The film "Scott Walker: 30 Century Man" opens in San Francisco next Friday, Jan 23. I was thinking, wow, it seems like years since I saw it... and then I realized, it has been.
I was at the film's premiere in Austin at SXSW two years ago, where I also had the opportunity to interview the film's director, Stephen Kijak, for both Club Kingsnake and AfterElton.com -- because fortunately Stephen has teh gay, so I was able to use that as an excuse to get AE to let me write about Scott Walker on the site. Well, that and I also had to throw in some eye candy for the boyz in the form of the film's associate producer Gale Harold, who used to play teh gay on Showtime's "Queer as Folk."
Although I love QAF, Gale and I more bonded around a somewhat scarily obsessive love of Patti Smith and, of course, Scott Walker -- although I think everyone who loves Scott Walker is a bit scary. Including me and definitely including Stephen Kijak, who described his first meeting with the man here:
What was the first meeting like for Kijak?
"You see it in the film, actually," he said. "He comes in his little green coat and hat and they go, 'Hey, Scott!' That's the first time he walked in the studio. That's our first shot of him. And I'm behind him, shooting the B camera, and this guy walks in, in a green coat and I'm like, 'Get out of my way - Oh fuck, that's Scott Walker!' I drop the camera and I stand at attention because, you know, you don't want the first meeting to be camera in your face, you know how sensitive he is."
Kijak continued, "This weird electricity shot through the room. It's like, 'He's here, he's here!' And I just dropped the camera and I'm thinking, I really hope the camera hasn't stopped rolling, or the battery just died, because that's our only shot. Thank God, it was rolling. Then he just went about his business and ignored us for about two and a half hours, while he just got down to work. We didn't want to get in his way, we're just flies on the wall, let's just watch him do it. I think later in the day it was just a handshake, 'Hi, how are you?' 'Very good, thank you.'"
You may never have heard of Scott Walker, but if you've listened to alternative music (and quite a bit of music that's gone way beyond the alt label) in the last 30 years, you've heard his influence. Everyone from David Bowie to Johnny Marr of the Smiths to Brian Eno to Lulu worships at his shrine, and they and dozens of other musical greats are interviewed in the film.
Walker's most recent work is a bit esoteric for me, but I spent a rather large part of my formative years lying on my back staring at the ceiling at 3 AM with "Night Flights" blasting loud enough I'm still not sure why my landlord didn't have me evicted.
The film itself isn't as experimental as Walker's recent music:
"I thought I wanted to make a more elliptical, strange movie, but it just resisted it," [Kijak] said. "And the music is such a strange evolution, it's such a unique story that the only way for it to really have an impact is to make it very linear, actually. Just to go from "The Sun Ain't Gonna Shine Anymore" to "Jesse", you know where he's screaming, 'I'm the only one left alive!' in this terrifying, really harrowing song. It has to be a straight line for the impact to really be felt."
You can read my review of the film here, and the interview with Kijak and Harold here. And if you're looking for me on Jan. 23, well... I'll be at the Bay Area premiere of the film at the Lumiere Theater. Friend the film on Facebook and see when it opens near you, or is released on DVD... something Stephen swears is in the works.
And I sincerely hope I don't have to wait another two years for it, either.
I was thinking about a scene from "Milk" today. It's Harvey Milk's 48th birthday party, and he's been hit in the face with a pie, congratulated, sung to, and kissed by his ex-lover and love of his life, Scott Smith.
And then fellow supervisor Dan White shows up, drunk, and starts rambling about how Harvey is out-gunning him on the board of supervisors because he has "an issue."
"It's not an issue," Harvey tells him. "This is our lives."
Barack Obama may defend his choice of Rick Warren to pray at his inauguration by saying yeah, sure, Rick and I disagree on some issues but I'm all about the reaching out. But it's bullshit, because recognizing the fundamental equality of your fellow citizens is not "an issue." It's our lives, our rights, our standing before the law, our place in this country.
Being a lesbian isn't something I do; it's who I am.
Of course I get that the Christian extremists on the right say they don't think being gay is an orientation, but a behavior. And not just behavior, but SINFUL behavior.
Wow. Newsflash: the religious right is lying and trying to frame their debate in their own terms. Who'd have ever thunk it?
They can say it until their faces turn blue, but being gay is not a behavior. And it's not a choice, but even if it were, we protect another choice under the law in this country: religion. Being a lesbian is a fundamental part of my identity as a person, just like little Rickie Warren's Christianity is a part of his. I don't share his religion, he doesn't share my sexual orientation, but this is America, dude. Suck it up and deal.
