A Valentine's Day treat.

So the Grammys were last night. I watched a bit of it, including the overly-hyped Gaga song "Born This Way" that was supposed to be the new gay anthem. Um... no. I don't think Madonna needs to worry about any of that this year. Neither do Streisand, Garland, or any of the others whose "gay anthems" have stood the test of time. Besides, do we really still need a gay anthem? Maybe it's me, but I don't see the same need for it. Or maybe we need it more than ever. I don't know. All I know is that Gaga's attempt was ham-handed and missed the mark.

There was also a whole bunch of Bieber. Now don't get me wrong... I'm okay with the Bieber. There's always someone in the pop music genre filling the always-in-demand 13-year-old pre-pubescent female niche market. I remain unimpressed. Take away the auto-tuning and then maybe I'll pay a little more notice. I suggest that Mr. Bieber invest his earnings well. Once his fans begin to menstruate regularly, they'll likely move on to more interesting music.

One bright spot was the Best New Artist category, won by Esperanza Spalding who bested the Bieber for the title, and rightly so. What a talent. It's nice to see the best new artist award go to an actual artist, rather than some publicity-driven hack. In this clip, you see Spalding performing at the White House with Tony Bennett. Speaking of artistry, watch and listen and learn as Bennett, with his clearly aging voice, show that the clarity of the vocal signal is not a necessary ingredient in the creation of a great performance.

Everyone's a luddite.

So there's the Library of Congress. Did you know there was also a librarian of congress? Like, a guy sitting there and he's the librarian of congress?

I'm watching a show on the History Channel about the Library of Congress. Clearly.

Anyway, the thing I love is that even though the main reading rooms have computerized search capability, the library still has and constantly uses its old card catalog. It's this huge meandering maze of little bitty drawers with little itty bitty cards all up in 'em. And then, once you're done finding that one little itty bitty card in the giant freaking complex of little itty bitty drawers, you have to go out into the giant building and find the book whose location you found in that itty bitty drawer.

No matter how fancy our computers get, it really does come down to one dude and an actual book. I love that.

It's in the cards.

My friend from Minneapolis just started a blog. Since he's still looking for work, which is difficult with a person with some physical disabilities, he's channeled his considerable energies and intelligence into what I think will become a really interesting blog read. He's also focusing it on something that he's always done recreationally... at least for the 10 years I've known him... tarot reading.

Check it out:

http://www.fostertarot.com/blog/

There's something about tarot that I've always found quite fascinating. Michael approaches it in a quasi metaphysical sense, reporting a sense of connection to the supernatural that I've never been able to quite understand completely. I feel that his connection to what he calls "the voices" is likely such an intensely personal experience that others may never be able to identify with it fully. But his way of using that connection, whether it's really pseudo-divine or rather an acute sense of social and emotional identification with another person, is really quite fascinating. It goes beyond the norm of most tarot readers, whose goal is usually to cater to the self-indulgent narcissism inherent in most people that is brought to the surface when they're asked to talk at length about themselves. His tendency to remain as a neutral conduit for the information that he senses is flowing through him results in a perception that he's telling you an interpretation free from passion... a metaphysical "tough love" that tells you what you need to hear rather than what you want to hear.

Whether Michael's readings are the result of a true connection to the unknowable, or the outcome of employing a truly advanced sense of interpersonal insight, they always leave the client with food for thought. And really, isn't that the most important thing?

Betty White kills.

I love how effortlessly Betty White gets laughs while the rest of the cast has to work their butts off to be noticed.

In case you don't have time to visit the museum properly...

In defense of silliness.

Here we see some fun-loving bears enjoying a bit of mirth. (The clip to which they're lip-synching is from the fabulous TV show Glee.)

And of course some folks on the interwebs have clogged up the series of tubes by vomiting up some hateful-ass twaddle... in a nutshell, they think that our tribe shouldn't be acting silly and singing along to bouncy songs. Apparently we should all be sitting across cold tables in brightly-lit coffee houses and processing things.

To paraphrase the words of a Dallas drag queen walking through a crosswalk circa 1992... Kittens, this world is a harsh place. You could get your britches bunched all up in your tookie if you wanted to... there are plenty of injustices out there that would justifiably result in dyspepsia. The real winners in our struggle are those who can laugh heartily in the face of injustice.

Remember, my delicate little petals... anything that provides a little joy and laughter in our lives adds to the measure of good in this world.

These things will make you gay.

Sandra Bernhard. Without You, I'm Nothing. 1989.





Betty Butterfield visits the Vietvenese doctor. 2007.





Dangerous Liaisons, 1988.





Funny Girl, 1968.





Gentlemen Prefer Blondes, 1953.





