So, Check this shit out.


Russians hate gays. Oh yes they do. In the city of Moscow, a group of people wanted to have a gay pride parade and festival and all that good stuff. But, once again, city government said no way poofs, why don't you go to one of those western countries that allow degenerates like you to live. And so, a group of people, representatives from poofter/western nations, and civil rights groups went with a petition to the municipal government.

They got the shit beat out of them. Oh yes they did. Homophobes, fascists, the sort of people who would do well in Russian politics beat the ever living hell out of them. And then, our petitioners were arrested. You see, you can have an Eisenstein, a Shostakovitch and still wonder how those surfs got emancipated 100 years ago.

So what do we do here in New York? Well, we protest. Who can we protest? Well... what does Russia do? Don't they make a lot of Vodka? YA! Let's boycott vodka.

And so, protesters lined up in front of the Russian embassy in New York and poured Stoli down the sewer. Held signs aloft begging all gays and gay bars to dump their Stoli and replace it with something else (tolerant Polish vodka perhaps? oh wait... crap"

It is a nice shot at Russia. Stoli's sales are over 400 million a year in America. They are the third largest seller of Vodka in the states. That should give the ol' bear a black eye, right?

First, Stoli is not the state vodka. Money earned does not go into pointing new nuclear weapons at Prague. It is a private company.

Second, Stoli advertises heavily in gay magazines which means KA-CHING money in the hands of gays! Stoli does sponsorships at bars, at social programs, in all kinds of media. KA-CHING here you go gays, some money that you gave us back into the community.

Stoli, for the record, is bottled in Latvia, not Russia.

So um. Drink up my homo-brethren. Enjoy the smooth, crisp taste of vodka beloved by millions of men and women and despised by fascists and Russian politicians.

So, I finally went,


I have thought of pride as 'see your ex-lovers in public' day for so long that I haven't had the desire to go in something just short of forever. This year however, I went. Egads.

Thankfully, having lived in Buffalo a scant three years and being with (e:Jim) for two and a half of those years I don't have much nights of regrettable passion to hang around my neck; though I hear such emo neckwear is fashionable this year.

Scores of delightful folk were there, many estrippers and more bad drag queens than you could shake a beadazzled thong at.

(e:paul) and I had a discussion about why gay pride in Buffalo is a churchy, community event where as gay pride elsewhere is carnival with half naked dancers, public blow jobs, and a city-wide celebratory orgasm. Ok, most of those words did not appear in our discussion, but they along with its attending image were lurking in the back of my mind.

But seconds before we arrived at a solution that would involve godly orgies on church alters with people of all ages, creeds, colors, and abilities it started to rain. Too bad Buffalo, just think of the diseased lust that could have brought your closer to the godhead?

Imagine it Buffalo? Our collective thighs a developed water front? It is enough to make you want to bathe perpetually.

And special congrats to (e:Mike). Well done sir, well done.

There is a momment, amid total inebriation, walking down elmwood and using the parking meter as walking sticks, where typing what one in fact says and what one infact intends end up being two very differnet things.

And so I leave this entry, warts and all, to the magic power of alcohol and a large group of people consuming it.

mazeltov children, mazeltov.

Latoya, like a siren who will eat my bowels, I am drawn to you despite all warnings.

And that moment, with the camera focused on her empty chair, one of the finest minutes in television history.

Ah yes, that feel!

Ten minutes ago I deleted my LiveJournal account. Dear fat baby christ, thank you for splashing that muse up against my skull.

LJ used to be awesome. I had a ton of friends on that had amusing little lives that I enjoyed from afar. Or people who are actually afar and so it is tough to directly communicate. But as the maw of progress ate Lj and zombie MySpace rose from the dead my friends were disappearing. Instead of scores of lovely little snippets of lives akin, I had people close to strangers. People I had never met. People who kept a photo blog of their bowel movements (content deleted. Flush)

baby, finish your drink. Let's get out of here.

So, I just deleted it. The good friends I can keep in touch with. The others? Well, there is a whole universe full of other.

The brightest spot in those whole event is that what ever horrid pastiche I called a journal will not reincarnate itself as a MySpace abortion. Nope. That path which begins with good blogging intentions, which is paved with an eye on the human experience in the personal, can lead only to a dead end of "ZOMG My MoM iS sUcH a BiTcH!!! LOLZ OMG WTF!!1!" And frankly, I take comfort in knowing that when I too die, my remains shall be riddled with worms, and not excessive exclamation points.

good night