Of course, they won't. Instead they're all whining about being persecuted for belonging to, you know, the majority faith. And even though I've never lifted a
finger to take that right away from them, they lift mountains to
take my rights away from me. And when I object, they come whine how I'm oppressing them.
It's pathetic.
And then there's the fact that they're the "small government" people. They don't think government should feed the hungry or house the homeless or educate the children or treat the sick, but it should be all over who we marry and love. It's no more Rick Warren's business to tell me who the government should allow me to marry than mine to tell him he has no right to be a right wing wack job fundamentalist extremist Christian.
And this isn't even about marriage equality, which even Obama, due to his wack job left wing Christian religion, doesn't support. It's about Warren equating being gay with incest, pedophilia, and eating peanut butter. (No, I'm not making that up.) It's about supporting the use of isolation, electric shock, and other cruel brainwashing techniques to "change" the sexual orientation of gay people, including youth. Which is wrong no matter what, but given that not one reputable study shows that it even works makes it nothing but punishment.
But I'm not joining the tiresome left wing OMG HE'S BETRAYING US chorus
about Obama and whatever he's been doing since elected, which frankly I
haven't paid a huge amount of attention to. I have other things on my
plate right now. My feelings about Barack haven't changed, because I didn't vote for him because of his stand on my rights. He always sucked on those. All viable Democratic presidential candidates sucked on those. Bill Clinton did, Hillary Clinton did, John Kerry did, Al Gore did (although I believe he's seen the light now), John Edwards did.
But I'm not a single issue voter. I will always vote for the Democrat over
the Republican because I don't want to live in the mean-spirited,
vindictive country the Republicans want to create. And even though I've never had a candidate who stood up for my equality, at least the Democrats campaigned to repeal DOMA and DADT. The Republican platform, on the other hand, embraced not only those laws, but a constitutional amendment to deny us our equality under federal marriage laws.
Nah, I'm just ranting about how sick and tired I am of being dismissed as an "issue" when I'm a citizen and a human being. I'm tired of the left and the right both suggesting that lesbians and gay men aren't beaten up and fired enough to deserve being seen as fighting for our civil rights.
I'm sick, too, of the fucking wack job right wing assholes and Republican apologists who all have Google alerts on "marriage equality" coming over here and telling me I'm evil. I don't care what your totally imaginary "god" tells you; I don't care what's in your "holy book." Think what you want, use whatever religious mumbo-jumbo you want to justify your own bigotry. You just don't get to do it on my blog. Your comments will go off into blog oblivion the minute you make them -- although I may copy and re-post the best ones so we can all laugh at them.
Just a quick fly-by to link you over to AfterElton.com, where I used some snippets of my interviews with Milk director Gus Van Sant, screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, and stars Sean Penn and James Franco in a piece about an aspect of the political blockbuster that isn't getting much discussion:
(T)he opening scene of Gus Van Sant's Milk ... pretty much drags you by the hair right into the nightmare of shame and fear that gay men lived in the pre-Stonewall era, and even afterward.... It was a political statement, and this, after all, is the most eagerly awaited political film in gay movie history.
If you've heard the wait was worth it, you've heard right; Milk is a political powerhouse. But although not too many people are talking about it, the film is something else, too: a love story.
Not just any love story, either. It takes the real life relationship of Harvey Milk and Scott Smith and adds a little bit of movie-making magic, using it to tell the story of a hero who became a martyr, and the moment in our history when the love that once dared not speak its name became the love that wouldn't shut up.
[....]
Two men in love confronting society's condemnation with action instead of angst? This is definitely not Brokeback Mountain. When Scott is beaten by a cop during a raid on a Castro St. bar, Harvey doesn't wring his hands and tell him to be more careful; he patches up Scott's laceration, kisses him on the forehead, and suggests they start a revolution. He decides to start by running for city supervisor, with Scott as his campaign manager.
If you haven't seen the film, hurry go now! It just won Best Picture, Best Actor (Sean Penn as Harvey), and Best Support Actor (Josh Brolin, scarily good as Dan White) from the New York Critics Circle.
I grew up out in the foggy western neighborhoods of San Francisco. We may have been close in distance to the Haight-Ashbury and Castro neighborhoods with their exotic hippies and queers, but culturally, we might as well have been on different planets.
