« May 2004 | Main | July 2004 »
June 29, 2004
everything for a reason
Sorry to have to add to the morbid news of late going around on the gay blogosphere. I'll be heading home to Wisconsin on Thursday for my last grandma's funeral. It was not an unexpected passing, and she died as peacefully as any Midwesterner could hope for - in front of the TV. But it will be good to see my brothers and my mom, and I might get some outdoor time and possibly some fishing in too.
It's funny cuz I had a trip planned elsewhere this weekend which was cancelled due to poor timing. With my back thrown out and the funeral, it would have been cancelled anyway. Everything for a reason I guess. I'm not broken up about not being in DC for the 4th of July. I've already had it with the summer crowds and tourists, and elsewhere is the best place to be this time of year.
This was my last surviving grandparent and probably the one I was closest to. Her final years were spent well, as she had been moved into a group care facility for people with Alzheimer's. I think it was better for her than being at home in front of the TV all day, which was probably doing as much damage to her mind as the disease was. At the care facility, she was forced to socialize with others and do stuff other than watching the boob tube.
And before I leave I have a final paper due for class, which is difficult to work on being cracked out on muscle relaxants and painkillers. Then when I get back I have an exam. Luckily there is a lot of airport time and reading opportunities at home, but I'm a little stressed out about all this.
Posted by jimbo at 12:33 PM | Comments (16)
June 28, 2004
beckham, schmeckam
Beckham, schmeckam...I'm all about Sweden's Olof Mellberg. He has a distinct advantage over Beckham due to the scruff.
I know where I'm having lunch today...there's a LaCrosse (the sport, not my hometown) clinic outside my building today...beefy calves all over the place.
I spent much of the weekend cracked out of my gourd on painkillers and muscle relaxants. Slept 9 hours both Friday and Saturday nights. Saturday night we went out for a bit for Bollywood night at the Lantern. They didn't really show any true Bollywood movies, just clips and videos. Still the basmati was over the top as I like it.
Posted by jimbo at 10:52 AM | Comments (8)
June 25, 2004
crack attack at 502 T St., NW
THIS JUST IN: In light of making my blog a photoblog like hers, here's the hottest scoop from tha street. There I was on the computer playing Civ at around 8pm tonight, and I hear some scuffling outside my window. Being a good Mrs. Kravitz, I look out the window to see a hot DC cop taking down a crack dealer and cuffing him down right there on our driveway. Soon after, unmarked and marked police cars arrive, and a hot cycle cop too. They empty the dealer's pockets to find a bajillion lighters and some paraphenalia. Other cops soon arrive with the bags of crack he had emptied out of his pockets as he ran down the street. Real cops, real crackheads, real quotes.
Hot DC cop #1 finishes cuffing the crackhead:
Hot DC cop #2 and hot DC cycle cop with tattoos arrive:
Cops empty crackhead's pockets, and gather scattered crack from the street:
I invited the cops in for tea and crumpets, but they had to take the crackhead to the slammer. Bad boys, bad boys, what you gonna do...
Posted by jimbo at 8:38 PM | Comments (7)
going to the sex club with commander tucker
Pharmacy, how I love thee.
Dispel the pain that's within me.
Skelaxin has me relaxin,
and Vicodin clouds my mind.
I got up this morning and was still walking around like Ozzy after his 5,925th live performance, and now with a quick prescription I feel like him too. The lower back tension seems to be better than last night, but I'm planning on laying around much of the day to give it a rest.
Now I know it's every geek's wet dream to take 7 of 9 to a sex club, but it's not a good idea if you're running for a Senate seat. And all this time I was a huge Voyager fan and I didn't know Jeri Ryan was married to a Republican. But hey, I guess I shouldn't be opposed to drone-on-drone marriage, right?
In other pompous Republican news, "go fuck yourself".
I'm not opposed to the actions in either instance - unless it's by those who throw stones on a regular basis.
Hmm...now that makes me think...what Star Trek character would you take to a sex club to perform public acts? In that one episode of Next Generation where Q turned Wesley Crusher into an adult, now that guy was pretty hot. But I think I'd rather do a threesome with Captain Archer and Commander Tucker instead.
Posted by jimbo at 3:39 PM | Comments (10)
June 24, 2004
happy 1000th blog entry!
According to my Moveable Type blogging program, I do believe that this is my 1000th blog entry! I lost a few years of entries before that in a server accident, which would make me eligible for a Lifetime Achievement Award for the Bloggie Awards.
CRACK! GIVE ME CRACK NOW! Tonight at rugby practice my lower back was tweaking a little. It was something a minor adjustment back-cracking from big Phil couldn't handle - or so I thought. Later on I brought down a teammate for a tackle, and suddenly the back was spasming...I tried to hobble around and had to back out of the scrimmage. The only comfortable position was flat on my back, a position I remember from 1999 or so when I threw it out in the same place. As of now I'm dosing up on Aleve, Advil, Tylenol P.M. and a few beers, which is allowing me to blog at the moment. I'm walking around the house like Ozzy Osbourne. We'll make an assesment tomorrow morning to see how bad it is, but I'm icing it now too. If it is bad, that means chiropractic appointments, muscle relaxants and at least a month off from rugby. Wish me luck.
There is a group trying to bring in a Major-league baseball team to Londoun County, Virginia to a site 21 miles outside of the city. We already have the lovely Camden Yards ballpark an hour away in Baltimore, plus there are things to do in Baltimore such as the aquarium, the waterfront, and the Ravens stadium. There is nothing to do in Londoun County other than get a good night's rest. NO WAY will anyone brave a long and painful drive out there for a baseball game. To the proponents of this plan (whose names are mysteriously absent from the above linked article) I have one thing to say: HAHAHAHAHAHAA!! Not that I'm opposed to a baseball stadim nearby, mind you. I'd love to see a ballpark built in DC and have the Washington Senators (aka the Nationals) come back again. And I believe the former ballpark where the Washington Senators played is now where Howard University Hospital is located, just two blocks north of me.
Posted by jimbo at 1:22 PM | Comments (9)
June 23, 2004
that was so gay
On such little sleep I'm reluctant to start an entry about last night, but everyone else has, so here goes...pardon the bland tone, as it was much more fun than I write it, but again, I'm going on little sleep here...
Tuesday morning started out auspicously, as I hopped on the Metro with none other than His Royal Pimpness all the way to my endpoint. It turns out he goes to work at the same station I do, but a little later it seems. Chrisafer showed up down to the wire, causing me much distress. I gotta fill her in about my pre-trip anxiety I get wether its boat, bus, plane or skateboard. Our bus driver looked like Count Chocula, complete with fangs and a funky hairdo. We were forced to watch the uber-awful whitewater river guide movie with Meryl Streep and Kevin Bacon, topped off by an even worse 'Average Joe' with that annoying actor from Home Improvement.
Upon arrival we went our separate ways. I wandered into a bar called Nowhere, and sat down to do some pre-performance prepping and homework for class. Met up with Kiri for a nice dinner and then went to the performance space for the show.
I met and re-met a bajillion bloggers, and excitement was in the air. Finally got to meet Addaboy and Crash too, and said hello to Sam and the Neurotic Jew. In the audience I spotted a certain adorkable rugby friend from a while back who just wrote a piece about gay rugby in the Village Voice. And props to the mysterious hottie who is some kind of Coca-Cola product tester.
