Hey Mister DJ -- Help Me If You Can

Although I will never part with my 1977 classic Technics SL-1950 turntable, I have been thinking about investing in a spare. If, for no other reason, I would like to convert my 200-220 78s into MP3s so I can listen to faves like "Birmingham Bertha," Sarah Vaughn's "Hey Naughty Papa," or the Crew Cuts classic "Slam Bam" when travelling. I have no intent in investing $1500+ on those high end "professional" gizmos, but I've come across the Numark PT01 online for around $100 which sounds like a good deal for this three-speed, albeit belt drive model. Any experts that can give advice are encouraged to weigh in, and I'll gladly reward you with five obscure tracks of your choice from the enormous, weird and wacky library. Did I also mention that great instructional disc from 1960 "How to install Armstrong vinyl tile" from my grandfather's home improvement store days?

Colour Me Something

Is it homophobic or self loathing to simultaneously laugh and wince at a hideous queen getting away with just shy of murder while sucking up pints of vodka? That was the queasy feeling I got about 2/3rds of the way through Colour me Kubrick this evening. I really didn't get a chance to discuss it in any detail with my non-date (okay a fig). It was at the 2/3rds point that the various tricks and over-acting seemed to come crashing back, though it almost redeemed itself in the final minutes with Ken Russell impersonating a man deluded into thinking he was Ken Russell throwing Jello in the air. And then there was just the thrill of cameos by Honor Blackman and Marissa Berenson. I'll sleep on it, but I think I will have long forgotten the film by the morning. It was just like a bottle of cheap champagne that is frothy, sweet and forgotten even before your head hits the pillow.

Calling All Princess Fans

Having recently rewatched Beyond the Valley of the Dolls and the famed party scene where Russ Meyer staple Princess Livingston repeats the "I'd like to strap you on sometime" line, I am on the search for more background on Princess herself. The web seems to be woefully scant of images of her, even though she was recently recreated in the video for the great Pipettes tune Pull Shapes which is a wonderful take on the film's rockin' Sweet Talkin' Candy Man from the fab Malibu beach house party. Any Princess fan with more detail is encouraged to fill in the blanks.

I Must Have Professionals!

If the YouTube-Viacom lawsuits don't spell the end of DIY television, JustinTV just might do it. Four moderately cute and amazingly vapid and boring boys sitting around doing nothing is two notches below watching paint dry. Drying paint actually accomplishes something -- bringing new color to your walls. As far as Justin and company, I'm not sure what they accomplishes. It reminds me of one of my favorite scenes in Grey Gardens, when after listening to Little Edie sing ceaslessly, Big Edie commands, "Edie, go get my radio! I must have professional music."

The Cost of Speed - Sid Davis Goes Mod

This late career Sid Davis film is really over the top. It's worth charting through some of the repetitive bits sections to make it to the end and acknowledgment of all the dead people who made it possible. And the "I need your body" image at about 4 minutes in is pure Russ Meyer, mixed with that groovy Dr. Who electronic music.

Boys Beware - the Sid Davis Collection

There seems to be growing interest in the works of Sid Davis, who with the assistance of the Inglewood, Colorado, Police Department created a number of paranoid cautionary films in the late 1950s and 1960s to instill fear in the hearts of all children who encountered anyone unfamiliar. Besides perpetuating that only unfamiliar people are predators and pedophiles (as opposed to family members, neighbors, etc.), his over the top “Boys Beware” promotes some pretty noxious myths about men who prefer the company of men. Though one claim that “not all homosexuals are passive” is accurate but not exactly in the context that Mr. Davis meant.

Each little film is a creepy tale that begins with almost dulcet tunes that turn increasingly sinister as danger lurks closer to the kids. It seems that the common thread in all of these films is to write down the license number of the suspected pervert. Makes me wonder how many kids reported perfectly innocent adults that pissed them off.

Perhaps someday there will be a Criterion worthy release of his films with accompanying analysis of them scene by scene. He does actually succeed in making those strangers seem mighty darn spooky, and it makes me wonder what the back story is on the actors, their motivation and what happened to the kids who played the hapless victims. I have to admit that the re-enactments give me a pit in the stomach as the kids get into cars with those dangerous looking strangers.

