State of the Gay

So, three items ... American Idol, the California Supreme Court Decision, and something called ADAP.

Kris, the sweet christian married boy from down Arkansas way beat the glam rocker Adam who is distinctly if not openly gay. The fundies had picked Danny as their candidate of choice, but he was second runner up.

It was not surprising, and I did call it. I think the thing is vastly more about middle-of-road-appeal than about gay/straight or christian/secular. Adam's followers were not doubt a hard core, and his every performance solidified us; but Kris won people over as he visibly grew and assumed the mantle of stardom. So when it came down to one on one, the normal boy spoke to more people. I figure it this way ... if Kris were a quietly gay Christian from the heartland, and Adam were a loud booze and chicks rock star, Kris would still have won.


On the finale, there was a genuine affection between the two, and the LA Times published an article on the day of the final competition that argued that their relationship was emblematic of the rapprochement that is sweeping not just secular society but young christians as well. Ann Powers, pop music critic, wrote:

In this complicated climate, one painted thumbnail means a lot. Allen began decorating one of his black -- one of Lambert's favorite colors -- late in the season, apparently to dispel rumors that the pair, who were roommates in the show-sponsored mansion where the finalists reside, were feuding. Lambert reportedly later removed the paint from one of his thumbs in his own gesture of support.

The friendship between the two finalists suggests that tolerance can trump ideology, a powerful sentiment that echoes President Obama's suggestion that bridging differences could be more effective than trying to eradicate them.

I didn't know about the painted thumbnails thing ... I find it quite touching. It certainly is the sort of thing that one wants to be emblematic of "tolerance trumping ideology". But it is nothing to hang your hat on. Being nice, being nice and touching, only goes so far. Gay people know all about that.

So the wave of support for gay marriage in recent weeks and months has softened even the hard edges of a skeptic such as myself. There is a cascade of growing understanding that the arguments of the bigots make no sense, that there is no good reason why people should not marry whomever they choose, that the religious right has lied itself into a frenzy. It is not that people are suddenly righteous gay libbers ... it is, rather, a more American phenomenon, to whit that people figure they should stay out of other people's business and let them do what they want.

I still hold out hope that the California Supreme Court, by that original 4-3 majority, will understand that tossing out Prop 8 will spare the state from two more years of religious invective. The way it would work is that the right wingers would have to get 2/3 majorities in both legislative houses ... just like in Massachusetts. And the result would be the same as in Massachusetts, that the whole matter would rapidly become a non-issue.

Did the Supremes watch American Idol? Did they pay any attention to Iowa? Do they think that tolerance should trump ideology? Or are they thinking career? Are they thinking that the wingnut maniacs will never forgive them for voting for us? This, again and once again, points out the degree to which the bloody rump on the 'publicans is still driving the debate in America, still in the intellectual drivers seat, notwithstanding the now openly derided idiocy of their stance.


So here we are in this state of the gay waiting on a bunch of potential vacillators to see if we spend two more years, maybe four more years, proving that we are fundamentally human. I have been gay all my life, but the gnawing feeling of being publicly declared as less than human, it never gets less acute.

I think we are going to win tomorrow ... I was right about Kris, and I'm going to be right about this. If I am not right, then I am gonna be royally pissed. I think hundreds of millions will be royally pissed.

Civil rights is what it has always been about. But that is not all that is at stake in the current decline and fall of California. I could not summarize better the parlous state in which we find ourselves than did Paul Krugman yesterday in the New York Times. It's not state of the gay for him, it's State of Paralysis. And the entire crushing problem in what would be one of the richest countries in the world is the result of the deliberate strategy of the 'publicans to destroy the ability of government to govern. It is nihilism, just as their strategy against gay marriage is nihilism.

Nihilism ... it used to be groovy when we were hippies reading Dostoyevsky ... kills. And that is what the State of Paralysis plans to do as it threatens the Aids Drug Assistance Program (ADAP). Now, they plan to kill funds for children's healthcare as well, so we can't say they favor the cute babies over the fags. But what is a government that lets its people die for want of charity? Is that what Jesus would do?

Here is s case where it is pretty difficult to argue that tolerance is trumping ideology. The wingnuts would have a hard time to argue that if Jesus rather than the terminator had chased Gray Davis out of office, he would be in favor of killing babies and fags. But the scorched earth policy of denying everything leads precisely to that ... hatred, death.

I am aall for the painted thumbnails mode of expressing solidarity. But it is not going to save us. We need a bold Supreme Court, and we need a real government.

If you want to protest the possible end of the ADAP program, sign the petition at the SF AIDS Foundation.


Photos by Arod. Top two are from the tube; third photo is of Castro and market Streets, and the bottom photo is a detail from the mural on the Franklin Street side of the War Memorial Opera House.

Those of my good friends who still soldier through these ramblings may note that I did not meet my self-imposed Sunday deadline for a new post. So here is a codicil to my thrice weekly writing commitment ... on long weekends, I get until Monday to do the Sunday post.

American Idol Performance

I guess I will blog this live ... at least a little. I'll take some TV pix and upload them sooner or later.

What the hell is a "guy-liner"? ... says Ryan with reference to Adam.

Adam 1: Mad World ... seemed too cool, no climax. Not sure why he picked that song. I think he has to play all the different chords. This was laid back and not the high vamp thing we have seen too much of lately. Maybe that is the strategy. Very nice, but I didn't think it was a blow-away.

Kris 1: Ain't No Sunshine ... not as good as the first time he sang it. Lacked a bit of edge, and maybe a little overthought. But a sterling performance, with full and rich voice. I love that song, and I love the way he does it.

First round is a tie.

Adam 2: Change Is Gonna Come ... big, over the top. Bluesy and hard rock. This is what he does, and what he blasts out of the park. Wow! Took a classic and made it something utterly new. And, yes, the emotion was raw and gutsy.

Kris 2: What's Going On ... Sweet voice, but it seems like he doesn't know what the song means. Still, rocking performance. I just love the richness of his voice. But, the performance betrayed a lack of depth. Sweet, not deep.

Round two to Adam.

Adam 3: Horrid song, by Kara et al ... not really designed for Adam, but he made what he could out of it. It might seem to be his genre because it is so over the top. But he actually can wrap himself around a good song, and this song had too many elbows for wrapping. Not his choice, but he did as best he could. Impressive, not a home run. Christ, he's wearing a crucifix!

