How was your day, Dan?

RE: DEAR TOYOTA

In response to my post about filling my gasoline-powered car with diesel, there was some speculation that this catastrophe may have been, in fact, partially my fault. Many reasons were emailed, and posted as blog comments, as to why I should have noticed I was holding the wrong pump; the most common of those reasons have been (a) "the diesel nozzle doesn't fit in your car" and (b) "the diesel pump is always green." Reason (a) is obviously flawed, as the pump fit just fine into my car. As for (b), allow me to present...

...a green pump. WITH UNLEADED GAS. See?? There's no green-pump-means-diesel rule. So there. I stand absolved.

Thanks you for your attention to this matter. You may continue with your regularly-scheduled existence.

DEAR CAPTAIN SIG,

You know I love you.

But I think our relationship is over.

I have decided, after much consideration, that I don't want to be on your boat anymore.

It's just not working out between us, Sig. I used to find your surly demeanor endearing, tempered by your super-cute brothers and hodge-podge crew; but your temper tantrums have become a mockery of what you once were. Screaming about numbers, screaming about unmotivated shipmates, it's too much. Your crew looks haggard, like they are dead inside; that is a direct reflection of your leadership, I'm afraid. I'm going to have to move over to the Wizard instead. Their crew is way cuter anyway.

Although those mullet-laden home videos of the Hillstrands were rather delicious, I am ashamed to say. I am from the Central Time Zone, remember, I am attracted to odd things sometimes.

But that's not for you to hear right now. I'm sure this is difficult, so I'll make this quick. It's been great, and I wish you the best. Please watch out for the Early Dawn, they're having some issues figuring out where the heck the crabs are.

Secure the pots!

Dan

PHONE PICS

I keep taking these pictures with my phone with which I do nothing. So I'm going to unload a few. They totally suck but that's what you get when you take pictures in the dark.

Read below:

