Shopping For Sensible Flats

Belated birthday greetings are the best since they can extend your birthday festivities exponentially. In this department, I can rely on my mother's sister to supply every year. My birthday was on the 3rd and I, just yesterday, received a card from her. Awesome.

I'm not being facetious about this either. Okay, maybe the first year it happened it kind of bothered me, but now I've grown to love this quirk, much as I've grown to love my aunt's myriad quirks. Whatsmore, the card this year was so totally awesome that I just had to share. It... ahem... reads in part, we are so happy that you are where you want to be and are loving the life you have... etshitera, etshitera...

Although my aunt's barely veiled reference to homosexuality is pretty cringe-worthy, it's also definitively in-line with her reaction to the gays in general. When I officially came out to her this past Christmas (in the women's department of a DSW shoe warehouse, while shopping for sensible flats with my grandmother), my aunt was happy that I'd finally told her, but she also topped our little confection of a moment by saying, quote, Just remember John, I may not condone, but I will never condemn. Ummm, thanks... I guess.

I could feign anger and say that I am completely appalled by my aunt's reaction to my "disclosure", but I'd be lying. While I'm not over the moon that she isn't more accepting of the gays, I do still love her bunches and want to stay in her good graces since she's like a second mother to me.

And let's not even get started on how every single GD year she invites a friend to Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner who is obviously a gigantic lesbian. I mean, this chica straight up collects Highlander swords and limited edition manacles from the Bradford Exchange.

No one ever says anything about this friend being a dyke (except Bonnie and I when we're cackling in the corner), but if I know one thing, it's a gay twinkle in the eye when I see one over a tureen full of cranberry sauce.

They Call It Juxtaposition

Ooof. This one hurts me almost as much as it does Alison Goldfrapp, but Crystal Castles is so inching up the charts to compete in the deathmatch that will be best album of 2008. I say this today since it's the official release of CC's album even though its been available on the internet for, like, ever.

Air War is, without a doubt my favorite track on this album. Or maybe Courtship Dating... ooh, or maybe Vanished!

Fuck it, I love them all cause it's a disc chock-full of standouts. Whereas Goldfrapp went full-throttle melo on Seventh Tree, CC varies the pleasantly melodic, but haunting electronic tracks with some gut-busting, balls-to-the-wall clubbanging. While the latter are fun (in moderation) I'm thankful that there are really only two of them here. The majority of tracks fall somewhere in-between AND actually have a verse, chorus, and bridge - my how you've grown electronica.

And in case you didn't know, Crystal Castles is Canadian, so yeah, our friends to the north are finally doing their part (LYLAS Lindsay).

Oh, and here's a promo video for the new album featuring the song Magic Spells. It's a little disturbing (at least I thought it was disturbing so be forewarned), but the song's really beautiful. Apparently they call that juxtaposition:

Today's Word Is: Peccadilloes

I have no desire to turn this into a political blog - And how. Could. I? - but I do think it's worth noting Kate Zernicke's article in the New York Times yesterday. Basically it asks the question, is postfeminism a reality and if so, how is it possible to maintain this sort of identity in a political climate where women continually get trampled by the media/public opinion/whathaveyou.

This struck me as particularly poignant since it's a topic I used to go over repeatedly in a course (Feminism and Social Change) I took with the exceedingly brilliant Elena Gutiérrez. Elena is one of the single most influential professors I've ever had the privilege of knowing (and drinking at Crew with). The great thing about her is that for all her experience - in life and in academia - she's still not sure if the third wave's come or not.

I tend to be of the opinion that it hasn't since, like this NY Times article explains, we still have a media that is profoundly blind to gender bias; many women, when asked why they're not voting for Hillary cite as their primary reason that they're not obligated to vote for a woman; and media outlets across the globe are still trying to vilify prostitutes while simultaneously claiming how soliciting is a victimless crime. Puh-leeze.

But maybe Noreen Malone puts it best:

"Like lots of other twentysomething women, I've been an unswerving Obama girl from the get-go," wrote Noreen Malone on The XX Factor, the Slate magazine blog written by women. "Oddly enough it's taken Spitzergate — not Hillary's tears, not her scolding — to make me less dismissive of the feminist 'obligation' to vote for a woman."

It reminded her of a depressing bit of wisdom passed on by a friend's father: "The most powerful people in the world are old white men and pretty young women."