All the performances were lovely and of various topics, but all very gay. I thought Bob had beaten me to the punch with his piece on drag, but since nobody wiped out in his story, it was OK. Blogdaddy Sparky revealed the secret homoeroticism of G.I. Joe and comic book heroes. It was hard to keep up with all of Charlie's gay references, but he was fun nonetheless. Kythryne and Kiri's pieces were more sobering but a requisite addition to the trials of gayness. Musical performances by Faustus and The Hazzards' performance of 'Gay Boyfriend' topped off the set.
The best part of it for me was the boundless creative energy all over the place and with each piece, a feeling you rarely get in Washington, DC. Talent and performance is the meat and drink of New York, as opposed to our policy and politics of DC. It was a refreshing experience that I need to get more often. As for speaking, I wasn't as nervous as I thought I would have been, but the beers I was swilling before I was on may have helped. I guess it was a funny tale to tell as the audience (view from my side of the stage, more moi, yet more moi) was laughing a lot. I wish I had some kind of napkin or rag to wipe up my sweat off the podium though, as there was about as much as you'd find if I were on the stairmaster at the gym.
And I didn't get lost once on the subway system. The signage was easy to interpret, and I tried to select random people each time I needed directions. And no one was rude. That is such a stereotype of New York people. On the street, in the bar and in the performance space, I didn't feel one neg vibe the whole day.
Later on many of us went out for drinks after the show. Sydney and Anne of the Ukes of Hazzard were a riot to chat with over cupcakes. I also met Cowsinthebarn, girl NYC and I think Tin Man finally as well. Props out to the Virginia cutie Ryan, Andy's assistant at P.S. 122.
I crawled home to Dyke Slope in Brooklyn with Chris and Kiri. Got on the bus in time and was soon joined by a groggy Chrisafer. Additional cinematic punishment on the bus was provided by the film 'Like Mike.'
What I read for the show is linked below:
_____________________________________
In DC every year about a week before Halloween the gay bars along 17th Street hold an annual high heel drag race. Queens from all walks of life get tipsy with a few cocktails and dress up for the evening, from hardcore Renaissance court dresses replete with powdered wigs, coordinated team efforts displaying every ceremonial dress Natalie Portman ever wore in Star Wars Episode I, to low-maintenance unshaven skank drag. The drag queens parade up and down the street before the race, then line up for a 100m sprint which lasts no more than two minutes of pure transvestite joy. Itís something that started on a lark but eventually evolved into a neighborhood event where even now the mayor shows up as race marshal.
The first year I tried it in 1997 I was working at the U.S. Department of Agriculture coordinating ag training exchange tours for visitors from the former Soviet Union. I didnít have a dress handy and had never done drag before, so my only resource was my female coworkers. My lesbian friends were of no help. I asked the coworkers to bring in their tackiest dresses they never wanted to wear again. One afternoon after work I modeled the dresses for a discriminating panel of Federal Government workers. We decided on the firetruck red cocktail dress, which I later had altered to include gaudy silk frills of white, yellow and red. Add a red wig to the ensemble, a 1/4î layer of makeup, and matching size 13 pumps from Payless, and I was ready to run as the spicy Latina Ms. Salsa Juarez.
Salsa somehow managed to get second in the race after a three-queen pile-up ahead of her took out much of the lead pack. The bitch who won had stiff-armed one of the competitors, which led to the wipe-out. With a graceful leap over the casualties I crossed the line to win a $50 bar tab at JRís Bar. I was proud of my accomplishment, and it was interesting to see the reactions on some of my friendsí faces who didnít expect me to do drag. Even some of my most tolerant friends were shocked that I would do such a thing. I think itís something that every guy should try, even the straight ones, as you learn what a pain heels, makeup and dresses are. I often bring up the issue with potential dates as a litmus test. If heís got a problem with Salsa, then heíll have a problem with me. I like to fuck with gender, as people, even the gay ones, have far too many issues with gender assignment and roles.
Iím proud to note that a news clipping of Salsa from the Washington Blade is still proudly posted above the photocopy machine at my former office at the USDA headquarters. Below the clipping is a handwritten caption reading, ěFormer Employee.î
I went out for the race another year just for fun with my friend Jon and got to prance up and down the street, and half-heartedly ran with the pack down 17TH Street again without really trying. But it wasnít as rewarding as the thrill of victory I experienced the first time. I wanted to win. And I wanted to see if that bitch who kept winning every year could try a stiff-arm on ME. By then I had joined the mostly gay Washington Renegades Rugby team and had learned a thing or two on how to manage the offense while sprinting, and wanted to see if I could manage the ěwax-on, wax-offî technique taught by Mr. Miyagi, which was also useful to rugby players when dealing with a stiff-arm.
So in the fall of 2001 I began training for the next high heel drag race. Rugby practice had started in September with requisite tackle, sprint and cardio workouts. I was ready.
The events of September 11 threatened to have the race cancelled, but by October people were ready for a distraction. The mood in DC was grim, and people were still reeling from the attacks on the Pentagon and the Twin Towers, and the anthrax threats in the mail. But the gay bars and the city managed to organize and got the event going, which was a good thing. By then people needed a laugh. I needed a laugh too, and I considered it good public service to deliver a few chuckles to everyone, if only for an evening.
I encouraged all my friends to come, including the entire rugby team. I assured them I would win, and told them to position themselves early near the finish line, so they could witness my moment of victory.
Of course I couldnít go again as Salsa Juarez. Everyone loves Salsa, but I wanted to try something new. I didnít have as many coworkers in my dress size at that time, so we got a friend of a friend to show up with all her big auntís most tacky and frumpy dresses. After some modeling, we decided on the pink satin bridesmaid dress with an open strapless back and a big pink bow just above my bum. The red wig didnít go with the pink, so we decided on curly blond. A fuzzy pink purse completed the look. She had a wholesome, Midwest look to her, and everyone commented on how much she looked like Nellie Olsen from Little House on the Prairie. So Nellie Olsen it was.
The night of the race Nellie elbowed her way to the front of the pack in anticipation. Jon was nearby in scary goth drag, and I offered to hold his money and car keys in the pink fuzzy purse. I happened to realize that this wasnít the evening cocktail dress like Salsa wore, so Nellie had to hike up her dress to get the first strides that would assure victory.
Now, bridesmaidís dresses have this material underneath called crinoline. Crinoline helps the dress puff out to make it look flowing and elegant. No dress was made for sprinting events, and dresses with crinoline are even harder to run in, much less walk. When the whistle blew I extended my first stride, and in a second the heels got caught on the damned crinoline and I went flying face-first onto the asphalt.
The wig flew off, purse went flying, its contents spread across the street, and there were more than a few heel tracks on my back and on the beautiful pink dress. I was tragic drag queen roadkill. Totally humiliated, I put on my skewed wig, and gathered the contents of the purse and headed to the finish line. I finished, but the majority of the drag queens were ahead of me. I donít even know who won. I got lots of crap from the rugby team, as two other teammates in nun outfits were some of the top finishers in the race. I was beaten by nuns.
My friend Jon in scary goth drag caught up with me and asked me what happenedÖhe saw Nellie Olsenís carcass on the street as he ran by, but just kept on going. We were ready to leave, and he asked for his car keys. I dug around in the pink fuzzy purse but couldnít find them. In the shock of the roadkill tragedy I must have missed them somehow.
