Extra, Extra: Read All About It

Again, in my quest towards being well-read, I post these articles, which I have found interesting for one reason or another. Read one, read all of 'em! Bless you, my children.

Face the Nation
Dead Parrot Society
A few days ago The Washington Post's Dana Milbank wrote an article explaining that for George W. Bush, "facts are malleable." Documenting "dubious, if not wrong" statements on a variety of subjects, from Iraq's military capability to the federal budget, the White House correspondent declared that Mr. Bush's "rhetoric has taken some flights of fancy."
Reading all these euphemisms, I was reminded of Monty Python's parrot: he's pushing up the daisies, his metabolic processes are history, he's joined the choir invisible. That is, he's dead. And the Bush administration lies a lot.

White House Keeps a Grip on Its News
a.k.a. Good Ole Boy Gestapo
"If the National Hurricane Center were as stingy with its information, there would be thousands dead," John Roberts, the senior CBS News White House correspondent, deadpanned in his West Wing broadcast booth the other day.
Mr. Roberts may have been joking, but the sentiment was real. "Ari [Fleischer, Midd alumnus & White House Secretary of Press] has the uncanny ability to suck information out of a room," he added.

Wars of Nerves
Written before the snipers were captured.
Finally, whether or not this shooter is a twisted copycat, he is part of a larger post-9/11 trend. That trend is the steady erosion of our sense of security, our sense that while the world may be crazy, we can always crawl into our American cocoon, our sense that "over here" we are safe, even if "over there" dragons live.
Well, "over here" is starting to feel like "over there" way too much. Over there, they just shot up U.S. marines guarding Kuwaiti oil fields, but over here, when I filled my car with gas the other day, I ducked behind a pillar so no drive-by sniper could see me; others hide in their back seats. Over there, Saddam terrorizes his people, but over here, my kids are now experts in the fine distinctions between Code Blue and Code Red. Code Blue means they're locked in their public school building because a potential shooter is in the area, and Code Red means they are locked in their classroom because there may be a gunman in the building.

In My Neck of the Woods
Extracurricular Task: Testing Condoms
Fun Fact: Britain has Western Europe's highest incidence of teenage pregnancy, with 95,000 recorded in 2000.
Fun Fact: Last year, Britain's biggest condom seller, Durex, carried out a global survey that found people were having sex on average 97 times a year, with Americans leading the way with a frequency of 124 times a year.

Human Interest
Your Call. Everybody’s Business.
Occasionally, the cellphone user tries to keep his voice to a whisper, or he glances over and says, "Sorry, I'm not talking to you." But that doesn't stop him from discussing his last visit to the urologist.
So why stave off the inevitable? We need to tear down the last vestiges of decorum. Let us lay our lives bare. Let us proudly tell the world (and the people riding with us in the elevator): "Yes, I have a cellphone. Yes, my wife wants me to bring home a quart of milk. And, yes, we secretly like to dress up like Santa and Mrs. Claus."
In this article are some suggestions for increasing openness.

Gay History is Still in the Closet
It is unlikely that these pioneers will be honored with a postage stamp. Gay and lesbian leaders have yet to find a place in the civil rights pantheon.
The silence about gay history persists because teaching this subject raises anxieties about promoting homosexuality. Countless school boards have decided that young people must be protected from positive information about the gay community lest they be converted to that "lifestyle."
"Gay-straight alliances" do exist in some 800 high schools. But support groups and lectures about preventing homophobic violence are just the first step toward presenting a full picture of gay and lesbian lives. No other group is subject to such a blackout of its past.

The Myth of ‘18 to 34’
By 1960, though, when Bill Bernbach, the man generally credited as the father of Madison Avenue's ''creative revolution,'' placed a photo of a Volkswagen just above the large-type word ''Lemon'' (an event that had roughly the effect on advertising that the 1913 Armory Show had on the history of American art), the pendulum had begun its long swing from paternalistic notions of brand loyalty to exuberant iconoclasm. The advertising industry ushered in its own version of the Age of Aquarius, in which youthfulness -- being young, thinking young, speaking young, buying young -- was all.
Thomas Frank, in his brilliant study of 60's advertising, ''The Conquest of Cool,'' offers the example of automobile ads; in the 40's and 50's they preached reliability and endurance (a typical ad might picture a happy nuclear family out for a Sunday drive), but in the 1960's they suddenly aspired to the symbolism of revolution: Oldsmobiles were rechristened ''Youngmobiles,'' consumers were exhorted to join the ''Dodge Rebellion'' and as staid a make as Buick promised consumers ''Now We're Talking Your Language.''