There’s no telling how much good or bad these films ultimately did, but I am sure they played some role in convincing plenty of kids – and, ever more likely, adults – that all homosexual men are pedophiles. Ultimately it's all pretty spooky and sad and makes me have greater sympathy for any parent.

Trolling 24/7

Sometimes I actually find something in San Francisco that makes me think there is a reason to live here other than the fact it doesn't get hot very often (though I was definitely ready to pack it up last summer). One of those reasons is the little "troll window" or shrine or altar at 18th and Valencia. The only thing that comes remotely close is that store in the Haight that always has a Mr. Magoo mannequin in drag or a pirate costume. Luckily, Alfie, the talent behind that ever changing window of perpetual whimsy, has his own blogspot. What the world needs now is a lot more whimsy. Great work Alfie! You are a true jewel in the Mission.

If We Must Say Goodbye

If we must say farewell at the end of the summer to those pesky plastic bags with Safeway or the generic "THANK YOU" non-logo logo, I wonder if we could bring to the west coast one of my favorite emblems of Manhattan. Every morning, I took an odd comfort seeing the words "We Are Happy to Serve You" printed on my coffee cup. Even if the server belching out "light or dark coffee this morning" belied every sentiment on the cup, I felt a certain safety in the sea of Manhattan as I stared at those words in gold and blue. Maybe it was the little Greek feligree that spoke so strongly to me.

It's just not the same with that Starbucks mermaid or those funky faux West African mud cloth motifs on a cup of Peet's. And I really have no desire to order a ceramic replica with its false sense of providence. I want the real thing that I can throw into a land fill.

Do Your Duty: Join the One Less Child Movement

Maybe last week's condom commercial was not an isolated incident. It seems that the childless revolution is gaining momentum, something that same sex couples learned about years ago. I've never felt the remotest need for a child, perhaps because my biological clock is digital not of the ticking kind. Besides not wanting to subject a new life to the realities of the current world, I also feel the responsibility of not bringing another white child on this planet. Research has consistently proven that pound for pound, a baby is Ghana consumes something on the order of 10% the resources of kiddos in the U.S. With that in mind, I may feel less guilty bringing in my petroleum based shopping bags from big box store purchases just outside of the 415 area code. After all, it's not very easy to clean out the litter box with a canvas bag. In the meantime, instead of all those little white babies, let's promote more of these little babes.

Separation of states and insane nations

Yesterday's elections in Québec were a huge setback for the Parti Québécois and mak
e it pretty certain that there will be just one Canada for the foreseeable future. Having family roots there more than a century back, I could easily romanticize such a separation, but I'd rather see some of the more progressive U.S. states break off from the U.S. and join Canada.

Not that I would ever argue in favor of the "honor" of the old confederacy, but some separation movements do make a certain amount of sense, such at the State of Jefferson, making one wonder what California might look like were it treated like the former Soviet Union. I'm sure that the State of San Joaquin, likely nabbing Orange County so it would look like a huge J on the map, would soon follow. City states of Los Angeles and San Francisco would be just as logical.

Regardless, I would see no problem with some configuration of California making a break with the current powers that run U.S.

Junk Thief TV - Episode 20 - Irma Glen - Sex Balm

Miss Irma Glen, a naturalist, organist and Christian Scientist falls into the category of harmless but weird. VERY weird. Her reflections on the healing natures of nature provide a different take on Marvin Gaye's "Sexual Healing." Marvin died at the wrong end of a gun. No word on where Irma is. Perhaps under the pedal of an organ?

Zazoo Condom Commercial

Even though I did just light shopping today, I ran into this kid at least twice. What I really would like to see is something that would say the same about the futility of a "partner" as well. I think I could deal with the kid more easily than the partner. At least if you buy the kid candy he'll shut up.

Junk Thief TV - Episode 19 - Part 2

The continued dance of the junk and jewels that began in part 1.

Junk Thief TV - Episode 19 - Part 1

So here is the first installment of the parade of junk and jewels from beneath the walls of Lazy Acres. Mysterious rituals happen in the wee hours of the night when the creatures living there perform their captivating antics that are captured in this rare footage

Whites Only in Oakland?

Is it just me, or does anyone else find it a bit odd that PSA at the Oakland Airport has a "white lot" bus. Non-whites are not allowed on, even if they offer to ride at the back of the bus. Maybe that's why I usually park at V.I.P. or does that stand for very special people club such as the one Dawn Whiner started in Welcome to the Dollhouse? All the same, it was very odd to witness an African American driver screaming at a Korean woman. "No, no. White lot. White only. Wait for the red bus!"