So I headed back towards the starting line. I found where I wiped out as there was a big pink skid mark of foundation and rouge on the street. People were still milling about as I scanned the asphalt for the keys. Then from out of nowhere this hot rugged-looking guy in hiking boots and flannel came up to me and started talking to me.
He was just my type, îHey! Arenít you Kevin?î he said to me, ě I saw you perform in Rehoboth a few years ago.î That was oddÖI never performed in drag at Rehoboth Beach.
ěUmmÖmaybe you were thinking of someone else,î I kept scanning the street for the car keys.
îNo, no, Iím sure it was you. Hey, Iím Mike. Good to meet you.î
îUmmÖIím Jim. Iíve never performed in drag other than here though.î It was starting to dawn upon me that this guy was clearly hot for Nellie Olsen. But I was focused on finding the keys so Jon and I could get home. My conversation with Mike continued, and he even helped me look for the keys, which we didnít find. Someone had turned them in at one of the bars and I got them the next day. It wasnít until I got home that night that I realized Mike was all hot for Jimbo in drag, but at the time I wasnít ready for it. I didnít manage to get his number either, which I still regret to this day. I like to fuck with gender, but aside from that and my failed racing career, thatís about as far as Iíll go with Salsa Juarez and Nellie Olsen.
Posted by jimbo at 8:15 PM | Comments (18)
June 20, 2004
super-sunny sunday
What a glorious day to ring in the summer solstice. Today there wasn't a cloud in the sky, rock-bottom humidity, and relatively cool. I met up with Seamus this morning for brunch at Annie's, then we were off to the Washington Plaza for some poolside cocktails. I meant to stay outta the sun, but managed to get a nice toasty pink anyway. Went to the gym and almost felt guilty for being in the subterranean weight room, so I topped off the remainder of the day with a bike ride down on the mall followed by some weeding in the garden. I'll have to wait until it rains again so the rest of the weeds pull out easier.
It was a good catch-up weekend, as nothing got done the weekend before due to rugby and Pride stuff. Vacuumed, big laundry sheets and more weeding on Saturday. Went out with Gurl and Bubbles to DuPont Italian Kitchen, followed by a few at Cobalt. I was in bed at a reasonable hour, and due to the big meal late in the evening, I had some pretty funky dreams this morning.
In one dream a flight of cranes gracefully landed on the roof a computer-generated cathedral and took off again in a swirl. In the other dream I was assigned to infiltrate a government facility to test its security. I got caught, and was mostly pissed off that the security guy rifled through the trunk of my car (I don't have a car) and took my 6-pack of Budweiser (I don't drink Bud). I was an asshole to the guy interrogating me for taking my beer. Can someone interpret those, or was it just the calmari, linguini and the 3 gin and tonics from the night before?
And on Tuesday Chrisafer and I take the bus up to NYC for the WYSIWYG Talent Show June 22 at 7.30, NYC, NY. The theme of the show is "That's SO Gay: Tales of Extremely Gay Gayness." I'll be recounting the tale of my tragic drag queen roadkill wipeout accident at the 17th Street High Heel Race as Nellie Olsen two years ago. Also performing are my blog mommie and daddy, Kiri and Sparky, so it'll be a family affair! Thanks again to Chris & Andy for inviting me for the show.
Posted by jimbo at 10:29 PM | Comments (2)
June 18, 2004
T.A.F.K.A.M.
I, too, shall change my name to Esther.
THIS TUESDAY: Chrisafer and I head up to NYC for the gay edition of the WYSIWYG show, feat. Jimbo. Will I see you there?
I got a 'B' in my first exam for the summer class I'm taking in 'Intercultural Communication.' Social science exams are very different than hard science exams. I am accustomed to memorizing 500 genus and species names, their common names and their family assignment in three days and regurgitating it out for a lab identification exam where I differentiate and label the preserved species in jars. These fuzzy concept exams are a little different, but not hard.
The kids in this undergraduate class are very bright and communicative. The program is the best in the nation and it shows. Due to the nature of this class and my varied intercultural experiences, I will surely not be penalized for being quiet during the lectures. One of the other students called me 'Superman' the other day (as opposed to 'bezpredelshik') because I had a story for every intercultural instance the teacher brings up. I'm the one in class who always pipes up with "One time, in band camp..." or "One time, in Peace Corps..." or "One time, on my rugby team..." ad nauseum. I knew I'd be the 'old guy' in class who annoyed the younger undergrads, but I don't care too much. Sitting there for 4 hours on a Monday and Wednesday and not sharing would drive me crazy. And y'all know how I love to share.
Posted by jimbo at 8:50 AM | Comments (2)
June 17, 2004
Fear and Loathing in PG County
Sure enough, I got lost on my bike yesterday trying to get home from work to DC. Add to it the rain I thought would be the typical afternoon thundershower, which lasted for at least a half hour. So I was wet, lost and I couldn't see (glasses issue again). But the trail was nice anyway. Eventually I ended up somewhere out in Prince George's County, and ended up biking home on Rhode Island anyway. After some research today it turns out there really isn't any trail that goes from College Park to the District. You have to be on a road at some point one way or another.
I got my teeth cleaned at the dentist's yesterday. The technology seems to advance every time I go in for an appointment. First you get the x-ray, then the person with the sonic thingy comes in, then the Official Flosser comes in, then the dental hygenist came in to pick around, and finally the dentist. It takes a whole hour now, but damn my teeth do feel clean afterwards.
I go in twice a year for cleaning and checkup. Each time they give me a bunch of samples, including a spare toothbrush. Since the samples are too bristly for my tastes, I save them for 'unexpected overnight visitors'. I have two unused sample toothbrushes in my medicine cabinet. You do the math. Grrrr... I talk the talk a lot but don't get as much results as you'd think.
}: [
I saw a guy I went on a date with once last weekend at the Pride Festival. He had super-white teeth, almost freakishly white teeth, but I liked them. I've tried the whitening stuff though, and it's kind of a pain. The dental hygenist says you have to get a mold and it's all expensive and all that, so I'm not going to bother just yet. But I am weaning myself off of coffee, as I think I drink too much. I'm reducing the loads of grounds I shovel into the filter, from 5 heaping spoonfulls to 5 moderate spoonfulls. I noticed the difference in flavor, and I'm not as wired as I usually am by this time. I always stop drinking coffee by Noon. I think kicking the coffee will help me be a bit more relaxed too.
I've been working on yet another set of web pages for a contracting gig on the side. It adds up to enough where I can live a bit more comfortably and pay the bills. Sure, some extra time is required, which I'd probably be playing computer games anyway.
Charlie Brown is hot. While I was looking for the above picture, I came across the website of a Dutch production of the show, "You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown." Snoopy ain't bad either. I think I have a thing for Dutch boys, but not the kind with that bad haircut.
Posted by jimbo at 10:23 AM | Comments (13)
June 16, 2004
new summer rules for WSC
In order to better accomodate our short-term membership clients here for summer internships in Washington, DC, we'd like to let you know about our new relaxed rules for summer 2004.
New Gym Floor Rules for Washington Sports Clubs, effective Memorial Day 2004 until Labor Day 2004:
- You need not exercise or use the equipment while visiting our club. We encourage your social growth during your time in Washington, DC.
- This is now a singles/social athletic club. Feel free to gather in large bunches in walkways, the locker room, and near water fountains and talk as long as you want.
