Fleetwood Mac's "You Can Go Your Own Way."

Interpretation from:



http://www.fleetwoodmac.net/penguin/interpretations/g/goyourownway.htm

The ultimate break-up song. The ultimate pop song. "Go Your Own Way" has such a passionate, furious driving beat that takes you to such a climactic explosive high, only to bring you down with the realization that it's really about the heartache of ending a relationship with someone you love. This song perfectly captures these feelings of hurt and anger.

"Go Your Own Way" was written by Lindsey Buckingham during the Rumours sessions. Lindsey has said he usually does not write the lyrics to his songs first, but rather initially has the music track in place prior to adding the lyrics. Lindsey's passionate guitar playing is what brings his feelings into his songs, while the addition of the lyrics creates a delicate balance between this guitar playing and putting his feelings into words. "Go Your Own Way" is a truthful song with intense emotions of love and fury that originate from the heart.

The song reflects the feelings he had revolving around the ending of his relationship with fellow band member and romantic partner at the time, Stevie Nicks. The music and lyrics show a man plagued by anger, confusion, and disbelief. Through Lindsey's eyes, he paints quite a different picture of what breaking-up feels like than what Stevie has portrayed about the same relationship in her songs at this time (see the mysterious "Dreams" and the haunting "Silver Springs.")

"Loving you, isn't the right thing to do, how can I ever change things that I feel." Lindsey is trying to convince himself that his love for Stevie is not good for him. By doing this, he will feel comfortable with the break-up, although, in his heart, he does not entirely believe this, saying he can never change the fact that he still loves her.

"If I could, maybe I'd give you my world. How can I, when you won't take it from me." Lindsey would give anything to Stevie - his heart, his soul, in essence, his "world" - if only she would stay. But she doesn't and he acknowledges this. "Maybe" is the key word here. Lindsey is offering her his world, but not all of it. He is still saving something for himself, possibly as a way to keep control over the relationship or to keep his self-respect. Stevie wants her independence though, and for reasons best know to her, she leaves. Lindsey does not understand why Stevie does not want to be part of his world.

Stevie probably did not want to hurt or necessarily leave Lindsey, but she went her own way for reasons best known to her and that he may not have understood. The consequence of her leaving left Lindsey very hurt and confused and he lashed out at her in this song. In between the verses of anger and betrayal are ones of questioning and pain. Although the lyrics in the song are mostly acrimonious, for Lindsey, they were truthful. It is ironic that such a bitter song is really and truly a love song, shouting out final pleas for the woman he loves.

Written by lindsey buckingham.

Loving you
Isnt the right thing to do
How can I ever change things
That I feel

If I could
Maybe Id give you my world
How can i
When you wont take it from me

You can go your own way
Go your own way
You an call it
Another lonely day
You can go your own way
Go your own way

Tell me why
Everything turned around
Packing up
Shacking up is all you wanna do

If I could
Baby Id give you my world
Open up
Everythings waiting for you

You can go your own way
Go your own way
You an call it
Another lonely day
You can go your own way
Go your own way

Quote of the Week

"Fuck you and your snowflake ringtone."
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Joke of the Week

Lori attended a concert. She was not allowed to take pictures of the band itself, but really wanted shots of the band's members anyway.

Happy Birthday, Lori.
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Word of the Week

Word of the Week: Testosteroni.

Pronoun: (1) when a guy gets far too full of masculine energy. His voice lower several octaves. He may punch something. If straight, this is the time when the man is most likely to knock his girlfriend up. If gay, this is most likely the time when the closest man to him is about to have a sore bum. Often accompanies excessive drinking as an after-effect.

Use: "That guy right there is getting really testosteroni. He looks like he's about to punch that other guy talking to his girlfriend."

Noun: (2) a proposed flavor of Rice-a-Roni, testosteroni would have (appropriately) been the new San Francisco treat.

Use: "Mom, can we have testosteroni for dinner tonight? I'm feeling frisky."
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Two guys, too hard.

You know, sometimes guys try too hard. This is known as a double turn-down. Or a "no times two." I'm not sure what the eventual outcome of this is supposed to be, but I'm thinking it is intended to be one of us as the creme in a reverse Oreo filling. A big no.

But at least they bought me a shot. Which I made very clear meant nothing. Nothing at all.

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Non-Interests

My interests swing wildly. For instance, at the moment, I enjoy psychology quite a bit - especially motivation, needs, and personality. A year or so ago, I had a deep interest in cultural sociology (which I still do). I like writing about disasters, and their effect on culture at large. If there's a disaster, I'm curious about it.

I also have an interest in politics, but that swings quite a bit. Right now, I'm curious about what's going to happen in November, but I'm also sick of all the argumentation as a result of the health care debate. Blech.

I like video games one minute; the next I enjoy playing cards. In the video game realm, I like playing strategy and role playing games, like Sim City or Civilization or Command and Conquer. But then I also like playing Scrabble, Risk, or poker. Actually, poker is something I always enjoy playing, because I'm not that bad at it. Considering I suck at math, it's a miracle I'm any good at poker.

I also like certain types of music, then I can't stand hearing a song or music for awhile. There was a period when you couldn't get me to turn the radio down, but then all of a sudden, I'd be tired of a mix and that would be it for awhile. Now I don't have a radio in my car, or a CD player, and I've been listening to the same stuff on my Blackberry for nearly a year (because I haven't gotten new music yet). Either I'm getting some new stuff on the BBerry and a radio soon, or I might shut the music down.

One moment I don't want to travel, and the next minute you can't keep me in one city. One minute I hate going out, and then the next I'm out every day of the week. One minute this; the next minute that. It's not that I'm ADD. I just enjoy a lot of things. Just roll with it.

There are a few things that I don't enjoy, though. Unfortunately, I can't say what most of them are, because they are so culturally popular that admitting I don't like them is unspeakable. People literally gasp and go "but how can you not like (insert popular thing here)?!?"

Here's a funny example, though, to give you an idea of what types of things these are: classical music. For the most part, I don't have an ear for it. Now, I live with a string player, went out with a couple of them, and so have hung out with many string players as a result. I've been to parties where its nothing but string players. They are awesome people, and really fun to hang with! They really know how to chill - and party. But they REALLLLLLY love classical music, and they love to talk about it at length, and they get a very blissful look on their face such as how one might get when practicing buddhist meditation. Very left brain. Orgasmic. Masturbatory, even. This is to be expected - they have a deep, abiding love for their craft. And it's fun to witness.

But when they turn to me and start talking to me about it, I can only try to bullshit my way through the conversation. I mostly listen, but eventually the question would be posed to me of "What instrument do you play?" It was always funny, because the assumption was that everyone played an instrument at a party, or because I was hanging out with a string player at the time, I must be a musician too. All I could respond with was "well, none at the moment, but I used to play the french horn!" The look on their face was kinda funny, like it didn't compute that I didn't play an instrument. Even more pathetic was that I had to reach back to my french horn experience from middle school to lessen the tension from the situation. But it was all I had, and if you could have seen the deflated look on their face, you'd understand. It was like someone had told them "You won a million dollars in the lottery.." and then the next minute said "...in Papua New Guinea dollars, so the exchange rate means you've only won 10.45$". Very sad.

Honestly, I actually don't remember a damn thing about the french horn, except it was huge and heavy (I was only 5'4" at the time), and I wasn't very good at it because I really wanted to play the piano. I thought the thing was gross, too; it would fill up with spit and I'd have to empty it - how disgusting is that? Nothing more disgusting than several day old spit. Also disheartening: I only ever made first chair once, because I barely knew how to read sheet music. And the one time that happened was because the other french horn player, Natasha, had the flu so she couldn't compete that week. You see, mostly, during practice and even concerts, I would just get a rough idea of what keys to push to keep from getting in trouble, but the truth is, when it was go time, I was just blowing in the thing as meekly as possible and hoping no one would notice I sucked. The one week when I was first chair, "Ode to Joy" sounded something like "Ode to Jesus Christ that french horn player must be tone deaf because he sounds like a bag of cats being slammed against the wall." I was never first chair again - even if Natasha was sick.

Fast forward to recent times. Unfortunately, much like in middle school, it soon became obvious to whatever string player or musician asking me about "my instrument" that I didn't know anything about the french horn. Further, when they would quiz me about my interest in classical music, I clearly knew even less. I sounded like a doofus. I knew it. They knew it. We all knew it. The wise ones just nodded their heads, and would say "Ahhhh." And that would be it (thankfully). ed

From here, though, instead of letting me off the hook, some seem to really see an opportunity to school me about classical music, and started to ask what I have heard and enjoyed. They even start to make a list of composers I should listen to, concerts I should attend, and how I should listen to the music to enjoy it better. It's very nice that they take the time; I think it's commendable they want to bring more people to enjoy their craft.

