In My Opinion

Lipstick on a Pig

2008-09-24T13:40:00.001-07:00

I said, the first morning I heard about the Palin pick, "That's putting lipstick on a pig." That was before her pitbull comment. Basically, there's only so much you can take the sow's ear that is McSame in the direction of a silk purse, and one whose parenting skills are so atrocious is not even the right SHADE of lipstick. Then I foudn this, courtesy of manipulator.com.

Feel the Excitement

2008-07-16T13:25:00.001-07:00

I just saw this on the Web and it has made me giggle repeatedly.

He flips, he flops, his death-rictus grin is ridiculous. And his wife is a robot. Not quite the rockstar his opponent is.

One Slimy SOB

2008-07-08T10:20:00.001-07:00

Karl Rove has twice ignored a subpoena to testify under oath before congress. He thinks he can do that on the grounds of executive privilege; only rub is he doesn't work for the administration anymore. He's not an executive, but a filthy crook.

Those Who Doth Protest Too Much

2008-07-02T12:14:00.001-07:00

BartCop's most recent rants - Political Humor and Commentary

"Larry Craig wants to keep people
like Larry Craig from marrying
other people like Larry Craig."
-- Headline seen on the Net

AWESOME.

Hell to the Yes (almost)

2008-07-02T11:58:00.001-07:00

I just saw this awesome graphic on BuzzFeed about how Californians view the rest of the world. I'd say it's pretty accurate for the most part, save an amendment in the case of this Texan expat: Fake Cowboys & Pickup Trucks AND Awesome Tex-Mex and The Best Family a Guy Could Want.

NPR Says Bush Can't Have His Lapdog

2007-09-27T14:10:00.000-07:00

You gotta love it when a media organization refuses to let Bush be interviewed by his hand-picked lapdog who also works for Fox News.

That's apparently what happened when Bush wanted to spout some pablum in commemoration of the Little Rock Nine, but only to his favorite NPR reporter Juan Williams. I say, way to go NPR.

Juan Williams was, of course, shocked and appalled. He ended up getting it situated so that he could "interview" Bush about race relations in America on the Fox News network. I didn't watch the interview because I've been there before, and it makes my blood boil. I have heard Williams interview administration officials for years, and I'm always screaming at the radio. He asks softballs if he even poses questions. He'll sit there with draft-deferring murderer Cheney and talk to him like he's an actual human being with a heart who isn't hell-bent on deceiving the world. Despite my cries of "Ask him this, Juan. Ask him that, Juan! But what about issue X, Mr. Vice President!"

Williams said he was disappointed because he has experience with race relations. Yes, he has. He's a nice, safe, token on Fox News. (I'm not saying Juan Williams is a token period--he is a respected journalist, hence his stature on NPR. However, we all know Fox wouldn't have him if he were not milquetoast who makes them look more diverse. C'mon, the best thing Fox has in terms of anyone not rabidly right wing is Alan Colmes!) He further went on to add that he's often critical of the Bush administration when he's on the talking head show on Fox. Yes, he is in that capacity, editorializing and holding the place of someone who's not Bill O'Reilly level crazy.

But when he's reporting, Juan Williams wants to have his cock and suck it too if it's with a member of these fascists. I'm thrilled NPR took a stand.

Iraq Vet Says Medals are Bogus

2007-09-26T11:26:00.000-07:00

I just read this great story about how an Iraq veteran is returning some medals he got as a result of his service in Iraq because he doesn't believe he did what the medals credit him for. Interestingly, it's in the Army Times. I've been frequently surprised that these military sites sometimes have the most damning stuff about the Bush administration that I see; they won't let them blog and cherry-pick the dumb chest-beaters for the photo ops, but somehow the military community manages to keep themselves abreast of developments.

Josh Gaines, 27, plans to mail the Global War on Terrorism Expeditionary Medal and National Defense Service Medal to former Defense Secretary Donald Rumsfeld. He said he will do so during a protest scheduled for Wednesday in Madison.
“I’m going to give those back because I truly feel that I did not defend my nation and I did not help with the Global War on Terrorism,” said Gaines, who lives in Madison. “If anything, this conflict has bred more terrorism in the Middle East.”

