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August 27, 2009
Mac Attack!
Yesterday was Macaulay Culkin's 29th birthday. How did you celebrate?
I celebrated by running up to random people, looking them in the eyes, smacking my hands against my cheeks, and screaming in their face. Perfect way to honor the man since everyone has seen the movie, right? Then I'd smile, push my finger into their chest and say, "You just got served a b-day Mac Attack, Kevin McCallister-style, punk!"
Surprisingly most people reacted negatively and got all pissy after I did this, claiming I "startled" them and "ruined" their perfectly happy mood by bringing unnecessary "stress" and "darkness" into their day. Dramatic, much?
Another dude, with hints of Chris Brown, screamed, "Why the [expletive] did you [expletive] do that, you sick [expletive]?"
I'm all, "Relax, dude -- I obviously did it cuz it's Macaulay Culkin's 29th birthday, and doing an impression of his most memorable and funny movie scene, to hopefully make people remember and laugh, is my way of celebrating it. Now don't you feel stupid for being mean to me?"
The screamer kept screaming at me, telling me I "wasn't making any [expletive] sense" and that I "[expletive] needed Jesus in my [expletive] life."
Typical loser trashing an artist's art simply because he doesn't understand the art -- especially when my performance art imitates the iconic art of the original artist to celebrate that artist's contribution to the arts by honoring the artist on the day of the artist's birth. Story of my fucking life.
I kept serving the screamer with more Mac Attacks to drown out his hate.
The only receptive audience to my Mac Attack was a group of pop-culturally-challenged GW students who mistook my Mac Attack on them as an impression of those dudes screaming "Whaaaaazup!" to each other over the phone from that dumb commercial. I thought that school was for smart kids. For ten minutes the frat boys were all up in my face yelling "Whaaaaazup!" and high-fiving each other, thinking they were so funny. This is the future of America? I just shook my head and said, "You guys just don't get it."
But as annoying as the GW students were, I'm thankful they never got verbally abusive like the screamer or filed a complaint with HR like that humorless pregnant lady did. Lighten up, people! It's just an homage to an actor from a family film.
Did anyone else celebrate with Mac Attacks? If not, try doing a couple belated Mac Attacks today and let me know if you have better luck. Thanks.
Posted by durban bud at 11:45 AM | Comments (13)
August 24, 2009
This Post Is To Inform You That I, Too, Have Seen District 9
Like discussing the latest episode of "True Blood," or ranting about the disturbing spectacle that is the new A&E hit show "Hoarders," or bragging about vacationing in "P-town" this month, it is my homosexual duty to inform you via a social networking platform that I have also seen the film District 9. And the film has restored my faith in the science fiction cinema arts. Best sci-fi syfy action film I've seen since, um, maybe, Aliens.
I went to see it with a gaggle of homosexuals: Rob, Mister Fister, our (Jewish) friend Greg, and our former houseboy Carlos, along with his latest sex partner friend.
District 9 was thoroughly enjoyable. Dark screenplay with intelligent dialogue that thankfully avoided cheesy testosterone one-liners we've all grown accustomed to hearing. Great performances throughout. The casting of unknown actors was genius. No stars to detract attention or hog the screen for a change. Several fresh faces to admire and later stalk on Google.
For a mere $30 million dollar picture I was truly impressed by the visual effects. I'm not a fan of CGI because it often ends up looking like a video game alongside real actors. Fake! With the exception of one scene with a pig, the effects were -- let me think of another superlative -- great amazing fabulous brilliant. I want to see the "making of" on the DVD to see how they created the aliens to look so believable when interacting with the humans. At times it seemed like there had to be actors in alien suits but then we'd get a glimpse of their legs, which were too damn thin and tall to be attached to real actors, unless maybe they hired Ric Ocasek to play every alien. Uh-oh, it's MAGIC!
For the two of you willing to read on and indulge my rare moment of geeking out over a movie, I thank and applaud you.
