Spread the Word

...and the love. The first annual QueerFest Midwest is coming to Chicago on August 25th.

From UR Chicago (more of which I'll get to in a later post)...

On August 25, Pulaski Park Fieldhouse in Wicker Park will hold Chicago's first music and art festival for the Gay-Lesbian-Bi-Transgendered (GLBT) community. Queer Fest Midwest will gather and showcase the artistic talents of the GLBT community through their wide range of musical acts, as well as visual and interactive artists, while raising money for About Face Theater, a theater company that creates city and nation wide dialogue about gender and sexuality through their plays. The visual arts portion of the festival - "The Cowboy and The Pegasus" - focuses on the wide range of work by local and national recognized queercore media artists. The exhibition features video artists Sadie Benning, Dylan Mira, Latham Zearfoss and Bruce La Bruce, paintings by Zack Stiglicz, Grant Schexnider and Terrance Koh, photography by Sean Fader, the creative concepts of Will Harrison and Kean O'Brien, and a confessional documentary about HIV by Charles Lum.

Musical performances by...
Katastrophe
The Ex-Members
Johnny Dangerous
Chris Garneau
Katz
Gina Young and Team Gina
and many more


For more info check out the festival's MySpace page.

Giada 3.0

First came her signature cooking show, Everyday Italian. Then came the best-selling cookbooks and another TV show. At this point, Food Network star Giada De Laurentiis is hosting 3 shows - Everyday Italian, Giada's Weekend Getaways and Giada in Paradise - and is also a regular correspondent on NBC's Today. But now, according to Broadcasting & Cable magazine, her name-branding machine is kicking into high gear.

Already appearing in ads for Barilla pasta, Mrs. De Laurentiis will also be launching a line of oils, vinegars and spices with Barilla due in December. She's designing a line of bakeware for Pyrex Glassware to launch in early 2008. AND, come September, she will co-host the new fourth hour of Today for one week each month for at least a year, as well as becoming "one of a rotating roster of co-hosts for all of the hour's segments."

Holy over-enunciated Italian words, Batman! Emeril may be the face of the Food Network and have his own line of cookware, and Rachel Ray may be the media-saturated star with her own talk show, magazine and kitchen products, but Giada is really stepping out on her own here. She has really surprised me with her ambition. Her story always made it sound like she was just along for the ride, kind of like, 'I wrote a magazine article about cooking for my large, Hollywood family and voila! Food Network asked me to host a show!' But now it seems like our dainty pasta princess is really aiming for household-name status. (I was going to call say pasta queen, but that would be insulting Lidia Bastianich.)

And what a name it is. How refreshing to know that a household name could be one as long, complicated, vowel-choked and flat-out Italian as hers. Yes, Ray is technically Sicilian, but I don't think anyone associates "Ray" with Italian ancestry. I know it seems trivial, but I've seen and heard as many possible variations of my last name as possible. ("No, ma'am, you can't insert a consonant between the three vowels just to make it easier for yourself.") Even if it's in some small way, someone like Mrs. De Laurentiis gives hope to all of us. We're here, we have long names, get used to it!

Now, being a long-time Giada fan, will I mindlessly run out and buy her stuff? No. It's really not as if the world needs one more bottle of olive oil lining the shelves. I'm sure Giada's name alone insures some credibility, and therefore sales, but you just never know, especially when it comes to celebrity products. The article doesn't mention price points, either, so I'll simply have to wait, taste and see.

It will be interesting to see how this all plays out. Sometimes Giada cooks on Today, sometimes she doesn't. So will there be any cross-promotion of her products on the show? Will she use her own products on her own Food Network shows? Because one of the more interesting points of the article is that Giada's products, including her books, are separate from the Food Network.

Food Network has approached De Laurentiis to jointly launch products, but she has chosen to go it alone (she already has three cookbooks in addition to the ongoing Barilla relationship) because star and network haven't been able to align on terms of a deal, she says.

“I came in at a time where Food Network didn't have those ties with a publisher and others,” De Laurentiis says. “They were doing food programming, and that was it.”

Luckily, both parties acknowledge their mutual benefits relationship - the more popular one gets, the more it helps the other - and so it sounds like their relationship isn't affected negatively. Which is good, because I like Giada in the grocery store, even moreso on my bookshelf, but most of all I like her where I got to know her first: on my TV.