When I was in high school in the mid-70s, I was riding the streetcar downtown with two of my friends, no doubt to spend some of our babysitting money at one of the shops on Union Square. As we emerged from the Twin Peaks tunnel, a man got on the streetcar. Lots of people seemed to know him; I had no idea who he was. He shook some hands, laughed and joked, and introduced himself to the three of us.
"I'm Harvey Milk," he said, and shook our hands. He said he was running for something, but I didn't pay much attention, since I wasn't old enough to vote yet.
I won't say that lightning struck, or it changed my life. I'm sure my friends and I, in our little pleated Catholic schoolgirl skirts and knee-highs, just giggled at his big ears and odd name.
A couple of years later, I heard Milk's name again, when he became the first openly gay man elected to San Francisco's Board of Supervisors. But I was away in college, then, and he stayed off my personal radar until a friend came up to me in the lobby of my dorm. "Someone just killed your mayor," she said.
Since the Moscones lived around the corner from my family, my first worry was that someone might have killed him at home. I turned on the news and saw that he'd been shot at City Hall, along with Supervisor Harvey Milk, by recently-resigned Supervisor Dan White.
Having grown up as part of San Francisco's Irish-Catholic community, I knew who White was. He'd given a PAL soccer trophy to one of my cousins not long before. I was stunned.
I was in San Francisco in May of 1979 when White's verdict was announced: second degree manslaughter. For an ex-cop who had crawled in a basement window to avoid the metal detectors, brought extra ammo with him, re-loaded his gun after killing the Mayor, and then walked down the hall and pumped several bullets into Harvey Milk's body, including one that exploded in his brain and killed him?
I heard there was a march from the Castro to City Hall, and with a couple of girlfriends, I drove down to the Civic Center. We parked several blocks away, and as we got near, we could hear shouting and the sound of sirens.
I was barely 20 years old, and although I was outraged, I was also scared. We stayed far on the outskirts of the riot, watching police cars going up in flames from a distance, smelling tear gas. One friend's eyes began to water and swell, and things were going from bad to worse, so we finally left. We almost went back to the Castro, but ended up going home to rinse out her eyes instead.
I never forgot Harvey Milk, though. His death, and the story of his life that emerged in its aftermath, made a huge impression on me. When my friend Rob Epstein made a documentary about Milk, it was nominated for, and won, an Academy Award. All of us watching the Oscars at home went nuts. When it came out on video, I bought it, and over the years forced dozens of friends, newly out or new to San Francisco, to watch it. "You need to remember this," I told them.
It never crossed my mind, never, that anyone could forget him, or his story, but I was wrong. When Gus Van Sant's "Milk" premiered this fall, I was stunned at all the people who had no idea who Harvey Milk was -- including politically active young lesbians and gay men. I interviewed the actors, and the younger ones all said they hadn't learned about Harvey at all -- including James Franco, who grew up in the Bay Area. (He played Harvey's lover, Scott Smith.) Alison Pill, who played Harvey's lesbian campaign manager and aide, Anne Kronenberg, said while researching the role she met many young LGBT people who didn't know who Harvey was. Screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, himself only 33, said he'd written the script because he was afraid Harvey's life was in danger of slipping off the stage of history.
But whether we knew his name or not, Harvey Milk's legacy still lives. Tomorrow is the 30th anniversary of his death, and on 365Gay.com, I talk about it:
Lesbian activist Sally Gearhart told the crowd protesting White’s
sentence that “Harvey Milk lives!” A demonstrator shouted back, “No,
he’s dead, you fool!” And it was true. It was also true that in the
months and even years after those violent events, the
neighborhood-centered, grassroots politics Milk practiced vanished with
him from both the city and national stages. No other leader emerged
from the gay community to take his place. His legacy, like the man,
appeared dead.
But was it?
At Milk’s memorial service, his successor on the Board of
Supervisors, Harry Britt, told the crowd, “Something very special is
going to happen in this city, and it will have Harvey Milk’s name on
it…. Harvey will be in the middle of us, always, always.” It was hard
to see in the aftermath of his death, but it turns out Britt was right.
When AIDS struck in the 80s, a group of street activists who later
became known as ACT-UP began to organize, protest, and disrupt the
institutions of commerce and government, demanding a better response to
the epidemic that was killing so many in our community. Their slogan
was “Silence=death,” and it’s one that Harvey, famous for both
hyperbole and verbosity, would have loved.
Milk political protégé Cleve Jones went on to found the Names
Project AIDS Memorial Quilt, one of the single most successful acts of
political theater and personal mourning ever conceived. It has traveled
around the nation and the globe, was the subject of an Academy Award
winning documentary, and is still the largest piece of community folk
art in the world. It was catharsis for us as we lost countless friends
and loved ones, and incited powerful sympathy and connection in people
not of our community who grieved – and stood – with us.
