Archive for the 'My Favorite Things' Category



28
Jun
10

Foxy Boxx Really Rocks

Pandora Boxx, Miss May

Pandora Boxx, Miss May

It’s always May in my house, because my RuPaul’s Drag Race wall calendar is forever turned to Pandora Boxx‘s page. She is my drag obsession. I might even have a crush on her.

A recent visit to Chicago last month coincided with an appearance by La Boxx at a local gay bar. The night of the performance, my husband and I were sitting around with some friends, contemplating going out. I looked at the clock. 9 p.m. I looked at my husband. I looked at my friends. I looked at the six packs and the chilled bottle of white wine waiting for us. I heard the gentle hum of the air conditioner. And I decided: I am too tired to deal with a dance bar full of screaming gay boys, flashing lights, and ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk — even to see my favorite fake lady. Heaven forgive me, but I am staying in tonight.

Sometimes getting old is no bloody fun.

I never felt good about the decision, and since then I’ve been looking for a chance to make up for it. It came last week. Pandora Boxx was in New York for a Gay Pride kick-off party at the Gramercy Theater, and I was able to get on the VIP list because my company had something to do with the event. This was it. I was going to meet the Pandora Boxx! Get a picture with her! Shake her hand and tell her I love her and that she was robbed on season 2 of RuPaul’s Drag Race — robbed, I tell you!
Continue reading ‘Foxy Boxx Really Rocks’

11
Jun
09

Eat Your Heart Out, Trekkies!

17
Dec
08

Now This is Change We Can Believe In

I wasn’t a big fan of the dress Michelle wore to her husband’s acceptance speech. But — big deal … I’m just thrilled the Obamas are going to be taking up residence at 1600 Pennsylvania.

Here’s hoping for something a little prettier at the inauguration! She should take a leaf out of RuPaul’s book! This is just gorgeous.

RuPaul as Barack and Michelle Obama

18
Nov
08

Stopping Traffic

There’s no one more popular in New York than the woman who can’t be bothered to have her Metrocard ready when entering the subway station, but who stands in front of the turnstile desperately plumbing the depths of her oversize purse, her arm plunged up to the elbow.

Her wallet, when she finds it, will be overstuffed and as easy to extract items from as the mouth of the reptile whose skin was used in its manufacture.

When she swipes her card through the reader, the LED will display INSUFFICIENT FUNDS, and she will sigh, roll her eyes, and push her purse strap up her shoulder. She won’t notice the hordes of commuters she has forced to stream around until she steps for a second into another frantic turnstile lane, bumping someone’s arm and startling herself into the realization that other people exist.

Then she’ll turn on her heels and impatiently push her way past to the Metrocard vending machine, where she will spend a good 45 seconds to a minute searching for her credit card.

22
Apr
08

Breakfast Yet?

How is it acceptable to crack open a chicken egg, shake out the snot inside, whip it up and fry it? What historical accident led to this? I could understand if someone decided that an egg on its own was something to be squished and swallowed raw. It’s practically a liquid. Lord knows I’ve swallowed worse. But to whip it up, cook it, flip it? Seriously?

Don’t get me wrong: A cooked egg is a step in the right direction. But I just don’t see what possessed someone to try so hard.

And why chicken eggs? I find the thought of caviar revolting, let alone the odor. Let alone the texture. And what makes a chicken egg any better? You go to the store to buy eggs. Chicken eggs. You order a three-egg omelette. Three chicken eggs. Why not turkey eggs? Pheasant eggs? Turtle eggs?

Ugh. Egg. Even the word sort of oozes. Buy they are sort of marvelous, aren’t they? Butter. Tarragon. Cream cheese. Chives. Salt and pepper. On toast.

With bacon.

Mmmmm…

29
Jan
08

I Want my OED (or “Etymology for Nothing and Web Access for Free”)

Video never did kill the radio star, but there may be a very serious casualty in the smackdown between the World Wide Web and what we old timers call the “durable media.”

Of all the great crushes in my life — Chris in 5th grade, the subject of my first boy-on-boy dream (complete with, no joke, a roaring fireplace); Justin in 7th grade, who I would surreptitiously photograph at Camp Tamarack; Paul in high school, my little brother’s YMCA swimming instructor, who I never missed sight of changing in the locker room — the one that stands out above all others is the one I met in college. An English professor introduced us. I was at once captivated by his plain language and vast knowledge; his masculine, somewhat earthy scent; his perfectly straight spine; his thin, delicate pages; his minuscule, seemingly boundless print.

What hope did I have? How could I possibly resist this true, this pure, this urgent love? I was hopelessly lost from the moment I parted those covers to examine “gun” and “hangnail” and “nickname” and other marvels.

Yet there will come a time when those hardcover multi-volume memories are all I have left. I fear that I will never see the great love of my life — the Oxford English Dictionary — in its third edition in printed form.

Oh, for how long have I dreamed of wrapping myself bodily around its two dozen volumes! Of running my fingers along its stiff, bony edges. Of digging the sharp corners of its perfect, tight binding into my softly pliant flesh! Of inhaling the musky perfumery of inks on thousands upon thousands of translucent leaves!

