The Malcontent

Just Another New Year's Eve At the Projects Next Door

If there is a four-alarm fire, I will live-blog it from my perch high above.

Gay Marriage is Sneaky

Create a post stating I'm tired of hearing about gay marriage, and the comments section explodes into one of the most interesting, worthwhile debates on the topic I've read in a long while.

The heart of the matter: "Do we really want gay marriage, is it good for us, or is there a better way?"

Many of these internal arguments about the purposes and benefits of marriage often lapse into simple monogamy debates, or what Joe.My.God refers to as "mono-vangelism." Not so, here. The commenters discuss the issues of just what is equality, whether or not the benefits of marriage are suited for a homosexual couple, and if the gay community's tactics in achieving marriage are the best way to go about it.

You can find this pretty interesting discussion here.

My personal workplace hell week is completed. Regular blogging to resume shortly.

Ringing It In

Bloggers are just like you and me.

They put their pants on the same way we all do.  If you prick them, they bleed – albeit usually after whimpering, running away and then writing a bitchy riposte about you.

They are just like you and me, except that they spend a lot more time in front of a PC monitor trying to be witty, insightful or just looking for ways to waste your valuable time.

And so it goes that some bloggers also make New Year's resolutions.

The Malcontent asked several of our favorite bloggers about their plans for self-improvement in 2006.  Some of them actually replied.

Most of the respondents are gay; some are not.  The results, in no particular order, are after the jump ...

Getting Back Into the Swing

Regular blogging by me should resume soon.  (My thanks to Robbie for taking up the slack in my absence.)  I decided to take a little extra time in blog detox on my way back from Christmas in the Shenandoah Valley.  I think I scored some bonus point with my husband for traveling without the normal laptop in tow.

We stopped at JR's in DC on Monday for "Showtunes Night," which used to be a weekly fixture for me.  It only took a short time there for me to realize that I stand by every single thing I wrote about the District's proposed smoking ban, our commenters' views notwithstanding.

And while I'm banning things, I think we should add one more thing to the list: crack.  Not the kind derived from cocaine, but the kind that results from droopy drawers.  We were stationed at the bar next to an especially drunken and trolly troll whose jeans were pulled halfway down his buttcrack, exposing his puffy, pasty flesh to the entire bar.  To paraphrase Valerie Cherish, "I so don't need to see that!"

Anyhow, I have been preparing a big post of New Year's resolutions from across the blogosphere.  If you are a blog-pal and I neglected to include you when I first cast the net, please accept my humblest apologies – and feel free to email me your resolutions belatedly (along with a pic for the post).

Oh, one more thing: I ventured down to 23rd Street today to get a new DVR cable box to replace the one that captures the bulk of our video clips.  While it is a change that will manifest itself mostly behind the scenes, it should improve the quantity and quality of our MalcoVision.

The Empty Gay Larder

With Mal spending much deserved quality time doing . . . something, and the magical little brownie of soul-wilting torment at my office informing us we must have a gob-smacking amount of paperwork done by the end of the week (we're apparently supposed to have client records in order by the end of the year. Which is ace, because the entire concept of client records has been eluding me lo these many months), I do admit to being at a loss for blogging material.

Let's be honest. The gay community? Obsessed with gay marriage. Robbie? Not so much. I have begun to wonder if the gay community hasn't jumped the shark with all this marriage business. Entering the word "gay" into the google news engine results in scores of articles on whether or not Samuel and Ricky can scarf down a tacky cake with pink frosted roses deep in the bowels of Estonia or some other former Soviet republic whose main export seems to be radioactive mushrooms. Given the number of "married" gay men I know who are banging anything and everything that moves, I admit to being bored to tears with the subject. What we really want is gay health insurance, and that's not very interesting.

The other big story is Papal Rumble '05, with Benedict the Butch taking on Our Lord Lavender in a scripted cage match to the death. The Catholic Church isn't fond of homosexuality. This is apparently a breaking story to anyone who hasn't read a newspaper or a book in, oh, two millennia. I don't believe anyone is really "shocked" and "outraged" about what the Catholic Church is on about. We've known for quite some time. It's all a well-rehearsed pose of indignation (we're becoming really rather good at that). It's no different from the media types gasping this week because the Pope dared to oppose abortion in his Christmas homily. "The pope is against abortion! Can you believe it?!" Oddly enough, I can.