I really admire someone who would make such a statement. While I agree with Mr. Gaines that he did not defend us, actually, or help with the so-called Global War on a Tactic. (Which I've always felt was a bit ironic--global war on terrorism, a canard created by an administration terrorizing American citizens nonstop since 9/11. The war is on a tactic that's the only trick in their bag--well, aside from voter fraud and those sorts of things.)

I've gone through a lot of personal growth since 9/11 with regard to servicemen. I grew up in an Air Force town, and never had much affinity for the military. I don't get into authoritarianism or chest-beating, uniforms, warfare--and I'm gay. My response to military personnel and their fans was always along the lines of "you're not doing anything for me, so I don't owe you anything. You chose to have a job that always had your kind better off than my hard-working family with the benefits and the housing and early retirement. You're not doing me any favors and you don't like my kind, so I could not care less about your "service"."

Since then, though, I've really come to respect and appreciate the members of the armed forces. I always draw a distinction between the soldiers and the people who've used them as pawns, sacrificing thousands (coming up on four thousand) of their lives in the process. The idea that they have not actually protected the "homeland" (which is, by the way, a very Nazi sounding way to describe our country), though, and that they are not actually keeping us or making us safer is a tough sell. I don't want to insult people who signed on to do that and were sent into hell for oil instead. I don't want to demean the intelligence of people who have to cling to something in order to survive the ordeal in Iraq.

Meanwhile, though, I was taught to believe that you don't repeat lies, that you speak truth to power. When I studied race in America during college, I came to believe that if you permit those around you to be racist, for example, you are perpetuating the system. So I don't want to remain silent, nor do I wish to insult folks.

My practice, when I encounter members of or supporters of the armed services, has been to thank them for making themselves available to risk their lives for all of us, but to qualify that by saying I don't believe they've actually done anything for us--but I don't hold them responsible for their having been sent to do something so contrary to their purposes; that's a vitriol I reserve for the lying chickenhawks in the current regime. (And, truth be told, I am working with that vitriol--I believe, as I heard Alice Walker say of the soulless bastards who run the country, that the best thing to do is to wish them loving kindness because there's no way they're at peace now, or will ever be. Just look at their photos: people like Giuliani, Rumsfeld, Chertoff (I know Giuliani is only in bed with them at this point, not a part of their "administration" per se.) look like their souls have been sucked from their bodies. They're all dollar signs in dead eyes.)

Meanwhile, though, if I did spend a year in hell under the impression that I was doing what I should be doing for my country, I don't know that I'd be man enough to make a statement so strong as this guy by returning my medals.

So, my hat's off to Josh Gaines. I'd like to see that thug George Tenet return his on the basis that it's not worth the materials of which it is composed. Similarly, because his payoff for biting his tongue about whatever really happened on 9/11 was that same worthless medal, Norm Mineta (former Secretary of Transportation) should follow Josh's lead. Ditto Alan Greenspan, who now seems to understand (in a lucrative book) that the fox is running the hen-house, though he pretended that fox was just a cocky rooster at the time. Ditto General Richard B. Myers. You too, Paul Bremer. (The estate of Ronald Reagan can keep his, though, as he's already burning in the fires of hell.)

And once again, thank you, Josh Gaines, for doing what you knew was right and then realizing that you had to do more to make right what you were duped into doing.

I Still Heart Britney

2007-09-18T12:25:00.000-07:00

[Many thanks to Gilmore over at Pretty On The Outside for his great illustration called Butts Up Britney.]

I totally still love her, y'all! Britney Spears is someone I never thought I'd care for even a little. When she first hit the scene, I was a snooty, post-collegiate hater who turned his nose up at any bubblegum pop. (I was, in fact, so fortunate as to be spared the entire boy band craze, having only learned of that weird historical valley in the intervening years.) Yeah, all the hetero boys I knew were crazy about her, but as far as I was concerned she was a blond chick from Texas who had somehow managed to become a canvas onto which people with actual talent had lavished production value until she was every sleazy old man's favorite schoolgirl fantasy.