Here's what I think: The aliens were a metaphor for The Gays. They were thought of as scum sucking vermin, forced to dwell in segregated squalor (Fire Island?) among other undesirables deemed unworthy of integrating with the Normal People. The aliens were derisively referred to as fags prawns because of their facial similarities to the hideous, but tasty, bottom feeders of the sea. A wink wink nudge nudge to the book of Leviticus, perhaps? God hates shrimp too, right? The prawns spoke in their own hard-to-understand language, similar to a Barney Frank lisp. All of the aliens were body-obsessed as evidenced by their 0% body fat appearance. They also scavenged and enthusiastically devoured cat food, which -- hello! --was obviously gay symbolism for seeking out a fabulous place for "brunch," or more specifically, "vodka."
After they were taken from their damaged mothership, the prawns simply desired to be treated with respect. They had intelligence; they had feelings; they had families. Sure, some of them exhibited gross, vulgar and obnoxious behavior at times but so do Perez Hilton, Mario Cantone, Larry Craig and "Jackal." No one society is immune from douchebaggery. The aliens didn't seek to change anyone's way of life. All they wanted was to return to their own safe world to be amongst those who shared in their uniqueness.
Nobody is reading this, are they?
Anyway, an evil company with shades of Blackwater was awarded the contract to relocate the millions of displaced prawns, but instead, they used the opportunity to steal the aliens' highly-advanced weaponry arsenal and randomly subject them to lethal medical studies (a common modern-day heterosexual tactic used to rid the gays after we've gentrified a shitty neighborhood and they're now itching to move in).
Heading up the mission was Wikus van der Merwe. After harassing several prawns by ransacking their homes looking for contraband, Wikus became infected with the alien's DNA or jizz or something after he opened a canister he found and it ejaculated on him. This exposure caused him to start physically changing into an alien. He was repulsed! He so desperately tried to deny this awakening inside of him. What would other normal people think if he became one of them?!? What would his wife think?!?
Clearly this was meant to suggest that he became infected with a dose of "reality" because he had probably been repressing his sexual orientation for some time and now his secret was bursting out of him. The man's first confirmation of becoming "one of them" was when his hand transformed into an alien hand. Like a gay man's first acceptance of another man all up inside him, thereby acknowledging as fact that he is indeed "one of them," the hand served as this same acknowledgment. And based on his facial expression, it was just as uncomfortable to endure the first time.
He sought the help of someone who would understand his predicament: a prawn named Christopher. Again, who uses their full first name? That's right, gay aliens do. The prawn wasn't interested in helping the man responsible for legislating discrimination into law tormenting his own people. But the alien's sensitive nature to another living being's pain could not be suppressed. The man now depended on the alien for his survival, and the alien needed him to be freed from this discriminatory hell. Wikus' intolerant perspective began to shift once he identified with the aliens as equals. This was his a-ha moment.
If you're still reading, I love you.
Together Wikus and Christopher fought a bloody battle against the bigoted majority. Whether or not Wikus was truly gay or bi or "experimenting" was irrelevant. The point was that he identified with the aliens, and that the minority depended on the empathetic ones seemingly of the majority to assist in their struggle for basic fairness and respect. The aliens cannot do it all on their own. They need humans to help educate the unenlightened humans.
When the aliens are treated as equals in all facets of life they will look back with admiration at those who stuck their necks out when it wasn't the popular thing to do. Like Whoopi Goldberg said to Sissy Spacek after she publicly supported and assisted the blacks during the Montgomery Bus Boycott at the end of "The Long Walk Home," "When all's said and done, people gonna look back at [what] you [did for us], Ms. Thompson, and they're gonna say you were part of this."
And that's why the alien promised to come back to Earth and rescue the helpful human from the inevitable tyranny of the majority he will soon face. One love, bro.
Or maybe the movie was about apartheid or Arabs or something.
Surprisingly the rest of the crew we saw it with didn't think as highly of the film as Rob and I did. On the way out of the theater, Carlos scoffed, "I thought '27 Dresses' was better," proving that none of us, not even members of our own team, are the same as the other, or as enlightened.
Posted by durban bud at 11:08 PM | Comments (20)
August 21, 2009
Eff Off, Charlotte Airport & Your Faulty Content Filter
"Well, so much for passing the time reading your blog in the Charlotte airport."
(Hat tip, Andrew)
Posted by durban bud at 8:59 AM | Comments (10)
August 18, 2009
If She Floats Then She Is Not A Witch Like We Had Thought
We just got back from an extended stay in coastal New Hampshire, perfectly timed for a much needed mental detoxification. The weather couldn't have been more perfect.