MILDRED LOVING

I'm working on this for the paper, but I also wanted to post it here. We have a "Friend & Foe of the Week" feature, which is supposed to be a silly little blurb about people in the news who are doing good/bad things for the gay world. But this week is actually a chance to look back at someone (a) I knew nothing about, until I read she died; and (b) who really made a huge impact on American life. Read on:

~~~

It is with great sadness that we award this Friend of the Week, as it is also a “goodbye.” Mildred Loving, one of America’s greatest (and least-known) civil rights leaders, passed away on May 5. She was 68.

Mildred Loving was a co-defendant in the landmark civil rights case Loving vs. Virginia, which ruled that laws barring marriage based on race were unconstitutional. The case began in 1958, when Mildred (who was black) and her husband Richard (who was white) crossed from their home in Virginia to the District of Columbia to get married, thereby evading Virginia’s Racial Integrity Act, barring inter-racial marriages. But upon returning home, they were promptly arrested, jailed, convicted of the “crime,” and forced to leave the state--or spend a year in prison.

The Lovings took their case all the way to the Supreme Court, and in 1967 the Court ruled in favor of the couple—not only overturning their conviction, but striking down all marriage bans based on race. Richard died tragically in a car accident in 1975, but Mildred went on to become a champion of civil rights, publicly including the lesbian & gay community in her efforts. She claimed that she and her husband didn’t intend “to make a political statement or start a fight” when they got married. But looking back, she appreciated “the freedom to marry the person precious to me, even if others thought he was the 'wrong kind of person' for me to marry. I believe all Americans, no matter their race, no matter their sex, no matter their sexual orientation, should have that same freedom to marry.” It’s a cause as loving as her name.

AT LAST

It's been a long time. Good, but long.

Finally--FINALLY--I can stop the do-not-talk-about-work thing on the blog. Mum's been the word, lest I say the wrong thing and get canned.

For over a year, I've worked at the Hard Rock Hotel.

THIS Hard Rock Hotel.

Technically, the official name is the "Seminole Hard Rock Hotel & Casino," as the Seminole Indian Tribe opened the property on their land, thereby skirting those pesky no-gambling laws. But no one really cares too much who owns it, the "Seminole" part just takes too long to say. So people skip it. It pisses off the Seminoles but they can just sit back and be angry while they count their money.

Did you know that just for being a Seminole Indian, you get, like, $7000 a month? Just for being you, you get a big fatty check to spend however you like. Indian casinos all around the US operate the same way, paying for the tribal members to zip around town in limos and fly around the US on private jets, and all they have to do is wake up every day. Think about THAT the next time you pop $50 into a slot machine. Mmm-hmmm. Although it's no different than any other trust-fund kid getting millions, I guess.

I could tell lots of stories about working at this place. Like, the time Richard Lewis wandered around the hotel lobby, hand to his forehead, telling everyone he couldn't find his wedding ring. Or the time James Gandolfini yelled at me because his in-room movies wouldn't work right. Or the time that one hip-hop artist who's big on the radio right now couldn't find a credit card that worked so he could check in. What was his name? He's totally famous, if you're into all that stuff. Whatever. But I don't remember most of the good details. I should have written them down as they happened.

Yesterday was my last day, filled with cakes and well-wishes and a few people who seemed annoyed that I was leaving. That's especially flattering. If you want a piece of THE MOST DELICIOUS cake ever baked--yellow cake, with chocolate frosting--you can come over to my place. I have a lot left. Our manager sent one of the hotel's butlers to order the cake, to which the baker asked "Is this for a man or a woman?" And the butler said "...well, he's gay..." and left it at that. So I have a half-way girly-man cake, light brown with yellow roses. It was so ugly. But so damned delicious. And...nice.

I don't understand how people talk about "leaving work at work," and separating their professional lives from their personal lives. You spend most of your life at your job, I would hope you take it personally. And you don't have to care about the actual paperwork you do; but the people around you...if you're going to speak to them every day, hopefully you'd have some interest in how they are doing.

Anyway--I have lots more time now. So back to gossip. Back to yelling at people. Back to Deadliest Catch, which is another topic for another day all onto itself.

Hugs. Thanks for reading.

P.S.: Anna Nicole's room? Totally haunted.

DON'T EAT FOOD THAT DOESN'T ROT

This article is a very wise argument about the random things we eat.

I once left an Otis Spunkmeyer muffin on a counter, out of the package and on a plate; later that day I left, and ended up being stranded at a friend's apartment for two days by a freakish blizzard. When I returned home, there was the muffin...still moist and fresh.

I found that odd.

So I signed up for a food science class the next semester. Seriously, the most beneficial class I ever took--it changed the way I life my life--all because of that one nasty Otis Spunkmeyer muffin.

...that's just a little story for you. Read the article. I'll shut up now.

A POST FILLED WITH SPLIT PHRASES AND APOSTOPHES

I have a few things to discuss. First:

1) Does anyone out there know someone who saw Armistead Maupin speak at the IGLTA conference?

Moving on...

2) Anyone see the Deco Drive piece on the fashion show? DID YOU TIVO IT? 'probly not, I'm guessing. Dang it.

3) Okay. So I've been quiet lately, not blogging much. Where've you been, you ask?

I work here now.

...as the Editor.

But not the online version. The verion that's actually in print.

We're trying something scandalous, in this here age of the internets: we're working on an actual, honest-to-God, real-life newspaper. The print industry has taken a huge hit with the loss of classified advertising; everything has moved online, where everything is free, and all the hookers who put their ads in alternative weeklies people who advertised in the newspaper have stopped giving their dollars to the newspapers which used the funds to pay their writers. Alas, online is easier, it's cheaper/free, it's more effective. So much for that. Too bad those ads are what powered the alternative press industry, from your Village Voices to your Chicago Readers to your gay papers that reported the news so often absent from the mainstream press.

Even now, The Advocate and Out are ready to fold; no one is reading, although I think that's because they just do a bad job of publishing magazines and the stories they write are obnoxious and condescending. Can't blame that on anyone but themselves, no ya can't.

So I'm giving it my best Boy Scout try. As they say 'round the campfire, "be prepared," and I have my AP Style Handbook, sitting on my desk next to my phone in my own little office, and from there it's anybody's game. I make my phone calls to the people who know the whats and the whens and the whos, I yell at the writers, I navigate the perils of bitchy gay men who just know they can do the job better than I can. So we'll see how it goes.

It's been a long time since I felt like this. Eyes open, excited, walking fast. I am awake.

THE DAY WITH JAY

This and this are backstage photos at the Jay McCarroll fashion show, posted on the Project Runway blog. I look like a complete slob in the 2nd photo; I wish I could say it was just a bad pic, but alas I looked worse in person. When planned the schedule for the day, I had big plans of enjoying lunch on Lincoln Road, then consulting with the stylists at the hair salon nearby, and then walking home to change into my cute pre-planned outfit to wear for the big night. It was all going to be so glamorous.

Cut to me, sitting on the bathroom floor in Jay's hotel room, steaming the wrinkles out of day-glo dresses and slouchy sweaters for hours on end. I had to sit in that corner and that corner alone because that was the location of the only working electrical outlet; we blew the fuse to the rest of the room when we tried to plug in another iron, as well as play the stereo. Pop. So with only one electrical outlet (or is that "electric outlet"?) there was much steaming for just one person to complete. There was no time for going home to change. There was no time for the cute outfit-ness. I was sloppy all day.

Although all in all, it was such a fantastic event. Those day-glo clothes, honestly, were striking and totally wearable. And Jay is as bright and fun as you would imagine, not to mention a joy to work with. Everything was fun, everything was a party, and we only started about 30 minutes late--which in fashion-show-world means we started early. Although God help you if you sit down at a restaurant with him, and you happen to have a cute male waiter, as Jay thinks nothing of tossing out blush-inducing flirtations like he is asking for more chips.

Or he will start vogueing and cuss you out.

DEAR TOYOTA,

I apologize for bringing this issue to you, but I have a complaint that I must discuss.

Please understand I am a very busy person, and I have a lot going on right now. I am getting a new job, I just wrapped up producing a big party at a film festival, I was up to my ears in models and lighting issues and hairstylists and makeup artists and the list goes on. I haven't slept more than 4 hours a night in weeks, and needless to say my complexion is a disaster from the bad food I'm eating and all this stress.

So yesterday, in a haze of weariness, I went to the gas station to fill my Toyota Celica. I put the nozzle in the tank, I pulled the trigger, I grumbled at the sky-high prices. And as I pulled away from the station....kaput. My car died.

Now I'm sure I don't need to tell you what this did to my nerves. Pulling over on the side of the highway, with cars zooming by as I dialed through my phone to find a friend who wasn't high in the middle of the day who owns a car to come to my rescue, was just too much to bear. And after paying $80 for the tow truck (why didn't I renew AAA membership?!?) to bring the car to the garage, as well as paying for the diagnostic test, it has been a considerable expense.

So the next time you build a car, please do the world a favor: make it compatible with both gas and diesel. Because sometimes when people are in a hurry, they may grab the diesel spigot and put that in their car by accident. And it's not their fault.

It certainly wasn't mine.

Thank you for your attention to this matter. Have a great day.

Sincerely,

Dan Renzi

I ADMIT I STILL WATCH AMERICAN IDOL

This is a picture of the insides of the local Fox TV station-one of my friends is a producer there, and as I had missed this week's Idol, I went to the station to watch the tape of the castrophe that was Andrew Lloyd Weber night. I know I could just order TiVo but driving to the TV station is big fun.

We watched the tape of the Tuesday show; the we watched the results show on TV; and then we ran through the tapes of the season, looking up performances we liked by searching the database for lyrics ("Look up 'drove all night!'" "Look up "lonely people!") The good performances this year are few and far-between, but there has been a few ringers.

Y'know, I realize these shows are always in the best interest for the producers; but at least it used to be an actual competition. The show has developed the single purpose of making Simon Cowell money, and it has grown totally irrelevant and stale. Have they actually sung any songs that you would actually hear in real-life? Beatles night, Dolly Parton night, no one cares.

And okay great, have a "showtune" night, but let the singers sing whatever song they want; just because you worked out some deal with Andrew Lloyd Weber, or Dolly Parton or whoever, don't force them to sing only their songs, just because you worked out a deal to give Simon more money. Watching Brooke, plodding through "You Must Love Me" like she was leading a funeral march, cast a cloud upon my soul like I would never be happy again.

Poor Carly. Thought she had to scream all her songs like an Irish banshee. Why did the vocal coaches tell her to not do that? But honestly--I really think she didn't get the votes because people were turned off she was singing a song about Jesus. If you haven't seen the show, you don't get it. And judging from the knowledge of musical theater on the part of the contestants, it's hard to imagine the viewing public was any better off.

Although ALW yelling at David "I get lost in the music" Archuleta for singing with his eyes closed made me forgive the rest of the show for all its sins. So true.

DEAR LIFE,

I remember when I had one. I would like you back please.

This work-12-hours-and-then-sleep-and-go-back thing isn't the most satisfying existence.

D

TV TIDBITS

We have so much to talk about. None of this will make any sense if you haven't seen (a) the Democratic debate, (b) The Real Housewives of New York City, or (c) The Paper. But even so, read on if you wish.