So, right. The gay community needs something new to talk about. I'm all ears at this point, because reading gay news full of nothing but marriage and priests day in and out for months on end leaves me contemplating reparative therapy, just for the change of pace.

A Minister, A Gay Republican, and Jesus

You've gotta love the American Family Association. If it were not for their vigilant insanity, I'd never hear about little trainwrecks such as this show set to debut on NBC January 6th:

"The Book of Daniel" stars Aidan Quinn (“An Early Frost”) as the Reverend Daniel Webster (pictured) an unconventional Episcopalian minister who not only believes in Jesus - he actually sees him and discusses life with him.

His children include Peter (Christian Campbell, “Trick”), a 23-year-old gay son, who struggles with the loss of his twin brother. To confound matters even more, Peter is a Republican.

Webster's daughter, Grace (Alison Pill, “Confessions of a Teenage Drama Queen”), is 16-year-old daughter who just happens to be a drug dealer. Then there's the 16-year-old adopted son who is having sex with the bishop's daughter, and Webster's wife who is "addicted to martinis".

Webster's secretary is a lesbian who is sleeping with his sister-in-law. The character is only one of a handful of lesbian characters on TV this season.

A low rent Joan of Arcadia on mushrooms. Excellent.

Pity poor Christian Campbell. A life in the perpetual shadow of his sister, Neve, major gay face that threatens to break the definition of fey out of sheer physical hyperbole (Trick certainly didn't help), a truly awful turn on All My Children, and now a role as a gay Republican.

I think we'll set the camp alert system to orange.

Television Countdown '05

As the final week of 2005 gains steam, we can expect to see endless lists, top tens, bests, worsts, and mainly reminders of things we'd totally forgotten about.

So it is with television. E!'s The Soup recently compiled a list of the top 40 television clips of the year. Of course, they have excellent taste. Many of the clips they selected have appeared on Malcovision over the past few months, including an inexplicable visit to Katrina ravaged New Orleans by Richard Simmons, the Harry Potter and Ron Weasley boy crush, and - of course! - the appearance of Margaret "dark-sided" Perrin.

In this highlight clip, we're treated to Barbara Walters' strange homophobia, a reminder that Rosie O'Donnell embarrassed herself as a mentally-challenged woman while the audience howled with laughter, lesbians dressed as Boy Scouts, George Takei's frank interview about his homosexuality, Kirstie Alley lusting for food, a Brokeback Mountain spoof, and The Soup's #1 clip of the year . . . Whitney Houston turns out to be Republican.

[Watch video – 6:24, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 6:24, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Away in a Satanic Manger

Furry forest creatures, blood orgies, Lion King knock-offs learning to perform abortions, Santa with a shotgun, and the fetus of the anti-christ. Sometimes I wonder if South Park is meant to be humorous, or whether or not the creators are simply interested in shocking. There's something Kaufman-ish in how Parker and Stone push and punish their audience until they give in and laugh.

In that spirit, Malcovision brings you the highlights of a Woodland Critter Christmas. I caught this for the first time last week, and I suspect I'll get my jaw from the floor sometime after the New Year.

[Watch video – 4:28, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 4:28, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Like They Do on the Discovery Channel

"Why do we need Logo," our commenters have asked, "when we already have VH1 and Bravo?"

Don't get me wrong, I've been a fan of Logo since their first minutes on the air, but we might as well add "Trio" to that list of gay-centric stations.

The cable netlet strutted its queer stuff recently in rebroadcasting "The Truth About Gay Animals,"a light-hearted documentary first aired in 2002 by BBC's Channel 4 and hosted by gay American comedian, Scott Capurro.

The program was made well before all of those famous queer penguins were discovered.  But there is still ample evidence for hot homo lovin' in the animal kingdom.

[Watch video – 9:07, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 9:07, WMV format, low bandwidth]

For Old Time's Sake

  I need new gay friends. Officially. I had your usual holiday (which involved alcohol, lots of crying, and a family I abhor). There are no doubt paragraphs full of familial issues entailed, but my gay friends are truly the focus here.