- If you see someone leaving their weight machine for even an instant, immediately acquire that machine and do not allow the former user of the machine to use it again. It is his fault for being away for 15 seconds for a drink of water anyway. Do not share your equipment with anyone. And again, take as long as you'd like on our machines, talk or read as long as possible.
- Cell phone use is encouraged on the gym floor, in the locker rooms, and during use of aerobic equipment.
- If you have Important Documents to read, please use our pench presses as your personal study lounge for as long as you'd like.
- If you do choose to lift our free weights, please accentuate your workout with orgasmic moans that express your masculinity. Your companions elsewhere on the gym floor will appreciate your vocalizations.
Yes, it's intern season again at they gyms downtown. At best they are packed with people who have no idea of how to conduct themselves in a crowded gym. Lately I've been working out at the gyms on campus where I work, and I think I will do so for the rest of the summer.
Tonight I will attempt to navigate the twisting bike trails that apparently go from the University of Maryland campus in College Park back home to DC. I could go straight down Route 1 / Rhode Island, but I could get run over or get shot too. I'll stick to the trails. But grampaw jimbo gets lost a lot, so if you don't hear from me in a few days, I may have ended up in Cumberland or Patuxent or Havre de Grace or something like that. Wish me luck.
Posted by jimbo at 12:09 PM | Comments (9)
June 14, 2004
nancy turned me into a crackwhore
The 24-7 All-Ronnie-All-The-Time Lovefest is over, Praise Allah, but one more memory clunked out of my brain from that time. The 'Just Say No To Drugs' campaign was in full effect when I was in like 7th grade or so. I recieved more information about drugs than I have EVER learned at any circut party, and until then had never taken anything worse than a mild overdose of children's asprin when I was 6.
In our 6th-grade health class we had full-color posters of uppers, downers, and drug paraphenalia - a poster for each. I have never seen 90% of these things in my lifetime, regardless of the shady crowds I've run with. I was fully educated on every kind of drug imaginable, and I learned it all from my 6th grade public education. Thank you Nancy Reagan for allowing me to never be swindled by a dealer, and for teaching me how to buy the good shit.
I think we spent like 3 weeks on this stuff. For one lesson, they had us tie a string to each of our index fingers, tie the other end of each string to a corner of an oven cooling rack, and then have someone else run a wooden spoon along the rack like a xylophone while our index fingers were plugged in our ears. Sure enough, it made a trippy sound. For another lesson they put this black-and-white swirly pattern cut-out on a 45 record turntable and turned it on. The swirling colors and patterns were fascinating.
The lessons were supposed to show us what drugs were like, and perhaps make us think it was stupid. I thought it was cool and I wanted to learn more - by experience. The War on Drugs backfired and didn't do all that much to prevent kids from using drugs, at least not in my case. I'm not saying lack of education would have been any better, but perhaps the funding could have been better spent on, say, more sex education during a time when people were dropping like flies from lack of education.
Posted by jimbo at 9:41 AM | Comments (6)
June 13, 2004
turgid with pride
Worn out from the week, Friday found me at home wallowing happily in Jimbo Time, as I had chosen to skip that night's rugby event. I later heard a rather successful casino night was held at Titan, but I have gambling dyslexia. I tried it one time on a riverboat casino on the Mississippi River in Iowa, and found the dizzy passing of so many numbers, odds and money flying by my eyes confused me. Better to spend my money on video games and food.
But I got good sleep for the rugby match on Saturday, which was held at the farmstead of one of our assistant coaches' house. We had to drive way the heck out into Maryland somewhere northwest of DC. It was a beautiful day for rugby in the country, and perhaps the idyllic setting of the pitch took some of the aggression out of me. No spectacular plays to speak of. At one point in the game, the ref (also our coach) declared "Backs are forwards, and forwards are backs!" and for the next ten minutes, I was something called a 'lock' (#4?). I had to be part of the scrum with my head wedged between the skinny asses of two other former backs. At times I had to burrow my head in between their thighs, and grab the shorts of my partner to my right, with my other hand up and around the groin of the guy in front of me, grabbing his shorts too. It sounds erotic, but wasn't at the time. I was too freaked out I was gonna get crushed in a collapsing scrum. I certainly gained more appreciation for being a back, as we do less work and more standing around. One more pic from the match.
Naptime when I got home, then off to Blowoff. When I walked in I thought, "Hey! Blowoff Just For Jimbo Night!" as it was just me and the DJs Bob and Richard. It was good to chat while they were spinning, and Bob pointed out that one of the tracks he was playing was supplied by none other than PJ himself. People started rolling in, including 'boo and Seth. No sign of Chrisafer, and I know my poor Mitzhi was still in convalescence. My feet still hurt from the day, so it was two beers and off to bed.
This morning I got up to do an early shift at the Capital Pride festival held in view of the Nation's Capitol on Pennsylvania Avenue. Oddly enough, everyone was having a great time despite the morbidity of the week before. I was on cocktail duty with Mr. & Mrs. Beaverhausen, and also got a visit from Dan Dan Dan and Stebbins. After my shift was over I did a circuit of the festival grounds with Keith and Jon (in the pic), said a drive-by hello to Waremouse and many old friends and went home to chill, turgid with pride. Here's a flashback from last year's pride pics, including archival photos of Matt & Joe.
Oh yeah, the Madonna concert is tonight and tomorrow night. I will not be going, but this morning I could feel her presence in the city, and kept reflexively murmuring "MadonnaMadonnaMadonna..." for minutes on end.
13 blogs humped...is that a record?
Posted by jimbo at 7:23 PM | Comments (6)
June 12, 2004
monstrous fish; undead vs. animated constructs
I couldn't believe this pic...I had only heard of rural myths of giant catfish hiding below the dams where I'm from on the Upper Mississippi River in Wisconsin, and that they were even larger down South, but this pic is proof! Apparently there are good 'ol boys down south who go 'fishing' by running their hands under large logs and hidey holes in the Mississippi and come up with these giant catfish!
Still wondering who to vote for in 2004? Well, if your faith lies in the necromantic arts, vote for this ticket in the upcoming presidential election. Don't miss the FAQs and press section on the site either. To be fair, if the Republicans have undead legions at their beck and call, the Democrats have animated constructs at their disposal.
Now why can't VirginiaIsForHaters.org design a site as navigable and eye-catching as the above satiric site to market their cause?
Posted by jimbo at 8:26 PM
June 11, 2004
frikkin' say hello, dammit!
Bubba pointed out to me via e-mail today that it is ironic that Ronald Reagan's funeral services and observance occur the week before the DC Capital Pride festival and parade weekend.
Every single minute of Pride weekend has been scheduled for us in advance with rugby events and commitments. We have a match on Saturday which should be pretty cool as it's recreational and in a beautiful spot, at a restored farmstead on the banks of the upper Potomac. One of our assistant coaches lives there, and built his own pitch (rugby field) on his property. I may be able to get back in time for Blowoff, but we'll see. With no car and having to depend on transportation back from the remote Poolesville, MD area, who can say. I am re-learning how to be flexible and to depend on rides from others now that the car is gone. It has not always been easy.
On Sunday I'll be slinging beer from 11 to 1 somewhere on the festival grounds. Buy a beer from me, tip our team, and say hello for chrissake! People are starting to approach her in bars as if she's Brad Pitt or J-Lo or something and saying "OHMIGAWD are you GURL from JIMBO'S BLOG!?!" But no one ever comes up and says hi to me. I may write ornery, but I do not bite unless asked!
