On Pondering, Posting and Getting One In Just Under the Wire

It’s Friday night. It’s after 10:00. I have yet to post anything.

Since I started this blog in 2005, I have posted every weekday with the exception of scheduled periods of silence. And even those periods of silence began after a Friday post and ended with a new Monday post. I’ve never missed a weekday.

And yet, I was very tempted to just let today pass by without a posting anything.

You see, I’m feeling rather inert these days. I was supposed to head to Portland this week for my first return trip since leaving there in 2006, but work obligations are keeping me in Chicago. I had planned to spend Memorial Day weekend with friends, enjoying the many festivities happening in the city, but social obligations put an end to that. There are a couple of major changes I want to make in my life, but circumstances have gotten in the way.

In other words, I’m feeling rather stuck. There is this sense that life is keeping me from doing the things I want to do and being the person I want to be.

This makes it hard to blog. It makes it hard for me to be fully engaged in my life. It makes it hard to share myself without sounding like a whiny brat who is just looking for attention.

And so I find myself sitting at my computer at 10:12 on a Friday night wondering if I should even post anything. Would anyone notice if I didn’t? If they did notice, would they care? Has this blog become as stunted as I feel I’ve become?

Those are questions I must ponder. I’ll ponder them while I ponder so many other things. I’ll ponder them while I work on bettering my attitude and finding joy in the things I can change. I’ll ponder them while I figure it all out.

And if I’m not back on Monday, it means I am pondering them while on a break.

On Green Day, Censorship and My Personal History with Wal-Mart

The last time I can remember stepping foot inside a Wal-Mart, I was in Boise. I’d gone there for work and, if my memory serves correctly, I’d forgotten to pack underwear. I drove around looking for a Target, but by the time I found one it was closed. I drove around a little longer before coming across the single most massive Wal-Mart I have ever seen. It rose out of the horizon like some sort of manmade mountain, blocking out the sight of anything beyond it. This place was palatial and it never closed. It was a ridiculous. Why anyone needs that much Wal-Mart at all times of the day and night is truly beyond me.

Before that fateful trip to the Wal-Mart to end all Wal-Marts, it had been years since I’d visited the retail giant. When I was a freshman in high school, I was attacked by two men in a Wal-Mart. The came at me from behind and, for no reason other than the fact that I am white and they are black, pushed me into a clothing rack. My face came into contact with metal and began to bleed. At that point they started to beat me. No one did anything to stop them. People around me simply continued to shop.

When they were finally pulled off me by my mother, Wal-Mart held me at their store for hours after the incident. My mother argued with them to let me go. I needed to see a doctor. They refused. They needed me there to give a statement to Wal-Mart officials. I sat at the front of the store with blood dripping down my face. Shoppers walked in and out, pointing and staring. I was in shock. I was scared. I was in pain. And I was not allowed to leave the store.

After that day, I avoided all Wal-Marts. It wasn’t that I was afraid to shop there. I was merely sickened by the way I had been treated. Any company that refuses to let a customer go to a hospital after being viciously attacked is not a company I want to support.

This morning I came across an article about Wal-Mart. Green Day has refused to pander to Wal-Mart by releasing a censored version of their latest release, 21st Century Breakdown. It is Wal-Mart’s policy not to stock any musical releases that carry a parental advisory sticker. Because of this, artists are forced to censor their material in order for it to be sold at Wal-Mart.

Green Day has refused to comply with Wal-Mart’s backward ways and thus the retail monster will not be selling 21st Century Breakdown. And I, for one, am proud to come from the same hometown as Green Day.

Parental advisory stickers are placed on merchandise so that consumers can make a decision about whether or not to purchase that album. It’s not the retailer’s job to make that decision for the shopper.

This is America, Wal-Mart. Aren’t we supposed to have the right to buy whatever the hell we want?

Then again, you are the company that refused to let a scared boy go to a hospital after being attacked in one of your stores. I’m certainly glad you keep your customers safe from hearing curse words on the albums you choose to sell. I just wish you did a better job of protecting your customers from actual violence. If your behavior wasn’t so ridiculously humorous, I’d cry.

As it is, I’ll just head over to Target after work and pick up 21st Century Breakdown so I can hear it the way the artist intended me to hear it.

On Shamelessness, Wendy’s and A Free Spicy Chicken Sandwich Cooked Hard

Do you ever encounter people who are just so shameless that you can only watch them with a mixture of embarrassment and awe? And no, I am not talking about myself.

I was out for a walk last night, avoiding being alone in my apartment with my own poisonous thoughts. I headed east on Wilson until I reached Leavitt and decided to go north. From there it was east on Foster to Damen, where I decided to head back south. I hit Lawrence and was hungry so I decided to stop in for a quick bite to eat at Wendy’s.

That’s where I encountered her.

She made her way from the back of the restaurant to the counter with a presence that I just knew meant trouble was brewing. In her hand were the remains of a hamburger. There was very little left of the hamburger, but I had a strong hunch upon seeing it that the hamburger would still manage to become a dig deal.

“I told you I wanted this well done,” she said has she slapped her hamburger on the counter.

I stifled a chuckle. I was standing at a Wendy’s. I was not seated in a fine dining establishment. Do they even actually cook the meat at Wendy’s, much less cook it to order?

The young man behind the counter started to say something about replacing the burger, but the woman stopped him cold. “Gimme a spicy chicken sandwich. I ain’t gonna eat this burger.”

