You'd Have To Be Crazy Not To See This Film

Please, dear God, don't let me wet the bed again. Please, dear God, don't let me be soft. Please, dear God, don't let me be gay.

If you think you've seen all the coming-of-age films you need to see, you're wrong -- unless you've already watched "C.R.A.Z.Y.," a twist-your-heart-until-it-bleeds French-language flick that floored critics with its passion and wisdom.

Set in Quebec from 1960-1981, "C.R.A.Z.Y." injects you into the membrane of a tight working-class family whose five sons include a drug addict with a temper, an egghead, a jock and a fattie. But the movie revolves around Zac, who spends his adolescence suppressing his homosexuality out of deference to his conservative father. Played with astonishing skill by the stunning Marc-Andre Grondin, Zac represents every kid who has to endure an assault by his parents on his orientation. In this case, Zac -- with a few detours -- finally accepts and embraces his sexuality.

"C.R.A.Z.Y." -- the title is an acronym of the five sons' first names -- doesn't paint black-and-white pictures. Every major character -- except for perhaps the saintly mother -- is complex. The lunch-pail father, for instance, is a sympathetic figure, a loving parent who simply can't cope with the notion of a gay son until tragedy shakes him out of his bigotry.

While the film's theme is a gay coming-of-age story, "C.R.A.Z.Y." also is a powerful tribute to family and spirituality, subplots that will bring you to tears. At the same time, the humor is razor-sharp and the music -- Patsy's Cline's "Crazy" in a recurring theme -- makes the flick wholly entertaining.

Every straight person with a brain should see this film. How good is it? Rottentomatoes.com's analysis of reviews gave it a 100 percent positive rating.

And, finally, from a gay guy's point of view, Marc-Andre Grondin is as close to perfection as human beings come. Watch him lip-sync to David Bowie's "Space Oddity" (you know, "Ground control to Major Tom...") and you'll fall in love instantly.

SIDENOTE: I downloaded "C.R.A.Z.Y." from netflicks and watched it on my computer. The downloadable movie selection is limited, but the platform was satisfactory. It wasn't high-def, but the netflix media player was large enough and sharp enough to make the experience enjoyable.


The two pictures show Zac's progression from his kid-next-door phase to his Ziggy Stardust phase. The first part of the movie actually deals with his childhood years and is skillfully played by a boy actor.

I Love You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

Some of you might remember what a hard-on I got for Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Well, my new musical lust is Vampire Weekend, a bunch of recent Columbia grads who just signed with a label (meaning, it seems, that only two of their songs are available for download now). The music's been described as preppy with a strong dose of Africa. Yeah, these are white kids. But they're good. Call it alt or rock or whatever, but basically it's pop in its purest, best form. Sort of like the Beatles -- in genre, not sound.

http://www.myspace.com/vampireweekend

Snow. Yay.

We had our first few snowflakes yesterday.
Not a fan.
I used to get butterflies in my belly at the first sight of snow.
No more.
Snow before Thanksgiving was a treat; snow before Christmas was mandatory.
Now?
Now, I want warmth and life year-round.
Maybe it's age.
Maybe I don't want to be denied the pleasures of spring and summer and early fall.
Or maybe I just don't want slush in my shoes.

10 Q's For The Gay Sports Editor

So, a friend who has a well-read blog wants to interview me about being a gay sports editor. Not a bad idea, except I've never publicly revealed that I'm gay. A lot of people know, but it's never been a topic of conversation at the paper. That raises a question: Am I a "gay" sports editor if I haven't told my readership or bosses that I'm gay? I see myself as a journalist who happens to be a vegetarian, who happens to be way left politically, who happens to have a German-born mother, who happens to have a West Virginia-born father, who happens to be gay. Nevertheless, I can see how it might intrigue people. Here are some of the questions I'd ask myself if I were blogging on the topic:

1) What's it like going into locker rooms full of naked men? It's gross. Locker rooms are as sexy as used jock straps. Especially in football, they're smelly and full of hairy-assed guys OD-ing on testosterone. Beyond that, when you're writing a story, you're concentrating on journalism -- not on human anatomy. Sadly, many college football and basketball locker rooms are now closed to the media (largely because of the increase in the number of women sports writers). I say "sadly" because you get the best gut reactions in the locker room. Typically, athletes are brought into formal interview rooms, killing almost any chance of a spontaneous -- read: honest -- comment. On the other hand, I don't miss the awkwardness of fully-dressed middle-aged men interviewing naked 20somethings as they dress or pad to the showers. Having said all of that, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I've seen guys in locker rooms whom I found sexy. It's just that you don't get a chubby over them because you're working and it would be highly inappropriate to shift into sex mode.

