I think it's too hot for me to think too much. Or at least, that's what I'm blaming this week's (creative? critical?) blockage on. Anyway, below are some passing observations from the past few days. Don't expect too much.
My posting is pretty lax this week for no good reason. Sorry. While I'm getting my shit together, though, you should check out my favorite new blog, One D At a Time. It's depraved and sometimes disgusting and occasionally NSFW, just how I like it. More importantly, it's also really, really funny (this celebration of Janice's sluttiness is my favorite entry, and this one on the Florrie Fisher-esque owner of Brooklyn's Union Picnic is also aces). So read.
And I'm not just saying this because it's written by my vaginally endowed other half. Really.
Boo hoo, Malan's gone. Today I cry for future ridicule that will never come to pass. Gone too soon, gone too soon.
Project Runway, unlike some other show, took the high road in this case and didn't keep around someone just for drama (somewhere in New York, Jade is eating her ProjRun application). While I respect the show for that, I also kind of hate it for that. I like the drama, damn it! (And this is to say nothing about Angela's admitted sketching inability -- seriously, how'd she get on this show if she "doesn't sketch?")
And while Malan's closing speech tugged at the heartstrings ("For a moment I felt like I'm a part of something and now it's over," got me, I admit), let's not forget that it was delivered with a fake fucking accent! Doesn't that immediately disqualify him as a reliable source?
Do you think Justin Timberlake's nose is covered because his new single stinks so much?
To be fair, he would have had to pull out a miracle ("Cry Me a River, Pt. 2," perhaps) to impress me. I don't like the guy, I never thought he or 'N Sync were hip or wacky or soulful or whatever else they tried to tell us they were. Still, I never would have dreamed that I could hate something as much as "Sexyback." Of course, part of it is Timbaland's fault, as he proves once again that you feel his misses so much more than his hits these days. Seriously, this song is like four sonic ideas splattered on a track, Pollock-style. But most of the blame falls on Justin, whose vocals go from what feels like a rapper parody to a crooner parody, both blasted through a megaphone. Knowing his deep seriousness about hip-hop (he can beatbox, yo!), I'm guessing that he's only half aware of how stupid he sounds ("It's mad goofy...werd!"). But really, unless he's making some sort of a statement about garbage ("See kids, not so fun after all, is it?"), I think he's just trying to sound cool. And he fails, both in affect and effect.
And that, I think, is my major problem with Timberlake -- I typically don't buy what he's selling because he pushes it too hard. He puts such an effort into emoting or, like here, copping a swagger, that it's always like he's playing some character in a sketch. As R&B is his primary template, I think we can chalk this up to the fact that he's white. No, I'm not saying that he's naturally inferior as a non-black R&B singer, but I do think that his awareness of his whiteness makes him feel like he has something to prove (i.e. this is a social problem, not a biological one). I guess what I'm getting at is that Timberlake has a version of double consciousness that makes it difficult to tell the truth, as it were, in his music. (And yeah, I know we're talking about pop music, which is necessarily false, but the ultimate goal of the soul singer is to make the cliché believable.) Or maybe more simply, he just worries that people won't think he's cool. I don't even know if I'd consider Timberlake a poseur, because as someone who's been in the spotlight since before he had pubes (much less chin pubes), he really can't be expected to have formed an identity to rebel against in the first place. Poor guy.
But also: poor me because I have to listen to his tripe about "bringing sexy back." Bullshit, and please JT, don't try to tell people about how they act. As anyone who's ever trolled online for sex can attest, those who call themselves sexy almost never are. Justin's a VGL boi for an LTR with No. 1, at best.
So, I wanted to do a big post a la this on my chunk-spotting adventures this summer. A chunk manifesto, I guess you could say, to sort of help define chunk (which generally describes thick guys no more than 25 lbs. overweight, but as it's a case-by-case thing, chunk is necessarily an elusive concept -- chunk, like house music, is a feeling) and clear up misconceptions (i.e. stop calling me a chubby chaser!). But then, you know, I started putting the shit together, with some 30 photos of unaware strangers that I took and the whole thing was just looking sleazy and gratuitous. I'm both of those things, so you can imagine the excess involved if this shit was too much for me to post.
So, in the name of socially acceptable perversion, I think what I'll do is post a shot every now and then (say, once a week) with maybe a fun fact on chunk or an explanation of why said chunky guy deserves appreciation or reprimand or whatever. This is all, you know, an attempt to bring body diversity to the gay blogosphere, which is something I care deeply about. Really. Chunk is not going away, people. This is something that demands awareness. I think in addition to this campaign, I'll start handing out chunk ribbons made of peanut butter in Union Square and shit.
This presentation of flesh (and so much of it!) understandably will gross some out and so, I suggest following the advice of my middle-school sewing teacher, Mrs. Crist, when she broke a blood vessel in her eye, causing her to look both cross-eyed and demonic: if ya don't like it, don't look at it.
Anyway, here's the first specimen -- he was the hottest I saw on my Jersey vacation, so I made sure to get him in front and side views. Click to make him bigger than he already is (har har):
What's great about him is that he's fantastically proportioned. And, in addition to looking like he might shove a beer funnel down your throat and punch you in the stomach when you don't handle binge drinking with the finesse he expects, you can see that this is just a handsome dude. And that's the first lesson -- I don't think of chunk as end, but a means to one. It is an enhancer. Think of it this way: a good burger is a good burger, but cheese makes a good burger great.
Well, aren't we spoiled? A mere four months have passed between ProjRun seasons. As last week's premiere crept up, I noticed a few articles wondering if it was too soon. Bitches, please. Is it ever too soon to watch Heidi do this?