~~~

1) I listened to part of the Democratic debate on NPR--pretty good stuff, I must say, with lots of actual ideas proposed to give you something to think about--and of course there was bickering bickering bickering but that's just politics.

But for the first time, I have to say--Barack Obama was a bit of a stuttering, stammering slouch--alliteration is the best!--and now apparently he's frustrated that Hills' people keep taking his mis-speaks, which they subsequently beat to death in the press. It's not fair, he says. It's not nice. He says This isn't what politics should be about. Hills should stop. But I ask you this: if he doesn't like it now, what happens when he's up against a Republican opponent, or someone in the press...or people in Iran who are mad he confused their policies with those of Iraq? This isn't telling an elementary school kid that you spell "potato" with an "e" at the end. If he can't handle it now...I dunno. He doesn't seem as robust as he once was.

~~~

2) will, someday, be one of the Real Housewives of New York City.

The coolest housewife (although she's not a "housewife," as she is single with no kids) is clearly Bethenney--as is exhibited by the story linked above. But it's Ramona I find rather compelling, as she's like the real live Edina Monsoon from Absolutely Fabulous. I present the following:

1) Ramona dresses in high-concept clothes that are inappropriate for her age.

2) Ramona tends to be a bit brazen with her comments.

3) Ramona perpetually embarrasses her level-headed daughter.

4) Ramona works in the fashion industry. Albeit--like Edina--not significantly so, just enough to have business lunches from time to time.

5) Her husband seems a little bit gay.

I see a spin-off in the future.