2) Does being gay influence how you cover sports? I'm not sure it's so much being gay as being metrosexual. If you have a sense of style -- and many gay guys are more into that than straight folks -- it influences the topics you write about, the descriptions you include in stories, the questions you ask during feature interviews. I like to write about guys' tattoos -- they often tell a story that strips away the subject's veneer -- and I often include some description of the guy's body (the "sinewy tailback," "the skinny-as-a-net-cord point guard," the "zero-body fat cornerback") that you might not find in a non-metrosexual (or non-gay) sports writer's stories.

3) As an editor, does being gay influence your story and picture choice? Sometimes. For example, I used a shirtless picture of David Beckham with a story on his appeal as a pitchman in the United States, simply because I found the photo sexy. A straight and non-metrosexual sports editor might not connect the dots like that. Usually, though, the types of stories and pictures I use won't be any different than what you'd find in any other fairly sophisticated sports section.

4) Do you think parents would worry if you revealed you were gay and covered their kids? Some would. I don't cover high school sports, so that would never be a direct issue. But it would be an indirect issue, with less enlightened parents questioning whether a gay man should be involved to any extent with teenagers. Attitudes like that, of course, reflect willful ignorance and rank prejudice. Ask yourself this: Does anyone question it when straight men cover girls' sports? Of course not. But, our neighborhood homophobes might argue, those men don't have access to girls' locker rooms! True, but I don't think many reporters go into boys' locker rooms, either. So it should be a non-issue.

5) Why don't you tell your readership that you're gay? Because I don't see any point in stamping a rainbow tattoo on my forehead. My sexuality, just like my race and gender, should be irrelevant as a journalist.

6) But aren't you doing a disservice to fellow gays? Wouldn't you be a good role model for young gay sports writers? Touche. But you have to be reasonable, and I live in a conservative area that would see any disclosure of my sexuality as in-your-face rather than refreshingly honest. Maybe I'm rationalizing, but I don't think my most private traits should have any bearing on my job as a journalist. On the other hand, if I were in NYC or San Fran or Miami, would I be more vocal about my sexual orientation? Almost certainly. Hmm, I'm not liking this answer.

7) Do you think your staff has a right to know? My writers speculate among themselves endlessly, or so I've been told by guys who come to learn about my sexuality. And if they can't figure out that I am indeed gay, they should find another line of work. But I don't see how announcing to each one that I'm gay would be relevant to my job as their editor/supervisor. On the other hand, I never lie when asked. Plus, if I socialize with a staffer or former staffer, I tell him, simply because at that point he has a right to ditch me if he's not comfortable drinking a glass of wine (how gay is that?) or downing a few brews (trying to be macho) with me.

8) Have you known any gay athletes who would make good stories? Not many, but at least two come to mind. One is a high school basketball player who I think is too young to approach about that. The other was a college soccer player whom I asked for an interview (but was eventually rejected). Ethically, I wouldn't be able to write a column about a gay athlete without disclosing that I too am gay. I don't think that would be necessary in a feature story.

9) If you could date one sexy, mega-star athlete, who would it be? Tony Parker. He's cute and his accent would be a HUGE plus. ;) But T.O. is sexy as shit, as is A.I., Vince Carter, A-Rod, Jeter, Beckham, Dwyane Wade, Gilbert Arenas, Carmelo, Tiki ... and the list would take up the Internet. ;)

10) Which genre of athlete has the best and worst bodies? Shooting guards and small forwards in the NBA are at the top of the pecking order. They're leanly muscular and in peak condition because of all the running. Tennis players and sprinters are tied for No. 2. Obviously, NFL linemen are at the bottom of the list, though -- surprisingly -- NFL quarterbacks aren't much better (too lumpy). Most gays, I suspect, would say swimmers are No. 1, but that's because of my community's fixation on white guys with totally smooth bodies. I find them pretty but not particulary sexy.