But I'm probably not the one they should target. I love to listen to them talk about the music, but I'm not sure I will ever turn into a classical lover no matter how hard they try. Other than Bernstein and a few new music compositions, traditional composition classical music just doesn't seem to hit my buttons. So I listen to them talk about their favorite pieces, and then as they push me a bit more to gauge my interest, I admit that instead of classical music, I mostly have an ear for pop and electronic music.

Big mistake. It's almost as if I shot their grandmother and then stepped on a newborn puppy. "Electronic music? That's not real music, just a bunch of noise spliced together. You just haven't heard the right music. Have you heard (insert composer here)? How about (insert composer here)? You have? How can you not like it? You don't know what you're talking about."

Nevermind that I found the dismissal of techno a bit offensive (I don't mind the dismissal of pop, as even I think that is useless at certain times). But at this point, I sometimes became very afraid, because the look on their face was similar to what I imagine a dingo would look like if it came across a newborn baby in the wildnerness: anxious and about to take a bite. As if the dismissal of their favorite thing - classical music - was not only an affront to them, but evidence of my failure as a human being in a sophisticated society. Like, when I'm alone at home, all I do is suck on push pops, play with the big Duplo Lego sets they give to toddlers and the slow kids, and sniff glue.

So I would try and switch the subject to something else, and that would often defuse what was otherwise a very uncomfortable situation. These die-hard's would slowly but surely come to realize that I was a lost cause for a classical education. After about a minute or two, their subtle contempt for me became obvious, as some would leave me sitting there and seek out another musician to chat with. I'd talk about art, or computers, or current events, or even just the weather, but it was pretty much a done deal. Without music to discuss, we both just sat there and stared at each other - kind of like a one-night-stand you just finished but immediately regret. Whether at a party, or at dinner, or at the bar, whomever I was chatting with would find the nearest musician, latch on for dear life, and slowly press the mental "ignore" button on me. I would stand there as a sudden third wheel to a conversation about recitals, conductors, or movements. Thank goodness musicians are heavy drinkers. I didn't mind the "ignore" button at this point. I'd just get another cocktail, and drink myself silly listen as they wiled away the night chatting about their musicians craft. It could actually be quite fun. Occasionally, I'd sip my rum and diet coke and go "uh huh" and "oh that sounds interesting" and then *hiccup*. Very fun.

But, occasionally, beyond the die-hards, there would be one or two who such take a special interest in me as the "uninitiated" that there would be an issue. My french horn story (complete with spit draining) wouldn't sadden them enough. Their contempt for electronic music wouldn't disgust them. As a lowly glue-sniffer they had stumbled upon, to some, an opportunity had presented itself to enlighten and bring me to a higher state of consciousness. No longer was I just someone with which they had little in common with, but I was also a nut to be cracked. I must be turned. I must become one with the Borg.

For instance, I had one get very aghast with me. I wasn't sure what he was up to, but he took me aside one evening and tried to really "get to know me." In reality, he had heard through the grapevine I didn't have much of an ear for classical music, and that it still hadn't changed in all the exposure to classical music I'd had recently. He just couldn't wrap his head around that. So he tried taking it upon himself to pique my interest about classical music in a conversation, which soon turned into a debate. I don't know if he really knew his audience though, because there came a point when he mistook my enjoyment of the conversation with an enthusiasm for classical music, and then offered to give me some "homework" to explore after he was gone.

Stop. Rewind. Review. Yes, homework. He really did intend to give me an actual education in classical music.

"Oh, I don't really need anymore homework, but thanks," I said. "I don't really like classical music that much." The look on his face at that point was a cross between someone who had sucked on a lemon and been punched in the gut all in the same time. I politely declined a few more times, even as he persisted that I should be open minded and let him teach me. The conversation continued, with such persistence that I started to become uncomfortable that he had been enlisted to force me into some kind of Nazi music re-education camp in order to better fit in with my roommates and the group I was sometimes running with at the time. (Little did I know this was partially true, but that's a story for another time).

Next, he tried to relate classical music to me and my interests. By taking a sudden interest in art and design (which I happen to have a passing interest in), and asking me to riff a bit about about that, I think he thought that he might open me up a bit through the excitement of mutual teaching. He pretended not to understand the concepts I would talk about, and ask me to elaborate and riff a bit about the principles and elements of art. But I didn't take the bait; if he didn't seem to understand a concept, I just let it go. Who am I to teach? If he wants a lesson, go take an art class. If he wants a short conversation, sure. But as he tried to link the tenets of classical music to the principles of design, and make very tenuous statements regarding the universality of art and music, is when I realized that he was just feigning interest in design so he could return the favor and school me in classical music. This was a persistent sucker.

Though I admired his persistence, no one should pretend to like something and sit through lessons on it when they aren't truly interested. That's the very root of resentment. So I asked him if he was truly interested in learning about design as much as teaching me about classical music. Of course, the initial answer was "yes, everyone should have a cosmopolitan interest in a variety of subjects," or some such answer. I think he even threw in the term "renaissance man" for good measure. That was cute. So I made him an offer.

With a straight face I proclaimed, "I'll gladly listen to your advice on music if you'd be willing to sit through a brief lecture on the significance of the Golden Mean to ancient Greek architecture and how it remains one of the underlying influences in design today; should only take about 45 minutes, and I have some books to share with you, and then we could discuss the principles and elements you seem interested in."

Boy, wouldn't ya know, he squirmed a bit. He said "45 minutes?"

"At least. That's if I don't use diagrams," I replied. "But I'm sure you'll find it just as fascinating as you do classical music."

"I don't think a person can get into art that deep. If you really understood music, you'd know what i mean. Music is different. Music is much deeper."

"If you really understood art, you'd know what I mean. But it's not your thing, just like classical music isn't mine. So no harm, no foul. Wanna play Wii instead?"

So, although I appreciated the sentiment, I finally made enough of a point to declin the cultural exchange (with homework!). But it was like I had shot him in the heart. He then trashed art; then trashed the rules and elements of design. "Arbitrary and capricious; music is much more difficult. You don't know how much work goes into putting a piece together and performing it. You shouldn't criticize something you don't understand."

"But I wasn't criticizing anything. If someone asks me what I think, I admit I don't have an ear for classical music. But people ask what I think, as an outsider, anyway," I said. Which I never understood why they asked what I thought, as an outsider. Often I would hear "well, I want to know what the common listener thinks of my music." So I would say something, offend them, and then walk away. Go figure; quit asking. LOL.

"Well, then, no matter what they ask, you should keep your opinion to yourself," was our persistent friend's retort.

So, obviously, we weren't going to be playing Wii. He was offended to the point of disliking me. There after, to him and many of the musicians, I was forever branded a non-classical loving glue-sniffing peon. Oh well. :) I wonder if this is how it feels when you're a member of a Woman's Book Club or something and you don't like "The Notebook." Blah.

The plus side of all this was that word got out that I truly meant it when I said that I didn't like classical music, so people did quit asking my opinion on things or trying to teach me. The negative side was that when I was introduced by a string-playing friend or musician, the full introduction was often "This is Bolton; he doesn't play an instrument; yeah, he's that guy." I kind of felt like I had a scarlet letter branded on my ass or something. At its worst, I actually pretended I was almost interested in taking up the french horn again. Almost.

So, as you can see, I believe some interests are culturally sacred. Classical music seems to be one of them. In addition to my experience as a friend to musicians, I've noticed other signs that classical music is a sacred cow. I've noticed that when someone admits that they are a classical lover, no one else in the room will admit they aren't even when asked. I've also noticed that, even beyond musicians, the common folk are expected to have a reverence for classical music even if we don't like it - especially if someone in the room does. I'm not sure what that's about, other than perhaps the idea that classical music represents a seemingly rarefied interest that also signifies intelligence and sophistication that we should all aspire to. That's probably very intimidating for some people, but I am probably a little too dense to know that I'm supposed to be intimidated. I'm not very good at picking up on social cues like that. Oops.

So it is this way with many things. I'm sure you can name a few things. For instance, old people. Although I don't have a problem with them, quite a few people out there don't like old people. Though you may not hear them say anything about it, they just aren't fans of the geriatric set. Or warm weather. More than a few people really aren't into warm weather, but if you heard them admit to that, they would be tarred and feathered socially by a group of people who you would otherwise think were fanatic Mayan sun worshippers. Again, I'm not one for scorching hot weather, but I'm not included in that set, either.

So, the other things I don't have an interest in, I mostly keep to myself just to make things easier. But you'd be surprised at what they are. In fact, I'd dare you to take a guess, oh faithful-but-invisible readers. I'd like to see what you think my interests are and are not. Not that you will. :) You're not really there.