I wander home tonight. I lapse into a quiet, bloodshot existence full of rum and wondering why I deal with the familial types. Cept for the phone call around midnight. Yes, it's a gay friend from St. Louis. And, he's out front. Can he come in? Well, uh, sure. Not prepared to receive anyone, but wander as you will if it's your thing. Kinda odd for an out of the blue Christmas visit, but ok.

We hang out and talk for an hour or two.

He decides to let me know he'd really love it if I'd blow him.

I just sort of stare at him for awhile.

Ho. Ho. Ho.

And To All a Good Night ...

That's about it for this week, folks.  I don't know Robbie's schedule this weekend, but tomorrow I am heading for the hills for a few days.

Hold everyone close to you, and please spare a thought for those who aren't as fortunate.  It can be awfully cold this time of year.

And please don't forget to feed Bubbles while I'm gone ...

Joyeux Noël!

Remy Delane is a French-born porn star with a fetish for black men.

Of his career choice, he says he was "young and needed the money."

Weren't we all, sweetie.

Well, DNA gave the 23-year-old some money to show off some of his star quality, so we pass it onto you.  In this season of giving, and all.

There are a few more Christmas gifts to open after the jump ...

More Contests, More Opportunities To Alienate People

Within the next few days, I will be posting New Year's resolutions of assorted digerati among the blogosphere.  One of my own resolutions, after the clusterfuck that was the Weblog Awards (and our endorsement of blog-pal Ethan), should be to steer as clear of those things as possible.

But since it isn't 2006 yet, allow me a couple of more plugs for friends:

The boys at GayPatriot have searched high and low to find "Conservative Blogress Divas," seeking to prove that diva status is not limited to the left.  Their nominees are here, and you can vote here.  (Gay-hating venom-spewer LaShawn Barber isn't nominated?  The fix is in!)

Our endorsements are usually only good enough for a solid second-place finish, so I don't know if it is a blessing our a curse that I will be voting for Bridget Johnson (AKA "GOP Vixen.")  She's funny, irreverent, smart, and she needs the publicity more than some of the others.  Plus, she's always been good to this site, and is very friendly to the gays!

And finally, my friend Ran has the dubious distinction honor of being nominated for Gizmodo's "Dork Contest Finals."  Follow the link and tell me that it doesn't get much dorkier than a kid in a Spock T-shirt who looks so pleased with himself at meeting Leonard Nimoy. 

Come to think of it, maybe it's Nimoy who should have been nominated.

(Unless they are rotating the nominees, he is eighth on the list.)

Christmas With Conan

Hot shot celebs like Conan O'Brien get a lot of holiday cards from other celebrities.

Last night he brought out his mailbag to share some of the more interesting cards he has received this year.

Check 'em out after the jump ...

There Ain't Nothing Like This Dame

How much do I love Dame Edna Everage?  I paid to see "her" stage show twice, even though the act was substantially similar both times.  I won't even pay $10 to see my favorite movies a second time.

So I totally had to fire up MalcoVision when she was on Jay Leno last night.

As usual, Jay was completely ancillary to anything funny that was happening around him.

We didn't get to hear anything about her unmarried son Kenny, who lives in the Castro (which Dame Edna assumes to be the "Cuban ghetto") or about her dog-breeding, lesbian daughter Valmai (who lives near wherever Dame Edna happens to be performing).

The real reason for her appearance was to promote her shows at the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas and her impending nine-city American tour.  But more interesting was watching her pitch some serious woo the way of former NFLer Terry Bradshaw.

She thought that he was perhaps "aroused" and went in to check for herself, but Terry proved that he still had some of the spry quarterback in him.

Enjoy the clip, possums!

[Watch video – 8:46, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 8:46, WMV format, low bandwidth]

South Park, Canadians, and a Hot Guy

This week, Comedy Central has been re-running South Park Christmas episodes (highlights of the Christmas Critters episode to come later today).

In this clip, the kids journey to Canada to rescue Kyle's adopted brother after he's reclaimed by his biological Canadian parents. In a long riff on the Wizard of Oz, the group journeys along "the only road," picking up a Mountie without a horse, a Quebecois mime without his wine, and a Newfie without any sodomy.

As a bonus, I managed to record the hottest commercial currently on television. I've tacked it onto the end of this clip. It's well worth the wait.

