Blogcritics Author: rohin

Announcement: Short-content feeds

Phillip Winn — Sun, 26 Aug 2007 12:00:00 EDT

Sunday, August 26, 2007, marks the switch of all Blogcritics.org article feeds from full-content to short-content. This is the result of several converging factors, and is unfortunately a permanent decision (as permanent as any decision can be on the web, that is). We are aware of all of the reasons that this is a Bad Idea, and we are aware that some of you will be quite upset about having to click on something to read the free content, and we're sorry. Unfortunately, despite great effort, full-content feeds are not currently economically viable. Two other factors are involved: full-content feeds have resulted in an unprecedented level of content theft, with BC content appearing on many websites, usually spam sites, without attribution or permission. This duplicate content causes a cascading set of problems, not the least of which is that search engines generally aren't favorable to duplicate content, and don't always guess correctly. Finally, our RSS advertising partner is strongly in favor of short-content feeds. We hope that you'll continue to subscribe to BC via RSS, and when an article grabs your eye, it's only a click away, still free on the BC website. Thank you for your understanding.

Avril Lavigne Rebrands Herself as an Imperializing Jack of All Trades

rohin — Fri, 20 Apr 2007 13:24:26 EDT

We're becoming an increasingly globalized world. And in spite of this, cultural self-preservation is becoming more and more paramount in every walk of life. Even pop music is not without its own efforts of government-mandated attempts at self-preservation. For example, Canadian Content Rules specifies that French-language radio stations must have 65% of their vocal music broadcasted throughout the week in the French language, 55% of which must be between the hours of 6 A.M. and 6 P.M. Canada's not alone with such rules, as countries like France and Spain, as many others, have their own set of rules that prescribe a portion of music played must be in that country's official language. The point of all of this is to inevitably segue into how artists are spearing into different territories by "circumventing" (or "appeasing") these rules. Actually, this all whittles down to Avril Lavigne. Lavigne’s latest single "Girlfriend," which exploits all the newest advancements in cut-and-paste technology to minimize the amount of original songwriting in favor of a rather repetitive chorus, is available in Mandarin, German, French, Spanish and some other language that isn’t English. This is shocking and amazing and very imperialist of dear Avril who looks to set the charts alight in France and Quebec and other such French-speaking territories that have rules stating that some portion of any song released in those territories has to be French in order to get a set amount of national airplay.So consider the maximum employment of the “Hey hey / you you / I don't like your girlfriend” chorus in the song and how, when dubbed into any number of languages, can appease such efforts of cultural self-preservation. The actual stuff of the song (whatever that honestly means) is in English, just the chorus is in French/German/Spanish/Mandarin/some language that’s not English. She’s a wily one, isn't she?As long as these other countries keep their stable of powerhouse-popsters in tact and take the Lavigne with a grain of salt. (I wouldn't want to think that France would throw aside someone like Myléne Farmer just because "Girlfriend" has a catchy chorus you can wave a poisson to.) Examples: auf Deutsch & en español & en français & ??? & ???...oh and this one, of course. What a silver-tongued polyglot. She should make Rhodes scholars jealous.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Dead Like Me: The Review