Over in the Elm City - Yale Daily News
The Superhighway to Lurrvvv
I can't deny that there's a certain mystique, a magical quality of attraction that would be lost if one relied on Bulldoggystyle.com (BDS). "DoggyStylers" would be shunned, seen as gimp lovers. I can see the taunts now -- "Hey man, you gonna bursar a blowjob, hahaha." But, let's get this straight: all you Bulldoggystyle.com naysayers need to stop sippin' on the Haterade. Getting ass at parties isn't about being good-looking -- it's about sensing surrounding blood alcohol content: BACdar, if you will.

This Column May Be Offensive
a.k.a. Stalking 101
Anyone can ask a girl on a date, but it takes a truly committed person to build a relationship on uncertainty, fear and cryptic threats of physical violence. C'mon guys, show her that you care, and be sure to wear a ski mask.
I can't tell you the number of people who have come up to me on the streets and said, "Bradley, this stalking thing is great! I'm in the best shape of my life! Why, I feel like I'm 13 again!" Granted, many of these people actually did believe they were 13 again, and that they shared direct telepathic links with Lucifer, but you just can't argue with results, people.
In closing, I would like to say simply that you ladies shouldn't feel left out. That's the great thing about maniacally following people. It's for everyone! Why do you think I joined the Yale Daily News? You get to meet tons of new people, "walk them home," and watch them sleep at night. My best advice is, just have fun with it, wear kneepads, and pursue whomever you want. That is, of course, unless you want to stalk me. In which case, all I have to say is, "Get in line, honey. Get in line."

WGST273a: Getting barefoot and pregnant
I love being a girl. I love pedicures, frozen yogurt and flat irons. At some point I may well have loved Tiger Beat. I love cooking, especially foods with cute names like "popover." I adore cashmere. I think boys are "dreamy." I prefer skirts to pants, pink to blue, Cary Grant to Rupert Everett, and silk to flannel. What's more, I just won't let that archaic chivalry thing die.
But people at Yale refuse to see the traditional girly-girl as a valid person.
Why?
It's not that I'm trying to live like the past 50 years never happened. I want guys to see me as an equal, but that doesn't mean I want to be less of a girl. And to tell you the truth, if I felt like being "liberated" from anything it'd be having to open my own car doors. Besides, my bras are all way too pretty to burn and leg hair nauseates me.

This song was Halloween!

Turn out the light
Just say goodnight to yourself
May I remind you
When you find you
Are all alone’s when you
You’ve got to be strong
That’s when they call you in the night
He’s got your picture in his mind
He’s got your number on a paper
At his disposal anytime

Is it really true
Did you save yourself
For someone who could love you for you
So many times we just give it away
To someone who
Someone who

You met in a bar
The back of a car
And for a moment
You felt important
But not in your heart
Cuz my self esteem
It’s been low
Go ahead and count,
It’s been lower than low
I know the feeling
Of it stealing life out from under me

Cuz I want to learn
How you save yourself
For someone who
Could love you for you
So many times we just give it away
To someone who couldn’t even remember your name
Did you save yourself
For someone who loves you for you
And loves me for me
Give it away
To someone who
Someone who
Can cherish your name

Cherish your name

Falling down drunk

Here, here. I applaud myself on the fact that I can't even stand up, but I can still preserve the integrity of my lips. I hope it's integrity, at least, and not just stubborness...

P.S. Happy Halloween!

They don't make 'em like they used to...

So my love for Gene Kelly grows deeper with every movie I see him in. Today's offering was It's Always Fair Weather. Despite the presence of Cyd Charisse (who's an amazing dancer but not my favorite musical heroine by a longshot), the film was brilliant. I highly recommend it. The splashy opening number included toe stands and single wings on trashcan lids--brilliant! Then ol' Gene took my breath away by tap dancing on rollerskates. He's just spectacular. I'm smitten. (He also very much reminds me of Dale Serrano, which makes me want to cry in reminiscence.)

It just made me think about how nothing can beat musicals of the '30s-'50s. Sure today we've got our Moulin Rouges and our Greases, but the dancing just ain't the same. Gene Kelly, Michael Kidd and... the other guy were unabashed about their talent as dancers. They tapped, they did acrobatics, they were men. Today, the closest we've got to that is Gregory Hines, but he is by no means striking up a film musical renaissance. And you've got Savion Glover who is undeniably the greatest tap dancer around right now, but his tap dancing and the shows he has done are angrier, definitely more political (and rightly so) and in general less carefree/happy than what we need right now.