(Thanks to Esquire for the pic.)

Also check out: You Had Me At "Prosciutto."
And: Ode to Polenta.

Of Booze and Political Statements

Since I live in a city with a large gay population, a gay-friendly mayor and two neighborhoods heavily populated by my fellow 'mos, it's sometimes easy to forget that not every gay person has it so easy. Granted, my boyfriend and I know not to hold hands in certain neighborhoods, and there's always going to be some bigoted asshole who has a problem just to have a problem, but Chicago has its advantages. There are plenty of stylish gay bars, gay publications and even Hamburger Mary's, a national gay burger chain (the waiters are actually ponies and the burgers are made out of glitter and Cher's old noses).

It's not like I live in, oh, say, Mississippi. When you open a gay bar there, it's right down the block from a Confederate-flag-decorated straight bar where the patrons say things like, "If [the queers] fuck with me, I'm-a bust their heads wide open." Obviously, he's never tasted a queer burger. Chicago 1, drunk redneck 0.

Luckily, that guy doesn't get too much air time in Small Town Gay Bar, a new documentary out on DVD today. A grand jury prize nominee at the 2005 Sundance film festival, the film documents the struggles to open and maintain a gay bar in rural areas of the "Bible Belt." Faced with prejudice that sometimes leads to violence, the owners and patrons of these establishments risk social alienation and physical harm just to toss back a few Bud Lights.

The film starts by interviewing many of the customers, who endlessly reiterate how much they need Rumors, the local gay bar - how it creates a sense of community, how it's the only place they feel safe and comfortable (once actually inside), how they'd have to travel up to 2 hours away to the second-closest gay bar without it. It then jumps, somewhat jarringly, to the tale of Scotty Weaver, a local boy who dressed in drag. He was tied up, strangled, mutilated, partially decapitated, then dragged to the woods and set on fire. The filmmakers tie this to the danger rural gay men and women face by being themselves. Anyone who follows the news knows that many gays are the victims of hate crimes all over the country, even in such gay-friendly cities as Chicago. But the film reminds us that the large scale of cities offers an element of anonymity, whereas everyone knows who are in a small town. Sure, the local gay men and women could flock to a larger, more accepting city, but whether for personal or financial reasons, they choose to stay and live in the place they call home.

In the film, we meet Rick, the owner of Rumors who isn't even out to his parents ("I know they love me and accept me, but if I told them that I don't think they could accept that"). There's Rumors' "show director" (pictured singing here), the fantastically glamorous, sharp-tongued drag queen Jim Bishop, aka Alicia Stone ("Let us be the grown adult taxpayers that we are and make our own decisions"). There's also Lori and Ruby, the lesbian couple that buys the abandoned, dilapidated gay bar Crossroads and put all their time and money into opening it up as a new gay bar, Different Seasons.

We also get a long, in-depth interview with the Fred Phelps, leader of the Westboro Baptist Church that picketed Weaver's funeral (I'd compare his balding, pockmarked, squinty looks to Mr. Burns, but I would never, ever insult Mr. Burns like that). Phelps blames homosexuality on parents who don't teach their children about God 'n stuff and actually says, "I'm the only one telling [homosexuals] the truth, for God's sake. I'm the only one that loves them." Of course, that would be a lot more believable if he could actually supress his smirk when he says that all gays are going to hell.

We also get to meet Tim Wildmon, president of the American Family Association, located in nearby Tupelo, MS. Wildmon describes his association's acceptance that other people are allowed to "exist" (gee, how big of them) while others explain how AFA members would read on the radio the license plate numbers of cars parked at gar bars the previous night. So, you can exist, just don't be different and drink beer at the same time.

The film gets a little repetitive. Not to take away from anyone's problems, but there's only so many times in a 76-minute documentary you need to be told that being gay in a small town is really, really hard. Maybe it's because I'm part of the choir, but there's only so much preaching necessary to make your point - and isn't this documentary probably going to be viewed only by the choir anyway? Also, after a moving, silent montage of proud gay men and women who promise to keep attending their local gay bar despite local prejudices, director Malcom Ingram strangely decides to end his film with one more offensive spit of verbal bile from Fred Phelps. Not exactly the note on which you'd expect him to end his tribute to tough, perseverant gay men and women. (To make up for that, if you get the DVD, definitely watch the hilarious extras with executive producer Kevin Smith, director of Clerks and friend of the gays.)