I came to appreciate her as a phenomenon. I grew to love the fact that she would move through her choreography in live shows with a look of intense concentration on her face; you could practically feel the eight-counts. First, I realized I was totally hooked on her early hits, then the new ones would come out and I'd like them too. By the time "Toxic" came out, I was a fan of sorts. To see her dancing with that snake doing "I'm a Slave 4 u" at the VMAs was fan-fucking-tastic! Lookee, she can move and shake her hair and pretend to sing and hold a snake all at the same time!

Alas, though, the glory days are on hold. I think she totally could come back whenever she wants to--and in the mean time, bad marriages, dropping babies, horrible clothing, and the unfortunate VMA 2007 performance, the lower the bar so she'll freakin' blow our minds when she's ready.

Blue Friday: " I Want to See It."

2007-09-14T12:10:00.000-07:00

[Illustration: Victor Juhasz--Biggo Viggo: Mr. Mortensen fights naked in Eastern Promises. From the New York Observer.]

I just read this great article in the New York Observer called "Members Only." It's about how a new trend in American moving images has men exposed and objectify-able as women have been since Lois Weber's The Hypocrites in 1914. Among other things, the article discusses a new HBO series called Tell Me You Love Me and an upcoming release called Eastern Promises, in which Viggo "Hunk" Mortensen does full frontal (again) in a fight scene.

I've always wondered about the double standard for male versus female nudity. I know, I know: women allegedly aren't as visually stimulates as men, so there's no need to show a man's jewels to sell tickets. Because--like--all moviegoers are straight people. So, maybe this is just a victory for the gays. But I don't think so.

And I don't mean to say that selling tickets is the only reason to show a man nude. I greatly respect David Cronenberg's work--that and Viggo's jewels are going to put this film on my list even though the trailer doesn't really appeal to me. (Unlike certain tween idols, Viggo could certainly bring sexy back if it had ever left--and since Viggo's been around since before such popfluffies were frosting their hair, there is proof that it never left.) Plusly, the conversations Viggo and he had about the nude scene seem to have been artistically motivated. I guess my interest in the topic is not why there is now a market for male nudity in films for whatever reason; I wanna know why there was some unwritten law about male nudity in mainstream films for so long.

Men walk around shirtless all the time. A woman has to wear a bra or something to cover her rack, but a guy can saunter down mainstreet in nothing more than cutoffs all over America. I wonder if it's something about an unwritten code among the men who have traditionally run (everything) Hollywood: don't make him show how wee he is. But even then, you'd think people like Frank Sinatra, rumored to be HUGE, would have pushed to have their business on display when in films.

Whatever the reason, I'm all over this new trend. If every other boy on the street can show plumber's crack or skidmarked boxers, it's high time we see the naughty bits of BOTH sexes when appropriate (or just plain yummy) in American films.

Nessun Dorma

2007-09-12T10:31:00.000-07:00

May he rest in peace.

I was considering naming my Oliver after a tenor. The first morning in my house, he woke up (six a.m. on a SUNDAY) and sang me the most beautiful, sad aria. I think it might have even been "Nessun Dorma"--that means "let no one sleep."

Only days later, I hear the sad news in the morning and was moved to tears. Luciano Pavarotti was such a massive example of living life fully, loving passionately, sharing a gift with the world. We have lost someone precious, but fortunately, there's no shortage of archival material.

While I'd initially considered naming Oliver after Juan Diego Florez (because he's the hot new tenor), it became clear on that morning that the world lost Pavarotti that Oliver's middle name would be Luciano.

Maestro, wherever you are now, please know that you are missed and can never be forgotten. Thank you for all you have done.

Oliver!

2007-09-05T11:00:00.000-07:00

Fatherhood is immediately transformative. I know he's just a puppy, and that I didn't sire him, but he's my boy now. When I wake up in the morning, I am eager to get out of bed to go provide for my guy’s needs. Moi! Nobody would have seen that coming.