Which Way Goes the Wind?

I've completed the famed junk sort! Now to do something of the same back at home and begin consolidating heirlooms of the Great Plains with all my Pacific acquisitions of the past decade. Add in a few years in the Atlantic states and travels from Kathmandu and Ouagadougou, and the scale of this task starts getting overwhelming. Thank God for off site storage.

Today I met with our last realtor finalist -- gold shoes, Lincoln, jewelry and all. She is actually very good, and we will likely sign with her. How long this process will take is to be determined, but I hope to close this long chapter by the end of the year if lucky.

I hope to have the first YouTube document of this trip up tomorrow. In the meantime, here is a snapshot of a favorite feature of Lazy Acres. I am really tempted to climb up to take the weather vane with me since it is so emblematic of my grandfather's vision for this place 50 years ago. But, alas, it's one thing I will likely leave behind with the hope that our buyer has a similar vision.

More Spooky Junk

Although I have many happy, warm memories of growing up in the Midwest, a number of them are more than a little spooky. A good example is this little item I cam across today in the ongoing junk sort. Long before there was a Fox News, Rush Limbaugh, Ann Coulter or countless other screaming wackos on the airwaves, there was Gaylord Publishing which wielded (and still does today) much power over the media in the big U.S. center.

Besides being notorious for being incredibly stingy on their investment in actually covering the news, they have a long history of completely over the top editorials and commentary. A case in point is this cartoon from the late 1960s by staff "artist" Jim Lange. It shows the dreaded government fat cat asking for paltry support of the war machine while investing in inequitable amount in the Great Society programs of JFK and LBJ. In other words, why help educate, house, feed and bolster minority communities when we can ship them to be slaughtered in Vietnam? Does this sound eerily similar to modern Republican sentiment? The work was a gift to my father from a friend who was an advertising sales rep for Gaylord Publishing. When he brought it home, my mother was repulsed and told him to get rid of it. Obviously it got stuck in the back corner of a closet four decades ago. Needless to say, historical value or not, it's not going into the keep pile this time.

Junk Sort Update

Spend a few days sorting through more than a century of family mementos, jewels and junk and you know you'll run into a few surprises and oddities. I've already clocked in a couple of hours of video footage, some of which I'll post upon return and having wireless again.

This afternoon my sister and I found a packet of brochures from the Dale Carnegie Institute on a variety of benign career and family issues. Discreetly wedged in the middle of the half dozen pamphlets was one called "Sex Problems in a Marriage." Typical of the Eisenhower era, these were all addressed to my grandfather at his business address. Know report on how that little brochure worked, but they stuck together for 42 years.

And then I found this little oddity. No, it's not what it sounds like in the 2007 context, but then I could be wrong. Perhaps the good pastor and his various remedies of luring boys aged 10 to 17 into the righteous path. "Boys React Well to Action," the Straight Shooter author advises and recommends a number of all male outdoor activities that would make Walt Whitman proud. Sun, nature and a masculine atmosphere help turn a boy into a Straight Shooter.

I doubt my grandfather had any of the intent we might construe from the pamphlet's title today, but I suspect the author shares some thread of DNA with Ted Haggard.

The Great Junk Sort Underway

This vision of loveliness and style on the right is just one of thousands of examples of the items I am sorting at Lazy Acres. Many still and photo snaps will follow, but I must get back to the sorting!

Not That I Would Ever Vote for McCain...

...but Phoenix Sky Harbor is the only U.S. airport I have been in recently to provide free wirless. God only knows, I might be prepared to put a little cash into the Arizona economy as a result of that. But then it's going to be 95 degrees here. Ugh. Luckily this is just a one hour, indoor transit visit.

Libra Like Me

One of the reasons for less output here, at YouTube and MySpace has been an ongoing obsession to write out something about my aunt whose suicide in December. I have 35-45 pages, none of it completely weaving together, but at the same time I am glad I am capturing it. Were I ever to do something with it, it would definitely need to be fictionalized, but then she always lived life as a great fiction.