rohin — Wed, 20 Jul 2005 18:19:56 EDT

Retailing at $49.99, prospective buyers would do good to note that Best Buy has the Season Two boxset of Dead Like Me at only $29.99. So if you haven't ever seen or even heard of this show, I encourage you to run out and get your hot little hands on the set.The show has the acting and production values of a top notch film. I'm still heartbroken that it got shitcanned, but honestly what can you do? Bob Greenblatt, the man responsible for axing the show from Showtime's line-up (not due to poor ratings) and Bryan Fuller, Dead Like Me creator have some of Hollywood/TV's biggest egos. The former wanted to give the network that he recently christened with his presence his own "brand" and a show that might carry the heft of The Sopranos. Fuller, on the other hand, came to rows with MGM (who produces the show) over some plot points and was then released from the show's creative process.And an amazing series like Dead Like Me simply ended up in the middle (too bad it wasn't a show like Will & Grace that got axed as a result; now there is a show that needs to be put out to pasture like six years ago.) The end result is one less brilliant show for connoisseurs of fine television to savor.A little background. Dead Like Me equates the lives and obligations of grim reapers -- individuals who have to collect the souls of people who are just about to die -- to the mundane, Office Space realities of a corporate, 9-5 job. And this concept never gets old. The center of the show is disaffected - 18-year old college dropout Georgia Lass (portrayed so effectively by Ellen Muth) who gets hit on the head by a toilet seat falling from an orbiting space station and dies on impact. She has that same kind of wit that I found Jaye of Wonderfalls and Veronica of Veronica Mars to have (perhaps that's why I'm in love with all three of these shows?). But the greatest achievement of the show comes in the fact that it doesn't bombard itself with highly-wrought concepts, but sticks to very human themes. Georgia is antisocial and awkward and we get to walk through her shoes as she grows up after she dies. But moreover, there are explorations about death, life, religion, addiction, and character flaws that come jumbled with the overarching day-to-day realities of being a grim reaper.Ellen Muth, Mandy Patinkin, Callum Blue, Jasmine Guy, and Laura Harris (with Rebecca Gayheart guesting in the first season in Harris' place) star and I've rarely seen an ensemble cast work so well. In fact, I think only in five other shows -- Wonderfalls, Gilmore Girls, Six Feet Under, Veronica Mars, and the first three and a half seasons of Oz - have I seen such cohesive and brilliant chemistry between such individually strong and talented players. Each of the actors inject their own smarmy individual characteristics - either in the cock of an eyebrow or in the many frequent utterances of "fuck." Profanity in this series is manipulated so well that it even becomes a device of humor rather than just something to fill in missing patches of dialogue. Both (Season One and Two) boxsets are slightly lacking in the extras department. But the cover art is really well done and not half-assed at all -- for both sets. Amazon.com will ship both sets together for $81.40, which I think is a steal, considering most shows that go from pay cable to DVD box set are about $70 per 13-episode set.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Review: The Princes of Malibu

rohin — Sun, 10 Jul 2005 23:27:38 EDT

Oh dear.Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear.FOX has been trying to "revolutionize" the reality television market as of late with such hits as Hell's Kitchen, The Swan, Wife Swap (wait, was that on ABC? I forget), and a plethora of other crass, tasteless televisual brainkillers.I'll be honest though. I find Hell's Kitchen to be kind of decent. I mean sure the main chef needs to get on some kind of medication for his anger management problems, lest he suffer a stroke or an aneurysm (high blood pressure must already be in his system -- have you seen the crinkled lines of fury engraved on his forehead?) But unlike most reality shows, it's a show where people are coming from different backgrounds and trying to accomplish something -- something -- using skills and obeying orders. Hell's Kitchen actually had a semblance to reality.Now. Tonight saw the premiere of the god-awful Princes of Malibu. And once again, I'll be honest. I was watching because the promos that played during The Simpsons were showing Brody (is that the main son's name?) flashing lots of skin. I like skin. But, the premise of this show makes me drive a railroad spike through the person who decided, "Hey! Kids want to see other spoiled kids do mundane things! And it's okay if we glamorize the spoiled kids because they look hot." The first episode consisted of them trying to break down their living expenses and when pressed by Daddy Moneybags to start up a business, they had bikini-clad sluts -- or I guess, their "friends" (right, no roofies here...) -- washing the cars of total strangers. The only remotely redeeming factor of the episode was the face time one pissed off Chaka Khan registered. Oh how I love divas.It's amazing how idiotic these creatures are and how insulated from reality they are. I would've loved to see their dad -- if he was really interested in forcing them to take responsibility for their spoiled asses -- cut them off and drop them off in like a middle class part of town and not allow them to trade on his name for job potentials. Oh yes, the apartment would have to be empty. I'd love to see them navigate their way through little burgs like Chinatown or a flea market.Oh and would it be bad of me to hope that one of the brats, in a season finale episode, brings home a stripper to fuck her and in the morning, discovers that she's robbed him blind? Or how about, their landlord evicts them and they have nowhere to go? Maybe one of them delivers an unhealthy addiction to chocolate and gains weight and they somehow write him out of the reality show because he's just not pretty enough to be on screen. Oh! How fabulous would it be if one of them ended up sleeping with a man because they were too damn drunk to know better?FOX, darlings, if you want me to watch reality shows, give these little goats a real challenge. And give me some entertainment that I can watch while sipping my Rubicon. Or honestly, if you want to occupy a half hour's worth of timeslot space on your schedule with complete shit, seriously, just buy some Indian soap opera. That stuff will probably cost you next to nothing and at the same time, people will love it. Or maybe not. But you'll get some press for airing something that none of the other networks would do.Oh and one more thing: if any girl kisses the boys on the show, rest assured that they're floozies, not princesses.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

