Brother, Can You Spare a Comment?

For this week's Roundtable, Prego at Rustbelt Rambling is having a crisis of conscience over panhandlers. There's always the "How do you know it's not Jesus?" theory that really rubs in the guilt. But, even worse, what if you actually know one of them? What if one of your former friends is now, years later, stopping you on the street for a couple of bucks?

Any advice would be appreciated, as I pass someone with a "Need a bus ticket" or "God will love you if you help me" signs every day in good ol' Chi-town. Stop on by and help out Prego, too, while you're at it. Instead of donating change, how about a round of drinks for the Roundtable?

When Dust Bunnies Attack

You know how you think your place is relatively clean and then you start packing things up to move and you realize you've been secretly growing an entire universe made out of dust under your bed? Yeah, that's what I'm doing. Packing and cleaning to move. Which is why I've been kind of MIA lately. That and a dead internet connection, which doesn't help.

But, I will try to be posting soon, as I've lately seen Little Miss Sunshine, The Descent and Idlewild, plus I have to spread the love of KT Tunstall, whose CD Eye to the Telescope is on permanent rotation at home.

In the meantime, head over to Sereena's Metaphor Voodoo for this week's roundtable discussing the perfect song. So pitch in your two cents, unless your two cents consist of the words "Milli Vanilli," in which case you have no sense at all (get it? Cents and sense? Ha...ha. Oh my...the dust. It's the dust talking, I swear...)

Roundtable: Don't Piss Off the Advice Columnists

Dan Savage is mad as hell. And he's not going to give advice anymore. At least, not to straight people. Or straight people with marriage on their radar.

Ever since the New York Supreme Court denied gay couples the right to marry because straight people need it more (that sounds horribly reductive, but that really is the gist of their argument), Dan has been firing on all cylinders. First, there was his op-ed piece in the New York Times (sorry, you might have to pay to read it, but you can read an excerpt here) where he explained that the courts' ridiculous arguments against same-sex marriage (which I explained and picked apart here) are getting weaker, which is a good sign that they may disintegrate altogether in the near future.

But now his passion and frustration are influencing his day job as a nationally syndicated sex advice columnist. Not that he's been particularly hesitant to include his political views in his column, but now he's giving the total brush-off to those considering marriage or already married.

To a woman who wrote in about her wonderful, studly, well-endowed boyfriend who doesn't want her to use her beloved sex toys once they get married, Dan wrote:

"I just can't be bothered today, BAB [Blushing Anonymous Bride]. You see, state supreme courts in New York and Washington handed down blatantly bigoted rulings against gay marriage in July and I'm kind of pissed at the fact that you get to marry your big-dicked boyfriend but I can't marry mine."

Ouch. And then, to a married man who was given a "free pass" by his wife to indulge his kinks and wants suggestions on how to set up a gay one-night stand, Dan offered this:

"No ideas, MAK [Middle-Aged Kinkster]. No advice, no guidance, no pointers. You know why I got nothin' for you, MAK? Because if we gay guys aren't allowed to be married—to each other—then you married straight guys aren't allowed to be gay. Not even once, not even if you're just going to put it in a little, not even with the wife's permission."

And finally, the same week an 18-year-old girl wrote about being impregnated by her 18-year-old boyfriend, who not only doesn't want to get married (!), he doesn't even want to have sex with her anymore (!!) - which is unsurprising to anyone over the age of 18 - even though he still says he loves her (!!!).

Dan's response?

"Doesn't your boyfriend read the papers, PAD [Pregnant and Deprived]? According to the State of New York's highest court, the institution of marriage exists expressly to entice the likes of him—that is, irresponsible straight boys—into marrying the likes of you—that is, irresponsible straight girls. Since heterosexual relationships are 'often casual or temporary,' and since 'unstable relationships between people of the opposite sex present a greater danger that children will be born into or grow up in unstable homes,' the court found that the state can deny same-sex couples—with kids, without kids, whatever—the right to marry. Marriage is set aside exclusively for folks like you!