Any other questions?

Sex? Good GOD, No!!!

Saturday night -- or, more accurately, in the wee hours of Sunday morning -- I got an IM from Gabe. He had just gotten home from partying and wanted me to come over to his apartment for some "fun."

Intriguing, no? I mean, Gabe is a handsome 20-year-old student at James Madison University. And -- down, boy! -- he's a Latino. From L.A. no less. Well, L.A. via the D.C. suburbs. But still.

Did I mention he's also smart? Gabe's on a full scholarship at JMU to study international relations.

So let's recap: Good-looking. Latino. Smart. Young.

No-brainer, right? You would think so. But for the second or third time this semester, I rebuffed Gabe's attempt to hook up. In fact, we've never met face-to-face. I've asked him probably half-a-dozen times to meet me for dinner, but he keeps putting me off. We know each other through -- what else? -- gay.com. I was in a D.C. area chat room last summer and Gabe popped up to say hi. We had a cool chat, and he appeared eager to meet. "I can't believe you live in Harrisonburg," he said. A friendship was budding. Or so I hoped.

Why, then, hasn't it happened? Two reasons, I think. From Gabe's end (no pun intended), he usually contacts me when he's a little drunk and wants to "hang out" at his apartment at 2 or 3 a.m., which I assume means he wants to have sex. (In fairness, though, he did ask in September whether he could do a brief internship at my office.) From my end, I want to get to know the kid's heart and soul and mind, not his dick or butt. Don't get me wrong. Sex with a 20-year-old Latino would be sweet, but there's a hitch: I'm three decades older than Gabe, and slam-bam-thank-you-ma'ams with college guys violate my behavioral code.

That doesn't mean having sex with Gabe would be immoral. If we got to know each other and the "moment" occurred, sex would be perfectly fine. (I've slept with my share of 20somethings.) And I have no problem with other older guys boinking 20-year-olds just for the carnal pleasure. (Or, if you're Bill Clinton, getting a blow-job, albeit with a chunky woman, rather than a cute guy, but you get my point.)

So here I sit, rebuffing Gabe -- and wondering if I'm a fool for complicating a simple, good act: s-e-x. And don't even ask me about Allen, another JMU student I've rejected. Shoot me, please.

Cool Artist

Check out this young artist from ... well, from all over. He graduated from NYU and now lives in L.A. His name is Ian Kim. I love the pop flavor of his work.



http://www.ikplay.com/

If You Want To Understand Gay Men, Read This

At times while reading John Weir's very funny, very sad "What I Did Wrong," you might find yourself flashing back to Al Pacino in "Angels In America." In this case, the guy dying of AIDS is much younger and much less political, but equally bitchy as life seeps out of him. It's a memorable portrait in a book full of memorable people and moments.

Set in New York, "What I Did Wrong" deals with a 42-year-old Queens College professor's relationship with three people: Zack, his dead sort-of boyfriend; Justin, one of his students; and Richie, his best friend from high school. To simplify, Zack represents reality (AIDS, death), Justin hope (a potential lover half the prof's age)and Richie a combination of innocence, normality and inertia (the straight guy who ends up not far from home, physically or psychologically, in Long Island).

Don't run your fingers across the pages of this book. Weir's writing is so sharp it'll make you bleed.

I'm A Phenomenon!!!

In perhaps the most priceless quote ever uttered -- well, supposedly uttered -- by a Middle Eastern leader, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad denied the existence of gays in his nation.

"In Iran we don't have homosexuals like in your country. We don't have that in our country," Ahmadinejad told a hooting Columbia University audience in response to a question about the persecution of gays in Iran. "In Iran we do not have this phenomenon. I do not know who has told you we have it."