On Kelly Clarkson's "Since U Been Gone"

rohin — Sun, 19 Jun 2005 23:30:55 EDT

There are some songs that you have to love. Whether you think you're the long lost clan member of Wu Tang or a Led Zep groupie or if you follow Faith Hill like some sort of goddess (and that may be troubling, though this is not the space to discuss that) or an English grammar loyalist, you have to yield yourself to the super powers of Kelly Clarkson's latest smash hit Since U Been Gone.Made up of equal parts cookie-cutter pop, safe "rock" guitars, and angsty, proud, faux edgy lyrics, this song is something that the most hard-hearted music fan will have to jam out to. The song is almost one of the best pieces of throwaway pop in recent history -- with Ashlee, Britney, and Hilary failing to deliver on all their half-assed pop princess promises.The song starts off with a steady bassline and Kelly sings about something or something else -- really the words aren't too important, until she's had enough waiting and all her frustration explodes in the single powerful line, "Since u been gone!!!!!!!!" This song successfully stays true to its anthemic nature without actually having the lyrical substance of some kind of quintessential rock or hiphop song and you have to love a song that somehow accomplishes that.This is the kind of song that you can roll down the windows of your car and proudly headbang your way through a yellow light somewhere on a suburban side street. Kelly's not asking that you put you up next your standards and LPs and what-have-yous. She just wants to be one of the many voices of your summer.And I think that any girl who has enough moxy to simultaneously release a pseudo Christian rock song like "Breakaway" while sporting a trendy, sexy nose ring deserves just that.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Four awesome albums by women in 2005.

rohin — Fri, 3 Jun 2005 19:58:36 EDT

I've taken a lot of flack for the fact that women comprise of about 90% of my musical preferences. Especially because you have your hipsters and classic rock loyalists worshiping music made by men or in the rarest cases, made by women, but that sound like they're made by men. There's always been a silent condemnation of the feminine mystique in pop and rock music. Not that I can even start to try to rectify this problem, but perhaps I can do my part. Here are four albums I think would be worth the time of any music fan (regardless of genre affiliation.) Just listen with an open mind and I promise, you will like like like.- EMMA BUNTON - FREE ME. Oh no no no. I kid you not. Released in the UK back in 2003 and finally released in the US in January of 2005, this is one hell of a disc that has comfortably helped this ex-Spice Girl carve a niche beyond the glory days of the big band she once used to belong to. The album is stuffed full of songs that would make Burt Bacharach jump for joy and this is probably the first time in recent memory that a pop singer has (gasp!) used actual, tangible instruments. I mean, we are talking a melange of flutes and piccolos and harps and violins and pianos and drums. Yes, the lyrics are throaway pop fodder, but that's just it. Finally someone out there has answered the plea for more unapologetically kitschy, campy pop. In an industry where women are trained to be oversexed bombshells, this former Spice Girl has buckled on the spiked heels and tipped the image on its nose. She fuses the oversexed bombshell image with intentionally cheesed up songs reminiscent of the 1960s -- think Bond babe meets bossa nova bad-ass -- and delivers a twelve-tracked gourmet feast that should excite pop aficionados everywhere. And hey, even if you're looking for something to fill the space on your shelves between your Wilco cds, you might enjoy this offering from the feisty Emma. Choice cuts: Free Me, Maybe, Crickets Sing for Anamaria, Breathing, Lay Your Love On Me - ANGGUN - LUMINESENCE. I recently reviewed this album -- actually I gave it a glowing review and I think it was received with indifference. All the same, Anggun is easily one of the world's best-kept secrets. With vocal chops powerful enough to topple mountains, it's a mystery why this album hasn't been more warmly received in France. The album sounds like the score to a sweeping epic romance drama. Unlike many other vocalists of massive octaval power (i.e. Mariah Carey), Anggun also exercises the discretion to harness her voice and when she gets quiet are when the electronica-pop sounds shine. But there are high-octane pop tracks on here -- songs which lyrically tread dangerously close to mediocrity, but with Anggun's stellar voice, they rise above most pop fare and manage to deliver a crisp pop bite. This is an album for the romantic in you, or for the pop fan in you, or simply, for the part of you who pines to hear true, unadulterated passion in a new way. Choice cuts: C'est Ecrit, Etre Une Femme (solo version and featuring Diam's), Devil In My Mind, Sur les Cendres, Captivite/Captivity (French version and English acoustic version)- M.I.A. - ARULAR. A veritable cauldron of feisty blips, hot beats, and rapid-bullet lyricism, Sri Lankan-born, British-based M.I.A.'s debut is a delicious hip hop treat for pop fans and an ingenious pop treat for hip hop fans. Here is an artist who can rap the slimiest, grittiest, catchiest rhymes over slick beats, while throwing in messages about the religious warfare, teenage prostitution, and anything else in politics you can dream of. She intersperses a cunning, well-mixed sense of urgency and playfulness by putting three interludes -- nee -- three skits throughout the duration of the taut 38-minute album. Turn off CNN and go listen to 'Arular' -- here's a way you can get your news, interpret something from it, and ENJOY it too.Choice cuts: All skits, Bucky Done Gun, Fire Fire, Amazon, 10 Dollar, Sunshowers, Galang- TORI AMOS - THE BEEKEEPER. You guys remember me slagging on this album a while back and honestly, I don't think this album is the apex of her career. But Amos is one wicked songwriter and pianist and those elements do translate en masse on 'The Beekeeper.' The album is rife with lots of symbolism that'll resonate with a Beatnik sensibility. This album kind of puts Amos' piano-playing chops on the backburner for the poetic interrogation of Christian mythology. But at 19 tracks, this album is quite tiring, and unlike its predecessor 'Scarlet's Walk', there's no taut concept of roadtrip or anything to give you a solid footing in this long, winding abstract epic of an album. While this may not be one of her better albums, it still stands far above most of its peers in the pop/rock world as a great album.Choice cuts: Sweet the Sting, Barons of Suburbia, General Joy, Martha's Foolish Ginger, Marys of the Sea, Goodbye to Pisces, Garlands So guys, put aside your prejudices and plunge headlong into these four albums, if none other...Other discs worth a pleasant gander: Garbage - BLEED LIKE ME, Natalie Imbruglia - COUNTING DOWN THE DAYS, Natacha Atlas - BEST OFFemale artists you should definitely investigate if this list rocked your socks: Utada Hikaru, Lisa Loeb, Tanya Donelly, La Mala Rodriguez, Charlotte Martin, Aimee Mann, Vienna Teng, Yano Junko

