of us. It's weird how the death of someone can provide proof of just how much they really meant to someone else. Sometimes it's surprising.

We spent the remainder of our trip prepping for the funeral. My mom and her siblings weren't in any condition to pick out a dress or photos or a casket. So I assisted with the photos and...casket. I was surprised to see how many photos my grandmother had kept that I had never seen.

The dress my grandmother was to be buried in was brought to the funeral home so we could do a casket color comparison. Almost immediately, a number of relatives fell in love with a pink casket. Um, no. I found a more neutral taupe casket to be more pleasing to the eye. I held up my grandmother's dress next to my casket choice and did my best Carson Kressley, "See how lovely thissss one goes with the red tones in her dressssss?" They responded, "I reckon TJ has found the right one!" My work here is done.

Although the circumstances were dreary, it was really nice to spend some one-on-one time with my sister. Since we're both hitched, and she has three kids, those days are few and far between. We actually get along quite well even though we are polar opposites. I'm Snow Miser; she's Heat Miser, if Heat Miser were obsessed with the End of Days, which, maybe, he is.

But if she brings up the End of Days to me at some point this year, I intend to say forcefully and enthusiastically: "Rubbish!"

Posted by durban bud at 3:29 PM | Comments (19)