We stayed with Rob's mother and aunt, who was in town for her daughter's wedding. We're used to spending time with those two.
I forgot how much they like to watch HGTV. Never before in the history of cable has a network been created to consistently celebrate the sin of coveting. I take the side of God on that one. Luckily Rob's mom also enjoys The First 48. Yay!
We planned a few road trips to nearby destinations.
First up: Salem, Massachusetts
We started at the Salem Witch Museum, accompanied by a busload of children. Fun stuff!
We watched a presentation on the history of the Salem Witch Trials. The concluding message, articulated by a tour guide, was that stereotyping is bad and witches ARE NOT the evil, scary, broomstick-riding, pointy-hat-wearing wenches society has led us to believe they are after all these years. So stop stereotyping!
I guess Salem's tourism dollars void out that silly message.
Portland, Maine was our next stop. Beautiful place! Were it not for the winters I would move there. I would set up an organic wheatgrass stand on the corner of one of their quaint streets as my main source of income.
We discovered the Standard Baking Company. Highly recommended!
We spotted a gay store in downtown Portland:
And a lesbian store:
And then there was Ogunquit, Maine. One of my favorite places:
Rob snapped this gem of me scourging for starfish and crabs in the tide pools:
You'll be happy to know I fell on my ass soon after this picture was taken. Next time I'll wear cleats.
The catalyst for our trip was to attend a wedding.
I was asked to be a part of the wedding...as the dog wrangler. The dog was featured in the ceremony; I was not. That's what we gay people do at heterosexual weddings. We take care of your precious pets.
It was a lovely outdoor wedding in Kennebunkport, Maine. I am a big fan of the bride and groom and wish them nothing but happiness. I am also fond of my dog friend, except when she decided to take a dump next to the woman performing the wedding music on a harp in front of the audience. The harpist glanced over at the turds with a look of horror and disgust, which really did not go along with the beautiful melody she was playing.
When we returned home to DC, the city was suddenly the Sahara. I realize DC summers are notoriously brutal but we've been spared the majority of this summer and I was hoping that trend would continue. It's the kind of heat that causes my thighs to stick together when I walk. Then again, it could also be the result of the twenty lobster rolls and whoopie pies I consumed during my vacation. But that is IRRELEVANT!
Upon our arrival back in the city, we discovered a voodoo-like doll someone had tossed onto our building's front yard. I'm not kidding. It had a cryptic name on it. Rob brought it inside and did a google search for identification.
It was a witch.
Posted by durban bud at 11:36 PM | Comments (15)
August 17, 2009
Reel Affirmations
This movie looks amazing!
The legendary writer, director, producer AND lead actor of Ben & Arthur, Sam Mraovich, has his very own Facebook fan page called 'A tribute to the genius of Sam Mraovich.' Seriously!
A recent update to his tribute groups' page reads: "We are very excited to announce that Sam is working on two new screenplays he will direct and produce and will subsequently be releasing 'How To Write A Screenplay.' Finally, all the trade secrets we could possibly desire!"
There IS a God!
Via HuffPost
Posted by durban bud at 10:31 PM | Comments (7)
August 11, 2009
LolJessicaLange
Anyway...
Thanks for all the kind messages some of you have emailed or sent to me on Facebook regarding Bobbie. I sure do appreciate it.
I'm in New Hampshire right now. We were in Maine over the weekend and will be heading back there on Friday. Going to visit some witches tomorrow!
Posted by durban bud at 9:07 PM
August 3, 2009
Gays Gone Wild: Cracking the Madonna Code
The gays are losing their shit trying to predict the tracklisting to Madonna's upcoming greatest hits collection titled "Celebration." They are deciphering hidden written clues found in promotional materials for the album and posting their detailed analysis on message boards, blogs and restroom stalls for other decoders to review.
Office doors at law firms and governmental agencies throughout the country have been suspiciously closed the past week, because hundreds of well-groomed men were crouched over their keyboards, searching intently for clues in a mysterious video, panting loudly, and instant messaging other decoders with things like, "Guuuurl, if you look closely behind her right earlobe at the 1:41 frame, you can see what appears to be a C followed by an H. That can only mean one thing, bitches. She's putting motherfucking CHERISH on the motherfucking CD! I cannot believe I cracked this shit! But I did. Somebody stop me before I vogue down to motherfucking HR with the news! LOL."