Where have all the Gene Kellys and Fred Astaires gone? Bring the spirit of Gene & Fred back, please!

Charlie Hunnam, you, too, have smote my heart

In a non sequitur, I was watching episode 1 of Queer As Folk UK. Soooo good. I'm going to majorly binge on the Waterfront Video Homo section when I return to Vermont in February.

She had an apple three days ago, she should be fine!

Another different piece of news -- I got an internship for January!!! I will be working for Paper magazine in New York City. Right now Shannyn Sossamon is on the cover, and one of my major duties as an intern will be to assist at photo shoots... Stars are already in my eyes and heart. I will totally be like Dominique Swain's character in Intern! It's going to be brilliant! And I don't have to face the cold tundra of Middlebury in January minus my closest confidantes.

Do it for Laura, it's a good cause

And finally, I issue a request to you, readers. My flatmate Laura from Colorado has given me the precious task of coming up with a list of movies and television shows that she must say. We're basically starting from Square One because Laura hasn't even seen 10 Things I Hate About You or Bring It On. So, kids think-think-think! And send me suggestions so that Laura can enjoy herself some pop culture.

Let's get interactive... and read about boners!

Okay kids... I've got this little ditty that I wrote in August. I read over it, and it's not as hideous and disjointed as I thought it was, though out-dated by a few months, but I had to get in Kelly!

I want suggestions, reactions, comments, corrections... whatever you're willing to give. Also, I'm trying to figure out where I could publish something like this. I think the Campus is a little too conservative for its subject matter -- they just got a sex column for Christ's sake, and the last topic I read was "boy fried, boyfriend; girl friend, girlfriend" --> vo-mit, vomit. And I don't think UEA's resident smutrag Concrete would lurve it because it's mostly about America.

So give me a shout out. Here goes... And there's no title, but I think you'll get the idea pretty quickly.

******************************************************************

A fine movie of the teenage persuasion recently issued a theory that women are secretly the leaders of the world. The main character – a teenage boy, I might add – said, “It’s no secret that women run the world. Trouble is, they have to carry out their job like the French Underground. They’re just not put in the right positions to be seen…”

It would appear that Hollywood and America agree.

Today mainstream perceptions of masculinity are represented by nothing more than mockery and contempt. On the other hand, women are host to more and more options and opportunities. Men are examples of carelessness, women control, and it’s apparent entirely in the way we view our bodies.

The latest fad in the teenage movie milieu has been to poke fun (pun intended) at the inability of any man to control his own penis. Boners are everywhere.

From 40 Days & 40 Nights to Sorority Boys to Wet, Hot American Summer, all the movies from blockbuster to indie are telling us that men are simpering fools who have neither control over their minds nor their bodies.

Granted, these are not the movies of the upper echelon of society, but then again the upper echelon of society is not the bread and butter of Hollywood.

Sad as it is, society has evolved to the point in which the minds of today’s youth are shaped largely by the television and film industries.

The process began in the ’30s, when youngsters listened to the radio and learned from the moxy of the war heroes of WWII; in the ’50s it was Beaver Cleaver and James Bond; even in the ’70s you had at worst Shaft and your average porn star á la Dirk Diggler; up until the ’80s and ’90s you had Charles in Charge or any Tom Cruise character who makes good in the end after bedding a few choice ladies.

Take ’em or leave ’em, these men were emblems of control and virility. Bond had his women whenever, wherever he wanted without so much as a rumpled shirt or disheveled hairdo (not to mention STD). Porn stars have to maintain their pleasure so that their viewers can get their money’s worth and then they have to aim for an appropriate region on their female counterpart’s body. And Charles, well he was in charge.

Women in these programs were subsidiaries. You had Donna Reed, the Bond seductresses who always got their come-uppance and several of the Baywatch babes who Scott Baio, a.k.a. Charles, took charge of.

So, speaking of evolution, since the election of 2000, most definitely the most media-ified election yet, men have been on the downslide. Let’s look at the candidates – a Republican monkey and a Democratic robot. Even though the robot’s wife is named Tipper, she and her counterpart in the Republican camp have probably gained a multitude more of respect than their so-called powerful husbands.

And that’s not at all to discount the political juggernaut that is Hilary Clinton. When stacked up against her husband – whose lack of self-control destroyed much of Arkansas, D.C., and one blue Gap dress – Hilary is set to be the ruler of the free world without breaking a sweat (or tousling her latest hairstyle).