"During my supposedly post-feminist lifetime, the women who've created the biggest stir are the young women who've ruined the careers of powerful old men," she wrote. "I'm not saying I'm for Hillary now, and I'm not saying that Hillary's history with sexual peccadilloes is uncomplicated, but it certainly makes me appreciate the fact that she's learned other ways of manipulating power."

It's always kind of amazed me how quick people are to ignore their own repression, and BTDubs, I'm no innocent on this matter either. I could be a lot more impassioned and outspoken about my convictions, but I'd like to think that I'm at least cognizant of the ways in which the man is bringin' us down. Acting like gender/sexual/racial/economic bias is not an issue anymore is beyond foolhardy, 'cause - newsflash! - we're not post anything in this country... except maybe Post cereals.

Of which Raisin Bran is the shit.

Tickity-Tack-Tragic

Friday night Leah and I went to dinner at Cesar's where the food was, as usual, unremarkable, but the margaritas upheld their title as nectar of the f-ing gods. I sort of wanted to make this weekend an anti St. Pat's/Latin rebellion fiesta since St. Patrick's Day is such a joke what with the Irish being completely assimilated in this country as of about six decades ago. However, I just made due with Friday's Latino fun since not incurring the wrath of every drunken frat guy on Saturday was, how do you say, high on my list of priorities.

Whatever that I'm biased towards Cinco de Mayo. At least Mexicans have a recognizable cultural identity and don't walk around with buttons that say "Kiss Me; I'm Mexican!" Although, there are those pesky "Hecho en Mexico" shirts... tickity-tack-tragic.

Afterwards, we met up with my new neighbors to play a few rousing rounds of some truth-or-dare style game where you shove your finger in this device with four other players and whoever gets shocked has to answer. I don't know what it's called, but Tewtally Fun should be its name. Little known fact: I LOVE truth or dare games, but I never do dares since I'm more about exposing secrets and lies amongst my friends. I Never is also ludicrously fun.

As an aside, Spring is nigh Leah... time to throw another BBQ/orgy of truth-telling.

At any rate, I imbibed way too much on Friday which left me feeling not quite up to drinking all day at the party Katie and I were supposed to go to on Saturday. I asked Katie if I could show up around sevenish to which she replied, srsly? I threatened her with bodily harm if she didn't pick up her phone when I called and like a tried and true roomie, Katie kept her word, but also informed me that I probably wouldn't want to come since everyone was blitzed beyond all reckoning, the person I wanted to see at said party had not shown up, and basically it had turned into a lesbian bacchanal somewhere around five. But doesn't everything?

I could regale you with details of the rest of the weekend, but stories about doing errands on a Sunday are so amazing that I might explode your computer. In that case I'll just leave you with this ditty:

Sweeney Todd The Way It Should Be

I had an excellent trip home last December. It was the first time I was there for over a week and didn't want to murder everyone by the time I left. If there was a low point to the trip however, it was probably when I went to see Tim Burton's Sweeney Todd at the Cinerama Dome. The dome, as usual, was great; the film, was wretched.

I cannot remember the last time I fell asleep during a movie - not even Old School and a bag full of Wild Turkey nips could do me in - but Sweeney made me all sleepers. Somehow I imagine that wouldn't be the case with John Doyle's production of Todd at the Ahmanson.

From Laist:

Written by Stephen Sondheim, the original "Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street" is a classic. The most recent Tim Burton screen adaptation of Edward Scissorhands the musical was "meh." And last night's Los Angeles premiere under John Doyle's direction was, simply put, purely amazing.
It begins as the lights go down in the house and up on stage. It's an uncomfortable raw silence that the audience succumbs to. There's no sound, no music, just the actors, looking out into nothingness from a set that was minimalist and visually orgasmic for the macabre-inclined. The performance begins, every actor with their instrument in hand, they speak, they sing and they accompany themselves, as the orchestra pit is empty -- it's up to the ten characters to survive the next two-hours on their own.

Laist also has three links to audio podcasts with the actors who play Joanna, The Beadle, and Musical Director Andy Einhorn. If you're in Los Angeles any time between now and April 3rd, this is pretty much a must do.

Here I come...

Okay, so this song is a little old (end of '07), but I thought about it today since it was so GD beautiful out. I know writing about the weather is pointless, but for those of you not in Chicago, we've had a giant shitstorm of snow the last few months, and this song makes me happy to be alive:

Dragonette - I Get Around (Midnight Juggernaughts Remix)*

I first heard this song when I listening to the Kitsuné Maison podcast a couple months back. Whoever was hosting was a complete douche, but he said how this is the perfect good weather car driving song - top down, wind in your face. I couldn't agree more. Plus it makes me all dance-y like.