And he has a name, tentatively--I mean, I think I'm going to stick with it, but I'm not engraving it on his sterling silver pet dish just yet.

In this photo, he's showing Daddy what I like to call "waggies." When that little tail gets going, any trouble I have completely disappears. How can one have any negative feelings when such a sweetie is clearly so happy to see you.

I have another photo of him that's one of my favorites as well. I was sitting on the couch yesterday and heard a noise on the other side of the coffee table. I peered over to find Oliver tricking out his carrier-bag. It has a mesh lining that cinches closed to keep the little guy from jumping free or falling out. I only needed to use that on the day I came home with him; usually, I just hook his collar to the mini-leash inside of it. Well, first he was chewing the crud out of the thing, so I sprayed some Bitter Apple (wonder-product) on it. When he realized he couldn't chew it, he started to get creative with how to remove it, trying to yank it out with his paws and teeth, bitter flavor be damned!

I looked at him and said, "What are you up to over there, Little Guy?" and he said, "Me?"

Dorm Fires: Don't Sleep with Candles Burning!

2007-08-31T14:51:00.001-07:00

Candle in the Wind
Originally uploaded by The G-tastic 7

I just read an article on The Consumerist that reminds me of a great personal story.

When I was in college, I lived in fraternity house. My room was in the basement if you came in the front door, ground level if you entered from behind. It was a firetrap: mattress on the floor surrounded by every inch of floor being covered by piles of laundry ranging from one or two shirts near the bed to three-foot-high piles around the perimeter. I smoked in my room, but had no trouble ashing and extinguishing appropriately.

I was also a total pothead. I worked two jobs and would get home very late most nights. My ritual involved sitting on the bed and smoking a bong while I listened to music. I worked too much and had too low a self-image to ever get any action, so I had developed this routine.

Well, one night, a Saturday, I got home and got into my groove. For some reason, I was wanting to burn a candle. Not sure why, really. Sometimes candles are nice and comforting, I guess. I had a small votive candle in one of those plastic cups they put condiments in when you get take-out. (Bad idea.) It was next to my bed, on a stack of CD jewel boxes, on my alarm clock, on the milk crate that served as a book-case cum bedside table. I decided to keep the pleasant glow as I drifted off to sleep...

Near dawn on Sunday morning, I drifted fairly quickly into consciousness. Sade was playing on my alarm clock (I'd forgotten to turn it off for Sunday sleep-in.), one of those slow, sultry tunes for which I shall ever adore her. It was soooo powerful, the sound of her voice and the bright, orange light.

Bright orange light! I opened my eyes--ACK! About a foot from my head was a flame that was--like--over six inches high and broad enough to support that height. I bolted upright and, all at once, inhaled as deeply as I could to blow out the flame and said to myself, "Self, you are not going to be able to blow this fire out. Once you confirm this in about two seconds, you're going to have to move quickly. Think fast--run into the kitchen, get a large pot [frat kitchens have pots you could bathe in], and try to smother the fire with that."

I let out a huge exhale, and the fire miraculously extinguished. As I sat there panting, I realized the candle had been a bad idea. Sade was calming me. The flame had clearly spread from the dwindling votive to the plastic condiment container, then engulfed that, and spread to the plastic CD boxes stacked beneath it. Charred remains of Crystal Gayle's Greatest Hits and some early Outkast album were bubbling and sizzling there atop my alarm clock.

Phew, I thought, as I looked up to see that the room was filled with thick, black, plastic SMOKE! Oh shit! It's a Sunday morning, early, and I'm about to alert the whole house to my irresponsible actions by setting off the fire alarm and waking them all up!

I dove for the windows and threw them open, then opened the door to my room and the door to the outside, right next to my room's door. I proceeded to do some fairly energetic fanning, pushing the smoke outside and away from the smoke detectors.

Finally, the smoke dissipated, and I could be sure there would be no alarm. I closed my door and the outside door, leaving the windows open to clear that burned plastic smell, loaded up the bong, and passed out, exhausted, questioning my then-atheism.