[....]
Under the influence of [his] admiration [for Milk], [San Francisco Mayor Gavin] Newsom defied an anti-gay state
law and started issuing marriage licenses to same sex couples during
San Francisco’s now-famous “winter of love.” It was that act that led
to the chain of events that culminated in California’s Proposition 8,
the 2008 constitutional amendment that stripped same sex couples of
their newly-recognized right to civil marriage.
At first glance that might seem like a bittersweet piece of Milk’s
legacy, but just as it took violence to give birth to our movement, the
shocking victory of Prop 8 woke a sleeping giant. A new generation of
activists poured into the streets within a day of the election,
protesting the tyranny of the majority that subjected our civil rights
to a popular vote.
The man may indeed be dead, but Harvey Milk unquestionably lives forever, in us.
The full piece is here -- I hope you read it, and remember.
You can always guarantee if I totally stop blogging that I'm in deadline hell.
I have four new articles up today, two about pets and two about the film "Milk," which I saw when it premiered in San Francisco last month. The first "Milk" piece is a review, and the other a profile of Alison Pill, the actress who played Harvey Milk's lesbian campaign manager, Anne Kronenberg. From the profile of Pill:
Canadian actress Alison Pill didn't know much about Harvey
Milk when she auditioned to play his lesbian campaign manager in Gus Van Sant's
biopic Milk. Twenty-two years old,
she considered herself fairly informed about the history of the gay rights
movement, and yet all she knew about Harvey
was something vague about the "Twinkie defense."
Today, Pill is one of Harvey's
biggest fans. And she belongs to another fan club, too, one a lot of queer
women are going to be joining when they get to know Anne Kronenberg, the
curly-haired dyke-on-a-bike who ran Harvey's
first successful campaign, played by Pill in the film.
At first glance, it's hard to see much similarity between
the two women, although Kronenberg was also 22 years old when tapped by Milk to
run his third supervisorial campaign.
Strong, confrontational, and passionate, Anne rode a
motorcycle and wore leather jackets. She took on the cautious gay male
establishment of the times and helped Harvey
kick down some of the social and
political walls between lesbians and gay men.
It's hard to take an objective look at a film whose story is
not just familiar but iconic to its audience. It's even harder when that story
has already been told in a groundbreaking documentary, and harder still if some
of the film's audience actually lived through its events.
That Gus Van Sant's Milk transcends all those factors
and looks to be one of the best films of the year is a testament to the power
of its story as well as the creative forces that came together to tell it.
Most LGBT people probably know the bare bones of Harvey
Milk's story already: That he helped spearhead the fight against a tidal wave
of anti-gay legislation that swept the country as part of Anita Bryant's
anti-gay crusade; that he advocated coming out as the most powerful weapon
against homophobia; that he was shot to death by a political opponent after
predicting his own assassination.
But one of often-forgotten pieces of
Harvey
's story was his commitment to building
bridges with every possible group that might be an ally in his struggle. He
made a friend out of organized labor by getting Coors beer out of
San Francisco
's gay bars.
He reached out to all communities of color and ethnic groups in the state. He
was an ex-hippie turned businessman who could and would talk to anyone –
including his fiercest enemies – if he thought it would further his cause.
And at a time when the gay and lesbian communities were almost
completely isolated from each other, when women held virtually no leadership
roles in the gay rights movement and our communities were often actively
hostile towards each other, Harvey Milk not only reached out to women's
organizations, he brought in a 22-year-old lesbian named Anne Kronenberg to run
his fourth campaign for office – the first one, in fact, that he ever won.
I interviewed Pill, Kronenberg, as well as Sean Penn, who played Milk, director Gus Van Sant, screenwriter Dustin Lance Black, Milk political protege Cleve Jones, Josh Brolin, who played Dan White, Emile Hirsch, who played Jones, and James Franco, who played Milk's lover Scott Smith. Two future pieces based on those interviews will be coming out in the next few days. One will be on 365Gay.com, and the other on AfterElton.com; I'll link when they're up.
In the critter category, my Borzoi Kyrie got some ink... er, pixels... on SFGate.com, where I discussed the issue dogs, parks, and leashes:
I happily cede the dog parks to the unleashed dogs and
their doggy joy. In fact, although San Francisco has a lot of them
already, I’d like to see more - many more. Dozens more. But what I
don’t like to see is an uncontrolled dog running loose in an area
outside the dog zone.
