There are some things in life that make perfect sense, conjoining in harmony and making the world a better place overall.
* Peanut butter and jelly
* Bert & Ernie: Their homoerotic relationship pushed the very limit of my 6-year-old boundaries.
* Tomato and… um, Tomato (Okay, I guess that works better when singing it)
* Ted Kennedy and Gin
What I can’t understand is why the mayor-under-fire of one of the most ultra-liberal cities in the country decided to make February 23rd forever known as ‘Colt Day’ in San Francisco.
As in PORN STUDIO COLT VIDEO. As in, ‘we’ve made a real contribution to San Francisco by shoving things up our asses for almost half-a-century’ COLT VIDEO.
Yes, thanks to the 40th anniversary of Colt Studios, Mayor Gavin Newsom has deemed it necessary to celebrate by giving away one of San Francisco’s 365 available days to this adult thespian company.
Hey, it’s his prerogative folks. If Newsom wants to continue to court the gay society vote, he’s got to make some popular and unpopular choices, as the case may be. This is just one of many things that irks me about the gay community as a whole, giving creedence to something as socially meaningless as pornography… although useful for the first 10-15 minutes … while practically ignoring the millions of gay people who save lives, dedicate their time to help others and function in a predominantly straight society without any hassle. There were THOUSANDS of other issues Newsom could have given the day to, but he instead chose to glorify Colt.
Nice fucking job Mr. Mayor. It’s tough for me to convey the right amount of total sarcasm in that statement, but know it’s there in full force.
Like it’s not bad enough already that the rest of the free world thinks San Fransisco is just full of radical idealists who only live to protest fur and eat food that isn’t likely to see a hot stove. A place where when Whole Foods Supermarket is mentioned in conversation, a respectful hush falls over the crowd.
Newsom, shown above, introduces his controversial ‘Mormon Marriage Pact.’
Yeah. See, I’m from Chicago. We’re like New Yorkers, but instead of throwing your lifeless body into the Hudson, we usually just recycle it and it ends up as Italian beef at Carms. If you label ANYTHING ‘macrobiotic,’ not only are we not going to eat it, but we’re probably going to strap it to our tires to see if we get better traction in the snow with it.
In light of this situation, I think it’s only fair that we consider future ‘days’ in San Francisco for people and companies who have made a real difference through anal penetration.
* Fleet Enema Day: Keeping the adult industry squeaky clean since 1936
* Olestra Day: Nothing says fun like anal leakage…
* California Property Tax Day: ‘We’ve been getting bent-over for years!’
For those who say that my opinion is an oppression of sexual freedoms and see this as an issue that will only produce more goodwill for the gay community, I say nay.
NAY! There, I said it again.
Coming into our own as a strong-willed and seriously-taken community begins with leaving the sideshow out of the circus. I can’t count the number of times I’ve seen gay porn stars, drag queens or scantily clad go-go boys headlining at quasi-political or pride events in the past few years. Is this really what our community wants to present as an honest version of who we are? I’m not shocked that straight-society stereotypes us as sexual deviants.
PFLAG Moms: The singular gay pride parade moment I can get excited about.
Without fail, the television cameras gravitate towards the lecherous and you wonder why the rest of the world sees homosexuality as singularly seedy and sexual. There’s a whole lot more to this community, but until things change, I don’t see pride events as being places where you can bring your whole family and truly be proud of who you are. I have a feeling that I’d be spending more time dodging porn star autograph sessions sponsored by ID Lube and remnants of public sex. There’s something unfortunate about that thought. I truly don’t see the gay community finding a common ground with the rest of the world until they can control the culture of ‘being’ gay.
In taking this period of time off, I’ve re-evaluated my overall goal with this blog. What it started off as and what it morphed into are two very different things: I had originally wanted to pen the daily tribulations of an escort, his life and his world. Yeah… not the most original idea now, but at that point there were very few escorts who kept blogs and even less who actually wrote about their daily ‘working’ lives.