In closing, for the most part, my non-interests are actually pretty rare. Introduce me to a new thing, put me in front of the materials for it, and I usually can take to it pretty fast. I like trying new things, and I actually do have a wide range of interests as a result. And if it's something that can keep my short attention span? Bonus! But regardless, I promise that if I don't like it, I won't tell you. I just won't do it anymore, as long as you promise not to make me. Let me toddle off in the corner and drink your cocktails while you guys riff for hours about whatever your shared interest is. I promise I find it fascinating, even if I'm not involved. And if I don't find it fascinating, I'll have another cocktail. *hiccup*

But, please, whatever you do, don't assign me homework on whatever that non-interest happens to be. If you want a surefire way to make me show even less interest in a topic, that probably would be it. Besides, you'd be surprised how quickly I can whip up a lecture on the Greek Golden Mean - and you don't want to sit through that. Trust me.

-J

p.s. After reading the post, I realized that some of you might wonder "why" I would continue to hang out with string players and other types of musicians. They are actually quite awesome people to party with as I mentioned before; a real hoot. Big drinkers - like beer bongs and jello shot types. But, just to be clear, I happened to go out with a string player for a bit, and this is why I made the initial attempt. After that, I became friends with many, and there we were. Still, since they know how to party, I think they are awesome.

Strive On; Take Risks; Keep Trying.

"The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield."

Good night.

Peanut Butter Eggs n' such

Well, Easter is upon us. That means baby Jesus - who died for our sins so we could have awesome gifts like a new MacBook air or argyle socks - has risen...so we can hunt for colored eggs and overindulge in rabbit shaped chocolates. I've never understood the link between bunnies, the resurrected Jesus, and Easter. I think it has something to do with rebirth, and the fact that rabbit ovaries (?) were long used to detect pregnancy in women. But how they would know that in biblical times, I'll never know. But if they knew how to build a pyramid and manage a complex caste/slave system to build it, I can't really put this one past them.

One thing is certain though - when Jesus is risen again, we can be thankful for one of his greatest blessings: Reese's Peanut Butter Eggs.

You may not have known this about me (probably because no one is actually reading this), but I'm something of a PB eggs connoisseur. It's one of my quirks, along with a fanatic love of NFL football and playoff baseball, and the ability to recite the french alphabet from memory - though without remembering anything else from their language. Kind of odd, somewhat useless, but interesting conversation topics nonetheless.

About the PB Eggs, though, there is a philosophy to be learned. About 48 weeks out of the year, if you want peanut butter and chocolate goodness, you're stuck with the Reese's Peanut Butter Cups. Now, these are delicious, but not quite as good as the eggs. I'm not sure, but I feel like the peanut butter has more of a sand-like texture to it, and the chocolate isn't as soft and smooth. Plus, the shape of it is problematic: the cog like shape of the cup sometimes causes the cup to get caught in the roof of one's mouth. In general, the Cup is a fine substitute - like Skyy vodka when you really want Ketel One, or Internet porn previews when you're really in the mood for the whole movie.

The connoisseur knows the difference between the cup and the egg, however. He knows that the egg peanut butter has a creamier texture and richer taste. He also knows that the chocolate is more apt to melt on the tongue, first giving you a chocolate burst on the palate, and then a peanut butter flavor when the chocolate dissipates from under it. Further, he knows he can place the whole egg in his mouth because it molds well to the concave shape of the roof, and then smoosh it for one big burst of PB and C fun - or take small bites to savor it.

But there is the learned behavior of the egg, too. The connoisseur knows when the Peanut Butter Egg time of year is approaching. Not because of Jesus or anything, but because he notices egg package sized spaces being cleared at the supermarket. About that time of year, the mouth waters - and you start to twitch a bit. You even get tempted to buy a PB Cup - but you know the Egg is coming soon, so you wait.

Then there is the exotic egg types to enjoy. For instance, just the other day, I found out there was such a thing as a white chocolate egg. I know! Me, a PB Egg lover since I was a kid, didn't know that. I just thought it was a different package color. I tried one tonight, just to see what it was like. I'm not a fan of the white chocolate - but I have to admit, it was good!

Then there are the different sizes. There are the jumbo's - which I have always been a fan of. One downing of those suckers, and your PB pleasure centers could just blow out, with you left drooling in your own juices holding yourself up against a wall. Nevermind the two packs and the six packs. Enjoy at your own peril!

Finally, there is the rare but delicious dark chocolate egg. I have only had these a couple times. I found one (shockingly) at Halloween, and then another a few Easter's ago back in Michigan. I cannot find one in my neighborhood now. They have either sold out of them completely, or (worse) they don't make them anymore. Needless to say, along with praying for the yearly resurrection of Jeebus, I'm making requests of heaven that that not be the case.

So, I hope I've inspired you to go out and enjoy a PB Egg today. Buy one for yourself - buy one for a friend. Spread the joy. Explore the wonder that is the Peanut Butter Egg phenomenon. If you have questions, you readers (who don't exist) know how to reach me. I'm always happy to help with PB Egg questions - and info on the NFL draft, if you have those by chance.

So, on this Easter season, as Jesus rises, some of us will eat our ham dinners and rejoice. As you sink your teeth into a PB egg, be thankful we live in a world where such awesomeness is possible. Draw your friends and family a little closer around that Egg, and embrace.

Oh, and be thankful you're not eating marshmallow peeps, because those things are disgusting. Its like eating a small sugary mattress, covered in coarse sprinkles. I'd rather eat a dirt covered hairball. Blech.

Happy Easter.

- J
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On cooking

Of the four things I wanted to write about this evening, I felt that the subject of cooking was probably the least likely to offend anyone or require too much effort. The four original subjects were "family," "music," and "nighttime." I think "nighttime" might be my next entry; it seems to be the next subject least likely to frustrate me.

Tonight, I'm cooking. Well, at least, my version of cooking. I'm opening up a bag of shrimp linguine from Giant Eagle and "assembling" it for the microwave and, eventually, my tummy. This isn't really cooking, of course - but maybe this is what cooking can be considered in the new millenium.

It's a far cry from Back to the Future II, when Marty McFly's family simply took a tiny little dehydrated pizza and put it in a Black and Decker food hydrator and had a full large pizza in less than 5 seconds. WITH half the pizza cheese and the other half pepperoni, thank you very much. Where is that future, I ask you? Where is a future where I don't have to assemble food - I can just add a water molecule and get some mushroom and onion pizza? What kind of world do we live in?

So my exclamation for such a future lies in the fact that I don't really know how to cook. This is something my family never really taught me. I remember asking my mother once if we had any family recipes, and she said "no." I pushed her on the subject, and she said "swiss steak" or some such thing. The funny thing is that my mom knows how to cook all kinds of things (she doesn't do it all the time). She says she learned it from Home Economics when she was a kid. I remember Home Ec (everyone was required to take it at my junior high - even the boys. I hated Home Ec). I remember sewing a pillow with the letter "J," was taught how to bake a cake out of a box, and was stabbed first with a long needle and then with a pencil by the crazy girl who sat at my table who didn't like the way my "J" pillow looked (still have the scar from that nutjob.) That was it. All skills that, of course, I don't use today. No one taught us how to prepare a full ham dinner with desserts and gravies and sides in that class - but she knows all the steps to making such a meal. My Home Ec experience and hers could not have been more different. So I feel Home Ec is not where she learned all this. I feel she is withholding.

Plus, I remember when I was a kid, my grandmother used to make all kinds of good stuff at the holidays. Granted, again, none of it was necessarily made from "scratch" but it was pretty close. Tasty, too. Like Ambrosia, for instance. I don't know what Ambrosia is - and I don't like it. I kind of feel like its the same stuff they use to smother fires out with. But she knew how to make that stuff, and people ate it and liked it. Where did she learn this? I also remember one of my aunt's making popcorn balls. I remember asking how they made them, and was told "Ask your mom; she's made them before." Honestly, I don't ever recall her making them. Maybe she hates them - but apparently she knows how to do it.

My family was really big on fast-food and packaged stuff, and didn't pay too much attention to nutrition. I'm more conscientious about those things (to a degree). So I've mostly been on my own in the cooking realm, figuring things out, since I was about 10 or 11. I've managed okay, but...lol...it's been hit-or-miss.

Hit: I learned how to make really good and healthy flatbread pizza.

Miss: Likely gave myself food poisoning thawing and then rethawing a chicken. Didn't know that was possible. Still am not completely sure that it was the chicken - although the nauseating effect of the leftovers lead me to believe it was.

Hit: I learned how to make turkey meatloaf. It's pretty good. (I love meatloaf for some reason - my mom makes a good one, but she says she doesn't have a recipe she follows.) I put it together with some vegetables and a baked potato, and it's a pretty tasty meal that is packed with protein but still light.

Miss: The first time I made turkey meatloaf, it was too runny and overflowed and set our oven on fire. I had to call the fire department. Picture it: 13 or 14 year old me, surrounded by 5 or 6 firemen, all of them laughing at my sad ass pan of blackened meatloaf. I wouldn't have called them, but there were a few flashes of fire and I thought it was the safe thing to do. Note to me: check fire extinguisher.