And you mean to tell me that your boyfriend doesn't want to marry you? What a fucking ingrate! I'm not sure what you can do about it, PAD, but perhaps those justices in New York can help you out. Maybe one of the justices can hold the shotgun while another officiates?"

Now, I loves me some advice columnists. I read Dear Prudence at Slate, Since You Asked over at Salon and try to keep up with the Chicago Tribune's not one but two daily columnists. Obviously their personal views are going to influence their responses, whether they're consciously aware of it or not (although they really should be self-aware enough to know it).

And I think Dan had a point. I mean, how much do help do straight people need with marriage? Aren't there like three dozen wedding/relationship magazines, four hundred books, the previous generation's hard-earned wisdom to turn to and, you know, the state and federal governments to help out?

But seriously, did he go too far? With one of the most widely-read columns in the country, plus editing Seattle's alternative The Stranger and the author of books such as The Kid and The Commitment, Dan is very influential to both straights and gays. This week he admits to getting flack from readers who want him to do his job - give advice. So he's back helping out with kinky fetishes and STD prevention. He made his point but now he's back doing what he does best.

What would happen if all the advice columnists turned on their readers? Or went on strike? Where would all the confused, directionless advice seekers turn to? How would we best know how to sign a "thank you" letter? Who would set boundaries for how to properly walk your dog? Who would start a movement to spread santorum without an advice columnist to help us? There'd be riots on the streets, I tell you. Sheer chaos.

Across the Universe

Stephen wants to know where you've been, what you did there, and if you would go back. So, considering we can't really fly anywhere right now without a lot of complications, we might as well revel in where we have travelled why we wait for things to clear up.

So grab a martini and a mini-packet of peanuts and head on over to Serenade in Green...

Butter: The 5th Food Group

Sereena X at Metaphor Voodoo doesn't approve of the government's new food pyramids. They try to customize it for each individual by their age, gender and exercise routines, so there's no one official pyramid anymore. While I can get behind the concept, when I entered my information, I think the website told me to eat 5 servings of twigs and Dr. Pepper every day, so I'm not sure how accurate it is.

So Sereena X is asking us to suggest what foods are left out of the pyramid altogether. So far, we've got chocolate, baked potatoes, Tostino's pizza rolls, prosciutto (my choice!), sushi, habanero hot sauce, and Scotch. What else are we missing?

Grab a martini (ah, there we go, that's the food group we're missing: cocktails) and head over to Metaphor Voodoo to add your own ideas.

If I Had a Million Dollars...

I'd by a lifetime supply of Nutella.

After taxes, of course.

And then, maybe I'd give a little to RW, our Roundtable godfather, who's wondering just how much money is enough to be comfortable. $1 million? $10 million? Let's just round it up to a nice even $100 million, shall we?

How much would be enough for you? Drop a ten at the bar for your martini and join us at the Roundtable...

Seventeen Years Old and Still One of the Best

Whenever I'm in an airport, I always think of that beautifully played scene in When Harry Met Sally when the two not-yet-lovebirds reunite in the airport years after taking the most awkward road trip in cinema history together. Harry trades places with the guy next to Sally, explains that he's getting married, they catch up and reminisce some, and then as they are both walking through the concourse she reminds him that he once stated that men and women can never really be friends. He agrees that he was wrong and in the course of the conversation they wrap up the greatest two-part cinematic dialogue about the can-men-and-women-be-friends debate.



Normally, when people think of that movie, they think of the scene in the diner and, yeah, that's pretty good, too.



But this week's roundtable is all about airports. Move over Parisian cafes, S.K. at Incurable Insomniac thinks aiports are the best place for people watching. That is, if you don't have your head buried in a newspaper, book, portable DVD player or video iPod. Most people I know don't really like airports at all, but either way, drop on by and offer your favorite airport or airport-related story. Or just keep saying the word "airport" like I do. Airport airport airport....

They Have to be Good for Something

Kids: can't live with 'em, can't leave 'em at Day Care. But you can pimp them out in commercials. Do bratty children hawking sugary drinks make you want to go out and shop? Yes? No? Put down those boxes from Pottery Barn so I can see you better.