And, no, that's not her on the right, but it's all the more important to have her represented by this icon who was one of several women she aspired to be. For shy of three years she attained it during her third marriage when she played the role of (almost) Park Avenue Swan just down the street on Lexington Avenue, looking down in disdain from her living room window 24 floors below, disappointed that so few could see the perfect mannequin in the perfect dressing so far above them. And if you can't name the icon, than I guess you wouldn't understand either of the two women in question.

One of the eerie things was that we shared the same birthday -- September 26 -- separated by 19 years but both born at precisely 11:48 p.m. Like little Edie Beal she obsessed over her horoscope and would read it aloud to me. Unlike Little Edie, she married the prince, more than once, but lost her passion for the dance early on.

Junk Thief TV - Episode 18 - Junk Sort

In preparation for the big junk sort, the home of my parents and grandparents for the past century, here is a little tone poem celebrating all things junk. More mood than substance, or is it?

As the great metaphysical question begs of us: What if the Hokey Pokey Really Is What It's All About?

A Date? At My Age I'd Settle for a Fig!!!!

The slides show starts over here.

Morning View: Low Down Luxury

It will still be interesting to see the evolution of the "luxury condos" on 24th Street between Florida and Bryant across from Sugar Lump. Surprisingly, they are supposed selling at $500,000 to $750,000 which is not outrageous in this neighborhood. What what will spell for the character of the neighborhood will be interesting. I meant to ask the guy face down on the sidewalk in front of the Frida Kahlo mural up the block this morning, but he took the fifth on the issue. Meanwhile, the muralists are taking to the utility boxes around the block. Nice to see that they used as inspiration the trinket on the right at JunkThief's non-luxury, non-condo flat. It was a recent gift from Mel Gibson. "I saw it in a window outside of Tikal and just had to nab it for you," he said, looking at my menorahs suspiciously.

Living Daylights

Okay, besides the fact that it was much too hot in San Francisco today and I managed to reset all the "manual" clocks in the house early yesterday afternoon, can someone explain to me why it usually takes Sprint at least 24 hours before they reset to the accurate time? It has happened consistently for the 5-6 years I've used them as my main mobile carrier. Both computers updated themselves automatically as did a $15 Crate & Barrel travel clock, but not the Treo 650. I was also surprised that the less than a year-old, fairly pricey SONY DVD recorder didn't reset itself. I'm sure it will next month.

I hope that I am not starting my work day at 6 a.m. or 10 a.m., though the fact that I have coworkers in about 15 different time zones always adds confusion to it all.

Then there is the fact that there is a 15 minute time change when you go from Nepal to India. Nepal did it just to prove that they are not part of India

Anyway, it has cooled down enough I can go out for yin yang prawns at Firecracker.

UPDATE: Okay, Duh-moment alert. I turned the phone off and then back on and it went back to contemporary time. Hey, it took me three years to do a MySpace page. Now if the IT guy could just tell me why I can't print...

And We Thought WE Were Having a Slow News Day!

Oh that San Francisco Chronicle! Their lead story is a great discovery -- there are young professionals taking their laptops to coffee shops and making that their work place! What next, an indepth article on those iPods that I keep hearing about?

The only thing that baffles me more than the poor quality of public services in one of the wealthiest municipalities in the U.S. is the lack of true print media in the supposed capital of the new age communication. Maybe it's because people only read blogs or listen to podcasts.

Junk Teen - Circa 1976

In preparation for his dismantling of Lazy Acres next week, Junk Thief has been going deep into some of the California archives at JunkThief central. Back in the 1970s as a teen, Junk Thief had aspirations of becoming what would eventually be called graphic novelists, inspired mainly by intense reading of the Village Voice in the basement of the north oval OU library. These two examples show where JT's head was in those days.

Evening View - la Venus del Mision

One of the best additions to the 'hood was the addition of Virginia Howell's a couple of years ago. I always have a weakness for a store with a cat sleeping in the window, but the place's displays also usually have a great touch of whimsy. Plus that's such a great name, perhaps a cousin to Thurston Howell III. Just as I was about to type that it also sounds like a great name for a silent era actress, I found out that there was a Virgina Howell during the early talkies era.

24 Years Ago - Stalking Memories & Raspberry Kimonoes

The twisted tale of the past couple weeks of the thwarted perusal of Gavin Newsom by Han Shin, the much scrutinized photo of them with His Honor wearing a raspberry kimono and Sup. Dufty's characterization of the alleged stalker as "a cross between Liberace and Hello Kitty" brought back some bittersweet memories.

