NYCweboy

Diamonds On The Soles Of Her Shoes

If you need it in brief: The Sex and The City Movie is fabulous. Go. Now.

If you need it longer, then perhaps you are more like Samantha.

I'm not; but beyond all of the "which SATC girl are you" (the quizzes where the gay boys wind up choosing between Carrie's Stanford and Charlotte's Anthony), is where the heart of the matter actually lies. The Sex and The City Movie succeeds best - and it frankly exceeded every expectation I had - because it's all about not believing your own press. Because it's not about Cosmos, or Manolos, or gay pals, or even man candy.

It's about love. And what we'll do for it.

Girls Who Are Boys Who Like Boys To Be Girls...

You may have noticed that I've been a little silent; it's not entirely my fault. I blame MovieWatcher.com, who convinced me that I would be seeing that movie last night at midnight (which turns out to be tonight at midnight... and then I work at 5:15am. Eeek), and I expected to post a review. But no such luck.

I feel kind of wrung out on the political writing, mostly: the latest outrages don't do much for me, the discussion about VPs does even less for me, and the prospects for the fall don't necessarily interest me ("too soon! too soon!" is all I keep thinking). Nobody - no Dem anyway - seems to want to be where we are, and everyone wants to "move on"... but you can't do that, I think, without all the events that happen between now and next Tuesday (the DNC meeting to "resolve" FL and MI, the Puerto Rico prmary, and finally Montana and South Dakota).

Even then, it will be hard to bring us all together, I think, and I don't necessarily want to think a lot about that, either.

But something has cropped up today... a little something about gender politics.

Scott?

Scott McClellan is not Cher; nor is he Charo, Madonna, Fabio, Fabian, Jaylo, The Rock, or The Edge.

I say this as preface to more on why I don't think I'll ever fully understand the MSM.

Apparently, one-time Bush Press Secretary, Scott McClellan has poison-penned a tell-all on his former boss. 

What I'm finding odd is that, for the last twenty minutes, as both Campbell Brown and Keith Olbermann (I'm shamelessly fickle with the remote) have been reporting this story, chock full of interviews and pundits from both sides of this rancor, everyone of them, to the last, is referring to McClellan as "Scott."  Not "Scott McLellan," once followed by "McLellan" later, but just "Scott.":

"If Scott felt this way, why didn't he speak up then?"

"I think Scott's intentions are good here."

"Scott wouldn't have been involved in those meetings."

"Scott was unhappy with his exit."

Now, I understand that many of these people may have been used to calling McClellan "Scott" when they were working with/alongside of him, but surely when he becomes the story, his last name should be used.  I lose little sleep over the MSM treating GW unfairly, but what kind of press gives us half of the story on a first name basis?  This Scott sounds about eight years old to me, wide-eyed and innocent, you know, maybe a neighbor of Lassie's Timmy.

Google Image Search, for now, anyway, agrees with me, in that all Scotts are not created equal, nor that McClellan is The Scott.  Pictured above is Google's first entry under just "Scott," April Scott, that is, who either won or is entered in something called Quattro High Performance Disposable Babe Tournament.  But Google and its, ahem, priorities, are topics for another day, or week, I think.

- jinbaltimore

  

All About Me

Warning: This post follows a truly sleepless night and risks rambling incoherence...

One thing I try to do as a blogger is not speak for others.  I do my best to draw on my own experiences, or on those described in research or by large sources of data (of varying degrees of scientific rigor) with which I'm familiar.  Several interrelated aspects of this Democratic primary are thus driving me mad:

• my frequent total loss of perspective over Clinton's (vs. Obama's) candidacy;
• the sense that I'm being stereotyped - however indirectly - in the crude brushstrokes used to paint Clinton (vs. Obama) supporters;
• the mismatch between criticisms of Clinton and those leveled by many of her supporters.

Part of the reason for last night's insomnia has been my growing frustration from the Clinton RFK remarks skirmish.  It began in earnest when I read Kevin's response at Slant Truth, in which he stated that regardless of her intent, it was his personal associations of the assassinations of black leaders that mattered to him. He added that he was further troubled by the racially segregated - and polarized - link networks he was seeing in response to her comments; i.e., whites were linking to other whites in support of their perspectives, and bloggers of color - including many African-Americans - were linking to one another in opinion solidarity.  When I read this, I thought Duh! Obviously. Anyone following this election, especially since early '08, has seen this cultural fracturing around the blogosphere, as we all interpret the candidates' actions, statements and alleged motivations and intent based on our personal and/or collective experiences and identities. 