In the course of events (and critical comment, both by email and in-person), I came to adopt a sort of weekly format to things. It quickly lost its soul. It lost any edge it ever had. I traded my personal opinion on life for the overall entertainment value of Page Six. I had always said that 15mm was nothing more than cotton-candy fluff, but I began believing my own spin and ended up writing less of what I really wanted to and more of what I assumed would ‘sell.’
Welcome back to a bi-monthly blog (beginning this month) that splices apart my feelings on just about everything out there. It’s possible that this thing will get posted more than twice a month, but i’m not really certain on that. Sure, you can still come fo
r the travelogues and product recommendation, but ultimately look for more meat on the bone. I’m also still figuring out what I’m doing with the Eye Candy section, as it might just be easier for me to create a whole gallery for it and continually add on. Not really sure, but I will be keeping it around in some way, shape or form. Keep your eye out for that.
I’ve got a few trip reports that I’m saving for the next couple of future entries: One was a trip to Rio for this year’s Carnaval. Another was a long-term ship trip. The third was a personal vacation to Key West where I learned the ancient art of watching ‘Absolutely Fabulous’ re-runs, overspending at the monopolistic grocery store and finding creative ways to keep from sunburning. I’m just finishing up on getting all of the taken pics organized and the video from the parade sized-down for web posting. I’ll mention when I upload onto my continously-growing Google Gallery.
In keeping up with this season of American Idol, I’m having a tough time seeing how it’s become America’s most watched television program in its time slot. Sure, it’s great supporting my friend who’s doing well on the show, but what else in terms of redeeming value does this show offer? I’m stumped.
The show functions to feature karaoke-like arrangements of pop songs, all surrounded by the iron claw of overbearing cooperate sponsorship. Throw in three judges who look as if they’d rather be enduring Chinese water torture (or episodes of ‘The View’ when Star Jones was co-host) and you’ve got a show that produces about as much excitement as a visit to your local CVS to pick up a new toothbrush.
How in the world these kids don’t stand up for themselves against the likes of Paula ‘I couldn’t sing on key if my life depended on it’ Abdul, Randy Jackson (more on him in a minute) and Simon Cowell. Abdul has turned herself into the Mr. Blackwell of the show, commenting more on who’s wearing what rather than spending any time on if the contestants actually understood a shred of what they were singing. Jackson had a legitimate music production career at one point working with the likes of Mariah Carey, but has now sold his soul to Coca-Cola and seems to spit out his vocal critique in a stammering of ‘yo’s’ and ‘dog.’ I’m now thoroughly convinced it was Jackson who advised Mariah that filming Glitter was a smart career move.
Paula’s looking a little rough these days…
Simon Cowell, looking incredibly bored with the whole thing, seems to be the only one up there with experience in turning a total nobody into a true pop star. He’s done it in the UK for years, but simply hasn’t found the right formula to make that same lightning strike in the USA. Cowell’s most recent creation, the classical boy-band ‘Il Divo,’ found their way onto dentist’s office radio stations faster than Angelina Jolie can sniff out some poor, starving Rawandan child.
And still the juggernaut survives and thrives. If you’re around the television Tuesdays, catch my amiga Haley Scarnato and send a vote her way. For more info on Haley, here are some sites where you can check her out…
One of the blog that I check out on a daily basis is one that’s well-written by a working guy. It’s personal, observantly honest and if I didn’t know better, I’d say this chap has a possible writing career on his hands. He’s candidly funny. Check him out:
AT&T; is invading your home… Again. Texas has always been their testing ground for new products before an overall rollout and soon the rest of the country will have the option to switch from their current cable provider to AT&T;’s U-VERSE service.
Without getting into technogeek semantics, it’s
IPTV (internet protocol television) which allows, theoretically, a larger pipeline of information to flow into your house giving you better picture, sound and channel choice. AT&T; also says their interactive offerings will rival or beat that of Comcast and Time Warner Cable. All this and a cheaper monthly cost.
I’m a born skynic (a ‘cynic’ and ‘skeptic’ combined)… Where’s the catch?