So let that be a lesson to you: don't go to sleep with candles burning. Especially if you have them in plastic condiment containers. Especially if you live in a firetrap of a room that could become an inferno in no time flat. And especially if you don't want a sign from the great beyond that you just might not be as smart and autonomous as you think you are.

Update: Many thanks to my friend Anonymous for recalling that one of the best details of the disaster's aftermath was that we discovered all the cobwebs on my super-high ceilings had turned black from the smoke. Also, I recall that an old floor plan of our building labeled my room as "Garbage Room". This made me feel there was a bit of fate at play in my having been such a sloppy guy. (Unfortunately, old habits die hard and once the ghost of garbage past made me start being sloppy, I ended up carrying the curse with me into even the present day.)

Two Days 'Til I'm a Dad: Name That Puppy!

2007-08-30T15:41:00.000-07:00

Oh, isn't he just adorable? The one on the right? And his spitfire little sis currently called Minnie--isn't she tiny? And the other two are perfectly cute as well, but my little guy is just soooo precious.

And nameless still.

What shall I call him?

I've had suggestions of Zeus and Gomez. I like them both, but I'm going to have to keep the voting open for a while.

Meanwhile, I just want to say that I cannot imagine how expectant parents ever STAND it. It seriously takes all of my will to do anything at all other than freak out about whether the puppy will like his new home and best friend. Will he cry for days? Will he refuse to eat? Will he forget all the potty training he already has?

My heart is breaking for this little guy. Actually, Little Guy is the name my friend who's the breeder calls him. I like it, but not enough to saddle him with it for life. I'd rather, I think, just wait until I'm able to bond with him a little more. I promise I'll blog about real things (fashion, celebrities, maybe some politics) soon enough, but it's more than my wee brain can handle just now with all the space taken up by Little Guy.

Clarification: Flip-flops on Men vs. Flip-flops as Men's Fashion

2007-08-29T13:16:00.001-07:00

Well Hello feet!
Originally uploaded by saraab

I blogged recently about the absurd column I read pushing flip-flops to men as one of the five it-clothes to have for summer. As I'd spent a good bit of time annoyed with that fuaxhawked fashion-ick-sta, I left that post feeling good about life again. I'd said my piece.

Some of my friends have pressed me, though, to post a clarification. I did not mean to say that men should not wear flip-flops. As I thought I had indicated, men with lovely feet (such as those in the accompanying photo) are welcome to wear flip-flops any time, all the time, provided they can keep them on their feet.

What I believe to be abhorrent about them is the recommendation that they are: fashionable; appropriate for men at large to wear; and can be worn into the evening. To hear that sort of crud from someone who's a "guide" to fashion is to hear someone recommend that the street is the coolest type of playground. That's just irresponsible.

You got purty feet? Wear 'em away. Don't try to tell me they're appropriate for evening--or fashionable--but feel free to wear them.

I hope this will put the matter to rest. My soul longs to have the darkness of the flip-flop flap behind us.

Who's Writing Your Copy?

2007-08-28T13:59:00.000-07:00

Okay, one benefit of having a degree in English and a lifelong love of language (did you see what I did there?) is that you get to be bitchy about bad writing. I'll never get rich because I didn't learn marketable skills, so I get to be mean when people are apparently being paid to do something poorly.

Earlier today, I was posting about pet supplies. In particular, there was a dog bed in the shape of a Ferrari: a Furrari. This is being sold by a site called Wrapables.com; they have neat stuff and a nice design, but whoever they're paying to write copy should be fired. Here's why:

Share your love of luxury Italian sports cars with your furry friend with our Furrari Bed. This luxurious pet bed is a parody of the infamous Italian sports cars. This bed measures 32"x24" so it may only be suitable for smaller pets.

Infamous? As in, "Of very bad report; having a reputation of the worst kind; held in abhorrence; guilty of something that exposes to infamy; base; notoriously vile; detestable; as, an infamous traitor; an infamous perjurer"? That "infamous"? 'Cause why would I want to drop two hundred eighty-two bucks plus shipping on something for my sweet little doggy that's a parody of a car with a bad rep? And furthermore, since when does a Ferrari have a bad rep according to anyone but whoever's writing copy for Wrapables and clearly prefers syllable-count to accuracy?

