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Last night, the old man and I, with another couple, went all the way to Bradford, Ohio (i.e. Bumfuck Nowhere!!) for their annual Bradford Pumpkin Show. Now, I’d called my parents to see if they’d ever been and was assured that it was one of the larger festivals in the area, that they’d always enjoyed it, lots of fun, blah blah.

One of the gimmicks for the festival is that one of the local charities sells bags of confetti, which everyone then throws all over each other. (The fact that the festival even has a No Confetti Night should have been my first clue that this wasn’t going to be the best of times!)

The result is several days (if not weeks) of cleaning up the confetti. But that wasn’t my problem with the festival. The confetti concept has been going on so long now that by the end of our stroll through the festival, I felt like I’d walked down a beach. The confetti on the ground was that thick. Once again though, that wasn’t my problem. IN THEORY, the confetti throwing is a wonderful idea… everyone having fun, lots of pretty confetti like snow in the air and sand on the beach, etc etc.

The problem: 94% of the “people” (and I use that term very loosely) at the festival were 1) of the average age of 16-17 years old; 2) ignorant, backwards redneck hillbillies (and I’ll never understand why anyone would think being a redneck hillbilly is something to be proud of! I come from a whole family of them and I just don’t get why it’s now “the in thing” to be raging proud of the fact that you’re ignorant, backwards, socially inept and rude!); 3) throwing confetti with all their strength directly at people, particularly at their face. No, I’m wrong… they weren’t throwing confetti, they were hurling it like a baseball.

The remaining 5% of the people: 1% were old people that were under the same delusion that I was, that it would be a fun little festival; .04% represents the four of us; and the remaining 4.96% were the redneck hillbilly parents of the ignorant rude hillbilly children.

You wouldn’t think confetti would be painful would you? Well, I’m living proof that it is! That shit hurts!

To add insult to injury, just like every other “festival” I’ve been to in the past few years (The Sweetcorn Festival, Popcorn Festival, Sugarmaple Festival…) the theme of the festival -pumpkins- was barely made known. When I go to a PUMPKIN festival, I expect to see a goddamn ballgown made out of pumpkins! When I go to a POPCORN festival, I expect there to be popcorn falling from the fucking sky! But no, last night, there was a small vendor selling pumpkin ice cream, someone selling “pumpkin donuts” (probably bought at the local Kroger) and a farmer with a few pitiful pumpkins. The rest of the place was nothing but nasty food, deep fried until the taste was gone (and trust me, I am a fan of deep frying, when done right), cheap gaudy junk and a few carnival rides. Oh, and I forgot, a cheap wooden tree display with pumpkins sitting on it, of the type that you’d see sitting on the side of the road at some farm selling pumpkins for Halloween.

Finally, while strolling through the festival (which we only did twice, once up the street, once back down heading for the car), I was called a faggot a grand total of four times - that I heard, although I’m sure there were more - and yes, I was dressed appropriately (jeans, polo, hooded sweater) and not like a screaming sissy. (Before any of you say one word, yes, I also realize that regardless of what I’m wearing, I still just have “that look” that brings the word fag to the lips of every suppressed closeted redneck highschool boy.)

So, in essence, SKIP the Bradford Pumpkin Festival.

Let us pray that the Circleville Pumpkin Festival, which I took time off of work to go to, will be better. (I’m betting it will as we’re going during the day on a Thursday that is also a school day, which means no screaming brats and better yet no annoying fucking highschool herds roaming the streets polluting it with their angst and over-blown hormones raging.)

Oooooh I just LOVE this!

Particularly piquant for me is the suggestion that a person’s religion is a accident of birth in most cases. A very very interesting theory, one which I find pretty damn accurate.

Sunday August 31st I’m passing on the title of Miss Dayton.

Miss Dayton Gay Pride flyer

An explanation on meaning:

1) The number 37 is my lucky number. It has been my lucky number since I was about 12 or 13. My brother, who is 11 years my junior, would hear my mother telling me to be home by a certain time, such as 7:30 or 10:00 and, being only 3 or 4 years old at the time, he would always tell me to “Be home at 37″ which is the equivalent of saying “Be home on time.” for a 3 or 4 year old. After the first time he said that, 37 showed up in everything I did. I’m wondering if 37 is the age I’ll be when I kick off from this Valley of Tears. Creepy…

2) The brass plate concept is a nod to the character Tik-Tok, the Mechanical Man from the movie “Return to Oz.” (For those of you that are movie fans, this movie is Fairuza Balk’s first film. She’s the gal that played the bad crazy witch in “The Craft.”)

3) The location (my left breast-icle) is tribute to a song by one of my favorite bands, Pixies. There is a song by Pixies called “No. 13 Baby” from the album “Doolittle.” One the lines of the song is

Black tear fallin’ on my lazy queen
Gotta tattoo tit
Say number 13

Obviously, I opted for 37 instead of 13 since 37 is my lucky number (and, let’s face it, 13 is rather cliche these days).