All About Eve, 1950.





Tarzan the Ape Man, 1981.





Designing Women, Episode #89 ("Foreign Affairs"), Season 4, April 30, 1990.





The New Original Adventures of Wonder Woman, "Judgement from Outer Space", January 15 (and 17), 1977.





The Man from Atlantis, starring Patrick Duffy. 1977.





Big Business. 1988. (Skip to the 9:10 mark on this long clip.)





Steel Magnolias. 1989.





Pretty Woman. 1990.





Greater Tuna. 1981.

You cannot reorganize village life to suit the village idiot.

I've always loved Mark Morford's columns in the San Francisco Gate (even during rare disagreements with his positions), but today he really hit the nail on the head. He discussed the three options when confronted with the neo-know-nothing "idiotosphere" that I have so frequently highlighted on MWG. The final and most effective strategy has a very definite appeal for me.

Read it.

Buddy Cole offers us a bit of insight.

Anal.

Okay, this should wake your butt up from its Monday morning torpor.

Bettye LaVette conquers Washington

In December 2008, Bettye LaVette had the honor of singing "Love Reign Over Me" at the Kennedy Center Honors concert in Washington, DC. It was part of the tribute to The Who, one of last year's recipients.

Oh honey. Miss Bet-TAY reached waaay down deep and pulled out some guts for this one. Get ready to be dazzled.

A better use for roux.

You know, I like to think that I've been around the block a few times. Maybe more than a few. But I've never ever seen this before. Leave it to the British to come up with yet another awesome idea.

Here we see the winner of the men's division of the third annual World Gravy Wrestling Championships in Stackhead, Lancashire. 2,200 litres (440 gallons) - or some 40,000 ladles worth - of gravy was produced for the event.

30-year old Scot Joel Hicks, wrestling under the name Stone Cold Steve Bisto, was crowned the World Gravy Wrestling Champion at the event.

Had I attended, you can bet I would have brought a few biscuits to sop up some of Mr. Hicks' gravy. Maybe more than a few.

Make a joyful noise.

Sometimes there really are no words.

This might be the best thing I've ever seen on YouTube.

What's a cuntflap?

This is a british game show in which contestants try to make words out of the consonants and vowels on the board, though I'm not quite sure of the specific rules. Here we see British humor at its finest and most subtle. I love how nobody says anything except a wry chortle from the lovely analog of Vanna White.

The biggest thing to happen to gay Jews since Streisand

Savage Love

Dan Savage offers sage advice on how to come out to your evangelical parents. As usual, his words are personal, concise, and right on the money.

There are only three things in this world that give you unquestioned loyalty: dogs, donuts, and money.

Now I understand. The magic really IS in the hole.

They wobble, but they don't fall down.

Some people collect Hummel figurines. Some people collect estate jewelry. Some people collect classic cars.

I collect 1970's-era Weebles.

In the early 1970's, I was on this show called Romper Room a couple of times. I used to watch it, and got a chance to be on a couple of episodes when I was 4 or 5. It was a sub-optimal experience. The sets were flimsy, and the mirror didn't really swirl around like it did on TV.

But one of the things that Romper Room provided to the American culture was the "bop bag", an inflatable plastic clown that one could hit like a punching bag. It was bottom-heavy, so when you hit the thing it would list sideways and then right itself. It taught kids that the best thing you can do when you're feeling ornery is to beat someone up with your fists. (Since I can't stand clowns, I don't really have a problem with it in this case.) When Hasbro bought the show in 1969, it started marketing these little plastic versions of bop bags called Weebles.

The ones I like are the ones made around the mid-1970s. The examples shown here are a combination of Disney's Winnie-The-Pooh Weebles, as well as some made by Sesame Street. There's also a clown Weeble, which I keep in the little treehouse because, again, clowns are creepy and weird. I also have the box for the treehouse.

Weebles aren't very expensive. The most I've paid for a Weeble is about 15 bucks. Someday I'll take them to the Roadshow. But it's a fun little diversion to keep me from acknowledging the roiling sea of rage that exists just below my serene surface.

You liiike? I liiike !!!

I just had to flog this picture of Barbara Bush sitting next to Justin Clynes a little bit more. It's way too "Dixie Wexworth" to let it slip by without comment.

I love the water. Even when it's cold.

Gift

A day so happy.
Fog lifted early, I walked in the garden.
Hummingbirds were stopping over honeysuckle flowers.
There was no thing on earth I wanted to possess.
I knew no one worth envying him.
Whatever evil I had suffered, I forgot.
To think that once I was the same man did not embarrass me.
In my body I felt no pain.
When straightening up, I saw the blue sea and sails.

--Czeslaw Milosz (1971)