"Brownie, you're doing a heck of a job."

Edward Allen is on the NSA no-fly list. He's four years old. Ladies and gentlemen, this is where

MILLIONS OF YOUR TAXPAYER'S DOLLARS

are going, as opposed to, say, fighting this mythical war on terror. Of course, some of us have always known that the people running this country have always thought of little black boys as terrorists, so it was merely a pre-emptive strike on their part.

I've lost count of the number of gay men of color I've seen today in WeHo wearing their Abercrombie & Fitch sweatshirts. Good thing the company settled those four anti-discrimination lawsuits, eh? Yes, those Abercrombie boys are lovely to look at, but not to hold up as the preferred archetype of beauty --or behavior. To the powers that be, I suppose the A & F model represents the ultimate compliant, class-race-mentality ideal. Sigh. It's far too beautiful a day to get pissed off at such things, trivial though they aren't.

I may have erroneously given the impression that gay men in San Francisco are less emotionally healthy than those in West Hollywood. Rest assured, that is not my intention nor my belief. Where one would find an impartial social anthropologist to determine if one group fares better than the other is beyond me. Perhaps a foreigner with no ties to either city? And what would be gained by learning that one city is, in fact, more unbalanced than the other? Would we have to flee to Fresno? Are we trapped in paradise with our own worst nightmares?

I'm just in too funky a mood today. Perhaps it's because my apartment building hit an iceberg during the New Year's storms, and was leaking water over my bed and my stereo in over a dozen places.

He was a Friend of Mine


He was a friend of mine
He was a friend of mine
Every time I think about him now
Lord I just can't keep from cryin'
'Cause he was a friend of mine

He died on the road
He died on the road
He never had enough money
To pay his room or board
And he was a friend of mine

I stole away and cried
I stole away and cried
'Cause I never had too much money
And I never been quite satisfied
And he was a friend of mine

He never done no wrong
He never done no wrong
A thousand miles from home
And he never harmed no one
And he was a friend of mine

He was a friend of mine
He was a friend of mine
Every time I hear his name
Lord I just can't keep from cryin'
'Cause he was a friend of mine.

Willie Nelson (from the "Brokeback Mountain" soundtrack)

The haunting instrumentals by Gustavo Santaolalla are what really seem to go with the clear blue skies and the backdrop of brown-and-green hills behind Hollywood. I'm not one for country music as a rule (Emmy Lou Harris' cover of "Here, There, and Everywhere" is a notable exception) but today just seems like a good day to get into a melancholy, contemplative sort of mood.

I'll probably end up buying the BM soundtrack and driving my neighbors crazy with endless replay.