Now, if only I had a car... I guess the CTA's tin cans will have to suffice.


*This one gets a special shout out for Leah.

Sunny, Bright, and Full of Jicama

Queen Elizabeth had issues with dating too, so she used big maps instead of the internet.

I am on a catering ROLL at work this week. My boss wanted pastries delivered for the staff meeting yesterday, and since there are approximately 35 Au Bon Pains within quarter mile of my building, I had them deliver various artery-clogging delectables so that we might eat them while watching Powerpoint presentations. I'm always slightly paranoid when ordering food for a lot of people since I never know if I'll order too much or not enough, and even though it's not on my tab, I hate to think that I'm over-paying for what is essentially flour, sugar and yeast that's been heated up.

Well, no worries, since the food went over like gang-busters! BOO to Corner Bakery I say... Au Bon Pain is the way to go, even if thier bagels leave something to be desired and you could probably wash your dishes with them.

Today I ordered California Pizza Kitchen for a committee meeting and that was a pure stroke of genius (even if this one wasn't entirely my idea). I haven't had CPK since I actually lived in California and even though California cuisine has become somewhat of a joke, you have to admit that the barbecue chicken salad at CPK is essentially culinary crack. It was the perfect meal for this, the first day in god knows how long that it's broken fifty in Chicago - sunny, bright, and full of jicama.

What with the weather changing and Spring in the air, my whole out look is taking a much needed turn for the better. Though, there are downsides to Spring which were firmly planted in my head by a friend of mine some 12 or 13 years ago. Back then I was hanging out with people WAY too old for me (Me: Junior High, Them: College) and one of my female friends at the time complained to me that she really loved Springtime, but she also hated it because she went a little boy-crazy. I understood what she was saying in an abstract way, and by abstract I mean not at all, but now I really get it. Maybe it's something about the potential for seeing more exposed flesh, or who knows what, but Spring has got me needing to get some serious action. Perhaps this is why I've just recently ventured into the world of online dating... and I use the term dating VERY loosely.

Don't fret, family, if you read this... I'm not about to become a giant internet whore. I plan on using the same strict standards in selecting online mates that I've always used with every Tom, Dick, and Harry at bars from here to Nashville (don't say it, Todd).

The most respectable of the sites I've ventured onto, however, has been more than a little bit of a letdown. Salon Personals sounded like a great idea; By virtue of being associated with the endlessly caustic and urbane Salon.com, you'd expect that their personals division would uphold the same standards of wit. Well, not so much.

I originally came to learn about Salon Personals back in 2004 when my friend Erin met her then girlfriend through the site. I loved her girlfriend and was totally crushed to find out that they broke up after a year or so of being together. I get that things happen for a reason and I'm not berating anyone for failed romances, but it was sad for me, you know?

So I thought, much like the Bridget Fonda/Nicholas Cage rom-com, John, it could happen to you. When I moved to Chicago in mid-2005 and didn't know anyone, I fired up my requisite stalker account and started scanning profiles. There were some attractive ones on there, and some people who had obviously put some effort into writing a coherent personal dating manifesto, but mostly I was dissappointed by the dearth of menz. I mean, I guess there were relatively a lot of people on there, but the majority of them hadn't been active in months.

I then forgot about Salon personals, and chalked my seeming unluckiness up to not being a lesbian.

Flash forward two and a half years later, and much is not changed over at Salon. It is still an arid wasteland of gay men who, by virtue of the fact that they regularly read Salon, are too shy or introverted or picky or whatever to effectively hook-up with anyone else on the site. The sheer amount of promising, but woefully abandoned profiles is distressing. The ones that I was attracted to back in 2005 are still the ones that look appealing in 2008, except that these dudes haven't been on in like over a year.

So in honor of 2008 being the year of get it together, I'm following suit of just about every person I know in taking fate into my own hands (loins?) by going online in search of love or something vaguely resembling that. My multi-website assualt will rival any record release you've ever seen, or as Cate Blanchett said: I, too, can command the wind, sir! I have a hurricane in me that will strip Spain bare when you dare to try me! Maybe that's a little intense, but you get the idea.

If it doesn't work out, I'll know the real reason: Lesbians are like leprechauns in that both are lucky and find pots of gold at the end of rainbows. Incidentally, I am neither a lesbian nor a leprechaun.