Still, with the national debate still focused on gay marriage, it's easy to overlook the small, daily battles that gay men and women go through just to peacefully live their lives. These aren't activists marching in parades or providing commentary on national news shows. They're the local veterinarians and DJs and post office workers trying to escape from the daily grind like we all do. When you see all the effort they have to go through just to drink beer, laugh with some friends and maybe dance to something other than Hank Williams, Jr., you have to stop and think. The AFA and others accuse them of trying to push a homosexual agenda or revolutionize mainstream culture. In some parts of our smorgasbord country, grabbing a beer bottle - next to a rainbow American flag - truly becomes something radical.

Also check out:http: You Win.
And: Kinsey Sicks Wanna Be Republicans.

Okay, Go: Dance Duo Edition (Justice and Junior Senior)

*Updated below!

You know, MTV has gotten a lot of (deserved) shit for not playing any actual music, but now it and its sister station VH1 have really abandoned music videos altogether. It's shameful, really, as some videos can approach works of art, like this one or this one.

For this edition of Okay, Go, my occasional post dedicated to the dying art of music videos and/or new artists you should hear, we will be distracting you with not one but two new videos. First up, French duo Justice are back on the scene and ready to dance. You might remember them as the winners at the 2006 MTV Europe Music Awards that provoked Kanye West to jump on stage, protest and generally lose his mind. "D.A.N.C.E." features hipsters walking around with constantly changing animated t-shirts. Simple concept, awesome execution. Oh yeah, and the song itself is pretty sweet, being sung entirely by a children's chorus and sounding as if could be pumped through your local roller disco.



I especially like when one t-shirt quickly flashes "Internet killed the video star." It's so true and yet...it's so not. The internet delivers music videos whenever we want them, on demand and ready at a moment's notice. But because they're so accessible online, MTV and its brethren seem to have completely abandoned them for the same reason. Thank you, Youtube! You give record companies and artists reason for pumping thousands, sometimes millions, of dollars into a single that has no chance of ever being seen on TV!

*(After winning the 2006 MTV Europe Music Award for Best Video of the Year, Justice is now nominated for the US equivalent! It really comes out of nowhere - no other major nominations, they're not a mainstream band. And yet, with that kind of recognition for an actually good video, it's almost like MTV...has...taste...)

Next up is Junior Senior. This Denmark duo burst onto the scene in 2003 with the scarily peppy "Move Your Feet," accompanied by a hilarious early-Atari-graphics video. They're finally back with Hey Hey My My Yo Yo and its first single, "Take My Time." It's a Red Bull, tequila and crack cocktail of a song (wait, the song actually sounds kind of 80's, so what kind of cocktail would that be? Percocet, tequila and crack? Valium, tequila and Freezy Freakies juice?). There's not one but two key changes, culminating in a euphoric, almost hysterical climax (your speakers at work probably won't do it justice). Even better, the lyrics are belted out by none other than Cindy Wilson and Kate Pierson of the B-52's. (The band is working on a new album, btw.)



In fact, I couldn't help but notice that the hand-drawn graphics in "Take My Time" more than slightly resemble the graphics for the B-52's own "Roam." Coincidence? Homage? You decide, then tell me. Okay, go!

Also check out: Okay, Go: Scissor Sisters.
And: Okay, Go: Mika.

3 Reasons Why I Love Kelly Clarkson

From her recent interview in Blender:

1) On Jesus: "I frickin' love him! He's done a lot of cool things for me."

2) On meeting Clive Davis over her new record her reportedly hated: "I was like, I don't know you very well, and I am not a bullshitter. I get you don't like the album. You're 80; you're not supposed to like my album."

3) On hooking up: "I just don't make out with people. That's a waste of my kisses and time. And it's so personal: It's, like, my face. Plus, I'm afraid of mouth herpes."