Hit: I make amazing omelettes - you name the filling, I can make you an out of this world omelette. I don't know where I picked up this little skill, as it doesn't come from my family. I recall making one when I was, like, 16 or 17 and thinking I happened to be good at it. Then I started to fiddle with it more just out of fun. In all honesty, I think the motivation came from deciding that I wanted some kind of "breakfast" skill to serve guests who happened to stay over. Seemed like a nice thing to do. But before you start branding me a player, I haven't trotted that skill out an awful lot. Very few have gotten an omelette. lol.

Miss: I set my hair on fire cooking pancakes once. No, really. I was like 10 or 11, or something like that. I'm not sure it was so much my cooking skills, as much as a faulty pilot, but never put your face too close to a gas burner when checking the flame. The crappy thing is that I like pancakes, but I don't make them anymore because of this. In general, I don't eat breakfast food (other than cereal), but my favorite one is pancakes. I'll order them when I happen to end up at an Eat N' Park or Denny's. But just a short stack - because I can't help but laugh and shudder at the thought of a patch of my bangs going missing just to make some. After the short stack, I'm usually set on pancakes (and memories) for awhile.

Hit: I make amazing oatmeal walnut chocolate chip cookies. You can really only eat just one (maybe two) of them, but one is all you need 'cuz they are pretty awesome.

Miss: So, I like chocolate. The darker the better. I dig a chocolate chunk cookie, a dark chocolate brownie, or a small piece of dense chocolate cheesecake - every once in awhile. But I guess my favorite is a piece of thick, dense chocolate cake. I guess that would be a called a torte? I'm not sure. Anyway, I think I was 15 or 16, and it was my birthday so I thought I would make a cake and see how it turned out. I thought it would be cool to try making it from scratch, instead of the fluffy kind of cake from the Betty Crocker box. I don't know exactly what went wrong, but I think I made the mistake of using Baking Soda instead of Baking Powder. Needless to say, the cake was not a success. Kind of like licking a chocolaty shag rug or something, as I recall. Gross.

So, that's a brief history of my cooking experiences. Before you think I am some kind of spaz, I'd like you to note that most of these experiences were when I was pretty young, and you have to give me credit for keeping at it. I guess I wasn't really one to be discouraged by a little fire and smoke. And I can say that I've gotten better the last few years, and most of what I make turns out pretty good actually. I haven't made myself sick in a very long time, and I've never made anyone else sick. I haven't set anything on fire in a long time. Of course, I still would like a few solid recipes to whip out if I needed to, other than my omelette. ;) But you gotta pick your battles, I guess. Maybe someday I'll learn. lol.

So cooking probably isn't my thing for now, but I'm much better at other things. And if I'm good at those things, I can always use the proceeds or time created as a byproduct to just buy meals and desserts, which can always be just as impressive (and tasty) for myself or others. But, in the meantime, other than allowing someone more experienced, knowledgable, and less accident prone to handle the cooking (i.e., a chef at a restaurant), perhaps the Giant Eagle bag of linguine is the safest thing for me.

Okay, post done. Doesn't make sense. But it's something. Later.

- J

Okay

First post back:

In a fight between Pluto and Goofy, who do you think would win? And, also, what the fuck is Goofy? Is he a dog? A bear? A cow? And what's up with the suspenders and wading pants?

This is my first post back. Enjoy.

- J

This is what happens...

when you hire strippers to name your products for you.
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SUGAR: Another Review Withheld

Okay, so I can't review SUGAR now either. I honestly went to the party with a very open mind, hoping for the best. You see, it's Spring Break weekend for me - and I made the SUGAR opening the "opening salvo" of what is sure to be a messy and fun week and a half. And, because so many people who I like and care for are involved in it (like HEAT), I'm forced to reserve judgment. I think it's going to take a little more time to get things going at SUGAR.

So, without going into details, let's say that - for now - I'm still searching for that place where all us homo's can go to play and have a good time. As of right now, it is most definitely a competition, and there is room for just about any of these dance nights and venues to sweep in and pick up an entire demographic of gay clubgoer's. It's also possible for a new venue/night to swoop in and knock all of them out, and pick up the crowds. Summer is coming folks. Things are going to warm up, and if some of these clubs don't get their act together, they are going to be missing out on huge gay dollars. I mean, we drink, we don't have kids to pay for daycare for, and we love spending money. HELLO! KNOCK KNOCK!? That's OPPORTUNITY you're hearing - would you PLEASE ANSWER ALREADY!? We have a bag of money we'd like to give you, and we just want to dance and make out with your pool boy!!

Okay, so I'm going to peace out and leave the state of Pennsylvania. The next time you hear from this blog, it may be my travelogue of Ohio Turnpike Rest Area's again, or possibly some of the clubs up in Detroit (home of house music!). I might actually venture out to the Nectarine, and relive a few of my glory days.

To those involved in SUGAR tonight - I want to leave you with this: I loved the music, and I mean - I absolutely loved it. I also loved the WHIM space. So those are some positives. Next week, after I get back from Michigan, and it's time to bring the party back to Pittsburgh, I'll visit both of the new clubs and see if things improve. :) I'll report back then.

Later!

Intrigue!

Ahhh - we have a Ryan Skyy sighting folks! Tsk tsk. Could there be a little competition brewing?
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Dance floor at 25%

Well, couple more bumps - but the music is great!
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Ok, were here...

We've had a bump already. Let's see how the rest of the thing looks.
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Tonight: Blogging Live from SUGAR

If you're not going to be at the opening of SUGAR tonight, you can still be part of the fun. I'll be blogging live from the opening, so you can follow along. Tune in to my blog at 11:00pm for coverage, oh yea few and non-existent readers. :)

See ya then!

J
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Candidate for Yuppy Douchebag of the Year.

So, apparently this guy isn't even trying to hide his contempt for hydrant laws with his giant boxy penis-mobile. 'Nuff said.
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Word of the Day

"Habitudes." It's not a word that I know of, but by golly, I read it today. Anyone have any ideas what it could mean?
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Winter Olympics 2010: Fare Thee Well

I have to say folks: I really enjoyed the Winter Olympics this year. The ski jumping was fun. I loved the figure skating. Kim Yu-Na was amazing! I don't know a darn thing about figure skating (and I'm gay, mind you) and even I could tell that it was a once in a lifetime performance.

I missed hockey which, frankly, was a shame. I like hockey. BUT I tackled cleaning my living room tonight, so I missed it. Darn.

The Winter Olympics this year was a comforting thing to watch as I went to bed; there were so many great events. I could study, and just put it on in the background for some rare, high-quality late night television. I can't wait for the Summer Olympics, because I have a lot of memories from childhood of warm, sticky evenings spent watching swimming or some such event with my dad or mom. The windows would be open, and we'd let the breeze fly through to cool us. And we'd lazily watch.

So, here the Winter Olympics are ending. And Canada, unlike China (at the last summer games), are going for the fun and comedy factor to close it out. And that's good, because I was sad with the quiet, somber "Olympic lights" show they did. Instead, they have a Broadway-type show going on, complete with inflatable beavers, William Shatner, Catherine O'Hara, and Michael Buble. Yes, folks, that's our Canada. God love 'em.

What would the world be like without Canada? It would be a boring, quiet, not-so-funny planet. Being a Michigander, I can say that more than a little of Canada's culture rubs off on us, and vice versa - and I appreciate how it has enriched me so. And so, ladies and gentlemen, let's give it up:

The 2010 Winter Olympics, hosted by Vancouver and the great nation of Canada. "The Maple Leaf forever!" Congratulations, and great job!

(Now, it's time for a Labatt, eh?!)

The Health Care Summit

So, I skipped Pilates today (SHOCK! I love Pilates) to stick around at home and watch the health care summit (and recover from an evening of revelry at 5801). In my effort to sober up this morning, and after turning on my computer to see what was going on with the outside world, I realized that the summit had already started - which bothered me because I really wanted to watch it today.

Tuning in a little late, I see that we're in the middle of the meat of the debate. I watched for awhile as the politico's took time talking about state's rights/federal power.

It's not supposed to be about scoring political points, but everything is really about that in life. I watched John McCain attempt to scorn the president (like some kind of granddad yelling at a neighborkid for peeing on his lawn) over bipartisanship and a lack of televised coverage on C-Span sooner. While the coverage cameras are on him. Doofus. So the president was almost forced to take his score on McCain saying "I won the election, if you want to fight that battle again, you're allowed, but exactly HOW do you want to work this bill out is what we're talking about right now." McCain says "Mr. President, I'm reminded I lost that election everyday."

Wow, McCain, really? You mean you think about the fact that you sucked as a candidate and now all you and your party do is play spoiler because you're envious and pissed off? No. You don't say.

You know, sometimes, I think John McCain really wasn't anything but a career politician who made NOT being a career politician and a "straight-talker" his mantra. The problem? Instead of throwing partisan bombs, he throws "bi-partisan" bombs that are used in a partisan Republican cause. Yeah, that's straight-talk.