Posted by jimbo at 12:29 PM | Comments (5)
June 10, 2004
the day after the day after tomorrow
Sisgurl and Ebert and Jon went to the Uptown Theatre in the Upper Caucasia region of DC to go see Day After Tomorrow. In the words of Gurl: "THIS MOVIE SUCKED!" I had to agree. We were laughing whenever anyone had any line to speak, the cliches were so numerous. They could have used a lot less dialouge, monolouge, Dennis Quaid, fake computerized stupid wolves, and quotes from the president and vice-president. I'd suggest they include twice as much mass destruction, mega-hurricanes, multiple twisters, tidal waves, deep freezes and huge hail stones and I would have been happier. Most classic line, up there with the testosterone-laden quote by Jesse Ventura ("I ain't got time to bleed."), by Dennis Quaid when he said, "I made a promise to my son." I'm gonna say that every time I hoist my gym bag onto my shoulders with a hypermasculine shrug.
Please, no more renaming things in DC after Reagan! WE ALREADY HAVE AN EDIFICE CALLED THE RONALD REAGAN BUILDING, YOU DUMBASSES! It houses a very nice cafeteria, a bunch of disgruntled USAID contractors imprisoned at any given moment, a poorly-placed DC Visitor Center, and it is located on 14th and Constitution Avenue. I used to eat there all the time when I worked at the Dept. of Commerce. It's very nice and it's already named after Ronald Reagan, mmmkay? We also have an airport named after him, as I said yesterday. Do not rename the fucking Pentagon after him. No way. 'Pentagon' is a cool name...can't we just leave it at that? Jeez.
His corpse has been in a casket in the hot DC summer heat for over 24 hours now. Ewww. Please don't do that with my corpse.
Posted by jimbo at 10:21 AM | Comments (9)
June 9, 2004
from a place right out of history
I don't have too much to say about the passing of our 40th president, other than I am getting tired about hearing what a demigod he was 24/7 on the news, and I don't get Friday off. I do know that W is NO Ronald Reagan, however. Please, enough with the lame comparisons. Other bloggers do have some pithy and well-written criticisms of Reagan's presidency. For once, I'm not as angry about this issue as some other people are.
Howevah, I did work at the airport now known as (take a deep breath) Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport, or just 'National' as locals call it now like they did back then. My baby is still there in it's original format after 3 years. I guess they are satisfied with my design, but even I will have to admit it's time for a redesign. Honies, that design is tired. However, the Internet-phobic network security managers (Remember Tuvok?) are probably still there, resisting all logical and necessary change. Tuvok once tried to tell me that I needed to rebuild the site in Java (!??!) because it was more secure. An entire open Java session website more secure than good sound server security? Whut ev ah. I work in a better place now, where the network guys get me stuff I need without me even asking. They are mind-reading psychic geniuses here. And our website here does not get hacked at all, as opposed to the monthly panic-attacks we'd get from website hackers at MWAA. Competence, table for one, please?
Anyhow, both the air traffic controllers at National and the DC locals chafed at the renaming of National Airport to Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport. 'National Airport' just sounded better, and was more fitting for an airport in OUR NATION'S CAPITAL! Metro dragged its feet in changing the signage for the subway stop all the way into 2000. But the powers that be from other states decided something for us during a Marion Barry administration, because clearly if we vote for a crackhead then decisions must be made for us, right? American-brand democracy at work. So we get a very nice airport with a really long and retarded name, named after a president who peed on the air traffic controllers.
I do feel bad for Reagan's corpse. I suppose if you are a Presidential Corpse, you'll get dragged around and shown to people a lot. Please don't do that with my corpse. Leave me alone, I'm done with life. Plus embalming uses a lot of nasty toxic chemicals, you smell bad, and really, you still look dead. I was never about pretense. I'm going to pass on the embalming. Plus, you bury all those chemicals in the ground which will one day leach into the soil and groundwater. I'm all about a FABULOUS urn, with my gritty ashes within. Yeah, a hand-painted terra cotta urn with my visage embossed on the front. Huge boquets of fresh flowers will be appreciated from the otherworld as well. I recommend sunflowers for starters. And a big fun party with lots of food and dance music in my honor, because remember the first three letters in the word 'funeral' are F-U-N! Someone please write this down or print it out and remember that if I drop dead soon.
I rushed to the downtown Border's bookstore last night to get the latest issue of Out, PC Magazine and Dragon magazine. 0 for 3, as they are not on the newstands yet, dammit.
Hrmmm...I got a nice fresh blister on my big Fred Flintstone toe at rugby practice last night. I guess I don't have to worry about that damn callus anymore. Remember: I share.
Posted by jimbo at 12:43 AM | Comments (7)
June 8, 2004
yet more tales of survival
Look out for the latest issue of PC Magazine featuring the ewok manifestation of jimbo on pages 94-95, and a lego-jocko as well. Another badass creation by Kenn in Vancouver. Hmm...looks like some other blogger/ruggers are also on the newstands as well.
The cicada swarm is a murmur of its former self. The robins, squirrels and sparrows have cleaned up the rest, leaving only indigestible wings on the pavement. No baby peep went hungry this summer, that is certain. See you again in 17 years!
Speaking of things that make droning sounds, it's good to see that J-Lo is preserving the sanctity of marriage yet again.
Yipes! My brother almost drowned a few weeks ago...the story continues here in full. Another loss to drowning in the family would not have been cool. (My dad died in a drowning/hypothermia accident three months before I was born.) It's good to read that my brother lucked out though. He's the oldest brother of three, who lives in Hood River, Oregon, up the Columbia Gorge from Portland. I used to live in Portland for a short time. Brother Brian spends as much time as possible playing tennis, windsurfing and snowboarding. He is probably the one responsible for my "bad work ethic" here in DC that alienates me from a lot of the local laborers in that I enjoy taking vacation days off to recreate, and stay home from work when I am sick. That sort of thing is looked down upon around here for the most part. My other brother (the middle one) just got a job in Minneapolis. I am the youngest one of three, and the sole precious gay sibling. While I have a half-sister, I never met her as a child. We'll have to settle for me being the sister.
Last Friday, my buddy Phil and I drove to Rufus for what appeared to be a session of steady 4.0 conditions (about 30 mph wind). Rufus is a couple miles east of Maryhill and 'The Wall', but on the Oregon side of the Columbia. We look over at The Wall and it is clogged with windsurfers. We arrive at the Rufus gravel pit about 5:00 and I see Rob Wymore leaving in his white van after hogging the earlier session. I am testing out one of Rob's 'Real Wind' boards and sails this day. But it's late in the day and we are jonesing to go sail. We motor on. Phil twists my arm and we park and rig at the far west end of the Rufus gravel area near the campers where there are fewer windsurfers rigging and launching. It's no big deal as my truck makes a nice windbreak. Plus, we both like lots of space to sail in.
We unload our gear and Phil realizes he's forgotten his harness! I say 'Time to go make a friend', and Phil sets off the quarter mile on foot back to the gravel pit area to bum a harness. I rig my 4.2 sail, knowing that I will have PLENTY of power. A fat 3.7 probably would have been OK too. It takes me a little longer than usual to rig because it's a new sail for me, so Phil is actually not too far behind me when he returns with a borrowed harness from the very last person he asks at the gravel pit. The universal joint 'clicks' into the mast extension, and I think my rig is finally together. I put my wetsuit on and I am ready to go. Phil says to wait up, but he looks like he is only about 5 minutes behind me. I am pretty excited, and so I launch.