[Watch video – 4:55, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 4:55, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Rediscovering the Primal Scream

Camped out in a room filled with empty boxes, scattered styrofoam, wayward plastic, piles of computer components, and endless miles of cable flung carelessly across the floor, I set aside tonight to accomplish one thing and one thing only: transfer all my old files and complete the configuration of the new PC once and for all so I can clean up this mess.

Networking? No problem. Plug both comps into the cable modem router and an XP wizard creates the network. Sweet, lovely Microsoft. For all the times I have contemplated murdering your entire board of directors, you do have your moments that soften the edge of potential homocide to mere manslaughter.

File sharing?

No. Windows was having none of it. I attempted to use the new PC (nPC) to pull the old files and folders from the old PC (oPC). Various denied permissions and write protections flashed across the screen as, again and again, I clicked and tapped away in frustration. I set and reset the network, altered and re-altered the file sharing settings on oPC. My eyes grew bloodshot, my fingers increasingly arthritic.

I futzed and I futzed and I futzed. I futzed for five hours and six cups of coffee.

Then the "I wonder . . ." moment approached fearfully on the horizon. Perhaps, just perhaps, if I went on the oPC and had it send the files to nPC, it would work. Obviously nPC is utterly unable to access oPC and take anything from it.

I test this brilliant new insight.

Everything transferred instantly.

I trust, by Christmas, I'll have stopped screaming and screaming and screaming.

Man Closets Self on MTV

What would you do if you were as young gay man who didn't want his straight friends to find out about his sexuality?

If you were 23-year-old Chris of Pontiac, Mich., naturally you'd go on national television and out yourself.

The young bartender was featured on an episode of MTV's "True Life," focusing on people who are leading "double lives."  He hasn't told any of his straight friends for fear that they would be "grossed out."  But as is usually the case, some of them know anyway.

In this clip, you'll see Chris frequenting both gay bars and straight bars.  The main difference between the two: "If I were going to the gay bar, I'd probably shave."

[Watch video – 5:36, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 5:36, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Definitely Somethin' Dirty Goin' On

You know that ad you might have seen for The Malcontent?  The one that says "Nothin' Dirty Goin' On"?

Yeah, well, we lied about that.

The new DNA magazine came special delivery today.  It was chock full of guys mud-rasslin' in their underwear and carryin' on generally.

I'm sure there was also hootin' and hollerin' involved, as well as other truncated gerunds.

Don't worry, admirers of the male form.  I won't let the detractors stand in the way of your enjoyment.

There's plenty dirty goin' on, after the jump ...

Rumors in Concert

"For the next two hours, your ass is mine!"

So begins the Robbie Williams concert at Knebworth, running through early January on the Here! network. All things considered, I have the distinct impression this is a phrase that has been uttered by Williams before, and generally in front of audiences of one.

Someone at the network must've learned I like Robbie Williams, because they kindly sent along a screener of the concert. Which works, as my cable company is utter crap, and I don't get things like Here! and other gay networks.

Before I review the concert, just a quick story. When I lived in Britain, I found myself attending an annual Guy Fawkes celebration in early November. Guy Fawkes Day is to the English what the Fourth of July is to Americans. They ignite raging bonfires many stories tall in the middle of fields and fill the sky with just enough fireworks to leave you wondering whether or not the Luftwaffe is attempting one last, desperate run.

While milling about a rather large celebration, I realized three different sound systems played music across the grounds - and every single one played a different Robbie Williams song. When you're bounced from "Something Beautiful," to "Rock DJ," to "Feel," in the space of thirty seconds, a sort of grim inevitablilty sets in. If you're going to exist in Britain, you're either going to learn to like its most ubiquitous pop singer, or you will be driven inexorably insane.

Choose or perish.

Kneel Before Santino!

I don't have any sort of fashion background to speak of, but I am learning that the key to being a successful fashion designer is to throw some fabric on a mannequin and see what sticks.

At least, that's what Bravo's "Project Runway" seems to be teaching.

Last night, General Zod doppelgänger Santino Rice escaped elimination by the beard on his chin.  The aspirants were divided into four teams to design lingerie.

Santino's brilliant idea: lederhosen.

But at least he isn't Daniel Franco, who looks like he was designing nighties for the geriatric set.  Daniel tried to pull an Andraé from episode 1, turning on the waterworks to gin up a little sympathy, but in the end the judges were having none of it.