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

The Ditty Bops make me wanna shimmy!

rohin — Thu, 26 May 2005 21:43:18 EDT

shimmy: n. A kind of ragtime dance in which the whole body shakes or sways. (Oxford English Dictionary) I don't know why, but seeing Catherine Zeta-Jones as Velma Kelly in Chicago made me go "Yowza!" and "Hubba hubba!" as she did her moxy little dance routines throughout the show. And her little flapper dresses and her obnoxiously short, yet somehow cute haircut? Oh, it's all to die for!So when I decided to do a little extracurricular research on The Ditty Bops, an act who I heard was opening for Tori Amos (oh yes, everything is always six degrees from Her Royal Red-headed Majesty), I really had no idea what I would be in store for. Buried deep inside my heart, next to the stacks of pop melodies and feisty grrl-power anthems, there is a fondness for swingin' songs of yesteryear.Imagine my giddy delight when I decided to sample a few tracks from the Ditty Bops - from their self-titled debut. Oh gosh! It's like a lush, plinkety melange of mandolins, fiddles, and pianos, of music spanning the first few decades of Americana, and of course a lead vocalist who sports a shock pink-dyed Velma Kelly haircut. In fact, on their site, www.thedittybops.com, there's a clip from Conan O'Brien and honestly, after that song, I knew that I had found my new favorite song for the summer of 2005. The Ditty Bops are Abby and Amanda. I forget whom among the two has the Velma Kelly haircut, but man, she shimmies up a storm! And the song? Oh yes the song. It's aptly called "Sister Kate" with a catchy refrain of "If I could shimmy like my Sister Kate / Like a bowl of jelly on a plate" and never have I found a song to sound so eponymously representative of vintage American sounds while being absolutely progressive as well (Think Ragtime meet Hillbilly Folk all polished over with a veneer of modern irony.) Imagine those 1950s girl group songs - like that one, "Mr. Sandman." This song bears a smashing resemblance to that, until you hit the interlude of the song where, in full force, the hillbilly fiddle, swingin' piano, and twangy ol' mandolin (or acoustic guitar), fuse together to inject this single song with a strong dose of silent movie soundtrack flair.Every summer, it seems like I accidentally stumble upon a new gem of an artist and then add them to my roster of old faithfuls - artists who I know I can keep tabs on that won't disappoint me. With all their fabulous shimmying, cross-decadal redefinition of Americana, and Velma Kelly haircuts, I believe it is safe to say that The Ditty Bops have just gained another fan.And hopefully a number of you will be inspired to shimmy on over to their Web site or possibly buy their album on blind faith. If that works, then I should quit my day job and quit college and probably become a full-time promoter for the band or something. But until then, I'll be shimmying like my sister Kate.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Spice Girls to reform?