And now Eric Cantor is on, from Ohio. There is something about this guy that is just weasily. I'm not sure what. Maybe it's the fact that he has gay hair. It's got a really high ridge on the front, and you could always surf on it. Definitely gay hair. Yeah.

That and the gay purple tie, and his little "political aide" (i.e., bottom slave) who has a matching tie, the same hair, and the same glasses, right behind him. Uber gay.

I'm Just Sayin': Carl Frederickson and Joe Paterno

So, I was looking at a picture of Joe Paterno today, as I sometimes do. lol. Don't ask why. I just think he's a funny looking guy. He reminds me of someone's granddad who walks around the house, paper in hand, in his t-shirt, asking his wife Essy "did the kids call? They never call."

It struck me that he looks an awful lot like the guy from "Up," the movie from Disney Pixar - Carl Frederickson. If you guys haven't seen up, you're really missing out. That's a great movie.

Now, I'm not the first person to think this, so I'm just going to post the other person's side by side picture. You'll see the link in the picture if you want to read his post. But here we go for my faithful but non-existent readers, I'll repost it.

Candidate for Gayest Moment Ever: My friend Carl...

was sewing at the gay bar tonight.
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From Pegasus to SUGAR: An Evolution of Gay Dance in Pittsburgh?

So, the gay nightlife in Pittsburgh is heating up just as the snow is melting. And thank god for both! I'm sick of digging my car out of the random icebergs that seem to form around it. I'm sick of using a garbage can to claim the parking spaces I dig out. Or how about the bitch session I got into with my 72-year-old neighbor who watched me dig out a parking space and then tried to move my garbage can and sneak her car in? Someone really got an earful that night!

(Okay, so it was me who got the earful, but I swear, I've never seen an old woman threaten to kick my ass before!)

I'm really still fuming over the fact that out of the two gray Ford Contours on my street, I dug out and nearly unburied the wrong one before realizing it wasn't mine. Ah, Pittsburgh winters - aren't they the best? It's almost enough to make a person long for a winter in a state that knows how to handle massive snowfalls and deadly ice, such as Michigan.

Clearly, since I'm longing for Michigan, I must be losing my mind. This may be due to the fact that I have been mostly snowed in and, like most Pittsburghers, have horrible cabin fever. Even now, with the snow melting a bit, I must leave sparingly because I may lose my parking spot. Of course, I could probably just steal another person's space, but now it's just the principle of the thing. I know that old lady is plotting to snatch my space. She glares at me when I walk to my car sometimes and, if you're quiet enough, you can hear faint yells of "bitch ass punk" carried on the cold breeze from her darkened porch.

Okay, so the cabin fever is clearly out of hand. I'm plotting against "Ethel" next door, and that can't end well for either of us. This clearly cannot continue. Soon, the ice must melt, and it will be time to party!

But where? That's my next predicament.

Pittsburgh has long been tagged as a "bar town" - the city of "a shot and a beer." In terms of the gay scene, it is no different. Across the wild homorific landscape here, you find a ton of great gay bars. Of course, I have my favorite gay bars here, which are mostly dependent on the day of the week and the crowd of people who come out. And, like all good homos, I do have one gay bar that I love more than any other. At all of these places, I have a great time. I see friends out, and drink some beers, and chat the night away. But the bar is always more about seeing people and being seen - interaction for the purpose of romantic sorting and gay social stratification. I like to call your standard gay bar an "S&M" bar - meaning "Stand and Model." In Pittsburgh, there are a ton of great places to do the "S&M" thing, and they are all really fun.

But, among all the gay establishments, one now notes the absence of an iconic gay dance venue. A place that is truly the "IT" place to be for dancing. There is clearly one (with a strong contender for second place) among the bars, but this not not the case for the dance scene. As a result, I've felt strongly that the market is demanding a breakthrough and iconic gay dance venue or event in here Pittsburgh.

I mean, don't get me wrong: I love being seen, and I especially love seeing some of you sexy beasts. But dancing is at the heart of what it means to be a gay man. Dancing, like fashion and humor, are expressions of our outrageous personalities, our need to rebel against convention, and our need to release from societal pressure with a healthy dose of clean (or dirty) fun.

Gay people were dancing at the Stonewall when it was raided. They were dancing when the party ended at Studio 54. They were there there during the Club Kid days at NYC when James St. James and Michael Alig were big (Party Monster, anyone?), and throughout the circuit movement created by Jeffrey Sanker which lasts well into today. And, frankly, I've always felt that until you rocked it out at "Splash" in New York City, "Gypsy" in Las Vegas, the old "Factory" in LA, or "Berlin" in Chicago, and then picked yourself up off the floor to go to an afterhours, you couldn't really call yourself an authentic gay man.

Even back home in Michigan (which, by the way, knows how to clear snow and ice so an iceberg doesn't form around Mr. Jason's car), dance clubs were the big thing as opposed to bars. You could find them in Grand Rapids, to Lansing, and all the way to Detroit (the birthplace of house music). Even in my tiny little hometown of Podunk, Michigan, we had a gay dance club. I mean, you could still drink at them, but nearly everyone was there to dance. Amazing but true!

My favorite dance venue was all the way across the state, though: it was called "The Nectarine." Nectarine had a variety of dance nights catering to different populations of people. These included an "Asian Invasion" night (no joke), an Alternative and Punk night, a college night, and so forth. But it's BIGGEST nights were two gay nights it hosted on Tuesdays and Saturdays. It featured the hottest remixes of pop and house dance tracks from DJ Roger and downstairs there was even a tiny little funk and house dance floor, which I was a regular fixture in. The club wasn't much to look at, but as an occasional visitor to Roger's booth high above the dance floor, one could see that it was always packed and people were always having a great time. So, from tender age of 18, most of Mr. Jason's formative years were spent between the upstairs and downstairs of The Nectarine until 2:00 AM, followed by someone hosting a shady afterhours party in Ann Arbor, Ypsilanti or Detroit, and (starting at age 21) recovering the next day until noon.

But going back even further, the very first gay dance club I ever went to was (surprise, surprise) "Pegasus!" Once upon a time, I visited a friend in Pittsburgh at an even younger age, and managed to get myself snuck into the dance venue. Of course, I was nowhere near legal and the person who got me in could have ended up in real trouble if I was caught. So I was given strict instructions to stay behind the fence, where the young underagers were allowed to dance and roam free, as we were gazed upon by the over 21 crowd like some kind of wild animals. And wild we were. I saw sweaty gay men dance in tune to the rhythm of heavy pop beats, with smiles on their faces, exerting their bodies alternating between frenzies and slow movements. Some danced with other gay men, holding and touching; others, like me, danced alone. Though that night inside the dance cage was clearly forgettable for everyone else, it was the first time I danced at a gay club - and I fell in love.

So, fast forward to today. It just so happens that lil' old small-town (yeah, right) me is back in Pittsburgh! But Pegasus has recently left us, and a giant hole has opened in the heart of gaydom where that venerable dance club used to be. Yeah, Pegasus was many considered by many to be a shitbox (undeservingly, I might add), but it was our (my) shitbox. There certainly was room for improvement even while Pegasus was open and, frankly, even then there was room for a competitor to open something truly spectacular and pick the old girl off. But that never happened, and Pegasus was the closest thing to an "IT" dance place there was.

And since it closed, gay dance in Pittsburgh just hasn't been the same without it. Promoters and club owners have made a very valiant and honest attempt to fill the void with something even better than before. Words such as "Las Vegas-style" dance venue have been batted around; elite status; bottle service; hot dance; go-go! Like so much porn, we read these words and hope for the gay dance money shot - but nothing has quite "popped the proverbial cork" YET. I stress the word yet, because many of these efforts are still underway and there are a lot of hopeful prospects.

But I recently had heard that something big was opening up in Pittsburgh in terms of a gay dance venue. Supposedly, the new event is called "SUGAR," but beyond finding out the name of the event, I didn't explore too much. I think I was buzzed when I heard about it. But I also remember thinking that it couldn't be too serious, simply because of the timing. "Heat" and "Blowpop" really were on an all out blitz with advertising and promotion, and seemed to be eating up a lot of the attention. It almost felt as if someone would be crazy to try to do another gay dance night in such a competitive climate. In my rum and diet-coke induced avarice, I think I dismissed it as a rumor.

Anyway, at some point over the next few days, I must have sobered up enough to remember SUGAR when I saw a link to it on someone's Facebook. I clicked over, then found a website, but again half figured it would be another "unpopped cork". The site promised all the same things we've heard recently from the other attempts at gay dance in Pittsburgh: elite, gay, dance, hot, VIP, and so forth. But I have to admit, it didn't look half-bad! I especially enjoyed the club mixed rendition of "Sugar" by the classic Motown group "The Archies". It was a happy-house mix, clearly inspired by pop - and as we all know, I'm a whore for anything (or anyone) invoking pop. So my interest was piqued, if only for the catchy tune up front, but I remained skeptical and unconvinced it would be worthy of further attention.