Back in the period of 1983 to 1985, Junk Thief was the object of at least two stalkers of varying levels of mystery. One called Junk Thief's home regularly, giving an actual name and pleading to hook up, claiming to be a former neighbor. Repeated refusals of the offer did not deter him. It went from annoying to creepy when he proceeded to describe what I was wearing and where I was standing in my living room, visible from the eight-foot glass windows nine stories down. For no apparent reason, the almost nightly calls ceased for six months, would return for a week or so and finally disappeared.

Around the same time, a female friend (I won't use the FH word for fear of linking her to Ann Coulter) in the top image where she is wearing her ever popular bee keeper uniform was being pursued by a married municpal employee. She caroused my involvement by calling the guy to tell him to stop. Although it encouraged him to give up on annoying her, he proceeded with a series of "I gonna getcha" calls and carved his name into the fender of my car. Not a great idea to leave your signature when vandalizing property. By coincidence, I met him on a work related assignment with my job as a newspaper editor, and we both seemed to be a bit surprised by the dramatic disparity in our mutual physical statures -- he was at least seven inches shorter than I. Though I am pretty much a total wimp, I sometimes under estimate how I am perceived by men smaller than I, even banty rooster types such as him.

Oh, and around the same time I did a series of stories about a sex scandal within an evangelical church (why do they never happen with Unitarians? Oh, right, Birkenstocks aren't too sexy). Anyway, I got a series of calls from unidentified members who promised to expose me as a faggot and Nazi. And then it advanced to "gonna getcha" and even death threats. Maybe it goes back to my dad's teachings of the best way to diffuse a bully is to ignore them. So I usually responded to the "Gonna kick your ass, faggot" calls with "Fine, could you give me a time range on that and your name so I can plan my day." Those calls never amounted to anything.

And THEN, I went on a date with a guy who revealed just after kissing me goodnight that he was in a long-term relationship. Oh, great. I called it off and never had a second date, but his significant other (I finally gathered after details that crept up in the calls) phoned me at work and home off and one for nearly 18 months. This little queen's violent banter was even more threatening than the evangelicals. And he just as mysteriously would disappear or reappear, and then he stopped.

Then, two years later, his mother came to work at the same place as I. Shortly after she became irate with her supervisor (whom I had huge conflicts as well), the supervisor started getting threatening calls from an unknown male who used the exact lines that my mystery caller sent.

I never got any snapshots from the waste down or pink kimonoes, but, ah, the memories of being stalked. One of the advantages of rotting away into my dottage is that the risk of being the object of an inappropriate obsession diminshes daily.

At the Invitation of Miss Lotte Lenya

Junk Thief's MySpace presence. MySpace, yes I know, how 2003! We've had a presence over there for quite a time but have been slow on the uptake and understanding that whole community, or the chaos of its design. It does often feel very bastard child of Friendster, with just so dern many images and sounds coming at you at once. For now it's got a lot of the same stuff you'll find here at the Mother Ship of all things Junky, but we hope to expand and have our alternative things over there such as those much wanted MP3s of Junk Thief singing Latvian love songs with a ukulele and more images such as the bachelor girl's weekend adventure. We've actually given thought to launching a Bachelor Girl site independent of this one, but that may have to wait a while.

Let us know your thoughts and if you have a presence over there please to send a friends request. We promise to get back to you right soon!

Hey, Have a Great Weekend, Y'all

Morning View - Million Fishes Gallery 2

Current exhibit in the Million Fishes Gallery window.

Huge in China

As you can tell, the new Frappr map on the right column template tracks the location of JunkThief viewers. All is kept anonymous unless you wish to share a comment or photo voluntarily. Though only added yesterday, it indicates that the bulk of this week's readership is in China. I've no problem with that, in fact am pleased, but it's a bit mysterious as to why the sudden jump in that part of the world.

That's an interesting sea change since to date, my biggest fan base has been 19-year-olds in Wales and Scotland and 35- to 60-year-olds in Germany and Scandinavia. That, too, is fine, but I'd appreciate the occasional Argentinian or Tuscan viewer. Iceland would be nice too. You can never have too many friends in Reykjavik.

UPDATE: Five minutes after posting this, we had our first Italian visitor. Go figure. Bravissimo!

