In "Meet the Smoothies."

I love you, loto. I hope you weren't straight before you read this article? Because that would be even better! Are you, perchance, a mechanic?

Gakkk!!! As a self-respecting homosexual in good standing, I personally love male secondary sex characteristics. Women, on the other hand, seem now, according to this (ca-ca) reportage (which I haven't read), to be preferring the circuit-boy look, inadvertently leaving me with the hairy trash I so love. Whatever. I blame craigslist for this phenomenon, no?

In "Be buried down under."

When I kack it, I will be magically transformed into a little pile of fairy dust which will be caught up in a small, unlikely whirlwind and carried, glittering, through the sky to the nearest rainbow. (At least that's what I think is gonna happen.)

In ""I just can't get over how beautiful Viceroy's yarn is.""

This could be very, very good. The dogs who live downstairs (but who spend a lot of time in my apartment too), are non-stop disco shedding machines, and we've long talked about turning all that spare fur into something groovy. For awhile I was thinking about spreading adhesive on the floors and home-growing wall-to-wall carpet, but I'm sure I'd rather have a sweater that barks!

In "Anxious George..."

I'm with you, too Darshon. Seems that almost every time I've gone contrary to intuition, it's been a mistake.

In "Repeal the 22nd?"

Regrettably, I can't see how this would change anything. Legitimization is cheap these days. That, and I really don't want Clinton back anyway. I'd rather Gore, the way nature seemed to have intended in the first place.

In "The History behind Billy Joel's "We didn't start the Fire""

Well, the best thing about this post for me is that some random link in there reminded me that it's 2005 and I still can't buy a decently-priced good Ian Dury CD online, which makes me cranky again, so I'm going to go outside and work in my garden. So, thanxsses.

In "Prelude to Journey to the Center of the Earth."

Well. I don't know about you all, but if I don't find a new source of exotic bacteria soon, I shall shortly go stark raving mad.

In "Das erste Bier-Schwimmbad der Welt"

P.P.S. -- The foregoing German statement, which I got from babelfish, translates back (on babelfish) to "Such a cock of the cock!". Ergo, I am led to believe that what we're talking about swimming in here is not in fact beer at all, but cockpunch. The Germans are an inscrutable lot.

P.S. -- Solch ein Hahn des Hahns!

The rooster's such a cock!

Is it just me, or does this whole concept bring to mind Guy Maddin's The Saddest Music in the World, y'know, those scenes when the winners of each round of the Saddest Music contest slide down glass slides into a huge vat of beer? Because, y'know, I've always wanted to try that.

In "Long after Uncle MeFi is gone,"

Wasn't it someone here who said: "MeFi goes down more often than a two-dollar whore on lumberjack payday."? Or did I dream that? Because I thought that that was right succinct but if I dreamed it, I really am going to finally have to get a life.

When you can't connect to JRun server, you can't connect to JRun server, that's all. Now there's MetaChat, where MeFi goes to hang out when the blue is down. It's like a MeFi iPod fannypack, and funn(i)er than MeFi anyway. Far as the blue, I go there when there's a "big" discussion or just to cruise the links, but only on a read-only basis, because Matt will get $4.95 from me when he pries it from my living, durian-stinky fingers. I'd rather send the money to Tracicle*, because for one thing, here the climate is tropical and there are bananas, and for another, monkeys are just as smart as the MeFi crew and ten times more friendly. Then, too, MoFi's not a fannypack, nor does it need one. (No offense intended to MeCha!)(Nor, for that matter, to MeFi. It all just is what it is, Om Om Om.) /me like monkeys mo' betta! anyway! one! one! all one! /paging Dr. Bronner *Not that I've ever done this, but I surely would.

In "Fassbinder would have been 60."

I probably love Fassbinder and his films more than life itself (at least at times). I can't understand why, so long after he's gone, he's still relatively unknown to so many, and I'm especially surprised that he's not better known to many gay folks, despite his often dark and somewhat bitter take on gay life and love in general. His stable of actors were a remarkable crew, and watching them grow their capabilities along with him over a period of years together is a wonderful thing made all the more wonderful in retrospect and from a distance. To follow Hanna Schygulla from the early work, say, Beware of a Holy Whore or the very, very creepy Whity to The Marriage of Maria Braun is, to me, even more interesting than seeing Dietrich develop under von Sternberg. How superstardom eluded Schygulla under Fassbinder's tutelage is still beyond me. Same for Barbara Sukowa in Lola, though she never had quite the degree of exposure in starring roles that Schygulla had. Fassbinder was able to take ordinary actors -- Margit Carstensen, Gottfried John, Ulli Lommel, or his own mother, -- and mold them to his vision, however idiosyncratic that vision might be at any given moment, to come up with an ensemble that meets the requirements of each film. Given the mood swings from film to film (and at times concurrent production of more than one film), and Fassbinder's reputation for being a maniac, it's something like a miracle that they all pulled it off. Also worth mentioning are the contributions of cinematographer Michael Ballhaus, and especially the music of Peer Raben in film scores so dense with innovation that I often listen to these films while at the computer, just to appreciate the soundtrack. It's a shame that his career was so short, but a treasure that we have roughly forty films by Fassbinder to remember him by. Thanks, patita, for posting this!

In "Curious, George: Title of an Idependent Documentary Movie"

Not for nothin' but betcha if you email the folks at they can identify it for you.

In "Worshipping Monkey"

The Ramayana says Hanuman took off through the forest because his tail was on fire. Where's the "miracle"? oopssorrythat'sofftopic

In "Curious George: Where to die?"

I've always thought Varanasi (Benares) has a great system: 1.) Hire ghat-wallah (or whatever the cremator's called) for a handful of rupees 2.) Die 3.) If ghat-wallah is an honest man, he'll burn you on the spot. If not, you'll rot in Mother Ganges. Whatever. You're dead, it's fine. I think this system is beautiful in in its efficiency; no dreary three-day layout, no hall or church to rent, no big metal box. The drawback is that if I'm sick enough to die, I probably won't feel like booking a flight to India. Where not to die: hospital. I'll probably die up in a hemlock tree in Maine, when I'm 65 or so. Which, when I think of it, isn't that far off.

In "More Christian Outreach"

I say we turn that church into a dutch oven.

I think MoFi may safely be considered unflushable.

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