In fact, just grab a drink (the alcoholic kind, not the grape juice kind) and head over to Ville's excellently titled blog, This is Where I Talk and You Listen, to share your two cents on exactly who is responsible for those creepy Welch's grape juice devil spawns...

I Mean, Besides Cloning Paris Hilton...

How many ways can we make other countries hate the U.S.?

OK, go...

Where Was Your First Time?

Neil Sadaka? Cream? Joni Mitchell? Lauren, at Life of a Franco-American in the UK, is taking a survey of your first concert - the first one with the family, the first one by choice, etc. The insightful lady that she is, Lauren can tell what your answers say about you, so don't lie and say something cool like The Doors or Nirvana, when you know it was really New Kids on the Block. But don't let that stop you from grabbing a margarita (it is like 90 degress here in Chicago, now - finally it's summer) and head on over...

This Roundtable Might Give Your Computer Herpes

Maybe that whole 6-6-06 thing got to me this week, because apparently I’m so cruel as to introduce to you two new songs by two ladies most people would rather not hear about anymore. Evil, indeed.

But I couldn’t bring up one without the other, and I’ll explain why in minute.

First, returning to the scene after taking a break from being both “Beautiful” and “Dirrty,” Christina Aguilera is back with a new single, “Ain’t No Other Man Like You.” It’s retro, big-band horns meets hip-hop drum track, and for the first half of the song that’s all there is to back up Christina’s strong, only-barely-overblown vocals. It’s refreshing to hear a pop song that actually scales back the production instead of smothering it with so many layers of sonic fat, compensating for what’s usually a weak voice in the foreground (not that I’m referring to anyone specifically, of course). Maybe the producers learned something from Kelis’ “Milkshake,” a catchy model of pop minimalism that also became a huge hit.

Christina gets down with her funky self through the first verse, and I couldn’t help but be charmed by the high-school lyrics of “You’ve got soul/You’ve got class/You’ve got style/You’re bad-ass.” I love those classy bad-asses, too, Miss X-tina.

But then it seems like they didn’t know how to deliver with the chorus. It’s rushed and anti-climatic. Strangely, this is the exact opposite of the problem with her notorious single, “Dirrty.” Forget the ass-less leather chaps she wore in the video, I found it odd that no one blamed that song’s lack of success on the fact that it was oddly slow for what was shamelessly trying to be a club anthem. They seemed to have over-compensated with “Ain’t No Other Man,” as the chorus rushes by in a clipped, auctioneer-style speed, making it that much less likely to be chosen at karaoke bars.

As the producers carefully add more layers throughout, the song grows on you, and not like the STD’s that were crawling over my TV screen during her “Dirrty” video, but grows on you in a good way. If I was drunk in a bar and this song came on, I would even love it.

But what I really like about the song is that it’s a creative departure, and, therefore, a risk, by someone with actual musical talent. Unlike the second song that started floating around the internet recently.

If there are any small children in the room, if you have a sensitive gag reflex, or if you have to operate heavy machinery within an hour, you should probably not listen to or watch what I’m about to show you.

Ladies and gentlemen of the roundtable, speaking of STD’s, Paris Hilton has finally released her first song.

Oh, where to start? The thin, breathy vocals? The reggae-tinged backdrop? The poetic, downright philosophical lyrics? Paris is so generous to give us so much to work with. I’m overwhelmed, really.

First of all, can anyone confirm that Paris is actually singing? Those vocals are so manipulated, who knows if she actually showed up in a studio or if they just asked some hooker on the street to whisper into a microphone. The background vocals are whipped up to such creamy frothiness (or is it frothy creaminess?) that I wanted to compare them to Cool Whip, but then I remembered that I love Cool Whip and would never insult it by comparing it to anything that comes out of Paris Hilton’s mouth.

And let’s not forget those lyrics: “even if the gods are crazy/even if the stars are blind.” If the gods are crazy? Shouldn’t the advent of Paris Hilton’s record contract – nay, her record label – prove that there is no god at all? And if the stars are blind, are they also deaf? And if so, can I join them, so I don’t have to listen to this song one more time?

