Monday, May 13, 2002
A Conversation From the Bar Scene
Dale: Where were you last weekend?
Randy: I went back to Denver to see my folks.
Brad: Everything OK?
Randy: Yeah. My brother came out, though, and mom kind of freaked.
Dale: I didn't even know you had a brother.
Randy: Woody's a lot younger than me, just turned 22. I guess mom didn't have any idea. She'll be OK, though.
Brad: Woody?
Randy: Short for Woodrow. It's a family name, after our great-granddad.
Brad: If you name your sons Woody and Randy, you probably shouldn't be surprised when they both turn out gay.
May 13, 2002 at 3:45 PM
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Conversations
Death Comes to Time
MOVED: Last December, I enthused about
Nick's Friggin' Homepage, one cutie's website chock full of linky goodness. Nick's in a
new place these days, and has made a rather appealing promise that may hasten my return to Los Angeles.
VAST WASTELAND: Someone is shopping a "half-hour reality make-over show" called
"The Queer Eye for the Straight Guy". The premise is that some poor straight schlub gets redecorated by five representatives of the fabulous set, to wit:
The half-hour show assembles an elite team of professionals from the worlds of fashion, interior design, grooming, food and wine and culture and mercilessly throws them upon a straight male subject in need of a makeover. Combining the relevance and substance of Esquire Magazine with the wit and sarcasm of "Will & Grace," "The Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" is informative, entertaining and bitingly hip.
There are a few problems with this pitch, kids, not least of which is that using the word "wit" alongside "Will & Grade" should be a punishable offense. I really chuckled at the last line in the casting breakdown, though: "Queer yes, camp not necessarily: Professionals first, gay second. Not looking to fill stereotypes ...".
"This," he said cynically, "I shall believe when I see." [hat tip to Matt Kingston]
DEATH COMES TO TIME: I was a huge
Doctor Who fan for years, so much so that I'd spend Sunday nights sitting close to the TV, fiddling with the antenna, trying to pull in a snowy signal from a public television station broadcasting from 100 miles away. I joined a
fan club. I went to
conventions. You name it, I've been there, done that, got the
scarf (and the frock coat and the fedora and a lot of badges). The obsession has faded for me, supplanted by a dozen other media fascinations and hobbies, but I was still saddened to hear of
the recent death of John Nathan-Turner, the program's longest-serving producer, famed for his Hawaiian shirts and his jovial demeanor with fans.