As happy as I am to be a phenomenon, I must say I doubt that Ahmadinejad actually said that. Yes, I know, it was on TV. I watched it. But Ahmadinejad was speaking in Farsi, and I'm thinking the translator blew it. My best guess is that he was speaking about the persecution of gays, not the existence of gays. Otherwise, he is indeed a complete dope.

Of course, either way, he was lying. Like many a Muslim nation, Iran treats gays despicably.

Food For Thought

First, let me stress that I love farmers markets. I love local vegetables. I love local maple syrup. I love local jams and jellies. Whenever possible, I like to eat and cook food grown fresh locally.

Having said that, I think localvores are crazy.

In case you don't know, a localvore is somebody who insists that all of your food should be produced within your extended community -- defined, apparently, however you choose. Some might say a 100-mile radius; others might say an entire state. The reasons for the movement are threefold: 1) environmental (it uses too much oil and other resources to transport food thousands of miles), 2) health (locally produced food is more likely to be organic or at least less drastically sprayed) and 3) lifestyle (local food tastes better because it's picked when it's ripe).

All good reasons.

But to suggest that we should restrict ourselves to those foods represents a pitchfork mentality. Not only would dismantling the national (and international) food system eliminate a huge number of jobs, but it almost certainly would jack up prices and lead to shortages of quality foods for working-class people. In other words, I doubt if there are enough tomatoes or apples being grown in Virginia to feed the people.

Beyond that, quality is important. Personally, I don't want a local cantaloupe or watermelon. Compared to the Deep South variety, they're insipid. As much as I enjoy local apples, I also like varieties from the West Coast. Ditto cherries. Not to mention bananas and every citrus fruit on the earth. The list goes on and on, from avocados to jalapenos. And, yes, I do enjoy Spanish clementines in December.

I also am not willing to give up fresh tomatoes or mesclun mixes in winter. So why not grow them locally in greenhouses? As a Wikipedia article suggests, some believe it is more environmentally taxing to do that than to ship tomatoes from southern climates to northern climes.

I think the logical solution is to eat locally as much as you can. For instance, it makes no sense to buy a cardboard supermarket tomato in summer when the farmers markets are groaning with great-tasting local tomatoes. But if you want a Rainier cherry, for God's sake, buy them.

YAY! He's GAY!

It's always a good day when another right-wing hypocrite is outed. Larry Craig, the icky senator from Idaho, is the latest -- assuming things are as they appear. Making it even more delicious is this clip that surfaced on youtube. My GOD, this guy is a creep:




OK, beyond Craig's apparent rank hypocrisy, I've got a question: Is this fucking 1975? Have these people never heard of the Internet? I mean, good God, who goes to toilets or parks or dirty book stores to find sex nowadays? Just click onto gay.com and you can hook up in a nano-second. Jesus.

Critics All Wet

The most annoying thing in the world right now? All of the people who are urging us not to drink bottled water. Their reasoning: Bottled water is environmentally unsound because it uses plastic bottles and needs to be transported -- both of which require oil.

OK, I agree that drinking Fiji water is idiotic. Or Scandinavian water. Unless those sources have special minerals that turn gray hair black or erase wrinkles or add 3 inches to your dick, there's no need to drink them. In fact, I chided one of my writers the other day when I spied his square bottle of Fijian H2O. The oil consumed to ship it to Virginia constituted environmental rape.

But is it so bad to drink Deer Park if you live in Virginia? Or Poland Spring if you live in New York? Both are drawn from sources nearby (usually Pennsylvania and Maryland for the Deer Park sold here in Virginia, and Maine for the Poland Spring sold in NYC). Yes, they're in plastic bottles. The solution, though, is to recyle the plastic, not to discourage people from drinking bottled water. Because, I guarantee you, almost nobody is going to carry around a refillable bottle full of warm tap water. If anything, they'll turn to soft drinks or fake "juices."

So why are the anti-bottled water people annoying? Here's why: I'm guessing many are upper-middle class folks who live in sizeable houses and drive SUVs. That's just a guess. I've done no studies on the matter. And I'm not talking about the activists who spend their lives on these issues. I'm talking about the do-gooders who've taken up the cause. Perhaps they should downgrade to a VW before yapping about water.

