I had a problem today. Not one of those lady problems this time. No, I was sitting at the table at Burke dining hall with good sir Heath Michael Thompson and had the dissatisfaction of looking down and realizing I had three empty plates before me. Granted now, each plate had like one morsel on it. A corndog here, a orange there. I just don't like waiting in lines so I take my plate back immediately for post-haste consumption. But now it left me there in the middle of the room at the end of my dining experience with three plates. You might wonder what problem could possibly arise from such a menial occurrence. Well those plates have to make it to the dish return line. I now have to carry all three plates in a stack at one time.  I think its just my psychosis kicking in, but it makes me so self-concious to have to carry all those plates. I think people will look at me and think I am a genuine, self-gorging, pot-bellied fatass. Part of that may be because I may do the same thing to other people.

Perhaps I would have less paranoia if I stopped judging those around me and thus would be less inclined to feel as I am being judged myself. Just the other day, I was approaching Lakeside West when I saw this homely lookin' mothersucker boppin' up the sidewalk with a S&M-esque collar around his neck and lo' and behold there was a damn tail shooting out his backside. Now immediately I thought about slapping this young tike, and then just resorted to scoffing. At the peak of my most rampant of scoffing though, I looked down and realized, "Oh damn. I'm carrying a metallic silver man-purse around campus." Who looked like the dumbass then? I realized as much as that fellow was going to turn unbelieving heads for a good laugh, I probably get just the same. After all, un-normal things on campus at the Capstone do NOT go unnoticed. So maybe the next time I see a young co-ed toting a load of dishes, I should not make it my business to criticize them even if the bitch had every damn plate stacked with patty melts, cake, and blocks of cheese because for every person I'm looking at with a raised eyebrow, five more could be looking back at me.

Ehh, on second thought. Screw that. I'm gonna keep assessin' all you bitches. Just with the understanding that I know you're doing the same to me. All's fair in love and war. I'm not sure if that quote fits nor what it means really.

Over and Out,
CampusQueer

                                      

---

I think we've all been eagerly awaiting the release of Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland. Well last night, we loaded up and went to opening night at Cobb since their dumbasses don't understand that this was completely deserving of a midnight premiere showing on Thursday. I'm not exactly the biggest fan of Tim Burton and the way he slightly does whatever the fuck he wants with some of my favorite tales, but the man has an eye for cinematography. The costuming was impeccable of course. The thing that has me wet is the soundtrack though! White Rabbit covered by Grace Potter and the Nocturnals is amazing!



Over and Out,
CampusQueer

                                      
                                      

They are all there -- the cliques that make gay culture just a little bit gayer. We've got our circuit duggies, our sassy snobs and plastic pretenders, muscleheads, fashionitas, guys who just happen to have sexual encounters with other guys, and our shitty, shitty faggots. But recently, I've spotted a trend arising that is in plain view and in no way a marvelous revelation of the human mind, but deserves the attention of my spry fingertips nonetheless. I speak of course of Diva Worship. We've all got our divas for which we will fight tooth and painted nail. Well that's obvious enough but the interesting part is how it creates generations in the gay culture. There's the Cher's,Whitney's, Madonna's, Janet's, Mariah's, Britney's, Beyonce's and most currently, always referred to Our Lady on these pages - the Gaga's.

It's not really complex cognitive science to see how generations cling to the women who make divine mewzaks to please them. I've personally beheld awkward friendly fire between a Whitney and a Mariah. They don't back down. Much like their icons, they sassed and weren't about to back down. The situation was only resolved by an agreement that the two were both some fierce bitches. Luckily, no drinks were harmed in this encounter, but it raised an eyebrow and made me aware how readily even I am to take up and bear arms for Our Lady too. I mean I can jam to some Brit, dance in my undies to a good Madonna remix, and roll around all night to some Janet, but I don't want to fight for them. I will fight for the Gaga and all for which she stands because that is just my generation of gay.

Now I'm sure I could track back the timeline and do a little research for divas throughout the century and their generations of queers they created; persay Barbara, Liza, and all them other wrinkly bitches. Too bad they just aren't relevant to me at this point and I have to jet now queerlings. Apparently you're supposed to attend classes at this university or something. I don't know. That idea is still beyond me. How am I supposed to attend to all my social needs with all this education cutting into my schedule?!

Over and Out,
CampusQueer

When I am out and about, strutting and slutting the fine sidewalks at the U of A, I constantly have to immediately call my Mammie over for my blood pressure medication. What might you ask is the cause? Bad posture. It drives me up the wall. I see boys dragging their feet, with hunched shoulders, and a slack mouth and I wanna just slap 'em. You look horrible. You already have enough working against you with ill-fitting clothing, bad haircuts, and a general lack of finesse. At least have the self-respect to carry yourself with some diginity and purpose.