The best part is “If you show me real love, baby/I’ll show you mine.” You heard it from her directly, gentlemen. If you show her some love, she’ll show you her burning, cavernous...love. Thank God I’m gay.

Oh, and don’t forget the video. Just be sure to wash your eyes out with bleach afterwards, so that you never again have to watch this moist, shiny skeleton hump a palm tree. The least convincing part? Where she drives away at the end. Yeah, as if Paris Hilton drives. Or even knows how to drive a car. Or even knows how to spell "car."


Leave it to the hotel heiress to make Christina Aguilera look all classy and stuff. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to go spoon out my eyes and ears so I won’t know when Paris Hilton wins a Grammy.

Sopping Manliness

Once we all admit to our lifelong fantasies of the Brawny paper towel man (...I'll give you a minute to own up to it........there), you can first head over to the website for Brawny Academy, in which the paper towel company actually cast some late-thirty-something actor, put him in a thick flannel shirt, and make him pretend to teach husbands how to be more "sensitive" and stuff to their wives (because some ad agency decided the latest version of the Brawny man needed to be sensitive as well as strong). Seriously. Check out the trailer for the upcoming series.

I wonder what the husbands have to call him. "Brawny"? As in, "Yeah, Brawny, we'll try knitting. Hand over the yarn." Or, "Hey, Brawny, if you're so damned well-versed in the desires of women, where's Mrs...Brawny?"

Anyway, once that's out of your system, head over to Serenade in Green, where Stephen is throwing questions even heavier than last weeks' Roundtable about Doomsday. Question, ladies and gentlemen, about paper towels...

Wait, I Have to, Like, Think and Stuff?

Summer is almost here - the sun is shining, I'm sweating just by walking to work and attractive people are jogging in minimal clothing. And yet, Sereena X at Metaphor Voodoo wants us to think about...doomsday.

Aw, do I have to? I don't know want to think about that stuff...I just want to figure out what I want at Jamba Juice.

Let me lay it down for you: you have seven days to live - what do you do?

I would...well, I'm not going to tell you here. You have to head on over to Metaphor Voodoo to find out...and leave your own answer, too.

But PMS is Always Funny, Right? Right?

George Carlin. Janeane Garofalo. Eddie Izzard. Chris Rock. Margaret Cho. Jon Stewart. Lewis Black. Sam Kinison.

How many f-bombs are too many? (Or, is there such a thing as too many f-bombs?) How many jokes can one female comedian have about her period? Is being Asian really that funny?

Just a few of the names and ideas that are being tossed around in the discussion over at Atul's blog, Things I've Noticed. Sadly, no one has mentioned two of my favorites, Maria Bamford (who's deceptively chameleon voice and hilarious rants on temping and online dating can be seen here) and Pablo Francisco (also a gifted vocalist who can create a suspenseful movie trailer like nobody's business and can be seen here), but that's okay, I guess. I just have so much to teach people in so little time...


Grab a martini, hop on over and leave your thoughts...

Windy City? Meet Mother Nature. She's Drunk.

Today in Chicago we had fifty degree weather and a rain storm. The brutal wind was like a phantom boxer, slamming me with uppercuts and jabs from every direction. My umbrella would flip inside out and, as soon as I fixed it and aimed it against the wind, would flip open again as the wind instantly changed direction. My fellow pedestrians struggled along with me, a people mocked by the ravaging forces of nature who point at our trendy briefcases and expensive haircuts and laugh.

When I settled back in my office, I noticed that one of my shirt buttons had been whipped open as I had been stupid enough to run from Borders to my office with my jacket open. I then realized the whole point of the storm in the first place...

Mother Nature was trying to get in my pants, the slut.

Forunately, at least my shoes looked good, if a little slick. Because, according to RW holding court at the latest Roundtable discussion, if I was wearing those stupid loafers with tassels dangling on the top, I would have looked as ridiculous from the ankle down as I did from the waist up struggling with my stupid inverted umbrella. Curse ye, Fashion Gods, for letting these "shoes" take hold in the anals of style to become "classics" in the eyes of the stupid and drunk.

