The fact that Madonna has already released three greatest hits compilations, which these men likely own two copies of each, is irrelevant. Her latest collection will probably include the same songs again, but in a different order! Plus, she has released new singles since her last hits release so they will be represented on there as well. Sure, the gay boys have already downloaded those newer songs, but only once.
The spirited online debates between savvy gay decoders intensifies as the release date draws near. Which recent singles will make the cut?!? Will she or won't she include 'American Life' (I get a double shot-tay, it goes right though my bod-ay)? Will she include the second and third singles that nobody liked from her most recent album, causing "I'll Remember" and "Dress You Up" to get bumped off? Will she finally include 'Angel' for Christ's sake? The anticipation to the final tracklist reveal is red-hot. It's anyone's game now. Lock and load, decoders. Game on.
Of course these days you can create your own greatest hits playlist in iTunes with ALL the songs you like by Madonna, and put them in the order you prefer. New songs featured in the collection can be downloaded, leaving you with everything you want. You could label the playlist "Celebration," too. Crisis averted! Everyone's happy.
Oh, I kid the decoders! Their intense passion is endearing. I probably share the same level of enthusiasm they do, only for porn. So I get where they're coming from, especially when the passion exerts its force during company time and cannot be denied.
But let's be honest, Madonna's consistent quality song arsenal started to wane around 2003, or, more specifically, when the following lyric was approved for public release as a rap: "I do yoga and pilates and the room is full of hotties so I'm checking out the bodies." Ew. Please stop doing that.
I don't think she has produced anything compelling enough since then to warrant inclusion on another GH package, the only exception being the brilliant bass-banger 'Hung Up.' That's right, I said brilliant bass-banger. The other songs chosen as singles have been half-assed and forgettable throwaways. Give It 2 Me, anyone? No. I am, however, aware that record companies are obligated to fulfill artist contracts by sometimes releasing greatest hits compilations in lieu of a new album.
I enjoy Madonna's music. I am a fan. I'm not ashamed. Her music has stood the test of time. I want her to continue to do well.
For most of us non-decoders, her songs still bring back memories of specific events.
"Holiday" reminds me of my early obsession with Kasey Casem's Top 40 Show, which helped solidify my contempt for the church, as I had to miss most of the show because my parents forced me to sit in a pew. "Like A Virgin" reminds me of my sister because she used to dress like her in high school. "Vogue" reminds me of my early college days. "Borderline" recalls the uncomfortable stares I observed when I made the unfortunate decision to wear o-ring bracelets to a middle school party that one time. "True Blue" reminds me of MTV because they held a contest asking people to make their own videos of the song. "Deeper and Deeper" served as the soundtrack to my official coming out. "Music" reminds me of my hedonistic club-going days. "Human Nature" recalls that one thing I did that one time with that one guy. And "Papa Don't Preach," of course, brings back memories of my first abortion.
"Secret," in particular, takes me back to a certain time when I was innocent and still had a healthy surplus of brain cells: my one and only visit to the Sound Factory in NYC.
A group of pretentious friends I met upon arriving in DC took me to this "amazing" dance club in New York, bought and fed me my first hit of ecstasy, and then disappeared from me for hours. Thanks, guys!
I recall sitting on a bleacher around 10am, alone and dehydrated, watching a topless black woman, wearing nothing but mens briefs, with a real banana sticking out of the front seam, slowly gyrating to a beat inside her head. It was right then and there that I experienced what would later be known as an 'a-ha moment.'
The "celebrity" DJ, Junior Vasquez, was playing Madonna's 'Secret.' I scanned the entire crowd looking for my shady friends. After a few minutes of observing the masses while clenching my jaw, I looked down at the clothes I was wearing and realized out loud, "No one else wears Old Navy to these things."
Ah, memories. Good or bad, Madonna's vast song catalog has served as a musical tapestry of our lives -- and you know it!
True story: Rob and I were in a grocery store recently when ABBA's 'Gimme, Gimme, Gimme' played from the speakers. Rob said, "Wait a second, who is this?" I said, "It's ABBA." He's like, "Why is ABBA singing Madonna's song?" Awww -- gotta love 'im.
Posted by durban bud at 11:00 AM | Comments (8)