LESSON #1
'CLICKS' AND VISIBLE SPRING BUTTONS MEAN NOTHING; SOME UNIVERSAL JOINTS DON'T MATE WITH SOME MAST EXTENSIONS. DOUBLE-CHECK THE JOINING!
LESSON #2
WHEN IT'S WINDY WITH BIG SWELL, DO NOT SAIL ALONE. WAIT FOR YOUR SAILING BUDDY, NO MATTER HOW AWESOME THE CONDITIONS ARE. IT CAN WAIT.
So, I start out on my first reach, more than slightly overpowered, and I see the giant swells looming. Within 30 seconds, I am in the main channel and already on a football field-sized swell. It's about as good as it gets on the Columbia. Time to jibe and head back to shore, I think. I've got to adjust my harness lines anyway so that I can feel a little more comfortable with the sail. I start jibing and sail clew-first for a second or two. But then I decide, nah, just ride this sweet swell for a bit and then go back to shore. So I complete an S-turn to head back on my original point of sail. But just when the sail feels really light and the wind is quiet, I do the 'anti-gravitational jibe'. This is something almost every windsurfer has done at some point. My sail levitates off my board and I fall backwards, pushing the board directly downwind on the swell I was just recently surfing. There I am holding a useless sail and my board is already 30 yards away. I guess Rob Wymore's Real Wind boards are so good, they don't even need a sailor.
I am stunned for about 2 seconds, but then realize the old sailors' maxim of 'never leave your craft'. So I ditch my sail and swim as fast as I can toward my board. I'm swimming pretty hard and steady, knowing I have to hurry. I get to within about 7 feet of my board before another giant swell pushes us up and there goes the board again, surfing by itself down the swell. Instantly, it's already 30 yards away and on the crest of the next swell where it gets flipped a couple times by the wind. At this point, I'm winded from swimming directly against the current. My DaKine 'Thermoform' waist harness is constricting my lung capacity, as well as dragging in the water, slowing me down. Finally, I get smart and remove it. I'm in the middle of the swell-zone, and I realize I have to swim for shore (Oregon). It looks far away. I can't see anybody sailing around me.
LESSON #3
IF YOU DO THE 'ANTI-GRAVITY JIBE' AND YOU ARE SEPERATED FROM YOUR BOARD, IMMEDIATELY REMOVE YOUR WAIST HARNESS AND ATTACH IT TO YOUR BOOM/SAIL; YOU DON'T NEED IT FOR THE SWIM, AND IT WILL HELP FLOAT YOUR SAIL. OTHERWISE, YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO BREATHE SUFFICIENTLY AND YOUR PROGRESS WILL BE SLOWED BY THE DRAG OF THE HARNESS.
LESSON #4
SWIM QUICKLY AND STEADILY TO YOUR BOARD; YOU WILL PROBABLY HAVE ONLY ONE CHANCE TO GET TO IT BEFORE THE CONDITIONS OR FATIGUE PREVENT YOU FROM GETTING TO IT.
Holding onto my harness with one hand, I do the sidestroke, which is the easiest stroke for me to do. I'm not panicking. I think I can conserve energy like this. The current is really strong from a couple days of rain and the John Day Dam spilling water. But I'm already pretty fatigued from my initial swim with the harness on. So I'm starting out a little winded. My wetsuit is well-worn and actually a surfer's suit, but still it's not easy to swim in neoprene. I rest periodically by floating on my back. But every time a big swell comes through, my head goes under like a fishing bobber in chop with too much sinker on the line. I inhale a little water each time this happens, and I cough it up. This hinders my my breathing and rhythm. One guy, wearing a black helmet (and blinders, evidently), sails within about 20 yards downwind of me. I wave my arm and scream, but he does not look around or see me.
LESSON #5
DON'T COUNT ON ANYONE SEEING OR SAVING YOU, EVEN IF THEY'RE CLOSE-BY.
Now, I'm starting to get scared and disheartened. I feel like I'm getting pulled lower into the water. Every time I float on my back to rest. I feel myself blacking out and have to immediately go back to a less horizontal position to regain full consciousness (I still don't know why this happened). I realize I could die out there. I'm thinking what a useless way to die. And I'm getting philosophical. I wonder whether I will see Dad, who also drowned. Every time a swell dunks me, I think how easy it would be to give up and go down. That's how fatigued and disheartened I was.
I've still got my harness in my hand and I'm getting desperate, pondering if I should finally ditch the harness. Instead, my desperation turns to invention. I take the harness and wrap the waistband under my neck with the foam lumbar support on the back of my neck. The Velcro straps fit perfectly under my neck, and I snug the straps as much as I can with both hands while treading water. My head is buoyed significantly by the foam. I little more foam on this harness and it would be a foolproof safety harness!
LESSON #6
NEVER GIVE UP, NO MATTER WHAT THE CIRCUMSTANCES.
LESSON #7
IF YOU'VE GOT ANY FLOATATION, USE IT CREATIVELY.
I swim/float within about 100 yards of the shore. The swells and current are still big. I am tired and still not certain I can make it. I know that the last part will be the hardest as my fatigue will increase exponentially near the end. I'm now at the east end of The Wall, a couple miles downstream of Rufus. I can't be sure (because it seemed like eternity), but I'm thinking I was in the water for at least 45 minutes at this point. Finally, I see a windsurfer and he sees me as I wave my arm. He sails past, jibes, and then returns for a nice upwind landing at me. I grab on to the rear of his board and he tries to sail. But it doesn't work for some reason and I let go. He returns for another try. This time, I have to beach myself like a tuna on his board for a couple minutes to rest. We try again, this time with him dragging and me holding his rear footstrap. This works and we make it to shore. His name is Brad, and he warns me about 'the channel' on my way back to Rufus.
I start walking on the big pebbles which are sloped toward the river. It's difficult to walk a straight line as I am tired, walking on a slope, barefoot, and getting pushed around by the wind. But at least I know I'm not going to die. So I'm happy to stagger. Who cares if my feet are getting
abused by the walk?
So I get to 'the channel'. It is actually a small river that goes around one side of this long narrow island across from The Wall. I eyeball it for a minute before entering. I will have to swim again, deliberately, in order to make it across. I can walk for a little bit, and then suddenly I am getting pushed downstream into a larger bay. So I swim harder and try to touch the bottom prematurely. Can't touch. So I swim a little more and I'm there, on another little shore island, exhausted again. But now I figure I'm certainly not going to die.
I stagger on the shore and start staggering again back to Rufus. I look out on the river, vainly hoping to see my board. I don't. Eventually, I see Phil's sail. And he's not going very fast. I see he's got something tied to the back of his board and it turns out to be my board! Amazing. But he's not having an easy time of it. He eventually tows it to shore near wear I'm standing. I grab it from him and start trudging again, getting buffeted by the wind as I trudge. Again, I don't care what happens to my feet. Not only am I not going to die, but I have a $1500 board in my hands. One that I thought was going to go over the Dalles Dam! Now, I have another little channel to cross. It actually has whitewater running through it, but it's narrow and I now have a craft. So it's no problem. The board has only one real ding on it, a little L-shaped ding, probably from my original moment of sail/board separation when I thrust the mast onto the deck in reaction to getting separated.