For the record, I feel like someone has taken a meat tenderizer to my boob. FOUR HOURS of being poked and jabbed for my first tattoo… just my luck.

In memorial of one of last century’s dinosaurs of politics, that man that lived to be over 100 years old fueled by pure spite and viciousness, the one and (thankfully) only Jesse Helms, I post this blog entry from a long time AIDS advocate and victim.

In Memory of Jesse Helms and The Condom on his House.

Additionally, I submit this article from one of my favorite political blogs, The Rude Pundit, which gives us a fantastical view of what the vile Senator may have experienced shortly after his anxiously awaited departure from the remainder of humanity.

Jesse Helms in Heaven (A Fantasia)

My dear Senator, if there is some way that you can see all the people posting blogs voicing their joy at your passing on from this world, then justice has been served. I gleefully, joyously, maliciously, viciously add my voice to theirs. Rest in Distress, Senator. May you never know peace.

PS! Thanks to Crystal for sharing the link to the POZ blog story!

Thanks to the Bearded Clam, Miss Crystal, for this lovely graphic.  Makes you think…

So I’ve just found the brand new Cyndi Lauper album “Bring Ya to the Brink.”  Holy freakin shit.  It is just FABULOUS!!  It’s definitely very very gay, but I am so enjoying it.  Obviously Cyndi has been a member of Ms. D. Meanor’s most beautiful women for a very very long time, and now she renews her membership in that list. My favorite pick from the album is the song entitled “Same Ol’ Story,” the chorus of which goes…

Well It’s the same old fucking story
With your two different sets of rules
The same old fucking story
One for me two for you
It’s the same old fucking story
It’s the same old fucking story all around yeah 

Oh just lovely!!!!  DEFINITELY a welcome addition to Ms. D. Meanor’s file of songs for entertainment purposes. The rest of the album sounds quiet lovely as well and I will be purchasing it around about pay day.

Also joining us is a new girl, Katy Perry, with her new song “I Kissed a Girl.”  She hasn’t officially been added to the list of the most beautiful women, but she’s definitely lovely and very fun! I originally thought her new song was a song that came out years and years ago, a very hippy, urban-chic song that I didn’t really care for back then (and still don’t).  But after some pressing from a friend (Thank you Birkenau-Randy) I viewed the video for the song and it turns out it’s an entirely new song!  Quiet lovely actually!  

The theme of the song isn’t necessarily one I’m enamored of, but the tune its self is just so fun!!!  

She has another song which I previewed called “Ur So Gay” which had a very different feel while still hitting on “gay” themes.  It seems that she’s singing that song to a “metrosexual” type lad and I just loath metrosexuals.  The video is tres’ cute!

One of my favorite authors, Terry Pratchett, writes of something called the Trousers of Time.  It’s a derivative of the quantum theory (in a very very basic lay out, it means that for every decision you make, there’s an alternate universe where another you made a different decision).  

It brings me to tonight, drunken and ranting, wondering how different things could have been…  what would have happened, if I’d pursued a life of endless pageants and crowns?  What would have happened, had I taken that first hormone injection?  What would life have been like had I moved to Florida, North Carolina, Hawaii, Oregon?  What would I have been like, had I never discovered the effects of cheap vodka?  

Rambling and messy…  I’m sure you’ll all forgive me for it.  ;-)  Drunken existentialism, gotta love it.

Jean-Daniel Cadinot, a figurative giant and very early leader in the porn industry, died earlier this week at age 62 from a heart attack.  His blog had the following information posted to it.  I shall drink to him this weekend

“If you’re reading these words I will have put down my camera, switched off the lights, drawn the curtains and taken my final bow.  May all the efforts and work of a whole life, the quest for the moment of pure truth in the sublime communion of two beings under the spell of the undefinable desire for the other, inspire those who inherit my heart.

“The human being is made such that it only remembers the good and the beautiful, therefore I leave you with a free mind and a head overflowing with a myriad of young men, sometimes strong and vigorous, sometimes fragile and sensitive.  All of them gave me these unforgettable moments of their most tender intimacy, moments that only a few really know but which I made into images to allow you to admire them over and over again.

“Never were success or personal fortune my creed.  You offered me gratitude, and I thank you for that because I wanted nothing else.  Cadinot salutes you.  Remember a kindly fellow, an extreme observer given to rages and contradiction but who listened to others and was full of love.

“An erect phallus is a symbol of life; a cross a symbol of death.”

Joining the ranks of Ms. D. Meanor’s list of all time most beautiful women is the French songbird Yael Naim. I found Yael the same way most people did, through the Apple commercial for their new Macbook Air. I loved the song on the commercial, downloaded it, am featuring in my shows now (beginning with my show tonight as a matter of fact), and was lucky enough to catch her American TV debut on Ellen Degeneres today.

This lovely lady is definitely one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, adding to that her simply divine voice.