(Sparkling waters such as Perrier and San Pellegrino -- which, along with Deer Park and Poland Spring, are owned by Nestle, by the way -- probably are OK to buy, even though they come from Europe. The market for sparkling water, I think, is a fraction of that for flat bottled water, so they're a luxury we can afford envrionmentally.)

Think, Not-So-Think

I watched two gay coming-of-age films recently -- one American, one Swiss. I liked both, but as you might suspect, the European movie was far more layered, far more thought-provoking than the American one. And, as you might suspect, the American flick was more fun to watch than the Swiss one.

"Garcon, Stupide" is about a 20-year-old kid who works at a chocolate factory in Bulle, a small town in the French-speaking part of Switzerland. He's an uneducated lad who relies on a slightly older woman to help guide him through life. The director, Lionel Baier, does a nice job of "growing" the kid -- showing how a handful of people enter his life and change him. Baier also touches on issues that all gay guys deal with: obsession, suspicion that everyone you meet wants sex, the desire to be "normal" (in this case, to have a wife and family).

"Dorian Blues" focuses on a teen-ager's coming out story. It's funny and touching, though sometimes a little too bitchy. The best part is Dorian's relationship with his ultra-loyal, straight, hunky, football-playing brother. It's a nice film about how tough it is for gay people to have relationships -- with everyone from family to friends to lovers.

Oh, Yeah, It's Working

I keep reading that the "surge" is working -- and not just from the dumb, demented or diabolical. Neocons aside, people like Hillary Clinton (please, Barack, find your voice quickly) also are acknowledging that the injection of more American soldiers in Iraq has pacified parts of that nation.

My reaction: So what?

The salient points remain the same: 1) Was invading Iraq worth -- at last count -- 3,725 American lives and tens of thousands of Iraqi lives? 2) Was it worth weakening the United States both militarily and morally? 3) Was it worth setting the stage for the election of an Islamic government once the Americans slink home? 4) Was it worth -- again, at last count -- nearly half-a-trillion dollars ($454,818,446,792)?

It doesn't surprise me that parts of Iraq are safer because more soldiers are patrolling them. It would surprise me if the end result was any different than I think it's going to be: that the Americans are going to withdraw (claiming victory, but -- in fact -- having been defeated), the Iraqis are going to suffer a period of turmoil (where fewer people die than have perished because of Bush's policies) and that Iraq will have a fundamentalist Islamic government in league with Iran.

Meanwhile, the whole adventure had zilch to do with combating terrorism. Well, almost nothing. As study after study after study has shown, Iraq was not a factor in terrorism before the United States made it one by its invasion and occupation -- thereby playing into the Islamic militants' hands. Read Lawrence Wright's "The Looming Tower" -- this year's Pulitzer Prize winner -- and tell me that Osama bin Laden isn't cackling in his cave at the sight of America bogged down in a war against Muslims. It's exactly what the terrorists want -- and, as luck would have it, a stupid president and his arrogant neo-con advisers accommodated that goal.

So, perhaps the "surge" is succeeding in quelling the violence in parts of Iraq. Unless you're willing to keep American troops there forever, though, it means little.

(The photo was taken by David Leeson of the Dallas Morning News)

Oh, I'm Gay?

It took me a long time to figure out 100 percent that I was gay. I mean a l-o-n-g time. But that speaks more to my naivete than anything else, because I certainly had clues.

For example: As a seventh-grader living at Eglin Air Force Base on northwest Florida's sugary-white Gulf coast, I'd go to youth-league baseball games with my dad -- not because I was remotely interested in the sport, but because the local team had a cute pitcher who always threw himself out of his shirt. Those glimpses of skin -- along with the Pixie Sticks I'd buy at the concession stand -- sustained me for weeks.

Of course, there were other clues in my early teen years. When pink bellies became a fad, I was in absolute heaven. And what budding Baby Boomer queer can forget TV shows like "Flipper," where kids our own age were running around shirtless for 30 minutes.

