I didn’t realize that the Queer Eye/Tonight Show tie-in is a two-parter. Thursday night’s segment was basically rehash, especially if you’re familiar with their shtick–I love Kyan to death, but if I hear him say the word “product” one more time, I’m going to scream–so yeah, I’ve set the TiVo again tonight (Friday) for the payoff: the results of the Fab Five’s “total show makeover” (NBC, 11:35/10:35 p.m.).
Must-queer TV moves to Thursdays! Well, okay, sort of. Tonight on NBC: an hour-long rerun of Will & Grace (9/8 p.m.), a special broadcast of the Queer Eye episode with urban cowboy John Bargeman (10/9 p.m.), and then later another makeover as the Fab Five tackle their newest project, Jay on The Tonight Show (11:35/10:35 p.m.). Fabulous.
[Update (15:18): The Fab Five were on MSNBC (Buchanan & Press) the other day, and I missed it?!]
Earlier this week I caught a show called Gay Hollywood, part of The AMC Project, a documentary series on various topics. It was actually really interesting and kind of endearing; it follows five gay men trying to make it in Hollywood. But I think the title is misleading. The documentary–thankfully, perhaps–doesn’t attempt or claim to give the Big Picture of what it means to be a gay struggling artist, or the role of sexuality in Hollywood. Those larger issues are touched on only somewhat. Rather, it tells the story of that struggle through the eyes these five individuals… who happen to be gay.
Are we queered out yet? Tomorrow night on 20/20 (ABC, 10/9 p.m.), one of the segments covers “gay themes in pop culture.” Eh. I’m all for gay visibility, but for some reason I’m rolling my eyes on this one.
Lastly, of related interest: A&E is re-broadcasting its landmark adaptation of Pride and Prejudice, co-produced with the BBC. It airs in two parts, tomorrow and Saturday night. (Rajani has been hounding me for years to see it, so now I have no excuse. My TiVo is all set, baby.) And on Sunday, Turner Movie Classics devotes the full day to a hero of mine, Gene Kelly, with a parade of his films, and a documentary (Anatomy of a Dancer) at 8 p.m.
Interesting article in today’s Times about Sen. Christopher J. Dodd’s (D-Conn.) quiet campaign to increase images of women and minorities in artwork at the U.S. Capitol.
Yet by dabbling in a realm where art and politics collide, Mr. Dodd has entered the culture wars, a treacherous place for any politician. Some commentators, like Vivien Green Fryd, a professor of art history at Vanderbilt University, call his effort long overdue. Others, like Roger Kimball, an art critic and author, call it political correctness, an exercise in historical hypocrisy.
Related link: list of selected works of art at the Capitol Complex (Architect of the Capitol website).
From Sunday’s Times travel section, Montmartre falls under Amélie’s charms (link via kottke.org):
The spirit of the film has spread to a corner of Montmartre where the film is set. And the real-life places that she frequented have profited from her magic, creating a cult of Amélie, particularly among foreign tourists who seek to follow in her footsteps. The French call it the “Amélie Poulainization” of the neighborhood.
This reminds me, I have yet to plan and realize my Talented Mr. Ripley itinerary through Italy: Ischia (which served as the fictional town of Mongibello in the recent film adaptation), Rome, San Remo, Venice, etc. Although, as much as I’d like to cross the Atlantic in a glamorous Cunard oceanliner as Tom does in the story, I’ll most likely fly the friendly cieli.
From a recent Trading Spaces episode, carpenter Ty Pennington and designer Genevieve Gorder are ostensibly talking about the height of a couch platform, when things get a little entendre-y:
Ty: Six inches is really low. If I could give you nine, would you take nine?
Gen: I’ll take nine, yeah.
Ty: All right, I’m gonna try and give you nine.
Gen: Nine is great.
Gen can’t stop giggling, while Ty, seemingly unfazed, continues to talk shop. What were they talking about, again? Needless to say, I’d take nine from Ty anyday. Oh, I’m sorry, was that crude? Heh.
One recent morning I was listening to Savage Garden (Affirmation) on my discman while walking down Massachusetts Avenue to the Metro, and discovered that “The Animal Song,” while making little lyrical sense, does have a perfect fashion-runway-walk tempo. Faster than a saunter, but slow enough for you to nonchalantly, yet purposefully swing your hips a bit. Honestly, I had to stop myself from doing little pivot-turns when I got to the streetcorners.
At the moment I’m listening to “Alma redemptoris mater” off Chanticleer‘s wonderful twenty-fifth anniversary compilation (A Portrait), which I bought last week. Absolutely beautiful. (No, not runway material. Hm, unless you mixed it with a techno beat. Now that would be interesting. That reminds me, at Apex on Friday night, I heard a remix of the Flower Duet (“Sous le dôme épais”) from Delibes’ opera Lakmé, which you may remember from those British Airways commercials from a while back.)
Anyway, you must see and hear Chanticleer in person. These guys are amazing, virtuosic. Grr, their holiday concerts at the Met are already sold out. Ooh, but they’ll be at GMU just before then. I’m all over that.
“Hi, what can I get you?” This clerk–I can’t say the word “barista” without rolling my eyes somewhat; though now that I’ve written “clerk,” the word “barrister” also comes to mind for some reason–she seems so sincere, like she’s actually interested in what I want to drink, and wants to help me out. I like that. It’s Monday morning, and caffeine and a smile go a long way to ease me into the workweek.
I take a moment to look up at the board. I narrow my eyes, practically squinting, feigning indecision. I don’t know why I do that; maybe it’s a subconscious attempt at masking my caffeine addiction with an innocent pretense, as if to say, “What, me? Oh, I’ve never been in a Starbucks before. Let’s see, what do y’all have here?” I already know exactly what I want. The words, now routine, roll off my tongue: “I’ll have a grande caramel frap.” Ha, “frap.” I speaka their language.
I peruse the shelves of logo mugs and packaged coffee, and wait while my drink is assembled. Do I want whipped cream on that? I don’t wait for the end of the question. I drop the pretense: “Yes.”
“Soul Man” is playing over the sound system. Other days the music has been more sedate, more jazzy–one morning, the girl working the coffee machines asked her co-worker to “please change the music,” calling a particularly slow song “depressing”; when the music changed, she thanked her, saying now she didn’t have “to stab herself with a plastic knife”–but today the music is, well, soulful. My shoulders start moving to the beat. “I’m a soul man…” The girl at the cash register is grooving too, and turns to smile at the coffee-machine guy. They catch my eye, and now awakened from the stupor of the Monday-morning doldrums, we’re all having a little party, all caught up in the groove.
Drink in hand, I take a sip and ride the cool, sweet rush. Another day, another grande caramel frap. I can stop anytime. Really I can.
I don’t write much about my personal, read romantic, life, as you may or may not have noticed, so… let’s just bust down that door right now, shall we? While the question of whether I’ve found a nice boy probably isn’t keeping you up at night, yes, I am seeing someone, and his name is Thom. So there.