Besides cracking me up in a magazine interview, which basically never happens, she comes off as a tough 25-year-old who stuck to her guns when an entire record company was telling her to cave. In a nutshell, she wanted to write everything on her new record, they wanted her to have outside help. What kind of help did they suggest? Turns out Davis sent her a song called "Black Hole," a song that already appeared on a Lindsay Lohan album. Oh, and no one told her. Could they have been more disrespectful?

I haven't heard her new album, My December, but I feel the need to give it a chance after reading about all she went through to get it released the way she wanted - and she did get it released the way she wanted. And how cool is it to see a young, successful, female pop culture obsession be defiant and rebellious without resorting to appearing in trashy outfits and getting busted for DUIs? (And how lame is it that that needs to be pointed out as a measure of her non-lameness?)

Plus, she's already working on her next album which she describes as "country-blues" influenced by Patty Griffin, Ryan Adams and the Rolling Stones. I'm already in line.

So that's more than 3 reasons, but whatever. Our little American Idol is all grows up!

Also check out: D-List Divas: Mandy Moore and Paula Cole.
And: Feist Feels it All. A Lot.

Just When You Thought It was Safe to Watch Daytime Television

Drew Carey will be hosting The Price is Right. According to reports, he reveals it tonight on The Late Show with David Letterman.

I guess it makes sense. I mean, the whole time Carey hosted Whose Line is it Anyway?, he was the least interesting, least funny person on the show. And let's face it, it's not like Bob Barker really had a lot to do other than charm midwestern Claymates (please click on that link. Oh, pretty please.) and hold that weird lollipop microphone.

This makes much more sense than someone like Rosie O'Donnell for a host. Rosie's fiesty, sarcastic humor (her take on health-store customers: "you know the type: a lot of hair, not a lot of deodorant") would be squelched on a sanitized, wholesome show like TPiR. Just ask fans of old-school Ellen Degeneres. Sure, she's cute and friendly and funny on her daytime talk show, but Ellen really shines during her cable stand-up specials where her I'm-just-the-lesbian-next-door act drops and a more caustic, bawdy Ellen emerges.

Drew may have a darker, more outgoing side to him in his stand-up routines. But on his eponymous sitcom and WLiiA?, he was always upstaged by his funnier sidekicks like Diedrich Bader and Ryan Stiles. In fact, that seems to be Drew's actual talent, and it shouldn't be disregarded: surrounding himself, and sharing the spotlight, with skilled comedians who otherwise might not get noticed for their talents. On his own, however, he is perfectly capable of reading cue cards and smiling and stuff.

So The Price is Right fans get a perfectly pleasant host and prime-time television is guaranteed one more overpaid, bland comedian is too busy to star in another generic sitcom. (Why couldn't they create another game show and hire Charlie Sheen and Kevin James?) I should knock on wood, just to make sure.

Also check out: Martha Stewart: You Know You Love Her.
And: Obsessing Over Food I Never Eat with Giada de Laurentiis.

Miller Swill

I'm not a beer guy. Beer, as we all know, is urine thickened with sweat. Or at least, that's how a lot of it tastes. Give me a cocktail any day, especially with vodka or tequila, and I'm a happy, happy man. But for some reason as soon as I heard about Miller Chill, a beer flavored with lime and salt based on the Mexican chelada, I had to try it. As a margarita fan, I love me some lime and salt with my alcamahol. I've never had a chelada, but I was intrigued to try it as soon as I joined some friends at a bar.

Color me disappointed. The website says "Chelada Style Light Lager with a Hint of Lime and Salt." Hint? That's being generous. What would be more appropriate? How about "rumor?" "Rumored to be flavored with lime and salt." Their website has more Latin flavor than this bland beer. Luckily, I at least like the flavor of regular MGD, as that's basically what I was drinking. The drink seems to be getting mixed reviews elsewhere, as well.

Actually, it made me even more determined to try an actual chelada to see why a company would go to all the effort of (badly) replicating its flavor. So the following night on my way to a dinner party, I picked up some Corona and limes...and margarita salt. Here's what you do: salt the rim of a highball or beer stein, squeeze in the juice from half a lime, add ice and pour in the beer. It will fizz up at first, and then you have a light summer drink perfect for hot days and balmy nights. The ice and citrus cut the beer so it's not as heavy as usual and the salt...well, salt is just good. I'd salt the rim of my coffee mug if I had enough time in the morning.