Kris 3: Sam song as Adam ... No Boundaries. Wow, he had trouble with that. Just a crappy song. What a way to pull the air out of the tire. I thought he was pitchy and all over the map. Never quite figured it out. Way to high for his rich lower tones.

Round 3 to Adam.

So I think Adam won the night. But I figure that Kris will win the competition; he is just better designed for the broad middle. NO doubt though that Adam outsang Kris tonight and he deserves the prize.

Kris 3:

Eurovision

Somehow I missed the whole Eurovision thing ... not a bad move given the paucity of time. But for pure schmaltzy pop with that soupçon of fagginess that marks its as no-doubt European, who can top the cutest guy in the world with a violin, Alexander Rybak.



What a babe!

The event was in Moscow, and the grey and grisly Russian state could not restrain its medieval bloodlust even when the eyes of the world are on it. The thugs in uniform that are the Russian police violently broke up a gay demonstration.



It is noteworthy that Rybak condemned the Moscow police. He stated, "Why did they [the Moscow police] spend all their energy stopping gays in Moscow when the biggest gay parade was here [in Eurovision] tonight?"

Also, check out this documentary on being gay is Russia on Youtube

Most of the information in this post comes from the incomparable JoeMyGod blog. Must reading!

Obama, Adam, and a Bunch of Whores

Obama

When I think of Obama right now, I keep thinking of torture and gays, and he is off course on both. We have high hopes yet, of course. If he does manage to get a health care proposal in front of Congress, and if there is some movement towards financial re-regulation, both within the next few months, well we can consider that movement. But right now Obama seems a little bamboozled.

The torture thing, like the economy and the various wars, are not his fault ... but they are his problems, and problems trump fault. The constant chatter on torture, likewise, is not something he can do anything about. Both the 'publicans and the new aggressive left talking heads can't get their minds off it. And this is a problem for the agenda.

Yes, torture is horrible, and ... surprise, surprise ... the dubyaites lied and fudged and used torture to try to extract "proof" that the tyrant Saddam was in bed with the puritan al-Qaidah. But what does banging that drum get us right now? What it does is to make Dick Cheney relevant. What it does is to keep Bush in the conversation. What it does is give various troglodyte 'publicans a platform to call Obama a traitor. And what it does not do is to reveal the opportunity to break out of the old politics into the new.

I saw a piece ... can't seem to locate it now, but will substitute this note for a link if I stumble on it again ... today which noted that Obama seems to have been bamboozled by his generals. I think that is true in regards to his failure to pull any significant units out of Iraq. But Obama has to refuse to release more photos of torture. There is no upside for him, he hardly needs in any real sense a further proof of the immorality and anti-democratic ... indeed anti-American ... nature of the Bush administration. And the release of those photos would only serve to infect his efforts to re-orient American foreign policy with the very poisons he seeks to supersede. I am certainly for transparency, and Obama came to office on a platform of transparency. But this is no win for him. Or for us. Revenge traps us in the past, no matter how well-deserved; I think it serves the 'publicans if only because it feeds their ability to obstruct and delay and get in the way.

Oberman ... Maddow ... move on. Leave dubya behind. What about the agenda for the future?

Now gay rights works the same way, only Obama is here the one who is hanging on to the past to no good effect. If he killed "don't ask, don't tell" today, the news cycle would be two weeks long, and then it would seem like it had never happened. Gibbs, press secretary, had this to say "'To get fundamental reform in this instance requires a legislative vehicle,' Gibbs said. 'The president made a promise to change the policy; he will work with the Joints Chief of Staff, the administration and with Congress to ensure that we have a policy that works for our national interests.'" To use a word, what a pile of horseshit. Have some chutzpah, Obama ... just do it.

But ... and this is getting to be an eerie refrain ... he doesn't just do it. I understand the cool, the need for timing. But the enemy ... I mean the 'publicans ... are on the run. Gay marriage is sweeping the country. We are still spending scarce federal dollars chasing Arabic speaking faggots out of the army.

Have some goddamm balls, Barack ... just end the stupid policy.

But "no" ... because we are still living in the era of dubya ... and the torture and the gay debates prove it.

When do we move on?


American Idol

I am glad that Gokey is gone. He bugged me. I never really liked his voice, and the performances seemed carbon copied to me. But I suppose I did let my bias interfere with my critical faculties to some degree. He's probably better than I think.

He double-bugged me when I got wind of the christian conspiracy to win him. Hardee har, they didn't win ... oops, that is not nice. Regardless, it says something about the curiosities of American Idol voting, but because they do not provide us with any demographic data, we can only speculate ... badly. I hope they re keeping this data somewhere, because some enterprising doctoral student should make a great dissertation out of it some day. The Twittersphere was alive with Christians promising to hang with Kris ... but that stinks a little given that, christian though he may be, they gave him no succor last week.

I thought Adam was predictable on Tuesday. Two hard, hard rock performances. I want the raw, shocking creativity of his "Ring of Fire" performance; I want him again to do something that we have never seen from anyone before. I think if he does that, the sheer velocity of his talent makes him the winner.

That of course relies upon a notion that there is a large portion of the voting audience who vote from the performance rather than the prejudice. And that is good.

I really like Kris Allen too ... although he should stick to a lower register. In the return to Arkansas piece, he sang a folk song and kept the voice down low ... it is so rich and sweet not like candy but like molasses. He will be a luxuriant, velvety balladeer, and I love that schmaltz.

So in a sense, it does not really matter who wins, except that I want the fag to win. When I scratch myself, more often than not, my predilections devolve to this ... if it's good for the fags, then it's good.

So Adam, blow us away. Make it a romp. We'll all groove to the puppy a-croonin', but we will suffer spine chills when you make music no one has imagined before.



Whores redux

So Craigslist caved, and killed their Erotic Services in favor of something called Adult Services. Pretty much the same thing, as far as I can tell, except nobody speaks the nasty words, there are no naked pictures, and ... curiously ... they no longer categorize by m4m or w4m. What's that about?

When will we realize that people have sex? When will we realize that all of the bad that comes with prostitution is made worse by illegality? When will we realize that a service like Craigslist would allow a rational approach to public health to monitor disease, offer services, and protect people. Oh well. More idiot madness in the service of foot-stomping politics. I guess Craigslist had to semi-fold. But what a waste that we spend public resources on trying to prevent people from consenting activities.



Photos by Arod of street art around Florida Street. I took these photos in 2005. The third photo, near Harrison and 15th, has a legend that states that it is "De Frontera a Frontera," by Joel Bergner, June 2003.