Then my friend Michael (quite possibly the new Don Giovanni of Pittsburgh's gay club scene) started promoting SUGAR on Facebook. Mike is an interesting fella, if you ever get the chance to know him. He actually has over 1000 friends on Facebook, and I believe he actually might be real friends with all of them - as opposed to me, who has people on his Facebook who I'm not sure I even know or have met (see my earlier posts about this). It's not that I'm anti-social or anything. I just think Mike has a longer attention span to manage all those people than I have.

But in the relatively short time I've interacted with him, while he's always been a thoroughly outgoing and friendly person, he's also never been one to pull punches about what he thought. Hell, he's even called me a bitch to my face a couple times. And he's right - I kind of am! But he always said it in the friendliest way possible, which was kind of him. So all that coupled with the fact that Mike, in some ways, reminds me of the experienced (read: old) "Club Kid Jason" propelled me to investigate a little further. With my interest level now somewhere between piqued and intellectually curious, I shot over an email to the SUGAR Website to see if they would be willing to answer a few questions.

Now, before everyone thinks I did this as a public service to all of you (non-existent) readers, I want to be clear: I did this out of my own purely self serving interest. As you all know, I'm clearly in love with myself (and only myself). I explore and write about things because I want to, and I happen to take (drag) all of you along with me on my merry (hellbent) way. In this case, I explore because I'm cheap and stingy with my time. With all the new venues and gay dance nights debuting recently and in the near future, I thought maybe it was worth finding out a little more before I just start planning my party nights and dropping my almighty and fabulous gay dollar on them. So, it's really a matter of saving me time and money; you just happen to save time and money as a byproduct.

And if I want to save even more of my (our) time and money, it's better to just get our (my) questions answered directly. It's one thing to speak to the public through a press release and ads in a gay rag, but a completely different beast to answer questions directly from the homo's mouth. After all, us gay men naturally know when we are being bullshitted - just ask any homo who's ever caught his boyfriend in bed with the neighbor guy and heard "I fell on the ice outside and he was just cracking my back" when put on the spot. I can personally vouch that bullshit never works. I've tried it.

Anyway, I digress. I honestly didn't expect a reply back but, by golly, what do you know? THEY REPLIED! Not only were they happy to answer questions, but they took the time to write out thoughtful responses. And since I always appreciate thoughtfulness, I've decided to reward them by pretty much just cutting and pasting their responses directly to another post within my blog.

As I close this prelude out, I feel I must say this: I know I'm not the only one who remembers the fun times spent dancing the night away, whether it be at Pegasus or some of the other venues we've all been to over time or in other places. I think there is something cathartic about letting it all out on a dance floor, or even just standing there lightly bobbing while you connect to a song you really love, and I think many of us miss that. I know Pegasus is still open and only moved, and there is still the afterhours place, and there's the new place that opened - and each of them do their own little niche really well. But none of these environments (so far) have felt quite "right," like they aren't the total package (yet).

At this moment, I think many of us feel there is no place for us to get wild, go crazy, and work off all the energy, care, and frustrations we experience in our own special, fabulous, (and somewhat edgy) ways. I also think that many of us feel like there is no grand dance venue or big dance night where we can go and connect with other gay men in a completely comfortable and welcoming atmosphere; where we can hold hands, touch, and kiss while we dance. And, of course, I always feel there is NEVER ENOUGH DANCE, HOUSE, AND POP! Bring on the Gaga, and let the chips fall where they may!

So, whether it's "SUGAR" or someone else, this is the word on the subject as far as I'm concerned:

I don't care WHO does it.

I don't care HOW it gets done.

But will someone, for God's sake, please make a big happy place for us homos to play already?

We're getting frustrated out here! Like all dogs who have been cooped up in the house for too long, all we want is a trip to the playground and a little pat on the tail. But if you don't let us out soon, the consequence is clear: we're going to start dragging our butts across the floor, chewing up your socks and underwear, and humping anything that moves.

*Ahem*. Well, okay - some of us are already doing these things, but I think you get my point.

Now, if you'll excuse me, I think I see a certain 72-year-old woman edging towards my garbage can. I think she's been making plans to hide the sucker from me. I already found a dent in it, probably from that giant beastmobile she calls a Cadillac. Clearly, Ethel and I are going to have to have some words now.

And if anyone wants to reach me, I'll be at Shadyside Hospital ER within the hour.

The "SUGAR" Q&A. Enjoy!

The SUGAR Q&A: Sugar Sweet? We'll Find Out Soon Enough!

Here's the Q&A with the persons behind SUGAR. Enjoy!

JASON: So, is SUGAR a party night at a straight club, or a gay club? And just who owns the club? And what is their relationship to the gay community?

SUGAR: SUGAR takes place Thursday evenings at WHIM at Station Square, which is not a gay club in a traditional sense. The owner has held several events with the boys of G2H2 to rave reviews from those who have attended. The purpose of SUGAR is to open a world class nightclub and give the gay community a place to dance the night away.

JASON: Who are the promoters of SUGAR? Who’s idea was it, and how long has it been in the works?

SUGAR: The people promoting are Ron DeMino of G2H2, and Ken Huntly of AK Productions. The idea came about through various discussions between various parties of finding a way to give the gay community in Pittsburgh a top notch facility to dance and party that we felt had been missing for some time. SUGAR has been in discussion for several months.

JASON: What is the experience of the promoters in doing this type of event?

SUGAR: Both Ron and Ken have extensive experience in club, event and party planning which has been invaluable in putting SUGAR together.

JASON: Are there any LGBT persons on staff?

SUGAR: There will be several LGBT persons on staff during SUGAR in addition to Ron and Ken being present, who are both members of the community.

JASON: What will be the theme of the evening? What are the club influences?

SUGAR: There is no set theme for SUGAR and we hope the influences continue to evolve over time with whats happening globally both in terms of music and gay events. For the first time, we hope to truly bring a big city club experience to Pittsburgh. That's not just limited to those of NYC and LA, but the hottest international clubs and musical experiences as well.

JASON: What style of music will be playing and who will be the featured DJ's?

SUGAR: Again, we hope to bring not only the hottest club songs currently being heard, but those from renowned DJ's around the world. Our goal is give the gay community a musical and club experience never seen or heard before in a gay Pittsburgh venue.

JASON: Who should attend a night at SUGAR?

SUGAR: We want anyone who loves big city clubs, the hottest dance tracks, and a world class club that welcomes all gay and gay-friendly people! That can be anyone from 18 to 80. The only requirement is the desire to socialize, dance, and have an open mind.

JASON: Speaking of age, if you’re allowing 18 and up, how are you handling the alcohol situation?

SUGAR: We will mark or provide a drinking bracelet to our over 21 patrons. In addition, the club employs a highly trained and professional bar and security staff that will be responsible for maintaining the rules of the club and the letter of the law.

JASON: What can people expect on the opening evening? What will the club look like? Anything special or surprise guests?

SUGAR: We want our March 4 premier to be about several things. A world class venue the likes of which Pittsburgh's gay community has never had before, experiencing the hottest club music from all corners of the world that will set SUGAR apart from the competition, and bringing all ages of our community together for a party night that will rival any other in the city - straight or gay. We want SUGAR to be about the experience. And while we have ideas in the works for some top notch parties and performances, we prefer to let SUGAR speak for itself without the distraction of a lot of bells and whistles that can take away from what is truly magical about the club experience we are aiming to provide.

JASON: Can you describe your VIP services?

SUGAR: Details are being worked out for event specific VIP service. For our March 4 premier, there will be no specific area for "VIP" or - as we like call it - "SIP," which stands for "Sweetly Important People." We think the club and the night will make everyone feel like they are SIP's and we want everyone to enjoy themselves as such.

JASON: Finally, there are special issues with having such an event in Southside. How is parking being handled?

SUGAR: We have been granted discounted parking of $3 in the secured lot directly adjacent to SUGAR's location at WHIM.

JASON: Also, I believe this will be the first regular gay-specific party or club sponsored in South Side, with the exception of the G2H2 event. The area is known for being a party-hearty area, primarily catering to straight crowds. Can gay patrons expect a welcoming atmosphere in the South Side?

SUGAR: I think G2H2 is a perfect example of how far we have come, specifically in places like the South Side. We do not expect or anticipate any issues with having SUGAR at Station Square, but are happy to report the the staff and security are professional and well trained and will do everything to make sure SUGAR patrons have an unparalleled experience on Thursday nights.

We hope you'll come out and join us March 4. We are really trying to provide something that we feel is missing in Pittsburgh and hope the community comes out to celebrate and participate in that.