I'm just sayin'...

Name That Puppy!

2007-08-28T13:09:00.001-07:00

I haven't been able to post for days because I have puppy on the brain. I'm getting my first-ever pet since childhood, an adorable chihuahua puppy. I've been visiting the litter for eight weeks, waiting until the last possible moment to take my kind friends up on their offer to let me have first pick.

At long last, I've bonded most substantially with the little gray and white one in the background there. And I'm sure you can see why he holds the strings to my heart and manages to keep me from being able to focus on anything but preparing the puppy nursery chez moi.

So my big worry now is what to name the little feller. I'll probably spend a few days with him in my house before I choose a name, but I invite you to weigh in on possible name choices in the comments.

There he is again! Couldn't you just cry to think of all the joy holding that wee one close to you would bring?

Meanwhile, I'm having a crazy time with puppy supplies. Now, in our parents' days, you got a dog, a bowl, a bone, and you were done. Collar, sure. Leash, yeah. But in the good old US of A these days, there's a gazillion dollar industry of stuff for your pets. In Fagland, USA there's a boutique on every corner with stuff you feel you just have to have for your pet. I'm trying to resist going down that lane.

I mean, of course I had to get the puppy playpen. I'm a slob and my little guy needs a puppy-safe zone so he doesn't teethe on my bicycle tires. And these guys are wee and my apartment is drafty; and their current owners have explained that the only possible bed for my baby is a kind of doggy sleeping bag they can crawl into for warmth or just to get away from the madness that is me. (Yes, it just so happens the cheapest one I could find online or in person happened to be available only in faaaaabulous leopard print.) But I'm eschewing the Furrari. At least until his first birthday.

Hey, don't forget to help me Name That Puppy in the comments.

Blue Friday: "What About Blowjobs"

2007-08-24T11:41:00.000-07:00

Leave it to my friend C. and Margaret Cho to introduce me to the best stuff on the internets. This time, it's Reggie Watts.

Mr. Watts offers some sound advice, though I personally feel that the hand-on-shaft portion is only necessary when the mouth isn't up to the task. And the crossroads he describes at the end puzzles me as a gay man: why do all that work and then skip the payoff? "Get out of the way," he offers; that's like leaving the cake out in the rain, in my opinion.

By all means, though, do "cradle the balls."

Planet Unicorn Heeyyyyyy!

2007-08-23T11:47:00.000-07:00

"In the year 2117, an eight year old gay boy named Shannon found a magic lamp. He was granted three wishes. The first: a fur jacket. The second: a flying car. And the third was a planet full of unicorns. This is the story of that planet."

This is simply the coolest, most twisted cartoon I've ever seen. Careful: once you get it in your head, you're likely to be hooked.

Oh, and just so you know before you hit play, it is G- to the A-Y.

Why I Love The Internets: LOLcats

2007-08-22T11:20:00.000-07:00

When I was in college, I lived in a house with about thirty men. [And, no, there were no circle jerks or other such things one always hears about frat life. I was darn disappointed by that--so much so that I had to move to San Francisco only to learn that we only have hot mansex in the streets like two or three days a year. And it's only a couple of streets even then. Freakin' myths.] One thing we did for amusement occasionally was to take a photo and stick it to a piece of paper, then smack that up on one of the bathroom stalls with a pen on a string. People would write heeeelarious captions.

Well, that was the stone age. The internets have essentially made that stall wall available to everyone. You can take a photo, smack it on a page with a caption, and flush it through the "series of tubes" that is the Internet, and soon the whole world can giggle about the juxtaposition of a funny photo with a few words.