They seemed to respond well to Santino's defiant, bitchy lecture and let him live another week.

Some Kryptonians have all the luck.

[Watch video – 8:05, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 8:05, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Sweet Dreams Are Made of This?

I yawned my way through the finale (season and series) of "Martha Stewart: Apprentice."  It was actually just an extended plug-fest, interrupted only by more honest advertisements.

Even Alexis got into the act, refusing to answer a question before promoting her satellite radio show.  I was surprised Charles Koppelman didn't announce that he'll be on the cover of next month's "Cigar Aficionado."

The actual "hiring moment" was about as anticlimactic as the rest of the series has been.  Martha could barely get out the words, and then when winner Dawna Stone's name was announced, everybody celebrated to the tune of the Eurythmics' dirgelike "Sweet Dreams."

But at least FourFour was watching the Bobby Brown/Whitney Houston Brown trainwreck instead.

[Watch video – 2:51, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 2:51, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Holidays With the Brat Boy

Congrats to blog-pal Ethan Reynolds (AKA "Brat Boy") for his cover shot and photo shoot for Instinct magazine, now arriving in mailboxes and on newsstands everywhere.  Lookin' molto bene!

(Suck on that, Toby!)

But why'd you stiff us when they asked about your favorite blogs?!

The full spread (ahem) after the jump ...

A Wish Before Dying

Big Gay Picture today has part one of a three-part exclusive interview with Laurel Hester, a woman with terminal cancer in Ocean County, N.J., whose courageous battle over domestic-partner benefits has made national headlines.

The Carver, Unmasked

A number of series regulars were brought in for questioning on last night's season finale of Nip/Tuck as part of Kit's quest to stop the Carver before he/she kills again.

Regular readers will know that I have suspected since at least September that Bruno Campos's character, Dr. Quentin Costa, is the deranged serial attacker.  But was I right?

MalcoVision has some spoiler-ific clips for you after the jump, and more pictures of Bruno Campos shirtless.

(The picture at right was a photo composite I made from two screen grabs showing a key image of him from the episode.  Don't worry, though, it would not have helped matters if they had panned down any farther.  Believe me.)

Toussaint? Too Much!

The bus drivers in New York earn an average of $63,000 (bus drivers!) and are asking for 8 percent raises every year for three years.  Can anyone tell me another class of workers in America who are so notoriously lazy and so unskilled who make that kind of money, and who also have the cojones to ask for that much more?

And how many other workers would be justified in arguing that anything more than zero paid toward their own healthcare is too much?  (I don't know about you, but my premiums alone are about $3,000 a year, which doesn't count deductibles, copays or my husband's premiums.  So it's hard for me to have a lot of sympathy when the union says 1 percent of their salary is too much to pay for their health.)

The Manhattan Offender is running a poll seeking to assign blame in the NYC transit strike.  Of course, he favors these upper-middle-class "underdogs" of the Transit Workers Union.

But if what you already know wasn't enough to convince you, a New York Daily News editorial provides a tidy indictment of Roger Toussaint, the union leader.  [HT: Chad]

E-I-E-I-Oh, My

Legendary diva Mariah Carey had a big night on Monday in Las Vegas at the Radio Music Awards.

She took home three trophies, including two for her song "We Belong Together."

But probably most significant of all was the "Radio Legend Award," in recognition of Miss Mariah's outstanding career and 16 (so far) No. 1 hits.

I'm not sure if you caught her memorable acceptance speech, but MalcoVision has it for you.

[Watch video – 2:16, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 2:16, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Stewart vs O'Reilly

I must admit I feel a need to balance the scales after sharing an O'Reilly Factor segment. In the interests of fairness, it's always best to cleanse the palate with a dissenting voice.

In that spirit, Malco-vision brings you a clip from last night's rerun of the Daily Show with Jon Stewart. After being targeted by the cable news host as a captain in the ever-nebulous War on Christmas, Stewart offers O'Reilly his seasons greetings as only Jon can.

[Watch video – 4:54, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 4:54, WMV format, low bandwidth]

The Evil Brokeback Agenda

I waded into the morass of the O'Reilly Factor so you, dear readers, don't have to. Tonight, Bill asked whether or not there is a liberal or homosexual agenda behind the heavy promotion of Ang Lee's film in newspapers like the New York Times and Washington Post.