The Joys of Parking - Chapter 33

Coming back from lunch yesterday, the entertaining Salvadorean painters transforming the pink house next door into a bland cream color where about to take a lunch break as I spotted the perfect spot in front of my house. With at least seven inches to spare between my car and the one behind me, they suddenly decided they needed to direct me. I was having no problems, was at no risk of touching the car behind me and showed no signs of wanting help. I can think of few things more useless than the sign language intended to help with parallel parking. It's not a skill that comes naturally to me, but I've improved significantly over the past decade -- provided I can do it uninterupted by someone giving either verbal or visual directions. It requires silence and no distractions. Regardless, I got the car in without an effort, never making eye contact with the painters.

The School Yard -- and No More

One last shot on the Ann Coulter f-word stories and no more. Far too many inches of type have been taken up here and elsewhere on a media parasite whose true colors and vapidity have been best revealed in her defense of why she called John Edwards a faggot. "It was a school yard taunt," she explained, and she knew everyone would know that this married father of multiple children was a man whose sexuality could never be questioned.

She was implying, she explained, that he is a wimp, a wuss, like all Democrats and she would have said the same thing about Dean, Kerry or any others running. It was a joke, and a dern fine one she had to admit, and just a school yard taunt.

Ann clarified two things:

First, she always stays on message, even if that message is garbage and she speaks jibberish. That doesn't matter, since she makes a big stink and tries to belittle her targets, drive traffic to her website and sell her books. No one ever remembers anything but her insults. Can anyone quote one word she has said about what is great about her party? Her 9/11 widows quote, Kerry bashing, et. al. are well remembered, but she has yet to say one word that will go down in history about what is so great about the G.O.P. Without liberals, she'd join the tapeworms, ticks and other bloodsucking scum that know they can only survive on the flesh of an unwitting host. Ann always gets back to her core message: Look at me! Look at me! Look at me! That's really all she has to say. Any pretense of trashing Democrats or extolling Republicans is secondary window dressing. All she cares about is moving her products, and the louder and cruder she can be, the more attention she gets and thus more sales. With Ann, the only option is to dis-engage the parasite, flush and move on.

Second, she was absolutely correct that it was a school yard taunt, and that's exactly where her level of civic engagement belongs -- at the back of the class with the rowdy boys making fart noises. I'm sure she'd consider that to be a hoot too, and that's where she should hang out.

In the meantime, we adults need to think about Darfur, AIDS, avionj flu, viable options for the 2008 election, Bush's reaction to progressive governments in Latin America, the tentative peace in Nepal and Timor Leste, anti-Arab sentiment in France. Junk Thief promises to return to those issues, cats and door knobs. Bye, Ann.

Remembering

I'm not sure where this puts me in the ranks of cranks, spinsters, and heirs to Grey Gardens, but today the memorial stone for my cat Whimsey that died last September arrived, nearly six months to the day. It was odd and comforting at the same time to hold the stone that weighed about the same as he did and place it in the garden where his ashes rest and he loved to sun and play.

Even if one were not to get sentimental about the cat himself, it was the fact that he marked a significant chunk of my life, more than a third of it. It has been pleasant today to watch the sun play off the imperfections and subtle highlights of the stone. And, were I ever to move from here, I can take it with me.

That Winter

(As many of you know, I've been in my intergenerational writing group, a primarily LGBT -- actually just plain old G -- though recently being about 20% straight. I've also just started a 9-week writing group with author/poet Louise Nayer. Both have been useful, and I've gotten back on the wagon of creating something other than the vlog/blog scratches and scribbles. To merge those two worlds, I've sharing the prose poem below that has received a decidedly mixed response. I'd appreciate feedback.)

The horrible dream never came true.

So you tell yourself that you never saw it – our entire neighborhood in flames, all the children trapped inside.

Tiny fingers reaching through broken glass and iron bars hot as a sizzling grill.

No water left on earth to fight the flames, only blood and Coca-cola sputtering from the corner hydrant.

Even the ghosts had abandoned us.

You told me that the world had become too big and young for you to put up a fight anymore. You preferred to live in a secret kingdom under a red toad stool. Everything was so easy to control down there away from the sun. I enjoyed drinking from tiny tea cups with you until I realized I could do the same on my own and not hear you reading your list of regrets. I still smell the fungus left from that winter we spent down there.

Do you still tell the story of dressing up like your dead brother to revive your mother’s imagination? Then she ran away with your brother and left you with her pearls to contemplate.