It’s not so just my concern for my fellow citizens that makes me
feel that way; it’s my love of dogs, too. See, I left out some back
story: My dog Kyrie is scared of other dogs when she’s on a leash.
Kyrie lived the first eight years of her life in the country,
running and roaming off-leash with my other dogs on my fenced, wooded
acreage. And even off our property, where I walked her on a leash, it
was very rare that we’d run into a strange dog. It’s not that country
dogs don’t often run loose; they do. It’s just that there’s a lot of
room out where we lived in the hills of western Sonoma, and the few
times we saw strange dogs, they ignored us.
That was fine until I decided, after 16 years in the country, to
move back to the city. The fact that neither of my dogs spoke “city
dog” caused some problems. The city, it turns out, is full of dogs
whose idea of proper canine etiquette was formed in a completely
different environment. When they see a strange dog in the park, their
first thought is, “Oh oh oh! It’s a new friend! I must say hello!” And
they race over, their entire bodies wagging, eager to greet these
exotic newcomers to their world.
At first, things were difficult for me and the dogs. Rebel, who was
a show dog in his youth, actually adapted pretty easily to the ways of
the city dogs, possibly because he’s bigger than any of them and
doesn’t worry that the pipsqueak racing towards him at top speed can do
any damage to him. No one ever has, he figures; why worry now?
But Kyrie was always the smallest hound in our pack, and relied on
two things to keep out of the way of the bigger, heavier deerhounds
when the play got rough: greater speed and greater agility. Here in our
urban playground, she’s lost that advantage entirely, because she’s on
a leash. So when those strange dogs - even the truly friendly ones -
come tearing over to say hi, she thinks she’s being attacked by raving
lunatics, because she’s never seen this body language before.
Dog people might say I failed to properly socialize Kyrie to
strange, off-leash dogs while she’s on a leash, and they’d be right; I
did. If I had a time machine I’d get in it and go back and change that.
But no matter what my failures as a dog mom might be, don’t she and all
the other shy dogs in the world have a right to go for walks in the
park, too, just as people who are afraid of dogs or who are frail,
disabled or elderly do?
[....]
(A)ll of us, human and canine, have the right to enjoy shared public
spaces without untrained, rambunctious dogs running up and jumping on
us or our leashed dogs while their owners call out from a distance,
“He’s friendly!” Maybe he is, but my dogs think he’s rude, and I’ll bet
that nice lady shielding her stroller against your dog’s curiosity
thinks so, too.
And I penned... er, typed... the lead piece for the Pet Connection
syndicated pet feature, for which I'm a contributing editor, this week.
This one's on keeping your home smelling good for the holidays, even if
you have pets:
Your home is spotless, and the inviting aromas of a holiday meal
fill the air. But as you open the door to your guests, their twitching
noses suggest that they smell something you don't.
"I see you still have that cat," your older sister says disapprovingly. Her nose twitches again. "And the dog, too."
But
pet odors aren't irresolvable. Eliminating them can be challenging, but
following a few simple tips from the experts can leave your house
smelling fresh and clean this holiday season.
That's it for today.... but I think you can now get an idea of why you haven't seen me in a while.
I'm sick and tired of being told what to do by a group of people who have made the choice to live a certain lifestyle and are trying to shove acceptance of that lifestyle down my throat, and demand and accept special privileges for that lifestyle choice.
I'm speaking, of course, of religion.
Please explain to me, like I was in kindergarten, the religious right's idiotic meme that being gay or lesbian is a behavior or a choice and thus we should not be protected under the laws of the land, in the face of their unquestioned belief that religion -- which is inarguably a choice -- should be? I mean, more people change their religion every day than have changed their sexual orientation in the entire history of the universe.
And as if that weren't bad enough, they have special laws at every level, from local zoning ordiances to national tax laws, giving them special privileges that no other charitable group has. Churches can build in areas no other charitable or social group could build, they have tax-exempt status beyond what other charitable organizations have, and there is a whole host of laws that exempt them from hiring, firing, and other labor laws and regulations.
So the next time some paranoid right wingnut with a persecution complex accuses a gay person of wanting "special rights," or calls being gay "a choice" or "a behavior," just ask them: Projecting much?
I covered the demonstration against Prop 8 that was held Friday night here in San Francisco for 365Gay.com:
Friday, when I got on the streetcar to go to the Prop 8 protest at
the Civic Center, I had to stand all the way downtown, because what
looked like every student at San Francisco State was on their way to
the protest, too.