A recent visit to the OED Web site rudely wrestled me from such dizzying passions. Intending to confirm the third edition’s publishing date, I was shocked instead to learn that plans had changed dramatically since my last visit. The FAQ stated unmistakably that the revisions currently underway for the third edition will not be completed until 2037.

Two thousand.

Thirty-seven!

I will turn 61 years old that year.

The OED contains the history of the meaning of every blessed word in the English language, which includes by default a fair number of words from other languages, traced all the way back to their first recorded usage. It is the bible of my sacred tongue. An essential (and significantly large) part of the history of human thought itself. Few have anticipated the Second Coming with as much fervor as I have waited for this edition.

The second edition contains more than 300,000 words. Apparently more than 4,000 words are added every year. The OED will effectively double in size by the time the third edition is complete. There is no dictionary more well-endowed.

But the second edition is riddled with supplements and additions, a Frankenstein’s monster of cobbled volumes.

Bugger!

The complete CD-ROM edition is not available for Macintosh.

Bollocks!

And a subscription to the online service, perhaps the most bearable option, is unaffordable. Libraries in the UK and Ireland offer remote access for free, but the New York Public Library does not. (So much for one of the greatest knowledge institutions of the world.)

Rat bastards!

Unthinkably, there may not even be be a printing of the third edition! Can you imagine a 40-volume dictionary? In type too small for my old ass to read? What is the point of literacy? What is the point of living?

24
Jan
08

The Little Things That Count

Opening up a box of Triscuits to discover that not a single one of them has been broken never fails to fill me with triumphant satisfaction.

14
Dec
07

I Heart Ms. Pac-Man

04
Jul
07

The Verdict

Anthony and I decided that we didn’t care if the plot sucked or if the dialogue was dumb, we just wanted to see them transform. It’s a good thing we set our expectations thus. The film is a series of clichés strung together by a shoddy story. Still, Transformers is like the fulfillment of a life’s dream. And all it cost me was $11. Thank you, Michael Bay.

It is kind of like a long car commercial for GM, but product placement is no big deal to me (Apple, eBay, etc.). The fake computer science and government-military goings-on are getting harder to get away with as more realistic representations are shown on TV shows and cable news; Transformers is no exception. The dialogue was overwrought and sappy at times and could have been toned down a smidge, but when it’s sexy Shia LaBoeuf or dreamy Josh Duhamel saying the lines, who could hold it against them? (I guess it depends on what exactly you want to hold against them.)

The filmmakers screwed with the back story and the characters a lot more than they needed to. Bumblebee is a Camaro, not a Volkswagen. Fine. (They work a Beetle into the film anyway. I am satisfied by the nod to our nostalgia.) The cop car is a Deceptacon. OK, whatever. But they invent characters (Frenzy) and completely remake others (Devestator). And of course, Megatron can’t really be a gun that fits into Starscream’s hand — but what is he? Some sort of flying cannon?

And what’s with this All Spark contrivance? A device that has the power to create worlds — and to turn a Mountain Dew vending machine into a deadly fighting robot — is, in the end, kinda dumb. I’d have been satisfied with the original story from the cartoon: The Autobots crash land on earth, chased by the Deceptacons from their war-ravaged home planet Cybertron and wake up millions of years later. They rebuild themselves to mimic modern machinery: the Deceptacons, to ravage Earth’s resources to produce Energon cubes; the Autobots, to stop them and protect all human life. Elements of this made it into the film, but the result made even less sense than the original idea.

This is not to say, however, that I have any real problems with the movie. Without the transforming robots, there would be no movie, but the actors hold their own in the non-CGI scenes. There is a fair amount of actually funny comedy and some decent character development. Never before had I been tricked into thinking an 18-wheeler could be a sentient being.

They even made some improvements, in my opinion. I like the idea that Bumblebee has armor for his head and that Optimus Prime’s mouth is not a jiggling face plate but a a set of mechanical lips (though, Lord knows why) that only get covered in battle.

Incidentally, did anyone else think Starscream looked a little bit like the rancor monster from Return of the Jedi?

The reasons I went to see it were all there: The transforming effects were breathtaking. They kept the original sound effects of the transformations. They kept Optimus Prime’s voice! My heart swelled when he called out, “Autobots, roll out!”

Things I realized while watching this movie:

  1. Even robots blink their eyes.
  2. There is always someone in a movie who knows how to hotwire a car.
  3. Don’t worry: You can get through to the Pentagon from the desert in Qatar on a cellphone while under heavy fire from an alien robot in less than two minutes.
  4. You can always find “the only man in the world who can decipher this code” just up the street.
  5. Even though there are only a handful of evil robots invading Los Angeles, it is easy to forget that one of them is never accounted for when the scrap metal is disposed of.

Thank heaven, they set us up so nicely for a sequel.

08
Mar
07

Glass of Water for Mr Grainger!

Rest in peace, John Inman. Now you’re free.




the untallied hours

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