Then I read a compelling analysis from Latoya at Racialicious, which I found to be strongly undermined by her absolutist language that (my emphases) "...there is no way Hillary was talking about herself when referencing the RFK campaign."  Latoya's voice is one I really respect in the 'sphere, yet so is Pocochina's, who convincingly argues that Clinton could be thinking of her own safety in referencing RFK, not to mention having RFK on the brain because it was a defining (generational) moment for her in her political development.  [UPDATE, 5/29/08: This paragraph has been edited, due to the helpful comments from Kai in the attached thread.  I have edited my description of Latoya's analysis, as well as removed my original interpretation of Pocochina's post, because I realized that I was actually projecting a lot into her argument that isn't actually there.  Ironic, I know...]

So who's right, here?  Who's interpretation is valid?  Hopefully you realize these are trick questions - obviously all of them are, as they are grounded in experience, identity, and each blogger's situated knowledge.  So what's a of-the-working-class-now-creative-class white feminist social-justice activist, Northeastern elite librul Clinton-supporter, Obama-agnostic like me supposed to do?  This is where the loss of perspective come in...

Kill Me Now

One thing I am kind of glad for is that my vacation kept me away from much of the news. The "Bobby Kennedy remark" controversy managed to blow by with me almost not noticing it at all, such that I found Stephanopolous trying to drag an extra day out of it by getting David Axelrod to offer up more outrage a little desperate and odd.

Not only do I not see what the big deal is, I don't think the comment - that the 1968 race was still in a state of flux when Kennedy won California in June, and was killed the same night - said anything we didn't know anyway (and nothing Clinton hadn't said before, as well).

But I do think the "controversy" and the continued outrage at various blogs does speak to a hurdle Hillary Clinton has faced all along, and is probably the reason not only that we are where we are, but why we will, still, probably wind up with Obama as the nominee (and not with Clinton as VP): there's an antipathy to Hillary Clinton - not just generalized sexism - that's visceral, and personal. And that's why, ultimately, this week's stage managed kerfuffle is less about Bobby Kennedy or 1968 - or even the fear of an Obama assassination attempt - than it is about finding something, anything, to justify not just picking Obama over her, but somehow destroying her and her reputation.

Notes From A Vacation

As Nevermind noted in comments last night, my discussion of TV watching from my trip may seem "one sided and strange"... I suppose there's no point to mentioning that a blog is pretty much a one-sided affair (mine), but I agree, my tastes can be... strange.

I could go into the long, er, strange, history of how my Memorial Day trip came to be - there was a plan to travel to Salt Lake City which fell through over finances, and this was an alternative that fit the moment, and the planned companion - but that story takes too long and probably only matters to maybe 10 people (5 of whom don't read this blog, though I try to convince them, repeatedly).

In any case, the trip that was an odd combination of convenience, circumstance, and opportunity became an object lesson in understanding who I am and what I actually like... and don't. Like decorating programs. Herewith, with no determination to offend anyone, but a likelihood to offend or puzzle all, some notes for myself on what I like in a vacation:

• I don't like being stranded in the woods. That is, I really like to show up at places like the one I went with a car of my own and the opportunity to run to the store at my convenience, not others.
• I'd rather be at the ocean than at a lake, and at a beach rather than in the woods.
• I don't like the way "the woods" has become an extension of suburbia; this lakeside development amounted to a piece of gated suburbia for the second home set, giving "back to nature" a thoroughly commodified, managed air (the lake nearest us, as it turned out, had been drained and not refilled, which made yesterday's run to sunbathe a lost cause).
• I also don't love the way "the woods" has bcome an extension of a kind of suburbia where the most basic services are 30-40 minutes away.
• No more Wal-Marts. Ever.
• When you, as an individual, go on a trip with a couple, you are reminded, very quickly, that it's called "third wheel" for a reason.
• Apparently, though, dinner conversations about politics when everyone is interested are even fun with Republicans.
• I really must learn not to overpack.
• I need wifi; dialup will not do it, anymore.
• I am no longer a night person. Oh well.
• I agree one should leave a guest house much the way one found it... but there's clean, and then there's sterilized within an inch of its life.

I know, I know... who's ever going to want to invite Debbie Downer on another trip? A getaway is a getaway and one should be grateful to one's hosts. But I do think one should also know one's likes and dislikes enough to know when an offer may not be the right one. And so, though I feel like the girl who's unpacked her adjectives, I think I'm just chalking this one up to learning a little more about my own likes... and sticking up for them.

Coming Home... Just The Way I Left It

I had brave plans to get home and blog at length... but the trip was long, it's late and I'm tired.