rohin — Sun, 22 May 2005 20:12:12 EDT

According to Muchmusic.com, Dotmusic.com, and a host of other sites, former Scary Spice Melanie B recently told the British chat show "GMTV" that she's in talks with the other members of the big 1990's pop girl group to reunite for a one-off gig in 2006 to celebrate their 10th anniversary. (They hit it huge in the UK back in 1996, when Wannabe hit #1 on the British charts and stayed there for seven weeks.)I think this could only be good for them, as they all need a nice publicity shot in the arm to jumpstart their atrociously sagging solo careers. Between the four of them and over the last five years (since they disbanded), there have only been a couple solo records worth mentioning as they just haven't been able to hit it big since their days as the big band. But we all loved the pop band, not the individual members. Although I've always been partial to Posh.There's also a poll on my blog regarding this little rumor...I trust any interested folks will know how to access it...

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Songstress Anggun glows with "Luminiscence"

rohin — Wed, 18 May 2005 18:16:32 EDT

It's a shame that when she released her first album, 'Snow On the Sahara' back in 1998 in the U.S., Indonesian-born French pop singer chanteuse Anggun was only mildly successful; and her even-more fabulous sophomore follow-up 'Chrysalis' got no release this side of the Atlantic. But in France, she was huge and even went onto collect the equivalent of the French Grammy for her song "Still Reminds Me." She spent four years creating what would be 'Luminiscence' and appeared next to house DJ Cam and with Italian singer Piero Pelu (which can be found on the American iTunes store -- the only entry for us with Anggun.) She also scored the entire soundtrack for the Danish drama 'Open Hearts' and that soundtrack left her fans a little nervous -- thinking that she had abandoned passionate songwriting for quirky beats.But luckily, it was just a style that she was learning to master and among other elements, her mastery of catchy pop ditties and slow ballads shows on the effervescent 'Luminiscence.' This balance that Anggun manages to pull off will secure 'Luminiscence''s status as one of pop music's best-kept secrets. (Before I go on, I should explain that I know practically no French and I absolutely adore this album and find it cohesive and listenable -- to say the least. So don't let language bar you from getting this album or trying it out...)Equipped with fifteen stunning tracks, this half-French, half-English third studio recording by the singer sees an abandonment of the more exotic sounds employed in her first couple albums and sees a stronger dappling into the territory of solid electro-pop and lush ballads. Between Celine Dion and Whitney Houston, the ballad genre may have become redundant, but with the often minimalistic arrangements found on tracks such as "Un de Toi" and "Captivite," Anggun is able to redefine ballads a good deal. And she she blows out most typical love anthems out of the water with the passionate tour-de-force "C'est Ecrit"; her voice not only masters its octaves, but it soars and shines when she reaches for the pivotal moments of the song that make simply grab you by the gut and make you want to bawl -- because this part is so achingly beautiful.Often though, balladeers will decide to tackle the "catchy pop" territory and fail miserably -- and Ms. Dion is no stranger to that failure, though Ms. Houston did succeed. And Anggun, here, succeeds with flying colors. Between the two versions of the album's first single, "Etre Une Femme," one featuring French rapper D'iams and the other a solo version, there is enough saucy sensuality to make this track a surefire hit. Other catchy tracks sure to raise eyebrows are "Devil On My Mind" and "Cesse la Pluie." If pressed to finger weaknesses for the album, I'd elect "Painted" and "Nous Avions des Ailes." However, that doesn't mean that these songs are in any way unfathomably wretched. Rather, they just don't match their thirteen other counterparts on this delectable album. The bonus tracks on this album, including the aforementioned solo version of "Etre Une Femme" and also an instrumental, English-language version of "Captivite" (renamed "Captivity") are stellar as well. The acoustic, guitar-only approach to "Captivity" simultaneously undresses the song while masking it in a whole other layer of interpretation.So if you're a music conoisseur looking to broaden your horizons, or a hesitant fan with a small pocketbook, or just plain curious, do yourselves a favor and get your hands on this fabulous disc because it's a solid disc that will make many rounds on your stereos. Pop music has been sucking lately, but here is something that proves that in this marketing-crazed world, pop can still be classy and demure.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Why straight men should not play games with the hearts of gay men.