I was hooked on the advertising they sent to my house. I even went as far as to sign-up for an install. They talked me into cable suicide and I went right along by mixing the grape Kool-Aid. Luckily, I was told about a U-VERSE customer created website that chronicles the good and bad about this new technology:
After reading through the message boards, it looks like this not-ready-for-prime-time tech is causing some real headaches for early adopters. I ended up calling AT&T; back and cancelling my install. They offered the service free for the first 6 months if I gave them a shot, but knowing that so many people in my area have had issues doesn’t make ‘free’ look any better. Whether the product is free or not isn’t the issue when the service it provides is crapta
In light of the recent pictures, shown above, that popped up over Anna Nicole Smith’s mini-fridge (and the veritable pharmacy it contained), I’m putting the false rumors to rest about my own horrible drug addictions and giving you a brief glimpse of my own medicine cabinet. Those with aversions to alpha-hydroxy, shea butter or crappy wood veneer are advised to avert your eyes now…
For you product junkies out there, let me come clean by saying I too suffer great joy in the same affliction. I can’t pass by a Sephora without doing a controlled happy-dance. The women at the Neiman Marcus counter know me personally and send me gifts on my birthday. I seriously think I’ve put one of their children completely through college, including a side trip to Italy to study pasta making.
The Wex is a miracle worker. Screw COLT. Give her ‘a day’ in San Fransisco.
From the top of this pic, working down, product lines include Ole Henricksen, Kiehls, Oil of Olay, Pat Wexler, Bliss, Skyn, ESPA, Aveeno, Origins, Dr. Perricone (which coincidentaly does closely resemble a bottle of Methadone), La Prairie and LUSH. This is just one medicine cabinet folks. I’ve got 3 bathrooms and they’re all filled with product. If Willy Wonka were a gay man and had a hard-on for skin care, this would be his chocolate factory.
In the future, I’d like to impart my vast knowledge of these products here on 15mm. While I don’t need some of the stuff I’ve got (like the more harsh alpha-hydroxies and ultra-rich moisturizing creams), it’s all acting as preventative. It’s never too soon to start caring for your skin, especially in a society that wrongly deems a tan something ‘healthy.’
You’re cooking your skin. How friggin’ healthy is that?
In that same bathroom, I’ve got a closet on the opposite end of the room with what I call my ‘reserve.’ My sickness knows no bounds. Here’s a pic:
Lots of Malin and Goetz shampoo and body wash (really great product), LUSH bottles, L’Occitane cleansers (too rich for me) and a couple bars of FRESH soap. More than a few times a year I end up wrapping the stuff I never use, which usually amounts to about 3 boxes packed with product and give it away to friends, family and Goodwill.
Hey, even the homeless need fabulous skin… Haven’t they suffered enough without having to endure thrift-store 1980’s 50/50 poly-cotton blends AND enlarged pores?
I’m trying to think up an interesting way to give away the next bundle to a reader. Let my strange little mind think awhile on that one. With a little exfoliating and some heavy-duty packing tape, anyone can look like a million bucks.
We could snap before & after shots of the winner, with the ideal ‘after’ shot being that of the winner getting arrested in Nordstroms after trying to steal a bottle of their favorite product from the won package. Fortunately, I’m sure there will be something in the prize package that will soothe handcuff skin irritation.
Hell, week-old sunlit mayonnaise would probably give the same benefit, but sadly Hellman’s doesn’t come in a nifty-looking bottle. Well, that and the fact that with mayo on your mug you couldn’t go outside without being attacked by pigeons (and people on Atkins).
Gorgeous little things…
Sadly, the key to looking chic while continually getting crapped-on by winged rats isn’t something that Miss Manners tends to cover. For those seeking further answers, I recommend getting in touch with Tippi Hedren. She always looked so clean and pressed in The Birds, while Suzanne Pleshette ended up looking like shit… Literally.
Hitchcock reportedly carried a grudge in there somewhere, mercilessly feeding the stunt birds mounds of bread before Pleshette’s big scenes. If you look closely during Hitchcock’s standard cameo, you can actually see him chuckling.