“Services”

Cut this out of the paper years ago because I thought it was so… you know.

Whipping It Out

I think this very suggestive photo is by Terry Richardson.

Photo links to larger versions at Flickr.

National Gallery

Supposin’ you wanted to learn more about that art stuff. These days, you could do it in a thousand places on the web, and one of them, I’ve discovered, is the National Gallery of Art’s website. Can’t remember if I was looking for more about Christo, or maybe Mark Rothko after his painting White Center sold recently for $72.8 million. Either way, I stumbled on the NGA’s collection of “Online Tours,” which are educational overviews (with lots of pictures) of exibits, artists, and individual works.

  Mark Rothko’s White Center (Yellow, Pink and Lavender on Rose)

Don’t get too excited though; It’s far from extensive. What’s there, however, is authoratative (unlike, say, Wikipedia), and there are, as I mentioned, lots of pictures (again unlike Wikipedia). Some other presentations that interested me were about Winslow Homer, Henri Rousseau, and The Index of American Design, featuring wood scuplture, textiles, costume, Shaker and Amish crafts, and more.

Sure, you could get more info out of a book — and see more pictures too. But will you?

Anyway, isn’t it nice that you don’t have to?

“You Probably Had Sex With A Transexual”

So, I was wasting time online, which is undoubtedly a big surprise for you, and I managed to enjoy myself for a longish while at this site called adgoodness. It’s about advertising, and the tagline “The Best and Sometimes the Worst Around the World” pretty much sums up what you’ll find there. Here are a few samples:

For O’Reily’s Irish Pub: “If You Paid Less Than 70 Euros, You Probably Had Sex With A Transexual. Life Sucks. Have a Pint.”

For self defense classes

For World Wildlife Fund. The baloon, which was inflated by the car’s exaust pipe, says, “Drive one day less and look at how much carbon monoxide you’ll keep out of the air we breathe.” Here’s the original post with more.

Happy Monday – Memorial Day

It’s Memorial Day, the “unofficial start of summer,” and in recognition I’m posting smiling guys with their shirts off. Hey, it’s my blog; I can do that.

One of my friends asked (in jest), “Where are all the pictures of the cute girls?” Oh, they must be on his blog. I think that’s like asking if there’s a Mother’s Day and a Father’s Day, why there isn’t also a Children’s Day. The standard reply, of course, is “Every day is Children’s Day.”

So where are the pics of the pretty girls? Everywhere else.

Two Gentle Lovers and a Trans Magnet

Last week, while riding our bikes around downtown, Michael’s chain snapped. Being the impatient sort, he opted to have it fixed right away, and we dropped it off at a small bike shop owned by a well-known local racer, who “just happens to be” transgendered. That is to say, he used to be a man, but now she’s a woman.

How fucking Portland, no?

We had to leave the bike for two hours, and our little excursion turned into a full afternoon of walking, shopping and gossip. Very Sex and the City. (Hmm, would that make me the writerly star of the show? …or the cynical old slut?)

After we left the bike shop, I told Michael about the owner, who was behind the counter. “But… she’s flat,” he observed, “don’t they usually get…?” And he held his hands to cup his imaginary boobs.

“Well, she looks like a boy, dresses like a boy, has short hair. Who knows what’s up. I mean, a lot of real girls in Portland look like that, but you would think if he was going to have… it cut off…. You’d think he’d want to look like a girl.”

“I’ve heard… from what I know… isn’t the first thing…. Don’t they get hormones before anything else? Isn’t that the first step?” Michael said.

“I think it’s entirely in question whether he’s.. she’s… he/she’s pre-op or post-op. I mean… I would think the last thing you’d want to have done is have your dick cut off.” And then I added, “Of course, that’s me. I like having a penis.”

And so we continued for a while, discussing Portland’s many trans folk and our general confusion over how to handle them. I told him that I’d heard that there was a well-known “secret” clinic in town that did the some of the best reassignment surgeries, and that’s why there are so many transgendered people here. And I told him how I keep thinking some short guy with a scruffy beard is kinda cute, then, you know, realizing. Never once in my life had that happened before I moved to Portland. Now it happens all the time, and I’ve become especially wary of any guy shorter than I am.

“A guy I know has a crush on him.” I said, “I mean her — the bike shop owner. He’s gay, and she does look like a kinda feminine guy. But does she like to fuck boys or girls? How would you know unless you just asked? And I hear they’re kinda sensitive about that. Even if he wanted to ask her out, he’d have to have that discussion — at some point anyway. And what about, you know, down there? Is it all there? Does it all function? Do you just flat out ask? Seems like you’d want to find out before you’re about to have sex.”

Gentle Lovers
After retrieving the bike, we went to Stumptown for coffee. One by one, as we read free newspapers, lycra-clad cyclists assembled in the shop. They were all in that extraordinary condition that I’m convinced is actually physiologically impossible without liposuction and silicone buttock implants. I was completely mesmerized and snuck looks at their various impossible parts as they clacked by in their funny bike shoes.

Michael chuckled and said, “Gentle Lovers.”

“Huh?”

“Those two. It says Gentle Lovers on their shirts,” he informed me, and so it did, and even in large, bright letters. I had just not looked that far up.

“Oh yeah. I think it’s the name of a racing team.”

Eventually, the trans bike shop owner came in as well, now wearing her own team’s uniform. I tried to check out her package to see if she’d had the snip, but no luck. Soon enough, they all left to go on a group ride, and Stumptown was suddenly a lot less interesting.

Fixing a flat
Later that same evening, Zaq (“with a Q”) came over to “learn” how to fix a flat tire. His dad owns a bike shop, or something like that; so I think he really just needed the tools. As we chatted, I told him about my afternoon. He then told me that he had been making out with a guy recently who was short and had a scruffy beard.

At some point, the guy warned him shyly, “I have a really small dick.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Zaq replied, and then it hit him. “Ohhhhhhhhh.”

It was not the first time, and he informed me with slight frustration, “I don’t know what’s up, but lately I have been such a trans magnet.”