Some nights I see my ancestors pushing their rag carts through the streets of Vienna, dead men’s clothes picked off that layer that separated them from the bones. They could see glistening Aryan hair in the windows of the city’s grand homes, marble blue eyes staring out at them and believing the gas lamp glow was enough to warm the brown eyed baby with matted hair in the rag cart.

I almost see them tonight as I look out from this restaurant, distracted at times by the worrisome, hacking cough of the waitress, her hunched shoulders appearing to carry the meal she wishes she could serve. I sense fire and tiny hands reaching from her throat, wanting to place her palm on my forehead, wanting to quiet the dream.

Maybe it’s there -- two walls of fire merging, and the rains return.

Ann Coulter -- Hag or Fag Hag?

Not even a week after calling John Edwards a fag hag, it turns out Ann Coulter is hanging out with the real thing. One Marine Corps reservist and Columbia University student Cpl. Matt Sanchez has been making the conservative talk shows recently complaining that he has been attacked by leftist student groups for his military service. He was at the Conservative Political Action Coalition event last week where Coulter made her infamous remark and reportedly posed with him for the above photo. Fair and routine enough, but it appears Sanchez did share with Ann, Bill O'Reilly and other right wing pals some of his previous gigs. Not that JunkThief regularly follows that sort of thing, but he had a flourishing career on the DVD and VHS rental circuit under the name of Rod Majors and made such high toned flicks as Jawbreaker, Donkey Dick, and Glory Holes Of Fame 3, using his often reported "11-inch uncut monster cock" to burn a few memories. f Well, JunkThief thought that face and, uh...voice were familiar. But his film work featured much simpler words. An evolving account of this is evolving over at the great joe.my.god site, and it will be interesting to see how it evolves. "Sanchez" has launched his own blogger site and MySpace site. If, in fact, it turns out to be true that he was attacked by a group of campus socialists at Columbia, he has a right to speak out and ask for action from the administration. And he does not necessarily have an obligation to details his sexuality or porn career when taking on this new issue. However, to suddenly cozy up to people as rabidly anti-gay as Coulter and O'Reilly is where a line is drawn. Just when it seemed all the Republican closet doors had blown open, Cpl. Sanchez's case suggest there are many more still in hiding.

So it will be interesting to see where this goes from here. Maybe Matt can invite Ann for a coffee date to go check out the next sale at Barney's or the matinee of Grey Gardens.

UPDATE: The story has since made it onto MSNBC's Countdown as well as Salon.com where he wrote a rather wimpy letter, admitting his past but defending his present.

UPDATE: And it just keeps getting freakier. With a USMC investigation underway, Sanchez's website just keeps gettin' stranger.

Junk Thief TV - Episode 17 - La Isla de Cordoba

The Last Temptation of Ricardo Montalban who is unable to quench his lust for soft Corinthian Leather. Special thanks to them boys down at U Pull for helping with the epilogue.

Coulter Recants...Sort Of

Though engaging in dialogue with Ann Coulter is like playing ball with a rabid dog, it's hard not to at least acknowledge her recent implication she made that John Edwards is a "faggot." Coulter, pictured right at a press conference where she spoke about the supposed verbal slip, is rare evidence of a transgendered M to F (or is it the other way around or just plain MF?) who still manages to be a prick. Coulter told the New York Times the remark was meant as a joke. "I would never insult gays by suggesting that they are like John Edwards," she said. "That would be mean." To borrow from the old Truman Capote about Jacqueline Susann, I'd call Coulter a crack whore but I don't want to insult the crack whores. After all, unlike Ann they're just trying to make an honest dollar.

Are the Lazy Bears Early?

Okay, Junk Thief is confused. Was this the celebration of the Year of the Pig or an early celebration of the wretched Lazy Bear/Folsom Street Fair/Up Your Alley events? Pigs..Bears? Okay, I got lost on the difference...

Junk Thief TV - Episode 16 - Welcome March

Happy March, everyone. JunkThief brings you fellow Okies and rockabilly legends The Collins Kids from a rare episode of Tex Ritter's RANCH PARTY show and then slides into a little Brooklyn/Brasil bossa nova groove to bring in the lion of a month that will soon turn into a lamb with a sweet, wet finale from Kenneth Anger. A tad diverse/random, no?