Still, I put those feelings on the back-burner. Not only did I have no idea what a "homosexual" was -- though I can still picture the precise moment I asked my parents about the word, which had just come up on a TV show (a rarity in the '60s) -- but I figured I would grow up like everyone else in the official version of Mainstream America and settle down with a wife and children.

Boy, was I stupid.

It began to dawn on me that I was gay -- though, again, that was such a foreign concept in my world that I didn't really understand it -- when I was a junior at Baumholder American High School in Germany. My best friend was a smart, witty, slightly stocky kid named Rich. Never once in the year or two we spent together at BAHS did the words "gay" or "homosexual" cross our lips. But even then, I suppose, my gaydar was finely tuned: I knew he was gay from Day 1. He, on the other hand, apparently was clueless about my orientation. It wasn't until about five years ago that I told him I was gay, too.

Anyway, I remember us going to bars in Baumholder (there was no true drinking age in Germany at that time) and getting plastered. Weekend after weekend. Once, when I stayed over at his house, we were stumbling home and I pretended to be drunker than I was. The reason? Simple: I wanted him to have to half-carry me home, knowing there was no way he could avoid skin-to-skin contact, thanks to a particularly loose shirt. It worked. One of his hands kept me from falling to the sidewalk -- pulling up my shirt in the process -- while the other wrapped around my naked waist. It was a total turn-on for me -- and, I'm guessing, for him.

Pretty strong clue, huh?

Idiotically, I continued to ignore the obvious for years after high school. Now and then, I'd "date" girls. The dates, needless to stay, never ended in sex, unless you consider a back rub to be sex. I think the reason I was so naive was twofold: 1) Although I was a media addict, newspapers and TV in those days pretty much pretended gay people didn't exist, so I wasn't exposed to issues like gay marriage that are now so commonly discussed; neither was I exposed to channels like MTV, which portrays gay folks as completely normal (not to mention trendy); and I wasn't exposed to the Internet, where chat rooms would have shown that there were millions of people just like me around the world. 2) I was scared. The little I read about homosexuality suggested it was a bad thing done by weird people. I was deeply into politics and journalism at the time, so I didn't spend much energy researching the topic. Call me a Sexual Capitalist: My attitude was laissez-faire -- whatever I would become, I'd become. Eventually, of course, it dawned on me that the mainstream media's portrayals were simple right-wing and Christian propaganda.

Slowly, I understood who I was. Slowly, I began dating guys. Less slowly, I began sleeping with guys. And I'm now who I am. But, as a 20something gay pal once told me with deep pity: "Oh, you missed out on things when you were young and cute. " Ouch. So, um, gay kids, don't put off your coming-out parties. You'll never regret being honest with yourself.

The Kid and the Kid

I absolutely love this photo of Roger Maris with the 19-year-old kid, Sal Durante, who caught his 61st home run ball at Yankee Stadium on Oct. 1, 1961. Doesn't it connote an infinitely more innocent era? Maris looks like the quintessential baseball-playing boy of postwar America. Contrast him to the steroid-built bodies of Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds.

As for Durante, Maris told him -- a la Bonds to the guys who caught his home runs -- to keep the ball and cash in. So Durante, a truck driver from Brooklyn, sold it for $5,000 to a restaurant owner in California.

"People say I was crazy for selling it for $5,000, but that was a lot of money back then," Durante, now 65 and living in Staten Island, told the New York Daily News recently. "That was a year-and-a-half's salary for me - I was taking home $60 a week back then. I have no regrets."

The restaurant owner eventually gave the ball to Maris.

Cool, no?

(Sources: New York Daily News and Time.com)

Of Cherries and Watermelon

Cherry season is over. Actually, it ended a week or two ago. The Rainiers that I craved 24/7 disappeared; the remaining Bings became subpar. If you haven't had a Rainier cherry, you cannot possibly understand the gap that now exists in my life. Firm, juicy and uncommonly sweet, they're to a typical cherry what Myrtle Beach is to Miami Beach. With one, you get putt-putt golf and taffy. With the other, you get palm trees and gelato. Soon, sadly, sweet watermelons, too, will be gone. Nothing -- absolutely nothing -- compares to crisp, sweet, juicy watermelon on a hot summer night. The only thing that keeps me going is the certainty that come June 2008, the cherries will be back, along with the melons. Hope. It's what makes life worth living.