JASON: Thanks for answering my questions, SUGAR. I'm certain everyone is looking forward to seeing what you guys have put together for the LGBT community and their friends here in the 'Burgh. I hope it's a smashing success! In the meantime, with all this SUGAR talk, I suddenly have a huge hankering for a giant grape flavored Pixy Stick and some Kool Aid! Off to Rite Aid I go!


SUGAR at WHIM Station Square
http://www.sugarpittsburgh.com.
Premiers March 4th, 2010. Doors open at 9pm. 18 and up are welcome, but must be 21 and up to drink. Cover is $7 at the door, or $5 with the special SUGARCube Promo Program (see website for details).
WHIM is located at
7 East Carson Street
Pittsburgh, PA 15219
Ph: 412.281.9888 for WHIM
Ph: 412.915.5073 for WHIM Bottle Service.
For questions specifically about the SUGAR event, consider using the Contact Page on the SUGAR website.

This model isn't even trying

Wow. I mean, even Kate Moss knew to cover up her little habit. Geez!
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These balloons are a choking hazard.

The Red Tyranny continues, but I think I could get an injury lawsuit out of it.

Down with love. Reform Valentine's Day. In the meantime, anyone got a number for a good attorney?
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"Hey man, John Mayer wants to explain himself to us. Do you have any earplugs man?"

The trainwreck that is the tediously immature John Mayer continues. Apparently, somewhere along the way, he forgot that people come to his concerts to hear him play guitar and sing, not squawk like a chicken and apologize. I'm hoping this isn't the beginning of some kind of "apology" tour, like Hillary Clinton's listening tour when she ran for Senate in 2000. You know, where Mayer opens up the "depths of his soul" (about 2", by the way) and explains himself to his screaming masses. Of course, the carnage would be more than any venue could handle, as people tear their ears off and claw at the doors trying to escape until their fingers bled. Even Hillary Clinton didn't have that effect - even in her worst pant suit.

So, without further ado, I subject you to yet another round of Mayervision, in full stereo sound. If he weren't so young, dumb, and full of...pizazz, I probably wouldn't post this. And I'm not sure Jen didn't get the better end of the deal in this breakup, if this is what she had to put up with during "the romantic moments." Anyway, Enjoy! Please direct hate email and the shipping of dead fish to Boltco Headquarters; feel free to Google for the address.

A Good List of Personality Traits

Pretty interesting - I like this list. It has an old fashioned bent to it. Which traits do you think are your strong points?

Personality Traits at Yahoo! Shine.

SECOND Quote of the Week!

From the same film, "I Hate Valentine's Day."

John Corbett wants to be with Nia Vardalos, despite ending their relationship after 5 dates and keeping it casual. He has now gotten done with an evening with a toolbag friend and a couple bimbos, and is heading into his apartment - thinking about Nia and wanting to call her. A proud, black woman walking her dog passes by, seeing him playing with his phone with a thoughtful look on his face. Stoically, she engages him while walking.

---Begin Scene---

PBW (Proud Black Woman): "Make that booty call."

John Corbett: "No, honey, my bowels are complicated. Life is simple. Call her."

---END SCENE---

How true.

By the way, I think Nia Vardalos is going for a very John Waters feel in her films. But from an independent film, rom/com perspective.

Quote(s) of the Week

From Nia Vardalos and John Corbett's "I Hate Valentine's Day." John Corbett (who is really always Aidan from "Sex and the City," but who's counting) has just been dumped by his flight attendant girlfriend after bringing her flowers and catching her in bed with someone else. Nia is boosting his self-esteem, telling him he's going to meet someone new instead.

---BEGIN SCENE---

John Corbett: "No, I'm off relationships."

Nia: "Fantastic! You'll be so much happier."

John Corbett: "Oh, okay. You're not gonna say that thing that women always say, which is that I haven't found the right one yet."

Nia: "No. I don't believe there's just one person."

John Corbett: "What?"

Nia: "I don't believe people are meant to be in relationships."

John Corbett: "What!?"

Nia: "Yeah, we should just have fun, and when the romance is gone - move on."

John Corbett: "Well, how long does that last?"

Nia: "Five dates, to be exact."

John Corbett: "That is exact."

Nia: "Five dates happens to be the perfect amount of time to achieve maximum fun with no pain. No expectation equals no disappointment. It's just fun, and there are no rules."

John Corbett: "No rules?"

Nia: "No rules. And you know what? In relationships, that's all there are. You know, one person wants more, the other person wants less, and then they act out, cheat, come back, stay out of guilt. Oops, now someone's pregnant! All of a sudden you're married and you hate each other. Dating is just so much more romantic."

John Corbett: "So you love romance, but not relationships?"

Nia: "Well, what's to love about something that only brings unhappiness?"

John Corbett (and here's where I used to really feel his confusion, by the way - kind of like a dog staring at you with a shiny object): "It's just - it's not natural."

Nia (deftly, with a response that couldn't have come better from my own mouth): "Do you know any happy couples?"

John Corbett: "All the time? No, but.."

Nia, spoken with righteous indignation and a little bit of a smirk: "I am happy all the time." And walks away.

CUT TO SCENE: John Corbett is walking with his douchebag, tool friend along the Hudson River, chatting about Nia's schooling on relationships and romance.

Toolbag Friend: "Oh, that's hot! Is she hot?! Ah, it doesn't matter. Her attitude is hot. She could have three eyes and two butts and a tooth, and I'd do her."

---END---

Nia Vardalos, you are my Goddess! Watch the trailer, for an especially hilarious moment when puppy dog stupid Aidan...er...John Corbett makes his first attempt to ask out freespirit Nia. It involves her pinching his face to make a very good point about the perception that not being available for relationships does not make one easy.

I just can't resist...John Mayer.

First off, I apologize for my absence. I'm working on a blog post about snowmaggedon as we speak. But suffice it to say that I've had 3 days off work, will have a half day tomorrow, and I mostly sat on my ass and caught up on stuff.

Now, on to bigger fish to fry. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you John Mayer - douchebag supreme.

I'm going to skip over the fact that he used the "n" word in the interview, talking about how he may or may not be "street" enough to have a "hood pass." You know, because he's a pale-white mainstream babyfaced male rocker, and you know how the brothas love them.

I'm going to skip over the fact that, in one interview, he manages to make himself some kind of sexual god because he bagged Jessica Simpson - the sexual leavings of Nick Lachey and Tony Romo. Don't get me wrong, Jess is pretty, but she lost me at "Chicken of the Sea." She doesn't exactly strike me as a hard lay to land.

I'm also going to skip over the fact that he clearly has an addiction to porn, saying that he sees over 300 vaginas before he finds one to pop one off to - and THEN chooses to fantasize about past relationships because current vaginas and girlfriends don't satisfy him. Talk about a waste of time.

I'm also not going to talk about how, in the same interview, he then casts himself as soulful and intellectualizing, taking the time to brag about how much he loves talking all night with a girl only to have her experience an epiphany about him, saying "boy, I never thought I was going to like you so much."

No, I'm not going to talk about all these affronts to the sensibility.

Instead, I'm going to share this snippet with you, and then send a link over if you are a glutton for punishment and want to take a closer look. It's John Mayer talking about Jennifer Aniston - she of the "Friendly Following." America's new sweetheart (after Meg Ryan went crazy with the lip injections). She, of the interminably bad taste in men (John Mayer, Brad Pitt, Vince Vaughn), who braves on.

From John's stupid mouth:

"PLAYBOY: You’ve rarely talked about Aniston. She has rarely talked about you.

MAYER: We just have a regard for each other’s feelings that is pretty intense. It’s been a deep relationship, and it’s no longer taking place at all. Have you ever loved somebody, loved her completely, but had to end the relationship for life reasons?

PLAYBOY: Did you send Aniston a copy of the CD after it was done?

MAYER: No.

PLAYBOY: Maybe she’ll download it from BitTorrent.

MAYER: If Jennifer Aniston knows how to use BitTorrent I’ll eat my fucking shoe. One of the most significant differences between us was that I was tweeting. There was a rumor that I had been dumped because I was tweeting too much. That wasn’t it, but that was a big difference. The brunt of her success came before TMZ and Twitter. I think she’s still hoping it goes back to 1998. She saw my involvement in technology as courting distraction. And I always said, “These are the new rules.”

PLAYBOY: You mean the rules of celebrity have changed since Friends made her a star?

MAYER: I said, “Tom Cruise put on a fat suit.” That pretty much sums up the past decade: Tom Cruise with a comb-over, dancing to Flo Rida in Tropic Thunder. And the world went, “Welcome back, Tom Cruise.”

PLAYBOY: What’s the moral there?

MAYER: You have to show that you don’t take yourself seriously. Once you do that, people will say you’re cool: “You know what? I gotta say I never liked him until he made fun of himself, and now I like him.”

PLAYBOY: If you didn’t know you, would you think you’re a douche bag?