Which brings me to the LOLcats phenomenon. I only learned of it recently, though I gather it's been around since 2006. (As is true of most of what I know, I learned this from wikipedia.) Take a cat photo, attribute a quote to the cat, giggle, and share:

photo: Blair Decker via icanhascheezeburger.com

Anthropomorphism is not new, certainly. But for some reason, this particular meme really nails it. And I'm interested in why this is so. I have had cats in the past, so I'm familiar with that hunch one has that the cat knows more than humans can fathom. The biggest earthquake I've felt in San Francisco freaked my cats out a full thirty seconds before the earth moved perceptibly to me. After nine-eleven, when I was totally freaked out for about a month that the Bush regime was getting ready to screw up the world and besmirch the glory of my beloved country, those cats just sensed that I needed them, and they provided me with oodles and gobs of comfort. And I have a dear friend who hates cats, which I've always believed has something to do with the fact that he's a superior intellect made a bit uncomfortable by that vast unknown connection they seem to have with the oversoul.

For me, the inherent humor in LOLcats is the strange spelling and syntax. It's sort of the opposite of taking a photo of George W. Bush and superimposing the word "genius" over it. Like, right, yeah, these cute little critters who are psychic can't spell.

Fashion Footwear for Men on the Take

2007-08-21T15:45:00.000-07:00

I read a post on about.com a year ago--maybe two--that made me cringe. While I don't recall what brought the post to my attention, I remember feeling as if someone had just stood atop a mountain and prophesied that the safest way to drive is with your eyes closed. Okay, the topic was men's fashion, so the stakes were not quite that high.

The article was about "The Perfect Casual Look for Spring and Summer" from a guide specializing in men's fashion. There were five must-have items for that perfect look, and one of them was so ridiculous I had to write the "guide" and ask him for clarification if not beg him to retract. When the guide, we'll call him Assclown, failed to respond to my message, I filed away in my head that some day I would have a blog and I would proclaim to the world the disservice he'd done to well-meaning men everywhere with his terrible advice.

Among the list of must-haves were a couple of eyebrow-raising items. Polo shirts! Well there's something I'd never have imagined one would wear in the warmer months. "Premium denim": that's what the kids these days call designer jeans. Sunglasses--move over Men's Vogue 'cause this guy wearing the ridiculous-though-once-trendy hairstyle in his guide photo is a freakin' prodigy! But the one that really got me going:

My Top Picks in Men's Thongs / Flip Flops
I buy a pair of flip flops every spring and I get lots of use out of them. They look great with your favorite pair of jeans and can be worn into the evening on those warm summer nights. Plus, they just look cool and summery.

Flip-flops? As a fashion item? For men? Otherwheres than twixt the dorm room and the gang showers? Surely you jest, oh faux-hawked arbiter of sartorial skill.

Where do I begin to explain why this is terrible advice? Flip-flops on a man, when not paired with a towel or a swimsuit, are simply wrong unless you're carrying garbage to the curb or in the privacy of your own home. Even with all the metrosexual craze going on these days, most men do not have pretty feet. We should never have to see them. The nails are all gnarled and yellow and--well, you've seen it. I'd urge caution whenever wearing any sort of open footwear while in the possession of a Y-chromosome. I have nice feet (as I can see and have been told,) and I'm a sucker for comfort, so I do own sandals. If I had a nickel, though, for every time I've seen a pair of flip-flops on a man and thought, "Someone should tell him we can see his ugly feet," I wouldn't need to have ads on this blog. My sandals, though, are certified street-wear and provide more comfort, support, and coverage for my feet than shower slippers.

[Aside: I'm a man. I have nothing against whatever a woman chooses to put on her foot when she's not jamming it into something stacked and sexy. I feel those women from the Northwestern lacrosse team who showed up to the White House in flip-flop-type shoes might have crossed a line--even though they were going to see George W. Bush, who merits little in the way of panache. Aside from that, I'll leave it to the brilliant vixens over at Go Fug Yourself to weigh in on women's fashion. This is between me and my bros.]