Bill's guests included entertainment reporter Jeanne Wolf and conservative movie critic Michael Medved. It's an interesting discussion on media bias, with nice things said all around about the film, but also typical posturing about the "homosexual agenda" being "rammed down throats."

O'Reilly does have a fairly amusing response to a question posed by Wolf at the end of the segment.

Malco-vision has the clip.

[Watch video – 7:27, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 7:27, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Plastic Perils

While watching the Babwa Wawa's special on Heaven and/or Palestinian suicide bombers, I noticed the oddest thing.

Did someone inadvertantly suck the life-force out of Amanda Peet?

Someone's Overcompensating

First, he hooked up with his female co-star. Then this potent, virile man got her with child. During the press junkets for Brokeback Mountain, it was stressed beyond human reason that he really is quite straight, thank you very much.

Tonight, I noticed a new commercial announcing Heath Ledger's next film - Casanova.

Calm down, Heath. We believe you. You're a heterosexual beast. Sure, even in my first post here at Malcontent, I told everyone I had a thing for you. You were so brilliantly lickable in A Knight's Tale.

I've come to have an inkling there may be a vague chance that nothing will ever come of it. I suppose I must grudgingly accept that. You may rest easy in your ever so secure masculinity now.

Down boy.

I'm Staying Home Tomorrow

I don't really care who's to blame in this whole mess: the MTA, the TWU, the NFL ...

OK, I lied: I blame the union.  I usually do; unions haven't been much use since Upton Sinclair was making us all puke.

Did I hear this right?  New York City bus drivers make an average $63,000 a year, and a 3 percent pay raise isn't enough for them?!  I have three words: puh-fucking-leeze.

When you're in howling pain, such debates don't really register.  And while I appreciated the good vibes for my commute home tonight, it was to be all for naught.

I was biking back uptown on First Avenue.  I have bad night vision to start with (thank you, LASIK), which was compounded by all the factors enumerated this morning.

The street was more appropriately described as a parking lot.  Cars weren't moving; the streets that hadn't been closed in reaction to the transit strike were attempting to disgorge their vehicles into the gridlocked chaos.  Pedestrians and bicycles were everywhere.  I decided that riding on the sidewalk was the least of all available evils.

I had gone only a few blocks when I encountered a particularly stubborn clot.  I weaved deliberatively through the traffic, crossed the intersection and was about to ride up a curb cut onto the sidewalk when a group of pedestrians changed direction suddenly.  I swerved right to miss them as the front tire planted firmly on the curb, propelling the back wheel skyward and me over the handlebars.  (Again, note my wardrobe.)  My messenger bag, chock full of heavy objects including an industrial-strength bike chain and lock, swung pendulously over my back and hit me in the head.  I put out my left hand to break my fall.

As I spilled out onto the sidewalk, a group of pedestrians rushed over to see if I was OK.  Of course, I just wanted to get away quickly.  I scooped myself up, shakily re-mounted the saddle and assured them that I was fine, pedaling off quickly.  (I would later find that the biggest bruise, behind my ego, was to the heel of my left hand, along with a few scrapes on my legs.)

One particularly sympathetic gentleman called after me: "No bikes on the sidewalk!"

The cheek.  No response was necessary beyond right my arm thrust high into the cold air, my middle finger pointing skyward.

That's for you, punk.  But most of all, it's for the TWU.

The 90s Loved Don't Ask, Don't Tell

Well then, now that I have Malco-vision. Skimming around, I came across VH1's ongoing series, I Love the 90s Part Deux: 1993.

Here we're treated to the birth of the military's Don't Ask, Don't Tell policy, replete with silly uniforms, hat-tilting, and what men do with one another when they're alone and scared on the battlefield.

[Watch video – 2:04, WMV format, high bandwidth]

[Watch video – 2:04, WMV format, low bandwidth]

Political Extremist Rorschach Test

Question: Is the following comment on Mike Rogers' hate-blog from a left-wing moonbat or a right-wing wingnut?:

I hate to break the bad news, but the only "aids" that are a threat to our liberty are the aids on capital hill, and those do need to be erradicated, or irradiated, or something.

If there are people that want to take death-programming instructions from death clinic clinicians, that's their problem. Their rules. They can burn in hell. Screw the Federal Reserve, screw Citibank, with their connections to arab banks and the carlyle group and all that crap, and screw you. The revolution is on, and there are a million things to do, you know that there are.