Variations differ regionally in Mexico. There's also a michelada which adds hot sauce and Worcestershire sauce, plus, depending where you are, Clamato or some other tomato-based drink mix. (I skipped those versions because I refuse to try anything named "Clamato.")

So two good things came out of this. Not only did I learn about a new drink that's easy to make and so good on humid summer evenings, the trip to the grocery store for the ingredients forced me to enter the beer aisle. After I passed up the towering stack of Miller Chill in the corner, there was a whole wall of interesting choices before me - lagers in lemon-flavored and "summer wheat" varieties, hard iced teas and numerous pale ales that would be perfect for the patio. I'm sure some of them suck, but it's almost like a challenge, finding the one that forces me to skip the vodka tonics and grab the bottle opener.

Ironically, it wasn't until a corporation heavily advertised their sub-par product that I had even heard about this traditional Mexican drink. You could argue that Miller is badly exploiting a cultural tradition for profit (I'm not sure I'd agree, since our grocery shelves are stocked with all kinds of ethnic ingredients that you would not find there even twenty years ago, but you could argue it) but really, Miller did me two favors with their lame imitation. It exposed me to a popular drink from another culture and, more importantly, if I had liked their bottled version, I might not have bothered making myself the real thing.

Also check out: Pringles and Pimpfants.
And: Eat My Cookies.

D-List Divas: Mandy Moore and Paula Cole

Two albums have been sitting on my desk for over a month now. I may have forgotten them because, despite their good intentions and polished products, the artists themselves are forgettable.

Does anyone know why we know Mandy Moore? Why is she considered a star, even remotely? I dare you to name one of her songs. She's always gotten a lot of support from her record labels for albums that sold a fraction of what her poptart competitors sold. She has starred with some pretty big names (Diane Keaton, Hugh Grant, Robin Williams) in some pretty forgettable movies (Because I Said So, American Dreamz and License to Wed, respectively). Her biggest hit was 2002's teen drama A Walk to Remember, and I use "hit" very loosely.

The thing is, I like Mandy Moore. Unlike artists with down-to-earth personas that cover up their demands for gold-plated toilet seats, Moore is all about her healthy body-image and low-maintenance lifestyle. Plus, she starred in the religious satire Saved!, which was just flat-out fantastic. Her last effort, 2003's Coverage, an album of cover songs, showcased Moore's sophisticated tastes and stronger vocals but still didn't go anywhere.

Which is why I was curious about her new album, Wild Hope. She co-writes every song and collaborated with The Weepies and Rachael Yamagata, among others. She told Blender: "This is me, and these are my words, and this is my taste in music." Then, more dramatically: "I feel like in many ways this is my last chance to do a record on this level. If this doesn't work, how many opportunities do I get?"

Shedding her Lolita-with-a-mic past for a folky, earthy singer-songwriter vibe, Moore & Co. come up with pleasant but bland songs that blur into one long Lifetime drama theme song. Heavy on the acoustic guitar, piano and quiet vocals, Wild Hope tips over from subtle to sleepy. For someone who is supposedly free to express herself for the first time and laying it all on the line as if it's her last chance, Moore is sadly subdued. The first single, "Extraordinary," features a repetitive chorus of "Now I'm ready to be extraordinary." That's great. Instead of telling us about it (in an ordinary song, by the way), why doesn't she just actually try?

This is supposedly a grown-up, darker, melancholic Moore, deeper after surviving public break-ups with well-known actors and athletes. But the burning hostility of "Nothing That You Are", where Moore stabs an ex with "I hope you burn in hell," is undermined by the cheesy, random electric guitar and Moore's cop-out follow-up: "Or do I?" She went from day-um! to...damn.

Coincidentally, the other day I was flipping through the new Pottery Barn catalog that features a new focus on "nature" with wood candles and tree-branch wall-art. It reminded me of Wild Hope because not only does its match the album's cover art (sepia-toned photos of Moore in vintage dresses hiking through the woods) but because they both feature pretty, earnestly "natural" yet bland aesthetics that can be found, done better, elsewhere. (Since they're such a good match, I'd love to see her actually in the PB catalog: "New item! Mandy Moore - Chestnut-tressed, with skin like vanilla-flecked creme brulee, this all-American pop star makes the perfect accent to your living room or veranda. Catalog/internet only. $24.95. Free shipping.")