Fratboy Flaks

Does anyone else wonder why major news organizations constantly quote spokesmen whenever politicians get into spats? I'm not talking about background information from campaigns, which no doubt is invaluable. I'm also not talking about substantive points from aides. I'm talking about the stupid, predictable "sound bite" quotes that come from PR people.

An example from the AP, quoting a Romney flak: "While we'd all like to be able to join Mr. Edwards and laugh off $400 haircuts, Mitt Romney believes that working families should be able to keep more of their money," Craig Stevens said.

That's like Swift Boat Lite. It allows the candidate to appear "presidential" while his people take jabs at opponents. Had Romney brought up Edwards' haircuts -- something that would never happen -- it would be newsworthy. To quote the aide is idiotic.

I know the rationale: Reporters can't always reach candidates, so they take what they can get from PR people. Even in my role as a sports editor at a college-town paper in Virginia, I understand how difficult it can be to get a hold of, say, a university president. But I would never quote his spokesman taking a cheap shot at somebody -- and not because of some holier-than-thou attitude. I just think it's dumb. The quotes add nothing to the public discourse and nothing to our understanding of the candidates (if only because they all do it). They just give one side a giggle and piss off the other side, like frat boys playing pranks on each other.

Hot Streets

For some reason I love this street scene from NYC. Yeah, yeah. I know. The guy is sexy as shit. But beyond that, it captures the city's feel on a sizzling summer day, I think. I took it in mid-July on the West Side. (You need to click onto the image to get the full effect.)

Yum July 27: Fresh Summer Pasta

This only works if you have fresh summer tomatoes -- like out of your garden or from the farmers market. It's a raw "sauce" that gets heated a little by the cooked pasta. A very summery flavor.

1) Chop some fresh summer tomatoes into a bowl (mix in some heirlooms, if you have them).
2) Chop in some fresh basil.
3) Mince a few garlic cloves and throw them in the bowl.
4) Add a splash of balsamic vinegar.
5) Drizzle generously with good olive oil.
7) Add salt and black pepper (I use sea salt and freshly ground pepper).
7) Add some pine nuts if you choose.
8) Mix everything together and let is sit while you boil water and cook penne pasta.
9) Drain the pasta and add it to the bowl.
10) Top with reg-parm (I use the cheaper, less-aged wedges).\
11) Mix it all together.

Quick and good.

The Sexist Billboard Ever

Armani Exchange has this billboard up all over NYC (top). It absolutely oozes sexuality, I think. Of course, the gay world's favorite shop doesn't ignore the homoerotic, either, as the ad below shows.

Yum 3

Here's a really good summer dish I concocted -- it's especially good if you have access to home-grown vegetables:

1) In olive oil, saute a small leek, a few cloves of garlic, two-thirds of a diced jalapeno pepper and about half a sweet bell pepper (red, orange or yellow) for a few minutes.
2) Add thinly sliced zucchini and yellow squash (a couple of medium ones, or four small ones). Sprinkle with salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper. Let it fry until you have to scrape the skillet.
3) Add a few fresh tomatoes, fresh parsley, a little fresh basil and some tomato juice (like from a can of diced tomatoes) and one-third to one-half a can of cannellini beans.
4) Add a few shakes of low-sodium soy sauce.
5) Cook on medium-high heat for a while, stirring occasionally to keep it from sticking (though the tomato juice also does that).

When it's done, serve over rice (which, of course, you should have started cooking before the main dish). I've used brown (tastier and more nutritious) or white (quicker). Top with shavings of parm-reg cheese.

For a salad, I sliced some strips of not-quite-ripe avocado, some strips of ripe papaya and a couple handfuls of mesclun lettuce sprinkled with salt and pepper. The dressing: the juice of two limes, a slurp of olive oil and a slurp of maple syrup.