MAYER: It depends on what I picked up. My two biggest hits are “Your Body Is a Wonderland” and “Daughters.” If you think those songs are pandering, then you’ll think I’m a douche bag. It’s like I come on very strong. I am a very…I’m just very. V-E-R-Y. And if you can’t handle very, then I’m a douche bag. But I think the world needs a little very. That’s why black people love me."

Here's the link: Playboy Interview.

Just after that, he makes his little mistake regarding the "n" word that got him into trouble. But as you can see, he was really on a roll before that. Maybe his riff on life was like an ice cream sundae (no pun intended). He just kept piling on scoop after scoop of bullshit, and then added on some yummy word toppings. He added some nuts (misogyny), strawberry syrup (false angst), caramel sauce (ageism), and then whipped cream (pervy jerk off talk). And then, sensing that his pile of true verbal diarrhea fashioned as pop culture creaminess was not quite complete, had to top it off with a racial slur. I mean, when all you can do is talk and talk, saying dumber and dumber things to get attention, what else could you do? Talk about puppies?

I guess the interview speaks for itself, but I want to say one thing before I let you stab your own eyes out reading it. If John Mayer sees the world as those who KNOW how to use BitTorrent and Twitter, and those who do not, he's in for a surprise. If he also sees the world as those who cater to the new TMZ/Perez Hilton/celebutante culture, and those who do not, he's in for a BIG surprise. And if the reason he dumped Jennifer Aniston was because her success came at a time when modes of media were more direct and mainstream, and less viral, then he's in for an even BIGGER surprise.

The surprise, you ask? Well, he thinks these are "The New Rules" for living in today's age. He thinks Aniston desperately wants to go back to 1998, to relive some level of fame or success that she had at the supposed height of her career. And while that's just so arrogant and assumptive on his part, it's also telling more about him than Aniston. It says that he doesn't define himself as a person, but instead defines himself how enshrined in today's "celeb-retardation" and "hyperactivity/frenzy" he can make himself. He's confusing "The New Rules" for achieving fame - which are really just rules for gaining attention while participating in self-indulgence all without taking real personal risk - as opposed to rules for living an authentic life.

The surprise is this: for someone who wants love and a relationship and a "vagina to pitch a tent under" (shudder), he doesn't have the personality for it. And he doesn't even realize it. When someone makes a decision to end a relationship because the substantive quality of their fame is pre-Twitter, that signifies a pure immaturity and mistaken lifestyle that may be too much for him to overcome or for anyone with an intellect to stand. What's sadder? I think he thinks all his bullshit is really smart, but the truth is - it's no different than a child coming up with reasons why the spilt milk isn't his fault. No perspective.

I don't know about you, but the guy is clearly pretty much only good for a lay. He's hot, has nice tattoos, and I'm sure he probably has some really great moves in bed he's perfected (he seems like the type who would do that). He practically SCREAMS "himbo!"

But as far as more? Even I would dump him after the first few go around's. Of course, I might snag a couple nice vacations and some cool swag first. Maybe get him to buy me a nice car, maybe a condo. But dump him I definitely would, probably just as Aniston did. It's nice she tried to teach him a few of the lessons she's learned in life, but clearly he needs a lesson in humility that neither of us would have the patience to teach. But damn, he's pretty to look at - so why not enjoy, eh Jen?

Anyway, to close this out, here's a picture of Mayer showing that it's entirely possible that I will get my chance to dump him. If this doesn't belie some type of homosexuality, I don't know what does. Enjoy!

Saints Win!

Yay! Saints win!!
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Things that make you go "Hmmm..."

In a hypothetical fight between aluminum foil and plastic wrap, which do you think would win? I personally am an aluminum foil man for a variety of reasons. If you don't mind, I think I'll share with you just a collection of the myriad of reasons why.

First, it's easy to mould to the opening of whatever container I am missing a lid for (hence why Ziplock disposable containers don't have a dog in this fight). Plus, it holds it's shape really well. If you have an oddly shaped food, such as a 20 pound turkey or cake shaped like the Empire State Building, you can sculpt a custom shaped protective shell which shall protect against bacteria and viruses of all types. And accidental roommate food incursions, such as an errant drumstick which attempts to roll off a plate and into your jello mold, will be repelled back instantly.

In addition, it's useful for cooking things - such as wrapping corn when baking it in the oven, or lining a cookie sheet when making french fries. Or covering a lovely mulligatawny casserole. And it doesn't even get HOT when you cook with it. 'Tis truly the DEVIL'S magic at work there! 'Tis!

Plus, it's really cool to make hats and other awesome men's wear with. I once made a whole suit-of-armor - complete with viking hat and battle axe - from Reynold's Wrap. Um, like, when I was a kid, not recently. Yeah. That's right! When I was a kid. And no pillow fort was involved.

But it does have its drawbacks. I'm not sure why, but while it does hold its shape, it doesn't stiffen up enough to remain in place. When you cover a bowl or plate, and put it in the fridge, it looks like the foil is securely in place. Yet, if you put something next to it that even grazes the foil, it flies off - with the food covered wet and sticky side plastered to the floor. Very annoying.

Plus, there is something about touching aluminum foil. It's light, but it's metal. It crumbles in your hand. And the noise it makes when you play with it - it kind of sounds like a rapier being waved around in the wind. It produces the same shivers that fingernails on a chalkboard does. And have you ever accidentally missed a piece of foil in some food and taken a little nibble?!? YIKES!

Oh, and for your Al Gore types out there: apparently, aluminum foil is recyclable! I mean, I already use the foil from baking my fries to cover them up in the fridge, but this is beyond that. You can actually take discarded foil and make it into other stuff! Wow! I didn't know that, as I have been throwing it away - and probably poisoning a lake or something in the process, or strangling some kind of fish. Wait, that's not right. Can a carp get tangled up in a discarded viking hat made up of foil wrap? Or is that those plastic six-pack rings? I dunno. I'm not a tree hugger.

Plastic wrap has its proponents, I'm sure. I'm all for the fact that it clings to the outside of a container, creating a nearly unbreakable hermetic static seal preventing air from entering and liquids, foods, and mushes of all kinds from escaping. This means that when I put something NEXT to the plastic covered bowl, the wrap doesn't fly off. I also think plastic wrap does a better job of preventing smells from escaping, especially helpful around shrimp taco night.

But here's where it loses me. For one thing, once plastic wrap gets caught up in itself, it's a lost cause. We've all been there. We're trying to rip off one decent sized piece of wrap, and we pull against that damn serrated edge on the box and it does nothing. Well, nothing except bunch up the wrap and give us a nice deep cut on our finger. So we just end up ripping the damn stuff in no particular shape or size, usually coming up just a bit short of what we need. So we have to go through the whole thing again, complete with re-bunching and re-cutting.

And, apparently, plastic wrap isn't recyclable. Again, not that I care, but because its a petroleum based product, it is not easily broken down. Then again, come to think of it, is it really wise to be covering your food in a product made from the same chemical base as gasoline? Hmm...

So, that's why if I had to choose who to put my money on in a kitchen product battle royale, I'd put it on aluminum foil. "It's the easy way to save money while keeping your kitchen clean," per the Reynold's Wrap company. It's great for making Viking hats AND corn-on-the-cob!

Obama uses aluminum foil; his daughter Sasha was born on a bed of it and she's probably going to be a doctor or president or castmember on Jersey Shore or something. Air Force One is made of aluminum foil, and look how that plane kicked ass in the Harrison Ford movie.

Aluminum foil is also the way of the future and way to salvation. God wants you to use aluminum foil. Aluminum foil is the way all god fearing American's should live, if they plan on going to heaven. Like I've always said, it's all about the God, the Gays, the Guns, and the aluminum foil.

(I've always said that. You can look it up. Go ahead. No, Sarah Palin didn't say it. Shut up!)

And, not to sway you or anything, but Al Qaida probably uses plastic wrap. And we're living in an Code Orange era, people. We're talking terrorism! Right now, Osama Bin Laden is in a cave somewhere performing some perverse masturbatory ritual on himself with plastic wrap. Probably something involving asphyxiation and tying his beard in a knot! Yep, that's right. Terrorism, folks. You're inviting terrorism into our country and into our homes if you use plastic wrap. For God's sake, think of the children.

In closing, I think we all know what I'm really trying to say here. And if you're not sure, then I can't tell you. But I like to think I've given you a little something to think about today. And that what I've imparted to you has improved you as a human being, and added to your being in an organic and holistic manner.

If you come away with nothing else today, remember this: Vote Yes on Tuesday for Aluminum Foil, and No on Plastic Wrap. And, as usual, ignore the third party running for office - wax paper. No one knows what the hell that shit is for.

Where was I going with this? I think I need a nap. I think I blew a gasket after hour 20 studying for an exam. G'night.

*Note: This blog is copyright property of Boltco, now a wholly owned subsidiary of Reynolds Consumer Products.*