While Assclown thinks they "can be worn into the evening on those warm summer nights" and "just look so cool and summery," I'm inclined to think they can be worn to the laundromat on those warm summer nights and just look so insubstantial and plastic-y. But the real trouble, ugly feet and questionable taste aside: most men can't wear them because they can't keep them on their feet. If I'm standing next to a woman who's wearing flip-flops, I can look down and see lovely, pedicured feet, relieved to be centered on a slim bed of plastic flatness. Replace that woman with a man in flip-flops, and I see a V-shaped collision of grungy plastic on one side, ugly foot heel-to-pavement on the other, with a gnarled mess of toe-jam, nail fungus, and corns in the middle. That is not fashion.

Of course, now that I have had some time to air this festering peeve, I feel a little bit better. I've noticed, for example, that each of the must-have items on the guru's list of five is practically smothered in links to purchase some of these fashion items. Which makes me suspect (though I dare not allege) that Mr. Sunglasses-Are-So-Summer might get a referral fee when his fave styles are purchased via said convenient links. And since these styles range in price from $35 to over $100, I think I can breathe a sigh of relief. It's just the same old spin that sells stuff and keeps those factories in China busy. So, please, men who aspire, don't take that flip-flop thing seriously--just feel smug that you had a hunch about those polo shirts being seasonally appropriate.

This kid is a superstar!

2007-08-21T10:55:00.000-07:00

I've been watching a video on YouTube at least once a day for about a week. It's a young boy who has brilliantly reproduced Beyonce's choreography for the "Irreplaceable" video. (Actually, it doesn't match the video per se, but when you watch this pint-sized performer, you see bootylicious weavetastic Miss Knowles.)

What I like about this video is the way the kid is so talented. I can't move like that and probably never could. I have a friend who's a professional dancer, and he's floored by the kid's chops.

There's an all-out battle in the comments over on YouTube. Some people say the kid's going to be gay because he likes to cover Beyonce. My question: who with so much talent would want to cover Jay-Z instead of Beyonce? You sit in front of music videos for a while and tell me who has better choreography, is more visually interesting. It's prob'ly not a dude.

Plusly, I don't think the kid's particularly effeminate. He looks like a cocky little cute kid who happens to have mastered some of Beyonce's trademark facial expressions and is limber enough to mimic her choreography. I hope that whoever this little guy is, he keeps hanging out with whoever was smart enough to recognize that he's effing brilliant.

Really, there's very little I can say--watch the video and you'll see what I mean.

He's bringing sexy back?

2007-08-20T16:53:00.001-07:00

Justin Timberlake "Huh?"
Originally uploaded by jurvetson

Okay, so, let me get this straight. I can see that Justin Timberlake might be bringing scruffy back. But I've failed to shave regularly since before he needed to. Is it perhaps the sexy that was sucked into a void during his boyband days that he's willing to let return by virtue of having ceased to perm and highlight his hair?

Golf is not sexy. Not shaving is not sexy. You have to be sexy to be sexy. Justin's cute. And the boy can move. But sexy? Not so much.

I know the world takes all kinds of people, and that one man's sexy is another man's wtf. I'm glad to let anyone who cares to say so identify anyone as sexy. Brando, for example, hit such heights of sexy as to have been locked in right up until he drew his last breath; if someone said "I think Marlon Brando is totally sexy in Last Tango in Paris," I'd be okay with it, 'cause that man smoldered back in the day. [Plus, I just looked up some stills from that film, and he was still smokin' hot, though less fresh.]

So, I guess what I mean to say is, "Justin, nobody took sexy away, and it will take more of a man than you to bring it back. Keep bustin' your moves--you're seriously super talented as a dancer. But if I have to hear one more time you proclaiming to the world that you're so sexy you're bringing it back, I'm gonna start shaving more regularly in protest."

I Can't Believe I Got This Blog Address!

2007-08-16T16:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, blogs have been around for--like--a while now. And they're all pretty much what anyone on earth has to say about anything and everything. So it seems like there would be a bit of a run on simple things like "This Is What I Think" or some such. But here I am in August of 2007 getting the blog address inmyopinion.blogspot.com.

Un. Be. Lieve. Able.

UPDATE: I'm a ninny. I didn't get that blog addres. I got inmyopinon--no "i" before the -on. A typo has doomed me to have the wrong blog title forevermore. Fitting that a blog being snarky has a typo for a title.