I will say this, though, now that I'm home... I like being home, just the way it is. One interesting thing I got exposed to this weekend was a plethora of decorating shows on the House and Garden channel (thus providing a double edged cable experience - more channels, but more time spent watching landscaping than I would have picked for myself).

What fascinates me is how thinly the concept of a decorating show can be stretched.  Basically, show after show was ordinary shlub with a decorating problem (ugly living room, bad garden, house that won't sell), where a stylish - often gay, or in the case of the women, exuberant - "designer" came in and redid the space, usually along the lines of what you see in most of the magazines. It's nice enough, but four or so of these progeams... and you're not getting a lot of new insight.

I really thought I knew what this stuff was about... but I had no idea: there's a whole, endless, industry around this. Video crews wandering around dull neighborhoods, watching unconfident people get generally browbeaten into submission by urban types with a sense for clean lines and occasional dashes of color.

Knowing that Jennifer will get on me mercilessly for seeming so dismissive (never mind Ray, who was one of the design watching culprits), I still can't resist wondering what the appeal is here. It made five hours of SVU reruns, with every creep and kink on display in gruesome detail, seem like a welcome respite.

In any case, good to be home. Hi Mom. More here tomorrow.

And Now The Sunday Cynic

When I'm not working, I like to take my Sunday mornings and watch the political programs - Meet The Press, Fox News Sunday, etc. This is a tradition going back to my childhood, when I would make Chef Boy Ar Dee Ravioli, a glass of apple juice, and sit with my Mom and provide color commentary. I still do. Since Mom and I are apart this Memorial Day weekend, I offer my "yells back at the TV" from a distance:

• When will one of the reporters participating in Chris Matthews "Tell Me Something I Don't Know" say, "Clearly, Chris, the fact that you're a pompous ass still eludes you"?
• It's not that Bill Kristol is so wrong, it's that he's so wrong, with such authority.
• Maureen Dowd told Tim Russert that sexism was not a problem for the Clinton campaign... so clearly, that makes it so.
• David Axelrod... not that impressive. Still.
• Nice job, though, Axelrod, saying Florida's and Michigan's votes don't count... but for some reason, their delegates will.
• Apparently Hillary Clinton said something about Bobby Kennedy.
• Is it just me or did Stephanopolous' "Sunday Funnies" get a lot less funny lately?

Have a nice day. I'm off to an air show.  Miss you, Mom. :)

The Hardy Boys And The Shades Of Death

Today's adventure was a walk in the park - Hickory Run State Park, to be exact.

The odd thing about Hickory Run is that I have a long history here - the park is home to the Easter Seals Summer Camp where I was a counselor more than twenty years ago. Though I didn't recognize everything, several things felt entirely familiar. Especially the Field of Boulders, whch is one of the park's signature attractions.

Ray and I share an interest in outdoor things - hikes and the like. Plus there's a sense of wonder and discovery that I try not to lose in everyday life - a boy's interest in having adventures and doing new things. That (and Parker Stevenson) is what I loved about The Hardy Boys.

So Ray and I hiked a trail called "Shades of Death" which wound its way along a flowing stream with dams and waterfalls (that's Ray and Martino, the friend's dog). It was beautiful, and just challenging enough. jumping over roots and climbing over stones and up trails.

As a result we're pretty bushed. There's still a plan for dinner, which should commence shortly, after catching some more decorating shows... which is so not my thing. I'm just not that gay. I know... weird, huh? :)

We Don't Have To Take Our Clothes Off (To Have A Good Time)

Prince Caspian largely lives up to the promise started with The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe: that is, it's a safe, largely wholesome, family entertainment with so many dark overtones it's a wonder it can't seem to rouse itself to actually be deep.

Not knowing enough about the whole Catholic allegory that animates the series, I can't say how faithfully the films recreate the themes of the books (nor am I one to explain the benefit or losses sustained by leaping ahead 3 novels in the series to pluck this book for the second film). What I can say is that to a lay-person, it's not the Catholic-ness that's a problem. It's the snoozy, predictable Lord of the Rings-lite quality to the proceedings.

Prince Caspian starts with Caspian fleeing the royal castle of the Telmarines, the humans of the Narnian universe. Caspian has become superfluous now that his Uncle, the villain of the piece, has a son and heir of his own. Caspian is rescued by his tutor, keeper of legends and lore of Narnia, where it has been 1300 years since the four children came through the wardrobe and defeated The White Witch. The tutor hands Caspian a magic horn (which belonged to eldest sister Susan), which, when blown, summons the four Penvensie kids back to a Narnia they no longer recognize.