I make it back to the gravel pit and ask everyone there if they saw my sail floating out there. Everyone is drinking Bud and tequila to celebrate the awesome session. But all the hardcores say no they didn't see my sail and that it must have sunk. Especially seeing as it had the dreaded 'skinny' mast. My friends Nancy and Mike offer me some tequila after I tell them I came close to drowning. I return for seconds because it tastes like fresh water compared to the sickeningly sweet river water I had recently drank. I need to find that brand.
LESSON #8
TEQUILA TASTES MUCH BETTER THAN RIVER WATER.
When I get back to the truck, Phil is back and soon we are headed west. He says he seriously thought I was a gonner after he saw my board without me on it. But he decided to at least save my board after he couldn't spot me. Thanks Phil!We agree that we must go to The Wall on the chance somebody saved my rig before it sunk. On the north end of the bridge, we see a sail bag blow off the cargo box of a truck heading south on the bridge. We stop to pick it up; it's a brand new 3.2 Northwave. We're thinking 'good karma', so we sit and wait for the owner to return, which he does after 10 minutes. Now we are set with good karma to find my rig!
We ask almost everyone who remains at The Wall. Phil gets out and starts scouring the giant backwater eddy that The Wall bounds. I drive further east to ask some more. A guy named Phil Tinevah (spelling?) says he saw a partially submerged rig and dragged it to the backwater where he could not put it on shore (there is just a long crumbly wall of rock there). So, he stowed it in a quiet notch in the rock.
I'm thinking time is very important now as it could sink or drift out. So I go back to the area that he describes and start looking. Phil has now found a kiteboard (probably the one belonging to the lone kiteboarder we saw as we first arrived at Rufus) spinning in the backwater. But it's obviously not going anywhere in this eddy. So we look some more for my rig. At this point, the shadows are getting long and it's not the best visibility. Then I see Phil hoist a sail about 200 yards from me. It's mine! It's hard to believe it didn't sink. I guess the new No Limitz skinny masts float pretty well. Must be the capped top-piece. $1000 worth of gear saved!
Now it's time to retrieve the kiteboard. Phil says to put on my wetsuit and jump in and get it. No way am I getting back into the water. Phil's got the rope (loaned from the Rufus park ranger) from his prior board retrieval. Onto the rope I tie my heavy neoprene knee brace with a plastic coat hanger inserted into the cavity. It's heavy enough to fight the breeze for tossing and I figure we can hook a footstrap and pull it up. We succeed only in dragging it close to the rock wall, which is 20' tall above the water. There is a crumbly staircase that is scalable. It is very risky, with rocks constantly crumbling into the water. I have to test each rock with my weight, and I scramble down close enough to dip my toes in the water. Phil hands me the rope and I gently drag the board close enough to hook it with my toes. On my third attempt, I succeed. I tie the board to the rope and Phil raises the board to shore. Score! I break-down my sail and see that it's sustained some abrasion damage from The Wall but nothing that will affect the performance. A thorough wear-test of the Real Hot sail, I'm thinking.
LESSON #9
DON'T GIVE UP ON YOUR GEAR. SOMEONE MAY FIND IT OR YOU MIGHT. BACKWATERS HOLD GEAR FOR A RELATIVELY LONG TIME!
LESSON #10
BE HONEST AND RETURN LOST GEAR. INSTANT KARMA AWAITS YOU.
Saturday, the day after, my legs are sore like did a leg-squat workout the day before. I'm amazed how sore they are from kicking. I realize the only things that enabled me to eventually be rescued by windsurfer-Brad were my physical fitness (stamina), the bright idea of floating my head with my
harness, and mostly my will. Saturday was another great day to windsurf, but no way was I going to.
Thanks to the Phils and Brad for their help in saving me and my gear. I'm glad to be alive, and I'm finally ready to windsurf again today.
Brian Barrett
Posted by jimbo at 9:33 AM | Comments (8)
June 7, 2004
seeing eye chrisafer
Taint was pretty fun last night. I wouldn't have gone as the senile mind of grampaw jimbo had already forgotten about going, but Chrisafer reminded me and we went together. At first I was a bit overwhelmed by the sheer hipsterness of it all, but the hostesses were outgoing and remarkably friendly by DC standards. Aside from the table of loud and clearly straight jennifer and mike kickball-playing interns smoking furiously at one table, the crowd consisted of mostly hip gay men. The music was good, not too loud, and the place had really nice comfy couches which I liked the best. Mmm...comfy couches from which to judge. I had neglected to put on my glasses or contacts, and the dim lighting made it difficult for me to see, so I asked Chrisafer to check guys out for me. "You shall be my eyes so that I may cruise," I said. He's seen enough of what I like to be fairly accurate, but for the most part it was more the Chrisafer type of guy - lean, clean shaven fratster, a bit dzhuzzed and adorkable with longish arms. There was very little beef or fur for jimbo. We almost called him since he lives close to the venue, but we decided to just make sure he comes along next time. Be sure to iron your irony shirt before attending.
I had a kick-ass bike ride earlier in the day. There is a total bitch of a hill that goes from the Rock Creek Bike trail at the National Zoo up into Adams Morgan at Columbia road. Leg-quivering sort of incline. When I got home I sprawled motionless on my bed for like 20 minutes in recovery from the ride. Still can't run too well due to my gimp calf, so it's biking for me until then.
Maternity drama in my aquarium last night: Jon brought over a breeding pair of swordtail fish for my aquarium. While the pair was still in the bag getting their water temperature equalized, Mrs. Swordtail blew her load and spewed out a mess of eggs and live fry. Luckily Jon has a nursery tank at home, so all we did was relocate the pair into my tank, and the fry were easily brought back to his nursery tank via bag. She dropped a few more fry this morning into my tank, but they'll probably get eaten by the other mean fish. If these don't work out I'm giving up on the whole molly/platy/swordtail genus, as they are even meaner than cichlids. Or maybe back to docile goldfish.
Posted by jimbo at 10:21 AM | Comments (10)
June 6, 2004
bad dates & hot cartoon studs
Showing up late and drunk is no way to impress me on a second date to the movies. I don't like to miss the previews. So drunk, he still smelled like a still after the movie. Not cool. Now don't get me wrong...I love my cocktails too, but if you can't hold back at the party beforehand in order to show the date some respect there could be a problem. Luckily, the extra-salty nachos and box of cookie dough bites I ate gave me a plausible and valid excuse to jet outta there ASAP. "Oooh, I think I overdid it with the snacks, I'd better go home." I spared anyone else my sour mood and stayed home last night. My dating life is not quite so vibrant as his.
But the movie was good at least. Shrek II was as fun as expected, with all the witty references and the voice of AbFab's Jennifer Saunders as the conniving fairy godmother. Now I don't know if that was really her singing voice during her character's singing numbers, but if it was she's got a pretty nice voice. I'd buy Eddy's Greatest Hits if there was such an album.
MOVIE SPOILER...STOP READING IF YOU HAVEN'T SEEN THE FLICK:
I'll have to say I thought Shrek in human form (couldn't find a pic online) was pretty hot. Woofy chest fur, scruff and nice auburn hair. Sorry, I'll take the shallow route in this fairy tale and take Shrek post-potion, thank you. He's up there in cartoon hotness with Gray Edwards (at left) from Final Fantasy: The Spirits Within and Captain Korso (above) from Titan A.E. Yup, the dating scene is so bad I'm lusting after cartoon studs. Next thing you know I'll be downloading hot slash fiction with Pokemon's Professor Oak as my daddy.