Men these days are known for their boners. Deny it as they may, deny it as they might, men are the one’s we’ll be laughing at tonight… thanks to our residential television/VCR combo.

American Pie’s Jim had to hide his with a sock. Clinton probably doesn’t even know what the definition of an erection is. Comedy Central ripped on our current President with That’s My Bush. And these are the role models and heroes for a new generation of young men?

Simply put, no. They’re not. Men are moving over, and women are becoming the powerhouses of the new generation.

Take the recent victory of Kelly Clarkson in this summer’s American Idol.

Kelly’s personality and sheer power as a singer and performer has put her in the spotlight of America. She wins over stars and regular folks alike. Not to mention that 15 ½ million people voted in the final episode of American Idol, more than the total of those who voted in the 2000 election.

And who can blame them? Kelly and Justin were both much more intriguing and appealing than either candidate in the past election.

However, Kelly’s victory here is more than just a commercially derivative outcome to produce fresh meat for America’s celebrity meat market. Kelly is respected for her talent (control over her voice, specifically), and throughout the entire program never once wore an outfit highlighting her nether regions or her breasts (which are not surgically enhanced, thank you).

When we look at Kelly, Celine, Hillary and, for good measure, Buffy, we find the breeding ground (NO pun intended) for a new estrogen-fueled generation. And this is a good thing.

In the wake of September 11, a definitively masculine incident, there is a need for feminine energy. Women don’t need to pull out the phallic metal of an uzi, we’ve got an artistic and intellectual approach on our sides.

Think of men’s role models. George Bush, whose fondness for the word ‘evildoers’ gets us nowhere; athletes, who chiefly act through aggression and the mob ethic; maybe scientists, whose good deeds are far overshadowed by the creation of destruction – missiles, viruses for which there are no antidotes and other tools for massive chaos.

Now think of women’s role models. Diana, the would-have-been Queen of England, who crusaded against the landmines the men before her planted. Celine, Madonna, Tina Turner, etc., who wield far more public approval and power because they sing about love and emotion.

When you boil it down, men are losing their grip, and this evolution has manifested itself in entertainment, which claims more of the American psyche than politics and technology ever will. Where James Bond mutates into Austin Powers, Donna Reed becomes Kelly Clarkson, poised to claim her throne as the newest American Idol.

What a difference a day makes!

Though I am not a victim of Seasonal Affective Disorder (or at least my family denies me this and many other mental/learning disabilities on a regular basis. I guess I'm the "normal" one -- insert Danny Zuko "ha-ha-ha" here), living in Vermont and now in England has really given me a vested appreciation in the sun. Yesterday the wind was howling so much that I had to close my window to keep sleeping, and it was drab and rainy (which it pretty much has been for a week and a half). Today, however... today, the sun is shining, the birds are chirping, in the immortal words of Celine Dion, "A new das has come!"

Couple this with the fact that my Hollywood Musicals class is watching It's Always Fair Weather this week, and I think that is a verifiable sign of good, great, wonderful things to come. One of which being Gene Kelly's rollerskate tap dance -- wheeeee!

So, kids it looks like the slump has emerged, and I am not going to prophesy about my Bipolar potential because I'm savoring this moment for all its sweetness. I would say I'm sucking the marrow from life, to use an expression from Thoreau or whoever it was, but that makes me sound rather like a vampire, and I don't really want to be a Vampire unless it's Count Chocula or the Count on Sesame Street.

So, in celebration of my happiness, I realize that I haven't recounted my Saturday night fun. I went "pubbing"... we found this place that looked less crowded that most, which was imperative for our 6-person party. We found ourselves a table, and I got a Malibu & Coke -- double (ha-cha! it was only 60p more than a single). There was no certfiable debauchery, so don't expect any stories of me swinging shirtless from a chandelier or anything, but it was a good, ole time. The musical selections of the pub were thoroughly unpredictable: one moment they were blasting (and I do mean blasting) Alice Deejay's "Better Off Alone", the next it was "Rescue Me" by Aretha, which segued into the Troggs and then back into glow-stick-worthy techno. I figure they saw the 6 of us come in and thought we would start a dance party, then, noting that we were indeed not dancing, put on some music more suitable to the older clientele. I think it makes sense to say that the entire world revolves around me. ;o)

So, it's lovely to be in Monday but not of it. Time is so relative, let's not let it rule us! Bye-bye!

Today's helpful happiness hint:
Pull out that CD that you haven't listened to since the early 90s (in my case, Blues Traveler). It'll take you right back into the day!