~~~

3) If you haven't seen The Paper on MTV, you must. MUST. Let me just say this: in high school, I threw a hissy fit because I wasn't named the editor-in-chief, and was given the job of "business manager" instead. It involved tears. I had no idea I was so...commonly found out there in the world. God bless Adam.

And that awful Giana girl...when Amanda was given the EIC job, and Giana laments the future of the paper looks grim: "No one is going to listen to her!" Translation: "I'm going to make sure no one listens to her!" And the sabotage begins. Giana needs to sit in a dark room and watch Mean Girls. Although she might learn a few tips on how to do it better, I don't know.

~~~

4) This is hilarious.

THESE ARE THE RULES

Hey--

"What?"

Don't make plans for Saturday.

"Why not?"

I'm putting you to work.

"Doing what?"

Measuring skinny girl models who come to the casting for the Jay McCarroll fashion show.

"Oh."

You're in charge of measuring bust lines.

"Why?"

Because I'm going to be taking their pictures.

(pause)

It will be fun. You can pretend you're Jay Manuel from America's Next Top Model. Without all the makeup of course.

"And who are you going to be?"

Tyra of course.

"Of course."

Someone has to be superior and condescending.

"Can I leave if I get bored?"

Mmm-hmmm.

"Okay."

I just won't have sex with you for the rest of the time you're staying with me.

"You are such a typical Cancer."

How so?

"This emotional blackmail that you do. It's very Cancerian."

Cancers are good at emotional blackmail?

"Yes."

Cool. I'll have to remember that the next time I want to use it on purpose.

"You don't need to try. You're the best."

And what are Tauruses like?

"Handsome and perfect."

And obnoxious.

MODEL CASTING CALL: Jay McCarroll Fashion Show

CASTING DATE: Saturday, April 19, from 12-5 PM
LOCATION: Lobby of the Maxine Hotel, 1756 Collins Ave., Miami Beach

Jay McCarroll, winner of Project Runway Season 1, is coming to Miami for a screening of his documentary "Eleven Minutes," about his show in New York Fashion Week.

The screening will be followed by a party on the Dorset Hotel rooftop deck, featuring a fashion show of Jay's latest line.

Casting models models models:
- Women: at least 5'8", sizes 2 to 4
- Men: 5' 10" to 6' 2", sizes 40R to 42L, lean trim body types

Agency affiliation helpful but not necessary. There is no pay. All products, makeup, hairstyling, everything is being donated. There will, however, be heavy media exposure.

You do not need to make an appointment; this is an open call. But for more information, email lisa@mglff.com or call 305-534-9924.

The actual fashion show is April 26, in the evening.

Sponsored by MGLFF, the Miami Gay & Lesbian Film Festival, and Christian Dior Cosmetics.

DEAR TYRA BANKS,

Hi. You know I've loved you from the first season of Top Model, and I've wished you nothing but success. "Shake Ya Body Body?" I downloaded it, yes I did, and I still sing it from time to time. Coyote Ugly? I've seen it, like, eight times. I'm there for you, T.

Last night I watched the American Idol Gives Back telethon and for all their pop culture manipulation, the Idol folks really do seem to have the best of intentions, using their own influence to raise money for the greater good. Bravo, I say. In support of the telethon, celebrities traveled to improverished lands, from the fields of Africa to the backwoods of Kentucky, and spoke first-hand of the atrotious living conditions people are forced to endure. Annie Lennox visited a group of children living in Africa--both of their parents dead from AIDS--who must now fend for themselves, with their neighbors giving them food whenever they can. Then celebrities filmed testimonials, pleading to the American public to make donations in support of the organization.

And then came your testimonial...which was filmed on set of your own talk show...with your talk show logo "TYRA" lit up over your shoulder, like a beacon.

Was it so important for everyone to see your name lit up like that?

Turn the camera a few feet, and you'd have a blank backdrop, just like everyone else, you know. You didn't see David and Victoria Beckam with a big sign over their heads that said "POSH AND BECKS" in bright lights. And Becks and Posh are way cooler than you. Oops! I let that slip. You're the best, you know I think so.

I let the "photos with homeless teenagers" slide. It was weird, but I'm pretending you paid the homeless teenagers for their time, instead of just exploiting them, and I've let it go. But take it from a TV has-been: there comes a point when you have to let it go, sweetcakes.

It's just something that irked me about the show last night. You're still the fiercest. Sloppy kisses!

Dan