The devil wears tassels.

Fun With Fame and Metaphors

SK of the Incurable Insomniac, yet another new addition to the virtual Roundtable, has given us her first contribution, a lovely look at what comes out when you drop a coin in the slot machine of culture. Apparently, what you can expect is awkward converations with friends, long-lost acquaintences calling out of nowhere, self-conscious e-mails from strangers and the knowledge that you'll always be more famous in Europe than in your homeland.

Confused? Intrigued? Trying to figure out why you're reading this after that whole "slot machine of culture" metaphor fiasco of one paragraph ago? Yeah, me too. (Hey, this is what happens when you stay up with insomniacs. You get giddy and make up weird stuff. What? It's only 11pm? Oh. Nevermind.) Just don't think about it too hard. Grab a drink and stay up all night chatting with SK, the Incurable Insomniac...

Also, if you have nothing else to do, you can check out my piece entitled "Literary Gold!" The editors at Blogcritics chose it as one of their Picks of the Week. They summed it up much better than I ever could:

"'How to write a best-seller' is an old line, but Don has come up with a new idea of how to piggy-back on an existing top-seller. He's kindly shared it with Blogcritics' readers before heading off to utilise it himself."

Bratz, Skankz, and Hoz

Kids are skanks. And the parents aren't much better.

New Roundable member Prego at Rust Belt Ramblings has become a one-man fashion police squad, and he's not happy with what he sees. Remember the good ol' days when people dressed up to go on a plane? (Yeah, me neither, but I keep hearing about them. Maybe that was back when people could afford gas and Ryan Seacrest was straight. You know, back in fictional times.) Now pajamas (or pygamas, according to Prego) are not just common, they're practically replacing jeans as everyday wear. And don't get him started on boxers visible above jeans. (Seriously, is male butt cleavage the new version of female cleavage? Because, in the words of Valerie Cherish, I don't want to see that!)

So slip off the pajama bottoms for something more comfortable, grab a highball and leave your two cents at Rust Belt Ramblings...

Ew

While this may be a blog covering the pop culture landscape, I put a lot of effort into avoiding celebrity gossip drivel. There's already so much of it out there and, even though it's a fun distraction on occassion and I enjoy reading other blogs about it, I have so far successfully prohibited the mass guilty pleasure that is US Weekly from smearing it's glossy, botoxed feces across my blog.

That is, until now. Joe Wack, one of our newer Roundtablers, is venting his frustration with a certain celebrity over at Hairshirt. I don't even want to mention his name due to his massive overexposure; I'll just say he's gotten a little loony of late and has decided to pay a certain B-level starlet to incubate his own horse-toothed mini-me.

The only redeeming factor in Joe's choice to give this insulated schmuck more attention, besides that it's hilarious, is his use of the word "smugly": smug + ugly. Perfection!

So grab a drink, clear out any negative energy from your body, and join the discussion at Hairshirt.

(P.S. Doesn't "Ew" look weird alone up there in the title? Isolating it reduces it to gibberish. It's like when you say a word, maybe "member" or something, over and over until it loses all meaning. Ew. <--- See? There it looks fine. On its own as a title? Just lines on a screen.)

I'd Like to Give a Shout-Out to All My Peeps

It's almost Easter? Seriously? Damn...I feel like I just finished my 10-pound bag of jelly beans from last year's Easter.

Luckily, we have Trish bringing us all together at this week's Roundtable to discuss tradition, plastic eggs, and pictures of other people's kids. Head on over and be sure to leave your favorite, chocolate-bunny-stuffed memory...

Get Your Milk and Cookies...

...and join story time with Lauren at Franco-American in the UK. She's telling us all a special story about immigration (how timely of her). She's taking us back to a different time and a different place, all without our usual Roundtable snarkiness. So grab your glass of milk - or whiskey, as she suggests - read Lauren's story and be sure to leave your own story if you feel like it.