I don't have the answer, I'm just asking.

Oh, and yeah, Mike apparently outed another guy just for being a Republican.  (Indeed, his rationale grows more tenuous by the moment.)  But that's old news where he is concerned.

An Air of Certainty

My transition from DC to New York City since May has been difficult in many respects.  It's not easy to carve out a niche in one place for 10 years and then try to remake yourself somewhere else entirely, especially in the fishbowl shark tank of Manhattan.

But if I had to pick the one thing I miss the least about DC?  Easy: the smoke in bars and clubs.

Yes, it's true.  I am probably one of the most zealous of the anti-smoking zealots you will meet – at least, one of the most anti-smoking zealots with a political background like mine.

People Are Broken

Have you ever read a sentence in an article and found yourself stopping directly on the period and simply staring and staring, your jaw slack from sheer incomprehension? Queer Conservative passed along one of the most horrifying articles I've ever read. What is wrong with these people:

Around the holidays, the biggest challenge for many theater companies is convincing audiences to care about yet another staging of "A Christmas Carol." This season in Atlanta, however, Actor's Express wants to stir up buzz about a less familiar property -- namely, a pedophile musical.

Mal once asked if pedophilia is ever funny. Maybe, maybe not, but it sure as hell doesn't deserve a kick-line. While I laughed uncomfortably at the Family Guy segment - more out of disbelief than genuine amusement - there's something awful and truly horrible about this theater company's sentiments:

A delicate, often heart-wrenching piece of theater, the show, which preems Jan. 22 at the Express, never descends to shock-value tactics as it explores volatile terrain, and its lilting country songs give the characters emotionally vulnerable texture. Should it manage to attract a crowd, "Love Jerry" could very well leave them cheering.

Unless the musical ends with the uncle's testicles being flattened by a sledgehammer, there is hardly any kind of scenario I can envision that would leave me cheering at the end of a show like this.

It gets worse. Not only is the theater company whacked out of their gourds, but the writer of this Variety article is really effing shady.

No Trains To Montana Here

Despite a general feeling to the contrary, gay rights actually advanced a high degree in 2005.

More state anti-discrimination bills passed in 2005 than in any other year, the report shows.

It also highlights eleven bills passed in state legislatures that established or strengthened statewide anti-discrimination protections for the GLBT community.

In 2004, 13 states amended their constitutions to ban the protections and responsibilities of marriage for same-sex couples, but this year, 15 states defeated attempts to write discrimination into their state constitutions.  Another two states are likely to defeat marriage amendments before the year ends, Solmonese said.

Solmonese is in contention for most disingenuous statement of the year, though:

"When the fog of divisive politics recedes, the real stories emerge of hard-working GLBT Americans seeking equality - and fairness wins."

Please do tell us, Joe, just who is responsible for quite a bit of that divisiveness? The article notes many Republican governors signed legislation banning discrimination based on sexual orientation, yet gay rights groups - including Joe's - have been responsible for some of the most ridiculous, extreme, and partisan rhetoric on gay issues. Let's not even discuss their marriage to the abortion movement and Supreme Court nuttiness.

Still, the man deserves credit. For once, the HRC is acting fairly and highlighting the fact gay rights are actually advancing rapidly in America.

They'll go back to scaring the ever-loving shit out of us tomorrow.

Shipping Ken to Guantanamo

The Bush Administration was rocked by scandal today after the leak of several memos detailing wide-spread abuse and "coercive techniques" practiced by large segments of the American girl population in direct violation of the Geneva Convention:

Barbie, beware. The iconic plastic doll is often mutilated at the hands of young girls, according to research published Monday by British academics.

"The girls we spoke to see Barbie torture as a legitimate play activity, and see the torture as a 'cool' activity," said Agnes Nairn, one of the University of Bath researchers. "The types of mutilation are varied and creative, and range from removing the hair to decapitation, burning, breaking and even microwaving."

Condi Rice, holding a press conference in the Mattel factory, defended the administration. "We do not and have never condoned nor endorsed placing pink roadsters in Kenmore appliances at 700 watts."

Torture.com, after throwing himself to the floor in a fit of deep Katharine Hepburn sobs, lament