I stifled another chuckle. She’d clearly already eaten over half of the burger. Maybe that half had been well done.

A manager, having heard the conversation, came over to deal with the woman. He explained that they could give her a spicy chicken sandwich, but that she would have to pay the difference. The woman did not take this suggestion kindly.

“I paid for the hamburger,” she said, her irritation growing. “I told you to cook it hard. Now I just wanna spicy chicken sandwich instead.”

The manager slowly explained one more time that the woman could get a spicy chicken sandwich, but she would have to pay for the difference in cost between the burger and the chicken. He gave her a price, and that set her off again. The price apparently did not compute on her internal calculator.

Once again the manager slowly explained why she had to pay for the chicken sandwich. This time he included a lesson in sales tax so that she could understand why the actual cost of the sandwich was higher than the price advertised on the board.

“I just wanna damn chicken sandwich cooked hard!” Now she was pissed. She turned back to her kids. “Bring me that potato!” she hollered. “I want to show them how it ain’t cooked right.”

And there we were. Nothing at Wendy’s was cooked to her satisfaction. She was going to scream and fight until she was finally rewarded for her ridiculous behavior with a free spicy chicken sandwich. And that, of course, is exactly what happened.

I suppose in some ways it pays to be rude and shameless.

On Weddings, Weekend and Keeping My Bitchy Side Hidden from the Bride

I’m trying really hard not to be bitchy. I really really do not want to be that guy. And yet, I can feel it coming. It’s there. It’s brewing. I may not want to be bitchy, but I’m pretty sure I’m going to go down that road anyway.

One of my dearest friends is getting married this Sunday. She’s getting married in Louisville. I’m ecstatic for her. I know this is something she really wants and I support her completely. I’m all for love and happiness and cake and dancing and vows. Bring it on, I say. Bring it on!

I’m just a little bitter that I actually have to be there.

My problem is simple. This weekend of wedded bliss is completely ruining my weekend of gay debauchery.

I’m heading to the wedding on Saturday, driving down with a friend. The wedding will take up all of Sunday. We are then driving back up to Chicago on Monday. Zip, boom, bang – my long weekend is dead.

Typically this would not matter to me so much. But this weekend is a big weekend in Chicago. It’s International Mr. Leather (IML) weekend, to be exact. This means that all of my friends will be partaking in festivities that I will have to miss so that I can sit in a church and watch straight people do something I am still not currently allowed to do myself.

I told you I was going to get bitchy.

Everyone I know keeps asking me about my plans for IML. When am I going to hit the market? Am I planning on attending the Onyx Dance? Will I be stopping by the puppy pen? Everyone wants to know because everyone is going and they want to go with me because I’m hysterically fun and unafraid and brazen.

And every time someone asks me about my plans, I have to sheepishly tell them that I will be doing none of those things because I’ll be in Louisville celebrating straight love. Then everyone is disappointed. And I am disappointed. And then I get bitchy again and have to fight it.

For the record, I love the couple getting married. I have nothing against straight love. I think marriage is great. I just wish this particular marriage wasn’t cutting into my weekend, a weekend I look forward to all year.

But, theoretically, you only get married once (ha!). And IML will be here next year. It’s not going to kill me to sacrifice a tiny piece of my own happiness to bask in the glory of a couple of newlyweds. I’ll get over it.

I just have to remember to keep my bitchy side safely hidden from the bride.

On Paris, Trailers and The End of the World

Below is the actual trailer for the actual documentary about Paris Hilton.

The movie is called Paris, Not France and will evidently debut at the Toronto International Film Festival in September.

On the Toronto International Film Festival website, the film is given this description:

Polls show that in certain demographics, a higher percentage of people identify the name “Paris” with the woman than with the city. So let’s refer to her on a first-name basis. Not a day goes by that Paris isn’t mentioned in a magazine, TV show or gossip column. Presidential candidate John McCain invoked her as an icon of shallow celebrity and she retorted with a witty spoof ad. But despite all of this attention, what does the public really know about her? Director Adria Petty gained close access to Paris during a tumultuous year, and her film reveals different sides of the heiress than we are used to seeing. Petty has a penchant for creating fantastic worlds out of special effects, like the magical funhouse she directed in the music video for Regina Spektor’s song “Us.” In the case of Paris, no special effects are required. Her world is a real-life fantasy.

We follow Paris jet-setting through international capitals – where everyone wants a piece of her. Her “Paris the Heiress” persona was concocted for the reality TV show The Simple Life, but at some point fiction and reality began to blur.

We see Paris starting to grow up and taking more control. Petty inspires her to talk about her life in a way that no other journalist has: the rebellious streak that propelled her into a modelling career, the shock of having her sex life exposed to the world, and the pressures of living under constant media distortions. Paris is by turns seductive and vulnerable, in charge and out of control. As she sits at a table with her brand managers, it is hard to tell whether they work for her or vice versa.

Petty gets revealing interviews with Paris’s parents Rick and Kathy Hilton, sister Nicky and other family members. Donald Trump, Camille Paglia, Michael Musto and others weigh in on her mystique. The film becomes a fascinating case study on the role of celebrity in our culture. Paris isn’t known for picking her film parts wisely, but her most interesting role turns out to be that of herself.

I kid you not.

“But despite all of this attention, what does the public really know about her?”

I think I speak for the public when I say we know all we’ve ever wanted to know and so much more than we ever even cared to ponder. Therefore, this film is so far from necessary, it even trumps Paris on the scale of uselessness.

The end of the world is near.