I’m sure some of them were queer – my gaydar pinged a few times. But
there were lots of boy-girl couples, young people of every ethnicity,
computer geeks and pierced-eyebrow performance arts majors, straight
boys clinging to their girlfriends’ hands, giggling young people
texting back and forth with friends at the other end of the train,
girls in rhinestone-studded flip-flops debating earnestly if they
should get off at the Church St. or Van Ness stations to pick up the
march.
When I got downtown, it was much the same, only on a much larger
scale. The age range had increased, from babies in their parents arms
to veterans of the ACT-UP days of the ’80s, from those of us who
remember Harvey Milk and watched police cars burning at City Hall, to
those earnest young people hungry for their defining moment of protest
in the cause of equal rights for all of us.
Maybe I should have expected it. I’d experienced something like it
on election day, standing on a street corner with a group of “No on 8″
volunteers holding campaign signs, getting thumbs up and honked horns
and cheers of support from grizzled old Chinese men and hip young black
teenaged boys, soccer moms and ten-year-olds, bus and truck drivers,
elderly women walking their dogs. But the crushing loss of the day
after had wiped out that high, and I’d forgotten.
“Gay, straight, black, white: marriage is a civil right,” they
chanted. The hundreds of people trapped in rush hour traffic while we
streamed by opened their windows and pounded the sides of their cars,
whooping in support. People stood in open sunroofs and climbed onto the
hoods of their cars, waving signs they’d written on pieces of paper:
“Stop the Hate – Repeal Prop 8.”
There were no arrests, and the entire counter-protest consisted of
two guys with “Protect Marriage” signs that I read about in the morning
paper. No one I know even saw them. And despite the complaints of
imminent bloodthirsty persecution from a vengeance-fearing religious
right, the only threat I heard didn’t involve any form of violence or
destruction.
“We’re liberals, sweetie,” said one man marching next to me. “We’re
not going to burn their churches. We’re just going to tax ‘em.”
The rest is here; my photo album of the event is here.
For those who are wondering what exactly is the "gay agenda," I thought I'd post mine today.
7:30 AM, I woke up. This is late for me, but I had a lot of trouble sleeping last night. 7:40 AM, walk dogs. 8:10 AM, make breakfast, shower, get dressed, check email 8:25 AM, order "Second Class Citizen" t-shirt 8:30 AM, get assignment to cover tonight's protest on Prop 8 at San Francisco's Civic Center 8:33 AM, read hate mail (posted under the jump) 8:37 PM, start this post
My gay agenda for the rest of the day is to write three things that are due today and Sunday (I try not to work on the weekend, but it's nice to know it's there as a buffer if I get backed up), blog a little at Pet Connection, which I've been neglecting since the election; try to get a PR guy to follow up on an interview I need to do; walk the dogs again; make an appointment to get my hair cut and a pedicure; set up an interview with a children's librarian about great animal books for kids; take my camera to the Castro and get a photo of the Pride flag flying at half mast; go to the protest.
Please tell me your Gay Agenda for the day, and enjoy today's hate mail, under the jump. And why is it that haters and right wing Christianists don't use paragraphs?
Apparently the Christianists (thank you Andrew Sullivan for that wonderful word) are nasty winners as well as hate-filled, sanctimonious, and oh yeah, really stupid. And it seems they're targeting lesbian and gay bloggers and our commentors, because we're not happy about being reduced to second class citizenship with the passage of Prop 8 here in California.
I'm not a bigtime blogger like some others they're going after; I presume I earned this little attack because I had a recommended diary on Prop 8 up all day yesterday over at Daily Kos.
Please jump below to read what the wackjob had to say to me...
The film "Scott Walker: 30 Century Man" opens in San Francisco next Friday, Jan 23. I was thinking, wow, it seems like years since I saw it... and then I realized, it has been. 
Gah, Typepad changed stuff. I hate change.
I grew up out in the foggy western neighborhoods of San Francisco. We may have been close in distance to the Haight-Ashbury and Castro neighborhoods with their exotic hippies and queers, but culturally, we might as well have been on different planets.
I have four new articles up today, two about pets and two about the film "Milk," which I saw when it premiered in San Francisco last month. The first "Milk" piece is a review, and the other a profile of Alison Pill, the actress who played Harvey Milk's lesbian campaign manager, Anne Kronenberg. From the 
I covered the demonstration against Prop 8 that was held Friday night here in San Francisco for 
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