I'm not asking these boys (gay, bi and straight to be certain) to prance around like I tend to do. Just assume some sense of self, stand up straight, and walk like you know what the hell is going on. It's not cute to look dazed, glazed, and confused by a place you go everyday.  You mother always nagged, "Stand up straight and don't slouch!" because she didn't want you to grow up looking like a douche. She also said that because it's better for the body and soul to have a string pulling you up by the top of your head. It creates better spinal health, circulation, core strength, and opens the chest for better breathing. So chin up, stand up, and put some damn bass in your walk boys. Wait. No, I didn't say anything about sashaying your hips to and fro. Okay, that's better.

So now I feel everyone has had fair warning, the next time I see any boys moping along the Quad, it's an automatic slap. No questions asked. I do it 'cause I love ya. And I love any good reason to slap a bitch.

Over and Out,
CampusQueer

What a day. A peculiar day. Nothing particularly interesting has happened. I haven't accomplished any great feats. I feel very contained and wrapped in my thoughts and emotions tighter than usual. I haven't eaten much, have yet to shower, and have no desire to go celebrate Mardi Gras weekend, Druid's Bal, or just the fact it's a Saturday night. I think I have just been reflecting on where my life has gone in the past year. One year ago today, I met somebody who truly changed the wind in my sails and I would never have imagined the effect it would have on the person I am now and will become. Intriguing, isn't it, how people can step into our lives with such an impact before we even notice where these whirlwinds of change have taken us? It's like that giant banner that you see where kids paint their hands in different colors and press them against it, leaving a collection of tiny palms, fingers, and drips of paint on an otherwise clean, white piece of paper. I have all these handprints on me; sometimes as Elphaba tells Glinda, "like a handprint on my heart."

Sometimes, when I feel I have somehow lost a connection with something in my life, I have music I can listen to and it seems to create this bridge for me to a time or maybe a place when things were the way I thought they should be. Today, I feel especially drawn into the arms of the music by Scott Alan, an especially gifted songwriter. I thought it would be only right to share these songs and these voices in hopes that someone out there needed their own bridge as well. The last one is actually performed by the man behind the music, Scott Alan.

Hold up. Wait a minute. It's the CampusQueer Vanity Hour. So I am one of the models for the Birmingham AVEDA Institute's hair show this coming Thursday as part of their grand opening celebration. Well, I get a little phone call last Friday that tells me they want to use me on one of their ABC 33/40 segment, which aired this morning. Basically, what all that entails is me getting up at 5 in the morning, arriving at AVEDA at 6. I get hair and make-up done, wait around for the two chicks to get primped, and cart off to the news station. We sit on a couch, watching the ABC national morning broadcast and I have to make sure to include my daily Gaga rant -- which was especially testy this morning due to last night's  rape and pillage at the Grammys by the AntiChrist also know as Taylor Swift. Wait, let me focus again. Right then. So after I have already dozed off and jerked my head up to regain consciousness several times, they take us back to the studio. And I stand. It's what I do. It's what I'm good at. I even throw in a few smiles "for the ladies" apparently (notice my mocking smirk in the vid) I'll not raise cain of the heterocentricity present. Whatevs.

were both really sweet. I am definitely excited about my new hair style I will be getting Wednesday in 
preparation for Thursday's hair show. We'll see what their shears unfold. That's about it for today 
though. I just wanted you to see my face. Hope it was all you could ever imagine and more.




Over and Out,
CampusQueer

So tomorrow night is the Grammy Awards. Obviously. I will now give you two guesses as who is going to have your Queer foaming at the mouth and convulsing on the floor. Taylor Swift? You guessed it! No really, fuck that homely bitch. I'm going to need her to stay out of Our Lady's way if she knows what's good for her. Actually, it may be in everyone's best interest to reserve at least an empty chair's radius from Her Excellence's assigned seating. Recall what all she wore for the busted VMA's? Now for a music awards event with some dignity, there will be no end to her fabulosity. I am scotch-guarding every surface possible in anticipation of what promises to be a night thrilling frills and liquor spills. Before we settle down to run though nominations and Queer predictions, can we just mention the performances of the show? Sources not only tell tales that Our Lady will be jetting in straight from wrapping up her stately-wise Monster Ball tour this past Wednesday to plink her keys for the opening, but may be accompanied by none other than Our Mother - Elton John. Can you imagine? Remember when she met the Queen of England?

Now an opportunity arises for her to perform with the REAL Queen?? The Morman compound in Utah will utterly collapse. Collapse I say! But who is going to out-do each others' fashions? Personally, I foresee Queen E. rummaging through Our Lady's costume trunk for a quick hammy-down.