30 Minutes Free

The photo above is from a few days back and is my favorite pitcher, the Giants' Tim Lincecum. I meant to spend the evening watching wee Timmie pitching against the hated Dodgers of Los Angeles, but the game was at one rather than five, so I have just tuned in to find that the Giants scored two in the top of the 13th and went on to win.

The Dodgers are without Manny Ramirez, of course, because he was caught with untoward chemicals coursing through his veins. Manny complains that he took something prescribed by a non-Dodger doctor, but he took the 50-game suspension anyway. Not much protest for an innocent man. Perhaps because the steroid in question is widely believed to be a female hormone which curiously restarts testosterone production after a run of steroids. The country meanwhile froths itself up into further shock that ... egads ... there are steroids in baseball. What ... "gambling at Rick's"!

All sorts of writers and pundits and persons on the street call for their ... heads. No punishment is too severe. Ban, 'em, jail 'em, spurn 'em, and most assuredly don't let 'em into the Hall of Fame. I'm with San Francisco's incomparable sports columnist Bruce Jenkins who wrote in yesterday's Chronicle: "Better to just drop the [Hall of Fame] integrity clause and make conspicuous note - right there on the plaque - of any inductee's transgressions. Here stands Barry Bonds: noted cheater, hell of a ballplayer. Judge him as you will."

No one calls for a rationale approach to steroids, one in which we research pros and cons, and look for ways to use the economic value of performance enhancement to provide medical value for all of society. No, better to just point.

Because we have a problem in this country ... I would call it a madness of blaming. We are a giant audience of finger pointers, slouching in our lounge chairs and digitating madly at all the bad folks out there, all the people who got caught, everyone we can feel superior to. Nyah, nyah, you got caught ... off to jail with you.


There's another story in the news, totally different and horrifying. It seems that some whack jobs outside Dallas deliberately shot four people whom they thought were trespassing. Only it turned out they weren't trespassing. And it turned out that one of the four shot people, a seven-year-old boy, died. These lowlifes shot and killed a seven-year-old for apparent, though not evident, trespassing. What is even more horrifying is that under Texas law, chances are good that there would have been no charges had the four actually been trespassing.

According to the Houston Chronicle, the shooters' property was protected with a sign that read "Trespassers will be shot. Survivers will be reshot!! Smile I will."

This too is a part of the madness of blaming, though in a different sense than the self-satisfied finger-pointing at Manny Ramirez. These are people who sit on their front porch, rifles in hand, waiting to find someone to blame, and shoot. Imagine them scampering around grabbing the hardware ... "there's trespassers, ma ... git yer gun." The stir-crazy rage of people whose focus in life is so narrow that even a hapless puncturing of their property line calls for bloody murder.

Blame and panic ... albeit, in this case, a carefully contrived and self-absorbed panic.


Blaming and panicking. But it is typically a short cycle of blame and panic ... and thereby a kind of cheap panic. That is the tonic in these times for the overwhelming crisis that faces the species. Cheap panic. One day it is swine flu, then it is Manny, then it is a big-eyed girl child lost somewhere. Each of these items real and worthy of attention. But the short cycle of panic and blame reduces them by exploding them, turns them into bling when they are real events worthy of intelligence and reflection and examination.

Of course, we all know this. And we all know that there is nothing we can do about the permanent short cycle of cheap panic.

Rather, we are a society that is in the grip of a manic permanent state of recycling panic that is called the Republican Party. Not saying anything new here. They are proud of running around fowlly screaming that the sky is falling. Indeed, one terrifed opponent of gay marriage admitted as much in yesterday's San Francisco Chronicle: "'We absolutely believe the sky is falling,' said Kris Mineau, a former Air Force pilot and pastor who is president of the Massachusetts Family Institute. 'But we believe it would be a generational downfall, not an overnight downfall.'" That's a change in tune, of course, but hardly a surprising one. Given that christians have been eagerly anticipating the apocalypse for 2,000 years, they have a lot of experience with stringing out their panic. They have, indeed, succeeded in grafting this theology of fear and panic ... and blame too ... onto one of the two quasi-state institutions that masquerade as political parties in this country.


So the 'publicans feed on and off panic. Big whoop. What annoys me is the degree to which our love of cheap panic in the hands of such commentators of Keith Olberman and Rachel Maddow is having the effect of enabling Republicans to continue to dominate the national political debate out of all proportion to their shrinking base. Don't get me wrong ... I love those two. I listen to them most evenings as I go about my household duties after work. But they need to spend more time focusing on the debates within the dominant party about how to implement the perspective that accompanied Obama's great victory. Instead ... drub drub drub ... punish the torturers, lampoon the idiots, point fingers at the hypocrites. And, as the inimitable Talkingpointsmemo pointed out today, "Can it really be true that the list of Americans who will appear on the Sunday shows this weekend is David Petraeus, Dick Cheney, Newt Gingrich and John McCain?" Folks, it is not getting the job done.

And it undermines Obama who seem too willing to use the racket as an opportunity to soft pedal the perspective. He came into office as a man of big ideas. He is operating right now as a man happy that things are still moving along. Permanent cyclical panic as a mode of national life makes it nearly impossible to break out of the trap of tiny ideas, of yesterday's assumptions.

In other words, pointing fingers at Manny is of a piece with clean coal. Both issues would benefit from rational analysis and the development of policies that point to a new vision of the future.


But I am not optimistic. We are, with a nod to my last post, a bunch of cheap whores easily bought off by cheap sugar, cheap fat, cheap panic, cheap gas, and cheapening of the self that is a national obsession with finger-pointing. As long as we have our cheap we just roll on to the next thing. Not a lot of room to break out into something different when we are stuffing our pudgy faces with the moral equivalent of Twinkies.

So, there's a post ... 30 minutes I will not get back. A cheap 30 minutes.

30 minutes free. See ... I like cheap stuff too.

Photos by Arod: top photo of Tim Lincecum taken a few starts ago from my TV set; second photo taken a few years ago from a poster on Haight Street advertising a televised soccer event; third photo taken today on Linden Alley of a new piece of street art that replaced one of my favorite Obama pieces; fourth photo taken today of a poster on Lafayette alley advertising some upcoming Fox TV show that I promise to ignore; and the last photo taken today from a Walgreen's store window also on Linden alley.

American Idol et al

Just a few quick notes before all the fun begins tonight. I predict that Kris Allen is gone tomorrow. I see it this way. Adam's fans got the message and will vote until their tiny little fingers start to get numb. Allison is the only woman and that will carry her one more week. Don't get me wrong ... I think either Allison or Kris would make a perfect runner up.

But what goes around comes back to bite you. And that is Danny Gokey. I never thought he measured up ... I thought it was a one-trick pony and a voice that was not very pleasant even if he hit notes and had volume and all that. I admit that last week he nailed it ... his best performance yet. But he is no American Idol.

That said, it turns out he really does have gawd in his corner. One of the best AI blogs, mjsbigblog:American Idol - I Love This Cheesy Show, revealed there is an organized evangelical campaign for him. Check it out.

Like every election, American Idol is about who votes. And like every time a fag is up for election, beware the christians! If Adam doesn't win, well, it will be the work of the devil.



Pastiche: I was sitting alone and reading my Herodotus in the cafeteria of the school of business, an entirely graduate affair, at MRU, the Major Research University where I hull grains in exchange for a sack of the same, sufficient to keep me adorned in dress pants and clean shirts. I decided to grab a coffee and when I returned, a noisome spectacle confronted me. A deliciously bronzed, albeit stereotypically crass and straight, laddie of mid-20s vintage had occupied a seat at my table along with a tall, pale, and evidently supercilious female. He was supercilious too but in a coarse, overbearing sort of way. I nodded my approval at their arrival ... seats are rare, after all. He proceeded to loudly declaim on his many opportunities for work in London, and New York, and Austin. He scorned her for preferring London ... "you think I want to live in London just because I'm Australian." Yawn. She had no spine, and was apparently just happy to be with the big stud. And he was a stud.

We fags see a lot of heterosexuality, and it is always a little mysterious. But the young-stud-looking-afield-with-grateful-female-hanging-on phenomenon is one of the stranger expositions. To be blunt, I'd screw 'im if he nodded at me, but I wouldn't waste 15 minutes trying to lure him into my life. And as for her, what does he think she's gonna do for him? She was retreating before every one of his "excursions", but he was so wrapped up in himself that he did not notice.

This is where the "promiscuous" gay male pattern is so superior. If these were two gay guys, they'd screw around a bit and mutually realize that there is no there here. And then move on to the next trick until something eventually made more sense. But heterosexuality seems to move so slowly that such unlikely pairings as these get stuck rather more often, and to frequently deleterious effect.

I am being obnoxious, of course, and arrogant and all that ... but not one whit more obnoxious or arrogant than my big Aussie hunk. And, yeah, he was a hunk. Yessirreebob.


Photos by Arod from around town. Top photo from a year or more ago on a billboard in the Castro; middle photo recent from the Lower Hater store window on Haight Street; bottom photo recent from a window in the Castro.

American Idol

Top eight ... gonna write as I watch and take some pix off the tube.

Danny Gokey, 1980, sings Mickey Gilly's Stand by Me. He's murdering this thing ... missing notes, and the same earnest rasp. The judges always seemed to like him, but he is a one note orchestra to me. And so earnest. Yeah he's got rhythm, but that was just a routine day in a dumpy bar. There's something about this guy that really annoys me ... but the judges all seemed to like it. Harummph.


Kris Allen, 1985, All She wants to Do is Dance. I thought that was flat and uninteresting, and it just missed the deep tones of his voice that makes him so fascinating. Really boring after the way he blew us away the last couple of weeks. That said, he is the sexiest thing this year by a long shot. Simon hated it. He'll survive, but that was disappointing.

Lil Rounds, 1984, What's Love Got to Do with It. She's showing a little more voice, but this song is so much bigger than her that it puts her in a shadow. I think she underperforms every week, and it is very disappointing. Because you figure that under there somewhere is a breakout performance. This one is not that one. Competent, but not nearly big enough. Even Paula agrees. Simon was meaner but exactly right. We're still waiting, Lil.

Anoop Desai, 1986, True Colors. Those big brown eyes, and a voice you can hardly remember. Not ridiculous or anything, but nothing special. Straining a little at times. I just don't care. Randy says a nice vocal, but still "so what"? Simon seemed to like it, and notes that "we can be horrible to you and you can be horrible back."

Am I just being cranky, but I am underwhelmed tonight. Last week had 3 or 4 knockout performances ... so far, none this week.

Scott MacIntyre, 1985, The Search is Over. The vocals are a little more up, but there are all the flat notes. This may be the end of the line for him. Sometimes, there are notes that hurt, but there is a quality to his voice that makes him good enough for wedding singing, and that sort of thing. He's behind a guitar this week, and he does not seem comfortable with it. Probably a mess, but you keep hoping for the guy. Will they finally call things by their real names. The judges ... commend, give credit ... hmmm.

Allison Iraheta, 1992, I Can't Make You Love Me. Out of the park. Wow. This girl is a star ... Bonnie Raitt is cheering ... what a handle. Man. That is what we watch for. 16 years old, and just the most amazing singer. She is a star right now. "One note and you know it is Allison" says Paula. Yes.

Matt Giraud, 1985, Part Time Lovers. Theatrical and jazzy and sexy. I thought he topped that song. It was fascinating and enthralling. And he finally got everything out of his voice. Whoddathunkit. The guy has soul ... he needs a coach and an agent, and he could be a very successful niche singer.



Adam Lambert, Mad World. He's on another planet. That is so far away from anything anyone else could do. Simon gives a standing ovation. This guy could be as big as Bowie. I am blown away.

Photos by Arod from the tube.

Things are getting creepy ...

Halloween in the air. The World Series on the boob-tubery, as I like to call the TV. Tonight's game delayed by heavy rain in Phillie, and right now, bottom of the first, 2 on, nobody out and the total babe from UCLA, Chase Utley, at the plate. Beautiful, stud, intelligent, athletically gifted ... and a totally cool name as well. Some guys get it all.

The creepy part of the World Series from where I sit is that it involves the fake franchise with the fake stadium, the Tampa Bay no-long-Devil Rays. I never root for a team from Florida, and I certainly never root for a team with a scale model of a cupcake for a stadium ... unless they were playing the Dodgers, of course.

Lots of Halloween around town, but still no commitment from the city that gay folks will be able to celebrate Halloween in the way we know how. The totally creepy, grey-complected Bevan Dufty had a creepy opinion in the Bay Area Reporter, San Francisco's gay paper of record. He writes: "Through the second annual "Home for Halloween" campaign we are communicating - again - that there is NOT a party in the Castro. The streets will not be closed. There is no stage. There is no party. In short, unless you live and work in the Castro, there is no reason to come here that night."

Screw you, Dufty, and the lame jackass you rode into town. Gay guys have always made their own parties whether or not that pleases the homophobes and their simpering, slobbering apologists.

Later in his tiny-minded "opinion" he writes this about that much overblown shooting incident that led to his pissing on everybody's fun: "Two years ago, one person with a weapon marred an evening that had otherwise been one of the more peaceful in recent years." In other words, one idiot ruins it for everybody, and then Bevan "I am a hero in my own little mind" Dufty plays fake-daddy to all the straight yuppies who scorn us and brush past us in their me-me-me search for a latte and self-congratulation.

Alas, young gay guys today have no sense of what it took to win gay liberation, and they cave to the midget Dufty's by their abstention and flight. So we're screwed, and in being screwed, we have to pretend we are led by tiny, tiny men.

Sorry about the obscenity folks ... but the assault on Halloween in our neighborhood boils my blood ... in case you hadn't noticed.

Another creepy item in the BAR last week about Prop K which would legalize prostitution in San Francisco. Seems that all the progressives have lined up against it with this classically fallacious logic expressed in an article that turned my stomach: "While I certainly think consenting adults ought to do whatever they want, the situation on the streets is a different reality," said Chiu, a former chair of Lower Polk Neighbors [and a supervisorial candidate]. "Many unconsenting adults and children on the streets are forced into prostitution." Of course, forcing people into prostitution would still be illegal if consenting prostitution were legalized, but such subtleties are lost on the sex-haters. Of course, pimps beating up their whores would still be illegal, but that old canard is whipped up by fake-progressives who dare not, even in liberal San Francisco, be tarred by the brush of supporting the right of people to screw freely when they feel like screwing freely ... even if there's a price. Jeez, people work at MacDonald's for minimum wage, but that isn't illegal.

The campaign against prostitution is religious ... it says that the state must control the body according to the dictates of paternalistic bastards dead these three thousand years.

I'm for adults deciding for their own reasons to have sex when and where they want to, and I'm for the state getting out of everybody's pants.

I'm for the state getting its wrinkled puckered nose out of Halloween.

And I'm for the Phillies over the Rays.

Photos by Arod: top is an installation on the art fence surrounding the Project Artaud, middle is from a bar on Haight Street, bottom is from an abandoned gas station on Market at Sanchez ... they quickly deleted this art and now the lot is being turned into more housing for the unwelcome yuppie scum who haunt our city ... call me cranky, see if I blanche.

Project Runway

It's late ... but there was a real nasty job on Project Runway. They ditched Jerrell. I think it stinks. ProjectRunGay predicted it. What a rip. KenLee should have been ditched last week, but they wanted her bitch thing ... and they wanted to ditch the gay guy. I am so pissed.

On Excellence

Project Runway, the Bravo "reality" show that features young fashion designers competing for the right to feature their designs at Fashion Week, threw us a curve.

I can't really say why I enjoy the show. I don't really care about women's clothing design. I mean it's nice and all, but it doesn't hold a candle to understanding military strategy in 16th-century Anatolia, the subject of my present reading. I definitely like all the gay guys ... and the one straight guy this year was really annoying. But this year there are three compelling women with very different viewpoints. The one remaining gay guy is a wiry stud who flashes a lot of skin. I like his stuff because it is edgy, but he never seems to get it all done.

So what's the curve ... they couldn't decide who to let go, so they asked the four remaining competitors to prepare lines for Fashion Week, and they will kick one of them out just before the show begins.

Now, before Project Runway, I had never heard of Fashion Week ... I admit it. Still seems like a silly title. But there it is. A bunch of overpaid types look at a bunch of stuff that nobody ever seems to wear. But what do I know.

The curve they threw us made me think of the slender tolerances that separate the vast amount of good from the tiny bit of great. I think about this a lot in terms of baseball, but that is easy ... as they say, the difference between a .250 hitter and a .300 hitter is one hit a week ... and a couple of million a year.

But I don't have a set of tools to judge fashion, so I fall back on impressions. And I couldn't pick either. I rooted for Korto, the woman of Nigerian extraction whose fashion have the scent of Africa without the overwhelming and overly specific taste of those fabulous fabrics from West Africa. And I couldn't stand the pushy personality of Kenlee and her formulaic if not predictable designs. But I really could not pick which should go.

And neither could they. I think they were admitting that the tolerances between good and great are so infinitesimal that they did not want to make the call ... they punted. And they made some good TV, because I really gotta watch next week.

(I have to crash ... two posts in one night, both on elections, if you will. I'll try to find a photo for this tomorrow. BTW, I managed to kill my "belt camera", the compact Canon Elph that I wear on my belt wherever I go. I am thinking of a 50% larger model, a Lumix with a 10x zoom, but I am conflicted. I'll let you know what happens.)

AI ... and I don't mean artificial intelligence

American Idol: I was plain blown away that David Cook won. Not unhappy, but totally taken by surprise.

So first of all, it's seems pretty obvious that this is an artifact of the aging of the AI audience. Although the finale had records numbers of viewers, it declined slightly in the 18-49 "demographic"; the quotes are for this ... what the hell is the 18-49 demographic? What does an 18 year-old twit have to do with a 49 year-old beer guzzler? I think 18-49 means "not old". It stinks and it makes no sense.

That said, Cook is a more mature act, savvy and expressive. I would buy his album tomorrow. The more amazing instrument is Archuleta's, at least in terms of raw gift. I hope he sings for a long time, and I hope his amazing vocal talent grows and entertains for decades well past hi obvious trajectory in teenie pop. But Cook is ready right now to rock the world. His gig with ZZ Top last night was stellar. He was glowing. Louis Bayard on Salon put it perfectly:

The only goose bumps "American Idol" afforded me this past season came when Cook mangled a piece of pop confectionery into something bitter and scalding and virtually unrecognizable. Michael Jackson's "Billie Jean," Lionel Richie's "Hello," Mariah Carey's "You'll Always Be My Baby" ... who would have guessed these songs could ever sound dangerous? And yet that's exactly the transformation Cook pulled off, thanks to his deconstructive sensibilities and his innate musical intelligence (and the example of rock iconoclasts like Chris Cornell).

I have to note that Jason Castro's Hallelujah was polished and sublime. That kid has a mark to make if he can get off his stoner ass and care, and figure out that he has something to say. Meanwhile, Carly and Michael proved that they belong on Broadway. Syesha was strangely held back. I got a kick out of seeing the stripper, David Hernandez, again, but he clearly also needs to see his future in musical theater.

All that said, a great season. The right guy won. A couple of career's were launched. And we heard a whole heap of moving song.


On another note, and playing the jerk who is the modern cultural hero ... they knocked Judge Judy off the air because there is a fire near Santa Cruz. Come on people, let's get our priorities straight ... annoyed bureaucrats at home in their pajamas want their nightly fix of a grand bitch chewing out some idiots. Real news ... Israelis negotiating with Syrians notwithstanding that they are thereby Nazis according to dubya logic ... or Ted Kennedy, one of the finest men in public life in American history, about to exit because of a glioma ... surely a beautiful word like glioma should refer to a musical genre or a mathematical concept, not to a killer tumor ... real news I can abide. But yet another fire in a state which will be entirely consumed in fire over the next few decades as the wages of driving SUVs are demanded by Papa Nature ... yet another fire ... sorry as I can be for the poor sods who live there. There's a guy on the news talking about community on the mountain. He was burned out once before when he was a child. But he still lives there. It's gonna burn.

Of course, in the coffee-and-upholstery vein, I live on top of ... or leastwise slightly to the right of ... one of the deadliest tectonic faults in the world. So I had better be prepared to be sanguine about the great shaking that awaits me and mine.

Still, here I have a few minutes to myself and I wanted Judge Judy to put paid to some moron who figures he doesn't have to pay up. Oooops, better flip to something else.

Somewhere Over the Rainbow

Thinking a lot these days about the relationship between the Enlightenment and religion, and between the Enlightenment and romanticism, and between what Tim Blanning, in his fabulous book The Pursuit of Glory: Europe 1648-1815, calls the interplay between the culture of reason and the culture of feeling. These issues are at the heart of human history over the last two centuries, and they still define much of where we are at. So I'll try to get back to a more intellectual approach to those questions shortly ... at least before I finish the Blanning book and dive into a re-read of my favorite absolute monarch, Frederick the Great.

Said Diderot: "Everything must be examined, everything must be shaken up, without exception and without circumspection." Notwithstanding the obviousness of this and its unrelenting rationalism, it is a cruel prescription. It is also the prescription of an ideologue, for it presupposes the extinction of its opposite. History does not work that way, and in the event, notwithstanding the enormous gift that the Enlightenment gave to humanity, it did not work that way for our heroes, that is Diderot and his pals. Blanning calls the Enlightenment the culture of reason. And then there was the revanche of the culture of feeling.

Goethe said in his "Concerning German Architecture": "The only true art is characteristic art. If its influence arises from deep, harmonious, independent feeling, from feeling peculiar to itself, oblivious, yes, ignorant, of anything foreign, then it is whole and living, whether it be born from crude savagery or cultured sentiment."

Look at the difference between the key terms of those two statements: examined versus feeling. Look at the difference between the positive statement of Diderot against the essentially negative statement of Goethe. For Goethe, that which lives is that which is not foreign, that which is native, natural, peculiar, and, yes, ignorant.

In our era of the economic triumph of the rational (not to say that economics is rational, by the way), we have become witless victims of feeling. The truth is in the middle, of course, and perhaps I can demonstrate this by the following.

So there I was in Winchester, relaxing in the newly remodeled and fabulous living room of my brother and sister-in-law. It turns out that they are fanatics of American Idol also, and we had resolved to spend the Tuesday evening of my pilgrimage to the Cheese Capital of the Ottawa Valley passing opinion on the efforts of the remaining eight contestants. The boys again outsang the girls, although that did not prevent the fickle public ... and remember the claim that the "public" was invented in the period roughly comprising the Enlightenment and its lead-up ... from voting off the smoothly talented Michael Johns.

But what hit me, again, was the Jason Castro version of Somewhere Over the Rainbow. Have a listen (I have substituted a later studio version because YouTube killed the earlier version I had here):



My sister-in-law did not know that this song is an anthem for gay men ... I wonder how many gay men younger than I am know what this song meant to gay men before gay liberation. It is, of course, Judy Garland's song, and Judy died on June 22, 1969. When the cops raided the Stonewall bar in the early morning of June 28, 1969, the nelly queens were still mourning their fallen heroine, and their grief and rage and pent-up yearning to be free created the riot that launched the movement to which I owe my freedom. She is our Joan of Arc, and her terrible death spurred us to seek our freedom.

Now listen to Judy sing it:



"Why oh why can't I?" You see, the essence of the appeal of Judy's version is that it is an appeal to reason. Beset by her troubles, most particularly the horrid Miss Gulch who wanted to take away "that little dog", she wonders why things are so irrational, why she can't fly as birds do. There is no rational reason why she cannot live rationally. The essence of the movements for freedom of the 70s, the gay movement, the black movement, and the women's movement, had that precise negative appeal to reason: there is no rationale that adds up to denying us our ability to be fully human, to do with our lives as we wish to do.

No doubt Judy's song is filled with feeling. It moved me when I was a child, and it still sends chills down my spine as I listen to it on YouTube. But, no matter, it is still an appeal to reason. And thereby, we can see concretely how reason and feeling are not inimical.

Where, then, is the reason in Jason Castro, hot and appealing, his neck bedecked with a cross?

Simon Cowell mentioned a version on the Internet by one Israel which, like Castro's version, features a ukulele. Again, have a listen ... this one is a little longer, so feel free to cut out:


Israel Kamakawiwo'ole died at the age of 38 in 1997 of respiratory failure due to obesity that, at one point, topped 750 pounds. He is held in high regard by Hawaiian musicians. But his version is a song stripped of any appeal to reason, and left with only feeling. It is pure sentimentality ... the fact that a song that Judy Garland made iconic in about two minutes rambles on for over four minutes ... well, the maudlin always takes more time than the iconic.

I like this version. It filled me. But there is nothing here but feeling.

Poor Jason Castro, a sweet boy with alluring tight pants, just has no clue about any of this ... certainly nothing in his performance alluded to the historic resonances of this song. If Israel's version was pure feeling, Castro's version stripped away the feeling and left us with affect alone ... skillful affect, certainly. I admit that I enjoyed the performance. I hope the boy hangs in there and makes a record. But that spare individual style of his has no depth ... he would be ideal for Christian music ... it has no savoir faire, it has no reason. It has no approach to the realities that grip us and control us and toss us to and fro. He is not a new Bob Dylan, he is the person whom Tiny Tim lampooned.

So when we think of of the enduring dialectic between the culture of reason and the culture of feeling, we have to remember that reason has feeling and that feeling is never bereft of reason. It is not good enough to draw up the dialectic ... we have to define the terms. Feeling stripped of reason is a zero divider, as I like to say ... any equation in which here is a zero divider can admit of any answer. When people say that they just feel that there must be some higher purpose, they open themselves to anything ... and history has shown us that "anything" can be bloody awful.

But on the other side, reason without feeling is the motor of the ideologue ... the potential for a relentless "truth" that extinguishes the very reason that bred it.

In either case, without the dialectic, we are left with Miss Gulch.

Blogging Winchester: the Sugar Bush and American Idol

Just off the iPhone with Frobisher who is heading off to Basel and Sarawak ... what a life ... and we tormented the subjects of the day. So I have 33 minutes to blog this day, and still get to bed on time. Well, there is an episode of Malcolm in the Middle at 12:30, and I want to veg out to that. The martini beside me will be nothing but a dry memory at that point ... perhaps I will have another.

Had a nice long walk with the little dog today ... well nearly half an hour and perhaps a tenth of the distance that Loki and I would cover in thirty minutes. The pic at the top and the one below is from that walk. The Anglican Church pales beside the United Church from yesterday or the Presbyterian one I will run when I manage to walk by with the sun in the right spot for pix ... how the mighty are fallen here in the sticks.


But the main activity today was the Sugar Bush expedition. Dad belongs to a group of seniors in town who meet on Tuesdays for exercise and food and activity. This week's activity was to go to Sanders Pancake House, a barn-like establishment appended to a small maple syrup operation. I've been there before, but I will never go there again. After 25 years of slinging pancakes, they plan to close the pancake side of the business and focus on producing maple syrup.

What to say ... the staff of the mini-bus was so up and cheery ... moving it along, keeping everyone on point. I kept thinking that this sort of enthusiasm is what awaits all cynics and skeptics in old age. But, at that same point, everyone seemed to enjoy themselves. The pancakes were okay, the sausages were greasy but good, the coffee was weak but roundly praised ... but the the maple syrup was sublime!

Still, we were in the middle of Ontario ... no traffic, lots of birds (chickadees and downy woodpeckers), birch trees, empty fields of stubble and old snow and melt water. The land of my birth.

I spent the evening with my brother and sister-in-law. It turns out we are all American Idol fans ... my brother thinks hockey is the only sport, and I think baseball is the superior sport, but we agree on American Idol. Ah, how Fox Entertainment brings the masses together. (We did end up watching the last inning of the As beating the Jays ... and that was nice.)

The thing is ... again, Jason Castro. He sang a sublime version of "Over the Rainbow", all the while bouncing that goddamn cross on his perty boy chest. It was moving, until you remember that this is the gay male national anthem. Is he deep enough to understand that? I figure if he is truly a christian ... or at least truly enough for christians, which is actually a rather low standard achieved by all manner of charlatans over the ages ... he probably has a career of holy singing ahead of him. We'll just have to be ready to point out the meaning of "over the rainbow" to him in due course. Better, he realizes how sexy he is those 70s blue jeans, and gets all horny and just becomes a big slutty pop star. Yeah, that's a better ending.

Not feeling particular persnickety tonight. That's going to have to do it. Frobisher ... have a good time.

Photos by Arod, today.

American Idol 11

Amanda Overmyer ... Back in the USSR ... a little weak but still love her. She richly retorts to Simon that she has a minute and a half to convince people that they love that chick and want to pay to see her. Nice.

Kristy Lee Cook ... You've Got to Hide Your Love Away ... talk about slaughtering a song. It's embarassing. The Beatles should sue.

David Archuletta ... The Long and Winding Road ... The first one who did a Beatles song like the Beatles ... the voice had it, the purity of the voice. He's too young for the song, but he just nailed it. Made me believe.

Michael Johns ... A Day in the Life ... the arrangement is a little scattered, and he missed a key note; tough song. Still pretty convincing. Not an idol though, but a good middle brow singer. A little mature frankly.

Brooke White ... Here Comes the Sun ... nice, started out stronger than it ended. She's so likable, but I still just don't think that the funk rises to the level of the voice which is cool.

David Cook ... Day Tripper ... right song, made it his own, said something with it different than what Id ever hear in that song before. Wow!

Carly Smithson ... Blackbird ... took a while to take off, but then she soared. It seemed like two versions at once. But this is a tough song that needs voice and maturity, and she showed both. Convincing. Hit every note.

Jason Castro ... Michelle ... those tight Levis' ... ouch ... I think he just nailed that. Very romantic, rolling with it. I think he understood it and conveyed it. But the Levi's. The Levi's.

Syesha Mercado ... Yesterday ... feeble, nervous, afraid to grab it. Too much ornamentation in place of explaining the song to us. I think she hasn't got a clue. Really weak.

Chikezie ... I've Just Seen a Face ... after last week's breakout, he returns to the lounge singer thing. Boring. Then the seond half after the harmonica is live and different. This guy has a little bluegrass in him. Hmmm. Half a good performance.

Ramiele Malubay ... I Should Have Known Better ... tempo, girl, tempo. Seems stuck in a time warp. Nothing there, no depth. Just enough rhythm. Forgettable.

Thank goodness this is the end of the Beatles jag. I never realized just how difficult those songs are because there were so few good performances from a group of very talented competitors.

I think that Kristy Lee Cook is out. Michael Johns is vulnerable because he probably doesnt have a big natural voting bloc. But Kristy should have gone last week, and this will be the last pain we will have to experience from her.

David, We Hardly Knew Ya

Former gay stripper, David Hernandez, lost out last night, and I am sore sad. It's not so much that he was voted off ... that is not how it works. It's that no one voted for him. Middle aged gay guys who think guy strippers are cool ... we are not a large voting block on American Idol. I confess ... I have never voted, and I am not quite sure how to vote ... but now that I have an iPhone ... yes an iPhone, but I will deal with that later ... perhaps I could learn, and thereby sink one full level lower and closer to the hell that I decry and disdain. (BTW, I did call it (see the bottom of the post), notwithstanding that I thought it was two down, not one.)

But back to poor David. The guy is actually talented, but that kind of talent minus the kooky luck that accompanies all pop idols, might lead to a career as a male lead in drag shows. Maybe he can parlay it into something on Broadway, or in musical theater in Phoenix ... but the total package for big time pop star cannot include stripping, especially male stripping. That is not precisely anti-gay ... rather it is anti-sex, or, as we said in the "movement", it is sex-negative. More on that in my next post.

So, sweet David, I lift my Daiquiri made with kefir limes and light Matusalem rum ("original Cuban formula" made in the DR) to your efforts. You can strip for me any time.

Blogging American Idol

So, I'll just keep some notes on the singing and try to avoid the rest. This is the best American Idol for talent in a while, I think ... and it is a guilty pleasure, for sure. The songs tonight will all be by John Lennon and Paul McCartney ... wow ... an old hippie's delight.

Syesha Mercado: Got to Get You into My Life

Boy, she took the wind out of that song ... seemed a little lounge-act to me. She's been deeper in the past, but this one was flat and not very much. Nice voice. I just don't think she had an idea of how to approach this. [Simon liked it, thought she was nervous, but the others were kind of split.] Sweet gal, everybody probably likes her ... but not an idol.

Chikezie: She's a Woman

Wow! Starts all bluegrassy, and then rocks down. He just cut right loose and let 'em have it. He was so restrained before, so night club. But this was just rockin. I have never heard that song like that before. [Randy loved it. Pauls oozed with joy. Simon too ... wow!] He just plain smashed that out of the park!

Ramiele Malubay: In My Life

Cheesy, cheesy ... the audience is waving. This gal probably has a big career in the Philippines if she wants it because they love this kind of smarmy schlock. But there is nothing exciting in this. The thing with this year is the thrills ... and she is trying to woo us rather than blow us away ["Kind of pretty but kind of boring" says Randy. And Simon was bored to tears. Right. Forgettable.] She is better than that ... but the proof of the pudding is in the eating.

Jason Castro: If I Fell

I think this was a bad choice for him because it challenged his voice ... and left him just being sentimental. I adore this guy, and his earlier pieces have been mindblowing. This one fell flat. Nothing really there. Really disappointing. [Randy isn't convinced. Paula adored it, of course ... she's like me, she just wants to sweep him up and take him home. Simon says "a little bit student in a bedroom at midnight" ... exactly.] I agree with Simon. This was a bad choice, and he needs to think it out a little more. Why didn't he do Yesterday?

Carly Smithson: Come Together

Competent, strutting, a little slow. I wish I could sing like that, but I don't think I'd buy the record. This seems like a retrospective for somebody who doesn't have a public past yet. Yawn. Half rocker, half vixen, mostly forgettable. [Randy loved it, Paula loved it ... said she felt she was already watching a star ... Simon liked it too.] Well, I was cold, but I guess I was wrong.

David Cook: Eleanor Rigby

This guy's rendition of Lionel Ritchie's Hello almost brought me to tears. Probably not the right song, but this guy uses his voice. He articulates and tells the story the way he sees it. So this is the most original version of Eleanor Rigby I have heard since the Beetles did it. Good, but not quite out of the park like his Hello. [Randy has the pitch problems things. Paula thinks he is a thoroughbred. Simon thought it was brilliant.] This guy has got a career regardless. Wow.

Brooke White: Let It be

No drama, but moving in its simplicity. She has a little country edge in her voice that would rock if she could let it rip. But this song seems too deep for her. She can't do the saffron version, she can't make it her own, so she just drove down the middle and tried to let the innate quality of her voice carry it. There's more to greatness than that. [Randy talks about conviction and heartfelt performance ... daming with faint praise. Paula feels her heart. Simon thought it was one of the best of the night!] I agree with Simon that it is believable, but I want to be moved and this didn't quite do it. Maybe it flew above my head.

David Hernandez: I Saw Her Standing There

I think he is trying to do too much with this. It is a good old hard-rockin song in the 50s sense of rock. It is challenging the lower registers of his voice, too. He had a little trouble figuring out if this was rock or blues. Last week, he rocked our worlds. A little confusing this week. [Randy thinks it was overdone. Paula thinks he overdid it too. Simon says no, no, no ... corny verging on desperate.] I think he is a little desperate because he is the one known to have been a gay stripper, so I think he might have been pandering. A real drag because his Papa Was a Rollin Stone was knee buckling. Hope he survives.

Amanda Overmyer: You Can't Do That

So damned professional. She makes you believe, and takes command of the song. I think also that knowing what she believes in it means that it strikes one note hard ... this is what she makes of the song, and you have to buy it. Really impressive. Rocks the house. [Randy says she rocked it out Southern bar style. Paula agrees this is the best season of talent. Simon thought not as good as last week.] You know, the more I think about it, I loved this one. Simon missed it.

Michael Johns: Across the Universe

This is just pure voice ... nothing's going to change my world ... you believe because the sweet styling make you need to believe. It is a little corny, and maybe it gets a little too orchestral. But it is sad, and the styling remind you of the man behind the lyrics. I believe. [Randy was waiting for something big. Paula gets the inner strength in doing nothing but sing ... she says brilliant. Simon agrees with Randy ... should have done something brilliant ... solid, but you have to let yourself go.] Hmmm. The guys are playing down a little this week, and maybe Simon is right.

Kristy Lee Cook: Eight Days a Week

Country style. What a voice ... but she's rushing it a little. Take it back a little, and this is one of the most original Beetles covers you could imagine. What's the hurry. Great inflection in that country style. But the rush to git on with it means that she can't ornament the moments. But what a voice. [Randy thought it forced. Paula thought it too country, didn't get it. Simon thought it horrendous ... Dolly Parton on helium.] I still think she should have stepped back and given it some time.

David Archuleta: We Can Work It Out

I call this kid "the Dimple" ... he has the most incredible raw talent. He almost has to win. He seemed to forget some of the words in a weird way ... but then he took it over and made it his own. This is teeny bopper pop at its best. Still, he had a lot of trouble with this song, and only his underlying strength as a singer pushed him through. Disappointing. [Randy says it is not on point. Paula still loves him. Simon says it was a mess.] It was his weakest performance so far. This is where being 17 is tough because there's no experience to fall back on when the raw incredible talent falls flat. I still think he should win it.

I figure that Ramiele and David Hernandez are gone. That said, this was disappointing, not nearly what I expected, especially of the guys. Still, Chikezie and David Cook were the winners, with Amanda and Carly close behind. On balance, the choice of Lennon/McCartney seemed right but was obviously wrong ... those are tough songs to cover and require a lot more polish than one might expect from newbies and wannabes.

BTW, I skip the kill 'em off shows and just check the Internet the next day ... I can't stand the pain.

Photos from the American Idol web site, of earlier performances.