rohin — Thu, 12 May 2005 20:02:09 EDT

I'm a guy. I like guys.And you know what's worse than when another guy who likes guys tells me he's not interested? When a guy who likes girls tells me he's not interested.Let me flash back a little. Last spring, I found myself climbing a mountain with a few other guys and girls all roughly my age. Sa-weet!, right? Yes, sa-weet indeed. Then I found myself in the bathroom. And another guy from my hiking group happened to be in there as well.A bathroom is a man's shrine. It's that one place where he holds intimate conversations with himself and his bowels. The sound of shit passing through his stomach and dropping into the commode and the sound of a good heave after a good shit are sounds that are best coupled with silence and nothing else. But enter this other guy from my hiking group.I hadn't been eyeing him at all. In fact, I was oblivious to him until an instance arose in which he responded, "If I'm a girl, does that mean I can flirt with you?" when I, in a burst of fake bubbliness, squealed "Hey girls!" to a group of girls and him. But you see, now imagine two men in adjacent stalls, both concentrating on expelling the contents of their stomach into the commode. Now imagine the silence. Awkward stillness. Imagine the guy who was, hours earlier, joking about flirting with me, asking me if I was into men.Now this was when I was in the infancy of my bisexuality. I was still, for the record, bi-curious. But then I started adding things up in my head. Perhaps he was hitting on me. Wait, this guy is hitting on me? Wow! Suddenly, I started looking at him in "that way" -- that specific way reserved for looking at potential significant others or one-night stands. For this, I retracted my "No." and said "Kinda, sorta." Of course, when asking for a follow-up the next day, this guy told me, "Well...it was a joke."When asking for a follow-up, months later, because ladies and gentleman, sometimes the heart has problems letting go, he told me, "It's a case where I felt you weren't opening up to me or anyone really so I wanted to get to know you. So I asked you a fast question in a weird situation." Cunning, really.I've told a few of my friends (gay men and straight girls alike) about this anecdote and the consensus has been that this guy is desparately in the closet and in denial of the slightest possibility that hemight be interested in the opposite sex. There never was closure. Afraid of any kind of remote substantial friendship or something, this fella ran fast as fast could possibly run. So now, in the off-chance I have a run-in with him, my heart flutters and then falls low enough to pierce the center of the earth. And now, let's relate all of this back to the question on hand: Why shouldn't straight men mislead gay men?In all fairness, this guy probably did not intentionally play with me, so much as act on either his own fears of homosexuality. Perhaps he's a closet-case. Perhaps he's a homophobe. I have no idea.I just know this: never ask a horny gentleman if he likes men while in the bathroom. The situation has "messy" written all over it -- whichever way you choose to interpret it.

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.

Unbuttoning the pink collar

rohin — Wed, 11 May 2005 17:55:18 EDT

Every weekday, I find myself in the throes of the pink collar menagerie, submitting myself to the array of monotonous tasks before me. I copy. I fax. I process paper work. I answer phone calls. I file. I deal with malfunctioning computing equipment that I want to attack with a sledgehammer. Like many perky young ingenues, I find myself part of the pink collar industry. Only I'm not an ingenue. Nor am I perky. I think I'm young, but the jury's still out on that verdict as well.A wise character on a now-dead television show once said, "Monotony is the mind-killer." And right he was. To the droll of workplace chatter, computer keyboards, and ringing telephones, I rhythmically leaf through sheet after sheet after sheet after sheet of invoices, medical records, bills of lading, and other official-looking things that I question the importance of to the existence of mankind. (Would the ultimate balance of the universe be upset if, by accident, I forgot to process a document or accidentally used it to throw my gum away in? Would the friendly women I work with turn into a harem of flesh-eating she-beasts?)I can't simply shut myself off and appreciate the Zen of filing or the predictability of my monotonous assignments. No, no, no. I need to dream up implausible scenarios, possible screenplays for movies or teleplays for sitcoms or hourlong dramedies, based around the women I work with. And suddenly I find myself loitering around inside the psyches of my secretarial co-workers. I imagine caustic jokes that members of this fake pink collar clique on television would crack, mostly sex jokes but jokes about plastic surgery, and even about fine dining. And then I imagine where the sitcom laugh tracks would be placed.But when the clock hits 4:55 and I skip out of work five minutes early, every single day, I always gasp and awe in wonder for a moment. Just for a moment. There are people whose entire lives are devoted to this monotony and I wonder, how is that fair?

Rohin is on the verge of something wonderful, as he currently divides his time among writing above-average fiction stories, sipping martinis and suckering silly fellas into buying him dinner.