Posted by jimbo at 11:15 AM | Comments (7)
June 5, 2004
def rugby jam
Blerg. Drippy, rainy day here in DC. 'Twas a good morning to sleep in though, and I am refreshed. I decided to retire the Olivia banner. She's a demigoddess, but we must keep the banners fresh.
The Shakespeare gang dropped out one by one yesterday, and the short week had me burnt out anyway. Grampaw jimbo went home directly to naptime, and woke up remembering there was an impromptu rugby party. I'm glad I got myself out of the house, as it was a good time. One of the teammates brought a bunch of his friends, hopefully to be recruited as they are a big bunch - and deaf. Turns out this teammate is a sign language interpreter. It was a trip watching him translate the coach's speech, as the normally intense player is a very expressive interpreter, using his whole face and body to communicate. If all four of the guys he brought along came to play, it would make our team yet more interesting. 'Chatting' with the guys was difficult but not impossible. Judging by their size I doubt they'd be playing near me amongst the little people in the backline, but I'm curious to see how we deal with nonverbal communication during the game. I'd be willing to learn some ASL to help things along.
Over Memorial Day weekend I had insomnia one night from sleeping in too late the morning before. At about 5am I came across an old program on Maryland Public Television called Alone in the Wilderness. It told the story of Richard Pronneke, who built his own log cabin by hand and lived for 35 years in the wilderness in what is now the Lake Clark National Park and Preserve in Alaska. I was riveted by the vast amount of skills he employed to build his home, from stonework to hunting to refined woodworking craftsmanship. There are few people today who can do so many things and be so self-sufficient. He could certainly blow any Survivor contestant out of the water today. He wrote his journals on the back of old hardware store calendars, and I couldn't help but think that if he had a satellite hook-up and a laptop, if he would be a blogger today.
I'm a big fan of those kind of survival stories, not really for the man vs. wilderness, but of man discovering or thriving in the wilderness. A Sand County Almanac, but not of White Fang. Another favorite of mine is Where the Sea Breaks Its Back, the story of Georg Steller, a young and brilliant naturalist aboard Vitus Bering's historic voyage to Alaska in 1741. He was the first European to catalog a whole mess of new species such as the Steller's Jay, Steller's sea lion, the now extinct Steller's Sea Cow. He was reported to have seen a mysterious sea monkey of some kind that has never been seen since.
In line with that kind of story, I also like disaster movies and books, such as Alive by Piers Paul Read. And you can bet I'm going to go see The Day After Tomorrow, regardless of the bad reviews.
Posted by jimbo at 11:35 AM | Comments (8)
June 4, 2004
steady, are you ready?
Woo-Hoo! The roomate is gone for the weekend! Tidiness, silence and solitude will prevail - at least until the geeks show up on Sunday for our D&D sesson, including Dwight, pictured here on the right with his best homecoming queen smile on. No need to go shopping for junk food, as there's plenty left over from the smorgasbord at the party. Still wondering who the cute guy was (seated with star on his shirt) near the food.
Tonight me and some of the gurlz are going to see Much Ado About Nothing, part of the Free For All put on by the Shakespeare Theatre. It is another one of the lovely free cultural experiences you can experience in the city that happens every year. I've gone almost every year, bringing cheese, crackers and wine before the show for friends, then passing out in my seat before intermission from the wine and long week. I think I'm there for the experience, not necessarily the show. I'm also looking forward to Screen on the Green this summer.
They humbly deny their Bloggeratti status, but the gurls from Beaverhausen have been quite the busy beavs lately with their postings. A solid daily read for me. Plus I want the one from the West Coast side of the tag team to hump me. The East Coast one is a good pal to have a beer with. And what's this I hear about some West Coast blogger organizing a gay blogmeet in DC? Well, a brunch during the day would be a nice change from the usual impromptu cluster of bloggers at Blowoff or the DC Eagle. And don't forget to check out Taint this weekend. It's yet another hip gig by my house, so I'll be there. If I'm not completely burnt out by then, perhaps I'll make it to the post-London trip rugby party tonight. There is just waay too much gossip I need to catch up on that I missed.
Posted by jimbo at 9:43 AM | Comments (10)
June 2, 2004
that's so gay
All you New York bloggers don't miss the WYSIWYG Talent Show June 22 at 7.30, NYC, NY. The theme of the show is "That's SO Gay: Tales of Extremely Gay Gayness." I'll be recounting the tale of my tragic drag queen roadkill wipeout accident at the 17th Street High Heel Race as Nellie Olsen two years ago. Also performing are my blog mommie and daddy, Kiri and Sparky, so it'll be a family affair! Kiri was the first to tell me "You need a blog," and sparky was my HTML mentor. And I hear the show is also BYOB! Thanks to Chris & Andy for inviting me for the ride.
But I'll have to say I'm a little nervous about performing. While I've given tons of nature programs as a park ranger back in tha day, and tech training courses in more recent years, expect to see me sweat. Performing is different than delivering. I'm already having drenching nightmares of black Prada wearing Gothamites eating me alive.
Posted by jimbo at 9:29 PM | Comments (10)
go your own way
Check out the new Wilson Phillips video for their cover of Fleetwood Mac's 'Go Your Own Way'. Fucking Fierce. Carnie didn't lose all her weight, but I'm glad she's not completely emaciated like the slutty one - the one who used to have short hair whose face is all carved up now from plastic surgery.
Everyone is doing Fleetwood Mac covers. I'm going to do the Jimbo version of 'Tusk' tomorrow with a coffee can drumset and a rented tuba.
I am so there if they come to DC. I'm obsessed with Wilson Phillips.
Posted by jimbo at 8:00 AM | Comments (14)
June 1, 2004
mother nature loves trailer parks
Just some random thoughts today...this morning I woke up and loved music again. A Velvet Revolver video was on this morning, and it rocked.
Velvet Revolver = Guns 'n Roses - Axl Rose + Scott Weiland of Stone Temple Pilots.
Let's just hope Weiland stays clear of the heroin this time. The bassist is kinda hot. Kinda looks like Mighty Jimbo with a fu and a badass bass.
Then some band called Switchfoot came on and they rocked too. While I gleefully love my sugary boy band pop groups it's good to see some power chords coming back.
Fitz posts some very nice photos of cicadas in action, and of the new WWII memorial monument. I actually like it, as it seems very socialist realism in its design. I always loved the building mosaics and statues of the perfect Soviet citizen ideal when I was in Kazakstan.
Introducing NoFo, with a recent review of IML where certain bloggers surely treaded. Even more schnozalicious than Fitz, and eats more lutefisk than me.
And then there's hunky Timothy and woofy James of the gay comic strip Adam and Andy. James draws good beef. 'minds me of something Jessica Rabbit once said: "I'm not bad, I'm just drawn that way."
Have you ever noticed that people who you tell to go to a shrink don't ever go to one, yet the people who do go to shrinks never say they are seeing one, and you would never have noticed in the first place? Perhaps practice with a shrink grants a special cloaking ability of neuroses in public.
Nature abhors a vacuum, but she sure loves trailers. I swear she eats trailers for breakfast. This weekend storms brought up a whole new crop of destroyed trailer park footage. I swear she's out to get them. What did trailer manufacturers ever do to her to piss her off so bad?
Posted by jimbo at 11:01 AM | Comments (11)