Day XXXIII: Disappointment

Well this is obnoxious.

The internet in my hotel room has decided to implode, so I'm stuck with no possibility of writing a substantial blog. So, dear readers, with many prayers and dreams and hopes, I'm trying to update via text message. And because I'm not entirely sure it will work, I'm going to make this one short and not-so-sweet.

A haiku about today's ten hours of speech:

Did you hear the girl
recounting her horrible
life? Yes. We all did.

If that's not your style, try this:

When you make rape jokes
in your intro, I will play
games on my iPhone.

Seriously, Minnesota coaches?

Day XXXII: NFL National Qualifiers

This afternoon, I took some time off from work to help the WHA speech team at NFL National Qualifiers. I'll be following suit tomorrow. And the next day.

Three days of speech? Fine by me! Plus, there are some great upsides to judging over these three days. 

The Good

I get to hang out with my mumsy, who I do not see very often. It gives me a chance to watch her kids perform and see what she's been working so hard at cultivating within the program. C'mon, it's my mahm! Of course I am happy to get some family time in.

My own hotel room at night? CHECK! There's even a tub! Do you guys know how badly I miss soaking up a bath after winding down the day? I'm thrilled to bits. And there is so much naked time happening in this hotel room. Right now even!

Speech was sort of my every breathing moment in high school. I wasn't coordinated or athletic enough for sports, and I wasn't about to play second fiddle to Mr. Berry's girls in Business Professionals of America. Student Council really wasn't my jam, either, so speech was just sort of there for me. I get watch all that hard work and determination pay off with a bunch of up and coming talent, and that's pretty damn cool. Oh, yeah, and I get paid to do it! 

The Bad

My roommates are enjoying $5 martinis right now and I am suffocatingly jealous.

I don't have any time for blogging! My days are stretched excessively thin, so I can only fit these little bits after rounds of competition. Judges have it worse, too, because there are multiple timelines that require you to be on twice as many times as the kids.

The Ugly

Some of these performances.

But seriously, over the next three days I'll be recording my thoughts in my own little journal that I use to take notes during the competition. They help me parse through who did the best, the worst, and all the in-between. But, because the competitors don't actually see the judges comments at this tournament, I can write whatever I damn well please! And I know you can't wait for tomorrow because I have some rotten things to share.

Till then, speak well!

Day XXXI: RuPaul's Big Opening Part 2

It's the second part of the big opening!

Let's jump right into things by taking a look at second set of seven divas.

Bianca Del Rio

Bianca Del Rio is a sassy bitch. I am getting the feeling that she'll be the narrator of this season. She's always waiting in the wings with a snarky quip or cutting commentary on her competition. After winning the first challenge, I fully expect Bianca's personality/ego to swell gloriously. I am very much looking forward to her making it to the reading mini-challenge. I think she will just tear these girls apart. One thing that worries me about Bianca: she can be a little mean! And it's always so calculated and intentional. I don't find her to be mean-spirited, but I worry that she's got some deep cuts lined up for these girls.

Day XXX: Condom

It's day 30. In Roman Numerals, that's triple-X! So, for this evening, I thought it would be appropriate to share my sexiest post yet. And, let's be honest, nothing about this blog has been particularly sexy--unless you count the three super hot #SundaySelfies (which we don't)--so maybe it's time for an injection of promiscuity.

And what better way to get things sexified than with a portrait of my sexiest body part.

Wow. Can you believe how damn good my ear looks?

In all seriousness, I'd like to share a sexy, sexy story with you. And it all starts with a snap from Monday morning.

Now, Mondays are traditionally my least favorite day of the week. It's the start of the work week--ick--and that means you have five long days before you get to enjoy the solace and complacency and beauty of the weekend. It's also the day before we get to watch RuPaul's Drag Race which causes an insurmountable amount of lag between Monday and Tuesday. Basically: it's an incredibly painful day that just begs to be dismissed. 

And, yes, it's true that yesterday crawled by slower than a half-speed high school production of The Ten Commandments, but it started off with a bang (AND THAT'S A VERY FUNNY JOKE THAT YOU'LL GET VERY SOON).

I was just getting my day started downtown. Daily, I park in the lot across from the Lumber Exchange Building, the massive brick structure that houses my office. It's a shady little sixty car open-air facility that is "monitored" by the police and is comfortably nestled between an adult entertainment facility--a porn dungeon--and the Gay 90s. So, really, I guess all my days start with a healthy dose of sexiness. Huh.

Anyway, I parked in space 34. It's one of those pre-pay places. You take note of your space, hustle to the machine, and punch in a few numbers to indicate where and for how long you'll be parking. I took note of the the large block numbers and scurried over to pay station. Of course, a line three people deep--each of them bundled for the cold within an in inch of their life--had formed. Just my luck. How obnoxious. 

Of course there's always that guy or girl in front of you that, for the life of them, cannot figure out how to properly insert their card into the slot. Listen, sir. I see you park here every day. If you can't figure out how to insert your card by now, even with the blatantly clear diagram right above the slit reading "insert here," you probably have bigger issues than worrying about a $22 parking ticket.

Eventually, the line fades and it's finally my turn to pay for parking. By now, I've memorized the numbers I need to punch in, so tapping the keypad is sort of an automated habit. As I zoned out, my fingers mindlessly going through the motions, I noticed a peculiar object on the ground.