It's too bad the record doesn't work better since Moore can produce a neat phrase here and there ("here and gone, like a decoration for the holiday"), so hopefully any potential shown here will develop by her next album, if she does indeed get another chance.

In the meantime, she could learn a thing or two from talented songwriters who know how to use their voices to create sonic ambience, like Sarah McLachlin or Paula Cole (who Moore will be co-headlining a tour with). Remember Paula Cole? She came out of nowhere in 1996 with This Fire, featuring the moody, left-field hit "Where Have All the Cowboys Gone?" and the Dawson's Creek theme song, "I Don't Want to Wait." After an eight-year hiatus due to record company snafus, getting married and divorced and raising a baby, Cole is back with Courage.

Incredibly self-reflective and brutally, sometimes disturbingly, honest, each song on Courage is like reading Cole's mind as she writes in her journal. Her anger, confusion, regrets and fantasies are laid bare before us, creating a portrait of a fascinating, complicated woman.

Nowhere is this more obvious than the opening, "Comin' Down." In this haunting, primal chant/prayer, we know exactly where she is, her view looking both behind her and to the future. "Lord, make me a lighting bolt to burn off this ring," she begins, asking for help in making better choices. It's hard to overestimate a songwriter who can sum up her spiritual evolution in one song, with bridges that start with "I see the greatness above and the smallness of me," then opens herself up to "I see the greatness within; the greatness in me." Far from arrogance, it's actually humility and trust in the universe and her place in it.

Substituting a jazzier, torchy sound for her previous folksy, unshaved-armpit Womyn past, this is an older, slightly mellower Cole. Unfortunately, some of the arrangements veer into undistinguished, adult contemporary mode. For someone who claims "sometimes I'm too bold for my own good" (as Cole does in "Safe In Your Arms"), you wish that boldness would make its way into the arrangements, not just the words. And not one but two songs turn into duets out of nowhere (the vocalists, Ivan Lins and Paul Buchanan, are not credited on the track listing), creating the jarring feeling that an intimate performance has been interrupted by some drunk stumbling into the studio.

Still, Cole has two weapons at her disposal: her lyrics and her voice. She writes as if using lazy clichés are not only insulting to the audience, but denying her own truth. And her thick, rich, gutteral voice can crawl and float through her range with emotional precision.

It probably doesn't appear fair to title this "D-List Divas," as neither Moore nor Cole seem to be especially diva-ish. But both are starting over - one trying to escape her poppy past, the other trying to climb back into the public radar. And, unfortunately, neither of them seem to be breaking onto radio or TV, either. It remains to be seen if either one can (re-)claim their pop crowns, or if their albums will be remembered a year, or a month, from now.

Also check out: Feist Feels It All. A Lot.
And: Soul Sisters: Amy Winehouse and Joss Stone.

You Win

What is it about sassy gay men that make them so hard to write as on-screen characters? It might work if they're sidekicks to the protagonist (and therefore taken in small doses) as in Kissing Jessica Stein or Will & Grace. But if one is the leading man of a mediocre movie, you're often spending two hours with a wannabe-Wilde who very quickly seems brittle, forced, condescending and phony. It takes a very talented writer to make an him likeable and a very talented actor to let the wit roll off his tongue with panache.

Unfortunately, we have no such luck with Nathan, the leading man in writer/director Russell Brown's Race You to the Bottom. Brown seems to like the idea of writing a young, successful, unabashedly sexual man (scratch the above "gay" adjective and make that "bisexual"), but Nathan is also narcissistic, inconsiderate, rude and sexually inconsiderate. And if you're going to make him "sassy" or "witty" or whatever, then you better give him some good lines. That doesn't happen.

For a brief summary, Nathan (Cole Williams) and Maggie (Amber Benson) abandon their respective boyfriends to take a trip to Napa for an article he's working on for a travel magazine. As soon as they leave, they're making out! Sassy! I think we the audience are either supposed to be so shocked (rubbing our eyes in disbelief, "say wha...?) or cheering them on ("Yeah, you go, sexual rule-breakers!"). But all I could think was "Really? She's cheating on her supercute boyfriend with a greasy Clay Aiken clone wearing way too much eyeliner?"

Some people mistakenly believe that they have to "identify" with the protagonists in art. While I didn't mind that I couldn't identify with Nathan (he actually tells Maggie "the taste of another man on your lips makes me hot." Who talks like that? And...really?), I at least wanted to understand what was so attractive about him to Maggie. The movie offers few clues: He spontaneously dances in hotel rooms! He...um...likes to drink wine! He can get erections!

That last quality is apparently what gives him an edge over Maggie's devoted but pouty boyfriend, Milo. When her friend points out what a great guy Milo is, Maggie guiltlessly shrugs it off. Apparently, to her, it's perfectly okay to cheat on your long-term boyfriend if he can't get it up. And it's perfectly okay to do this with a man who has a boyfriend of his own. The movie's tagline is "Maybe their boyfriends should worry..." Yeah, about STDs.

It's too bad, because the movie could really have approached a unique situation. There aren't many films out there that deal with bisexuality as a legit sexual orientation or, at least, worth exploring as such. The fact that she deems Nathan a "70/30" kind of guy is perfectly fine with Maggie, and I know a lot of women in real life who wouldn't mind if their gorgeous gay best friends were 70/30s as well. And I'm sure relationships like this do exist, however underrepresented in film they may be. But Brown can't do his subject justice, and his dialogue bounces from unrealistic to overused clichés. When Maggie's friend explains Nathan's sexual preference with "bisexuality is just one stop on the road to gayville," I was expecting one of the Sex and the City girls to pop in with "that was my line!"

In fact, Nathan is just so gosh darn sexual that he basically whips it out in front of every attractive guy he comes across. (But not around attractive women besides Maggie. Hmmm, maybe he's more 95/5.) Or he encourages them to whip it out. When they visit some friends during their road trip to Napa, Nathan effortlessly seduces the hunky husband, Joe (Justin Hartley, the only man in this movie who doesn't have the skinny, hairless build of a 12-year-old). But as he gives Joe a hands-on workshop in new masturbation techniques, Mr. Overly-Sexed-Up Nathan spaces out and we cut to an utterly pointless flashback. (Focus, Nathan! Aren't Gen Y-ers overly-medicated on ADD pills?) By the time we're back to the present, Joe zips up and gives the most unconvincing "wow" in cinema history. Geez, this movie about sexual boundary-breaking can't even get handjobs right.

As they ascend the hills of their vineyard-hopping adventure, they become irritated and annoyed with each other - he at her clinginess and prudery, she at his pursuits of his 70% side. One review generously compared this to Who's Afraid of Virginia Wolf? for Generation Y (or whatever the hell we are), but I think that's a bit of an overstatement. They say such awful things to each other (especially Nathan) that you're not quite sure why you want to be around them anymore. You could argue that Nathan is intentionally turning Maggie off after she declared her love for him - to save her, to protect her, to break her heart now because it would be even crueler to lead her on - but that would mean Nathan would have to think of someone besides himself.

First Maggie tells him that his need to seduce everyone is due to his self-loathing, then she accuses him of only loving himself. Which is it? Just like Nathan, the movie tries to have it both ways, mistaking snark for charm. And like Nathan, Race You to the Bottom sorely lacks the latter.

Also check out: Kinsey Sicks Wanna Be Republicans (Or At Least Just Sing About It)
And: Movie review: Rent.

Where Am I?

What is this strange and magical land with its green borders, witty textual phrases and crisp aroma of impending Pulitzers?

Oh, right, it's my blog. I haven't been here in a while so I kind of forgot what it looks like.

So obviously I've been kind of MIA lately. I just had to take a break. A few pop culture/food/media/Chicago things had flashed into my radar, pulsating every so lightly with mild interest. I have been trying recipes (107 down!), listening to new music and reading great books , but I just couldn't commit any of it to the page/monitor.

Blame the bazillion degree weather or the Food Network. Both would be slightly accurate. Really, I just didn't feel like it. Sometimes you just have to take a break from writing; you have to get off cruise control, pull over and just be a tourist in your own strange little life. Luckily, batteries have recharged and I will getting back on the road soon. Stay tuned.