Tag Archives: Whitney Houston

Mental Head Circus

TUTTLE MODE  | REVIEWS

by James Tuttle

Gentle reader,

At the risk of disappointing you, I’ve had to take some time off from watching television.  Work has been insane with the Private Sale going on and there have been lots of things I’ve had to attend in the evenings, as well.  For example, Scott and I went to see Kylie Minogue at the Hollywood Bowl on Friday night.  It was probably the gayest night of my life.

Kylie's Beauty Tip No. 2167: Always carry a Photoshop artist in your purse. Beauty Tip No. 2168: Never stand up. Reclining on your back takes off ten years.

I’d expected long before that it might be quite the gay affaire but, when I “checked in” on facebook, which I’m trying to do more frequently so that my stalkers can have the most up to date information, my friend Garrett in New York immediately commented, “The bars in WeHo must be empty because every queen in L.A. is there!”  He was right, and not just L.A.  It was as though the West Hollywood, New York and San Francisco Pride Festival organizers decided to cut costs and have everyone just show up at the same place, same time.  That time was now.  On the road leading up to the gates, Scott and I each said, “Oh, hi!” with that semi-surprised look that you have when you unexpectedly run into someone you know so many times I thought our faces might get stuck like that.

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The Tom Hanks Rule

Our newest contributing satanist, Eric Baker

BAKER STREET

by Eric J Baker

[We’re pleased and relieved to have caved into the relentless pressure from daily PFC commenter Eric Baker and given him his own posting.  I want it to be about music, but he’s very stubborn for a future bottom bitch, so who knows. — JK]

So Killough says, “Gimme a music piece.”

I cringe. I’m like, “Aw, come on. Can’t I write about something else? How awesome the brakes are on my Civic, perhaps. That thing has stopping power. Like a .357 Magnum, only different.”

Killough says, “Music piece. You’re a musician. Do a music piece.”

“I got it!” I say, not listening, hoping my exaggerated enthusiasm will somehow convince the man. “I’ll write about how Godzilla vs. Mechagodzilla is the most underrated Japanese giant monster movie of the 1970’s. Leagues better than Godzilla vs. Gigan, despite both films having been directed by Jun Fukuda.”

Killough does that quick head shake that means he’s getting irritated. “I do the movie talk here. And anyway, what?

We're only putting this crap in here to keep the token straight guy happy and writing.

After a few more minutes of back and forth nonsense, I cave in and agree to do the music piece, mostly because I’m dealing with an extremely stubborn person (no wonder my former lover, Susan Blais, didn’t like him). But I come away from the exchange aware of two things:

  1. Killough views himself as the dominant male. Even when he’s dealing with a straight guy, he still has to determine if I’m a “bottom bitch,” at least hypothetically. Being a waspy suburbanite, I was not aware of this term until I encountered it here, though I intrinsically knew what he meant from dealing with him. Frankly, I have almost as many control issues as James does, so I can’t see myself being the one biting the pillow.
  2. I have no idea how to write a music piece.

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