A condom wrapper.

Now, I'm no prude. So my objections to the condom wrapper in the dirty, cigarette-lined snow were purely formed from confusion and concern.

1. It's Minnesota. It's winter. What the hell are you doing having sex outside? Weren't you at all worried that your genitals would freeze up, fall off, and turn into the most disturbing and anatomically correct popsicles you've ever seen? I've heard of penis pops--a bachelorette party party favor, I think--but a frozen and displaced penis next to an ancient parking meter? Seems like a recipe for disaster or the next Coen Brothers movie. Either way, I'm not interested.

2.  In a parking lot? Right, because nothing says sexy like, "Do you have enough quarters for half an hour?" What could possibly turn one on about a bunch of filthy, salty, snow-covered automobiles? Unless you're into muffler play--and, fine, that's insane, but whatever--there's nothing sexy about a parking lot.

3. You couldn't be bothered to take care of the wrapper? Did it just come out of nowhere? Were you in such a rush in the sleaziest parking lot in Minneapolis that you couldn't throw the wrapper in a pocket or in the trash that is literally four steps from where you tossed the evidence? Who are screwing from the Brass Rail or the Gay 90s that is that desperate for some tail? (Okay, sorry, that last point is totally moot. You'd be harder pressed to find someone who wasn't that desperate.)

Well, whoever it was, I hope it was worth it. 

And, I guess, at the very least:

Can you say "chilly willy?"

It was safe!

Day XXIX: Who Won?

By now, everyone is aware of last night's big winners at the Academy Awards. A hefty congratulations is more than due to Steve McQueen and the rest of Team 12 Years a Slave.

I managed to correctly predict 19 of the 24 categories, which is not too shabby! Still, I would have liked to do better. I probably could have done a bit more research into the "short" categories and not picked Jackass Presents: Bad Grandpa for shits and giggles. Oh well!

Rather than present the ones I missed--because who wants to talk about doing poorly--I'd like to look at a few of the victories I would have overturned yesterday evening.

Best Supporting Actor went to Jared Leto for his performance in Dallas Buyers Club. Personally, I was a big fan of Leto's ability to capture Rayon in a very human, non-caricatured manner. I thought his temperament and quietness added a beautiful foil to the harsh and often aggressive nature of the film. Still, I agree with the rest of the internet: his performance could have a been a real breakthrough role for a trans actor. I think it's very important to recognize Leto's strength as Rayon, but the world could have used some exposure to a talented trans person in the role of, well, a trans person. I think it was a missed opportunity for education and acceptance. I would have preferred the award to go to Michael Fassbender, too. I thought he was incredible in 12 Years; I still have nightmares from that man!

Best Original Score was a joke. Sibley pointed out last night that Gravity's music was just a rehashed score from Inception. And it was! Lots of big booming "WAHHHHHHH's" and "EEERRRRRRMMMM's." That's so boring to me. I thought the music from Her was so touching and melodic and beautiful. I don't think there was a single moment during that film that left me wishing for a better tone or presence, and that's because the music was so unbearably great.

My favorite moment of the night was Lupita Nyong'o's acceptance speech for Best Supporting Actress. She was a class act and was so genuinely thrilled and proud and gracious for her victory. Still... I think Julia Roberts was robbed. I think the academy has been catering to smaller roles over the last few years. And while some of them--Mo'Nique's heart-wrenching, gut-busting work in Precious--have been deserved, others--was Anne Hatheway even in Les Miserables?--were just too tiny to be as worshiped as they were. I think Lupita did a phenomenal job, but the amount of ferocity and grit and grief that Julia Roberts brought to August: Osage County was staggering. It was a stacked category, and they were all flawless performances, I just would have preferred a longer part to be acknowledged.

I want to leave this blog with a little infographic I stumbled across this afternoon and immediately emailed myself. It's a very, very sad at-a-glance look at the lack of diversity in the Academy Awards. And while I love The Oscars, this shit needs to change.

Property of Lee & Low

Day XVIII: Is it Cheating If I Just Snap a #SundaySelfie Post-The-Oscars and Call it Good?

Never say in a blog what a title can say in under 20 words.

We've had a blast of a night. So I am posting a #SundaySelfie and calling it good.

Just know: I've had a very good day. And that I am going to regret this photo in the morning.

Work is going to be rough, ruff, ruuuuuuuuuuuffffffffffff tomorrow.

Oscars: Woof.

Have a great start to the work week, kittens. 

Me. Ow.

Day XXVII: Oscar Predictions

Anyone else excited for the Super Bowl tomorrow?

There is the long-running and perpetually funny joke that the Academy Awards is the gay man and straight girls' Super Bowl. There's a pre-show (the red carpet), a game (the ceremony), a half-time show (when Idina Menzel slays "Let It Go" from Frozen), and a payoff (wine and snack coma following the event). I don't mean to use superlatives, but The Oscars are the most important night of the year--not including the crowning of America's Next Drag Superstar, of course.

So, today, I'd like to offer my predictions for the 2014 Academy Awards, set to air tomorrow, March 2nd.

And the nominees (and predicted winners in bold!) are: