Tag Archives: longing

Tacky Website? Must be Gay

Distractions, Hobbies, Travel

Why are all the gay campsites we looked into for Long Weekend so incredibly hideous?

Well it’s bitter time here at Dead Robot Industries! I’m going to review them and hopefully give you, dear readers, insight as to why gay campsite websites are uglier than drag queens left out in the rain. (SFW means Ok to open. MNSFW means “maybe not safe for work” – Stay out of the “Gallery” sections. NSFW means don’t open it at work, ok? Just don’t)

The Cedars (SFW)
What? A nice layout? A picture that doesn’t shy away from showing the camp area? Photos that are up to date and actually show people having fun? Google Earth map link? On every page? I’m in shock! Oh wait. The Event’s page is fucked – I knew it was too good to be true. Clicking on a date gets you nothing. Nice that they have a Forums and a Guestbook right out there for all to see – very Web 2.0.

It gets a 4 out of 5. No crap and no animated gifs makes me want to visit!

Campit Resorts (SFW)
Okay first off: Frameset: the “Blink” tag of page layout. The Gallery page link at the bottom of the home page frame is dead so click away all you like, however the Gallery link in the nav bar frame leads to images 3 years old. Take that as you will. Table on the right side with the border set to “2”. Classy! The map is in the “links” section and buried within the About page. Whatever that means. I would think that you’d want your guests to find you easy.

To it’s credit, the site is packed with lots and lots of info (I dare to say “dense”). Other than the riot of things going on, I’d have to say I feel comfortable scooting around this site, but the layout is brutal. I’ve been to Campit, and I can say that the website is like your crazy cousin you don’t talk about: nice to visit, but I wouldn’t want to live with it.

I give it 3.5 out of 5. Lose the frameset.

Rainbow Ridge (SFW but rainbowy)
I… ah… oh god… My eyes… I’m blind… I feel sick! Okay enough. You get it. Like an aluminum bat to the bridge of your nose, we’re treated to rainbows on black throughout with white centred text that dissapears as you read on into the flag colours. Ow. Non-tiling backgrounds. Classy!

The site is entirely in long form: nothing in point form to quickly identify what you’re looking for. The photo gallery is a little app that pops up microscopic pictures of other people’s tents, with barely any of the facilities. Hrmmm… And what would a gay campsite website be without it’s own section dedicated to “dancing” (which explains their rec hall – isn’t that a “facility” feature?). The reservations form looks like it was laid out by Robin Williams on a cocaine bender. The Events section proudly announces no new events, sealing my non-desire to spend the $5 to use their rec hall.

I give it 1 out of 5. It makes me want to visit only to see if they’ve painted the trees rainbow colours.

The Hillside (MNSFW)
Oh another black and rainbow motif. How clever. Okay people there’s a lot of stuff to get through here so lets… No… Wait. It’s crap, you know that just by the home page. I’ll save you the trouble and just jump right to the batshit crazy:

Houseboy Needed!
TO APPLY send an e-mail with the requested information & picture(s)…
A slim GWM between the heights of 5’4″ to 5’11” is a plus. This doesn’t mean men with other physical descriptions won’t be considered, however height and weight are important.

Include work and personal qualifications including age, height, weight and full physical description. A photo is a must.

…it’s faster to reply by clicking on the button below to send an e-mail that includes complete qualifications (note above) and photo(s) if possible.

THE MORE INFORMATION YOU CAN PROVIDE THE BETTER.

One word: Yikes.

But it gets more batshit as you go deeper: on the Camp Map and Security Section:

HILLSIDE CAMPGROUNDS DOES NOT INCLUDE A CAMP MAP ON ITS WEB SITE FOR SECURITY REASONS. HILLSIDE’S OWNER DOESN’T WISH TO SHARE SUCH INFORMATION WITH SOMEONE WHO IS NOT AT CAMP. ANYONE WHO VISITS HILLSIDE CAN SEE A HAND-DRAWN MAP IN THE REGISTRATION OFFICE. HILLSIDE IS A VERY LARGE CAMP WITH MORE THAN THREE MILES OF ROADS WITHIN ITS GATES. WE INVITE YOU TO VISIT HILLSIDE TO LEARN MORE ABOUT THE CAMP’S LAYOUT.

Uh. Okay. If I want to visit, I guess I just use a psychic tuned to batshit crazy? Where the fuck is the logic in that? What the hell happened that the owner doesn’t want to divulge to new clients where to spend their money?

0 out of 5. As inviting as going to a creepy, sweaty co-worker’s halloween party by yourself.

Family, Secrets. In Repose and Response

Personal Bits, Queer stuff

Weekend Pictures Here

What can you learn of someone within 3 minutes? 30 minutes? 3 hours? 3 days?

This long weekend, we ventured up into the Gatineau area to visit SharkBoy’s “Summer Place” – Notre Dame Du Pontmain to be exact.

It’s a tiny village nearly smack dab in the middle of a massive amount of small lakes about an hour and a bit north of Ottawa, in the Gatineaus. NDdP makes it’s living on the one hotel, the one depanneur and one boat launch and a lot of video rentals. I’ve never been before and I hope I go back. A lot. Mountains rise up out of so many lakes it’s like visiting BC but without the weed. Every morning and evening the sun puts on a display of colours you become drunk with the spectacle. Deer peer at you with those creepy eyes from the sides of the road. Bears have been seen. It truly is one of Quebec’s hidden treasures from the English.

We left late on Friday night to a wall of traffic that spanned downtown Pickering to Brockville, where after 6 hours in the car at 2am, we desperately tried to look for a hotel. All the details of the travel can be found on Sharkboy’s blog. One thing I did enjoy was playing “Senator and the Hooker” in the divey-est hotel on the outskirts of Ottawa that had stucco swipes as wall decoration and other 70s Swiss Chalet motifs (“Spank your bottom? That will be $5 extra, Senator!”).

On the drive we talked a lot about family. The one we started ourselves (cat included) and the ones I was going to meet. As usual, but not so much this time, I felt the apprehension of meeting up with the in-laws and not being able to communicate as much as I’d like. But that always disappears within moments of getting past the front door because SharkBoy’s mom is always so welcoming and friendly (inbetween the “tabanac” and “câlisse”) and we generally communicate in elaborate hand gestures, drinks and the odd translation assistance from SharkBoy’s sister, Syl.

We did eventually meet up and make our way over to SharkBoy’s uncle’s extremely secluded compound after a long drive up, down, through, along swamps and riverbanks. Oddly enough we could see the house we were staying at from his dock, which would have taken 1/100th the time it took to get there if we had walked directly from door to door. Unfortunately the two places are separated by a large river, so unless you’re Jesus, that’s not possible. Visible but secluded. For a reason. He owned the entire mountain behind his house.

Leasing the road to the top of the mountain for a cell phone tower, he’s sitting on a developer’s wet dream of prime cottage land that overlooked the lake. But he wants to keep it to himself for now. That kind of power you don’t come by easy. As we were to learn when the pictures came out. Images of SharkBoy’s dad and his two uncles were presented in all their black and white glory and I got to learn how Romuald became the person who gave me SharkBoy. We also learned of some other stuff that I will respect a certain person’s embarrassment due to certain childhood behaviour, but let’s just say that it involved a chicken and a horse.

Later, SharkBoy’s cousin and her girlfriend piled us into their lesbian truck (who knew it was rampant in his father’s side?) and took us 1/3rd the way up the mountain on the maintenance road to the cell tower. Then we walked the rest of the way. Nearly straight up. For a solid hour. That’s right, this fat, office cube chubbo walked up the side of a mountain to get utterly drenched in sweat (thank god they’re all family now). I also got to spend my first really private moments with Syl and we discussed ex-boyfriends and how sometimes a family’s responsibility is not to mention that we’re dating a jerk. Nothing new or shocking but she managed to make me feel like a brother in those few moments. I also snapped a few shots:

After bombing around on ATVs, we went tubing. First time for me behind a boat where I didn’t fall down within the first couple of seconds of it taking off (I suck at waterskiing).

That night, after saying our bon soirs, we discovered that seclusion has a price: the road back to the highway was washed out in a freak flash flood that came down from the side of the mountain after a short rainfall. Who knew that a mountain could “retain water”? This is where SharkBoy’s family shone: they all came out to the site on their ATVs and trucks to see the damage and within an hour, we had “rebuilt” the road, moved a down tree and scouted ahead the 3 miles to the highway on the ATV to make sure that the road was clear. It was an adventure, to be sure (we could have been at that part of the road during the flood), and his uncle and cousins were actually apologetic for the delay.

The next day the “kids” (without Sharkboy’s mom and aunt) set out to discover the waterfalls at Windigo, a swanky time-share like resort that I’d love to spend a week at some summer time (hint hint). There I saw a frog. Hold your Quebecois jokes. But before leaving, I was struck with the biggest stomach pain right between breakfast and the time we got into the car, which I kept mostly to myself until it started to subside. I wasn’t too chatty that morning. But it passed and I don’t blame anyone’s food…

At this time it was becoming quite evident that one of the guests was not feeling the same emotions for being away for the weekend and would not put down their cell phone for all the texting that was going on. I kept on remembering that when I was their age, I was yearning for not being at family outings either, and would sulk annoyingly over in some corner with a comic or tv show. Kids today (ugh. shoot me. I just wrote “kids today”) have better ways of sulking the fun from the moment by tapping messages to their friends on a small keyboard. I wanted to take them aside and tell them that family time is extremely precious, especially at 40something, and that they should savour the time they have. But of course, I kept my nose out of it. But I did felt old remembering how I behaved exactly the same (sans electroniques). This led to the weekend being cut short by hours (thankfully not by a day) and we managed to get back to Toronto at an extremely decent hour, so thanks teen angst!

In all, a good weekend. I’d love to go back again!

Pride Tips for Out of Towners

Queer stuff, Toronto

Hello tourists!

Thank you for taking an interest in coming to Toronto Pride – Unified! . It will be a great honour to have you visit our humble city!

Here, for your amusement, are a few tips you should consider while enjoying our little fete:

The Parade:

perchFirst of all, know that there are two: the Dyke March on Satuday and the Pride March on Sunday. Currently the Pride committee is petitioning humanity to create a new day, “Smunday”, to put the Bisexual, Transgendered, Transexual and People Who I Left Out Parade on that day (until further notice) – Happy Unity, Everyone!

If you’re not lucky enough to get a Yonge Street perch on one of the many store rooftops, then you should consider arriving at least 45 minutes to an hour before the parade starts. Bring lots of water. And elbow pads. Other non-homosexual tourists consider it their right to get to the parade route 5 minutes before it starts and shove their kids in front of you, after you’ve been waiting the hour. Be firm: you were there first and don’t need to be the “polite Canadian” at this point.

Don’t forget to hydrate. If you faint, you will lose your spot. Or fall into the arms of a date. Up to you. Waterguns, once a fashion must on the parade route, are on the way out. Unless the Conservative party decides to place clueless reps in the parade again this year.

Half way through the parade, the crowds lessen for some reason (“Hey the beer garden must be kind of empty right about now…”) and you can relax for the rest of the show.

The Street:

Afraid of crowds? Avoid at all costs the half block between Maitland and Alexander on Church Street on both Saturday and Sunday. Right in front of Woodys and the city owned parking lot converted into a beer garden, is a small strip of road that is un-supervised for crowd control. Yearly this strip of street providing access to north and south stages manages to clog hard with aimless gays, camera obsessed Asians and incomprehensible dick heads who insist on bringing strollers/bikes/carts into the fray. You can avoid it by using the back alleys just east and west of Church. Love crowds? Dive in! You’ll get into that particular beer garden at noon and will probably not be able to leave until Sunday 11pm. Or later. Or until they scoop the passed out drunks off you a la Soylent Green.

Beer Gardens:

Best bet for shopping/drinking/entertainment and not getting crushed would be the Wellesley Street Beer Garden. Mel C is headlining on Saturday and MADO is performing at 5pm on Sunday. Don’t discount the South Stage (by Maple Leaf Gardens) either – Kids on TV are there at 3pm. Expect “Drag Times” to set these people back a bit, but lately the organizers have been pretty punctual.

The laws governing the purchasing of beer at one of these events are as bizarre as the lesbian poetry performers you’ll be subjected to by the north stage. Purchase a ticket, take the ticket to the untrained, sweaty volunteer who is sick of seeing drunk people (I kid! I kid because I love) and they will hand you a plastic cup of lukewarm beer. So English! Best to buy the maximum 2 at a time to avoid lines. Beer gardens, despite the lines and crowds are always the best way to meet someone. The combination of beer, sun and dancing always manages to combine people in a fun way.

Bars:

MomsBe forewarned that every Pride has been marred in the past by the Ontario Licensing Board in the form of bizarre charges laid on bars that might or might not have violated laws like over crowding, over service or over fun. Lines will be long to get in as that every establishment is frightened of having these gestapo order everyone out of a bar for a headcount. It cuts into sales, you know. While air conditioned, I doubt you will find fun people. Bars usually hold the old regulars, phobic of crowds and meeting new people, like you would at beer gardens. Try to hit them all on Friday night and you have a satisfying cross section of them all.

Food:

Avoid at all costs eating in ANY restaurants on Church Street. O’Gradys will fuck you without lube and shove you out the door without a kiss. It’s pretty much like that for all the restaurants: set menu, price hikes, forced tip, small portions, get the fuck out of the way for the next guy. Best to eat off the street (Daybreak at Church and Carlton, Chew Chews at Carlton and Sherbourne, for cheap and cheerful) or just eat a smog dog – plenty of vendours down Wellesley or up by the 519 Community Centre. I repeat: DO NOT EAT AT ANY RESTAURANTS ON CHURCH.

Seriously.

Don’t.

I warned you.

Partying:

Don’t ask me. I don’t go out anymore. Go to the Beef Ball if you want leather/bear/overtly macho. Any other kind of gays you might be hunting can be found at all the other $75-$100 ticket events. Check out the over-the-top graphical posters on the street. All parties will provide sufficient amount of bump (!) and grind for your clubbing needs. Personally, I will be staying on the street, finding a perch and watching people go by. It’s the best way to see it all and save some money. But I’m old, judgemental and don’t drink.

Scoring

Enjoy!!Toronto gays and lesbians are some of the most attractive people in Toronto, yet are not the most open individuals out there. After a few drinks, sure, they’re as loose as Tila Tequila in a Turkish prison. But if you make eye contact and signal your intention that you’d like to sex up one of these elusive homosexuals, you might scare them off. See, most Torontonian homosexuals during Pride develop the “bus stop” syndrome. Meaning, in the throngs of tourists that come into the city, they might see you and might find you hot, but they’re waiting for the next one along who may be hotter than you. Know that Toronto gays and lesbians are still mired in their fear of sex, not like Montreal or New York. You need to go slow and steady. And have beer at the ready.

I hope you have a great time during Pride!

Indiana Jones and the Wait, What?

General

Hey Kids! Shelly Here!

Oh Indy…

(Spoilers ahead. You’ve been warned!)

I know that the Indy movies are all based on serial installments from the early days of film. I know that they’re emulating a forced, melodramatic style of acting. I know the Indy stories themselves are over the top and require a degree of suspension of disbelief, but the Crystal Skulls were… cracked.

I was loving where the movie started. Right back to the roots. The infamous warehouse (replete with a longing look at the Ark of the Covenant). Good one George/Steven! But the countdown clock for the rocket sled used LED lights made me think: “Waitaminnit! The US only started to develop LEDs in 1961, let alone have the technology to use them for numeric displays at secret military bases!” Okay okay… breathe. From there on, I started to suspect everything shoveled at me: Like how many fridges from the 50s were proudly labeled “Lead Lined”? Or dragging a motorcycle along with you to a South American adventure for two completely unnecessary establishing shots. The suspension of disbelief had been cut and I was left dangling.

I also thought we had to swallow the alien storyline way too soon. X Files The Movie had us questioning our beliefs better. With the previous Indys, we had a sense of mysticism that kept us just one step behind the mystery. A step behind the solution. With the alien plot, all bets are off. Lasers could have flown out of Indy’s whip and it could be too easily been explained by “alien tech!” Too easy and no payoff. With “Doom” or “Crusade” the mystery was faith-based and for some part, so it was for “Crystal Skull”, but there was no dual alternative explanation. The killer ants avoid the skull. The skull is magnetic to non-magnetic materials. The skull can control minds. Why? Alien technology!

I have to admit at this point that I’m getting alien CGI burnout after seeing it repeated over and over from Spielberg’s other speculative offerings (A.I., Taken, Close Encounters, Amazing Stories etc). What’s next? Shindler’s Schwa?

It was heavy on the action and light on the goofball comedy, which seems like the Star Trek Curse: odd number Treks suck, so I guess even number Indys aren’t as funny and are action heavy. In all, I did enjoy it, but the core was a bit shaky.

I give it four fedoras out of five.

Villains

Celebs and Media

One of the first memories I have is the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians. I was 9 or so when I first laid eye on Cruella DaVille. Cloned from Phyllis Diller and Joan Collins’ lesbian relationship, Cruella scared the crap out of me. Her boisterous attitude, the long cigarette, the out of control hair, mysterious all-covering fur coats all combined to remind me of the worst of my mother. But seeing how this is a post about Disney villains and not some pseudo Freudian inner sexual rant, I will continue.

There are strict rules about how we perceive a villain in the Wonderful World of Disney. The fastest way I can describe it is this: they’re either male or female. Congratz, you say! Hear me out:

The Men. All Disney Male Villains (DMVs) MUST have a British accent. Why? Because to Americans, a good North London born and bred voice sounds pompous and condescending, making our hatred gland secrete ire for anyone smarter than us. With the pompousness, comes a pseudo-homosexual undertone designed to sexually offset kids’ budding sexuality in the audience (or hetero parents, for that matter). Oddly enough I know no homosexual who actually disliked a Disney villain, male or female (females do rate higher though). The best male villains rolled their r’s and swirled their hands in large circles (from the wrist) when flamboyantly revealing their sick and twisted plots to a captive hero. When confronting their nemesis, DMVs looked upon their goody goody enemies with half closed eyes and big bottom lips, jutted out in feigned interest. This was usually followed by the DMV placing the hero in such a complex trap, the gods themselves couldn’t ex the machina.

Proof? Here are some prime examples:

Jafar (Alladin): Can you say Joan Crawford in reverse mandrag? The droll downcast eyes and harsh uplighting in every scene would make any drag queen jealous. And those lips. I swear to god he’s wearing eyeliner and eye shadow.

Scar (Lion King): Voiced by Jeremy Irons. Remember him? Dead Ringers? Creepy. Scar is pretty much my cornerstone DMV. He explodes at his stupid henchmen, plots three steps ahead of the writers themselves and you know that as soon as he reaches power in the pride, he is going to have a Caligula-esque orgy within hours.

Professor Rattagan (The Great Mouse Detective): Vincent Price’s lilting foppish voice was perfect as the evil master mind nemesis to Basil (“Oh I love it love it love it,” he chants in one scene, like some queen at a Banana Republic year end sale). Mentioning Rattagan’s true self as a rat and you are fed to an obese fag-hag like cat. How’s that for denial?

Judge Claude Frollo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame): The most sexually fragmented character ever created by Disney. Don’t know him? Maybe you remember his voice as MegaByte from Reboot? Or even more obscure as Chairface Chippendale from The Tick (cartoon, not live action)? No? How about the voice of The Supreme Being from Time Bandits? He has a silky commanding voice and deserves better work than the crappy video games he’s been voicing lately. Who can forget his passionate song to a flaming fireplace as he tries to deal with lust and his piousness? While not gay, certainly he was repressed.

Sir Hiss (Robin Hood): Not so much Brit Evil than creepy smarmy sounding snake. With a lisp. And check out that penile head!

Gaston (Beauty and the Beast): No British accent but he is egotistical, narcissistic, body conscious, proud of his hairy chest, mentions his many hunting conquests and reveres his ability to spit. Can you say overcompensation?

Captain Hook (Peter Pan): Fresh cabin boy, anyone?

The Women: In the Disney universe, female villains are either skeletally emaciated or extremely fat, but most certainly are always Vamps, in the post-war, VD spreading way. Definitely Tramps. Their voices may not be played by British actors or have that Eton taught quality, but there is a throaty, gutteral and husky quality to their voice. I suspect these characters are played this way to entice underdeveloped fears of sexually from immature male children, confusing the crap out of them and making them squirm in their theatre seats. The Disney Female Villain (DFV) is always manic and prone to violent mood swings, going from sultry seductress to exploding volcano, swatting their henchmen with solidly placed firebolts or back hands, in seconds. Their make up is extreme, verging into scary clown effect. Their clothes are always ill fitting, either too loose to give a glimpse of side boob (Yzma, played by Ertha Kitt, in The Emperor’s New Groove) or too tight (Ursula, The Little Mermaid) to offer more curvaceous visuals.

The average DFV is overtly sexual:

The Witch (Snow White): A fine start to all of Disney’s villains by creating this rather anti-Christian device of black magic. As a large hag, her eyes are puffy and downright scary. In her true form, she looks down upon all with her half closed, painted lids. She�s the aunt that doesn�t approve of your birth.

Malificent (Sleeping Beauty) and Lady Tremaine (Cinderella): Joan Crawford was obviously the model for these two villainesses! What is it with everyone fearing large shoulders, smoldering eyes and wicked lips? In the end Malificent is run through with a sword while she’s a dragon. I will just shake my head at the sexual imagery here. Lady T was always looking at Cinderella’s buttkus as she cleaned floors.

Ursula (Little Mermaid): Fat. Pat Carrol. Shakes rump a lot. Fearsome.

Madame Mim (Sword In the Stone): I chose her because she’s prime cross over material: British accent AND a woman. Actually Martha Wentworth was born in NYC but she did a great job with the voice. Boastful and a poor dresser.

Cruella de Ville (101 Dalmations, etc): As I mentioned, her frail skinny body kept under layers of furs and loose fitting cocktail dresses is pure Die G�tterd�mmerung harpy sans wings. She came across like she had just polished off a 5th of gin and that would make any Al Anon kid nervous.

To sum up, Villains from Disney are designed for us to hate them for the following didactic reasons: they get our ire by their pompous, overbearing, authority-hating accent and a vague sexual fear, either by grating against our orientation or by confusing us with unleashed passions.