Donna Newton for U.S. President 2008!

Lovely queer lady decides after much lounging and little doubt, to make a serious run for President of the United States of America 2008. Stay tuned for details!

Ellen Burstyn on my way to Kathy Bates

In the dream, Ellen Burstyn had very short hair from the 70’s, like Jonathan Rhys Meyers playing a faux David Bowie in the Todd Haynes film Velvet Goldmine. But Ellen was sexier because Ellen is sexier. Ellen was standing waist deep in water in the middle of a living room. It was nighttime and there was a fire in the background in the fireplace but we could see through it into the kitchen, where a glass bowl full of fat strawberries sat on the counter. Kathy Bates walked into the frame and started cutting the strawberries up and I watched her pop a few into her mouth. She turned and looked at me through the fire and gave me a warm smile, the kind that makes me feel seen and appreciated, the kind I know no one else in the room has noticed except for us, the kind that makes me want to kiss the person giving it to me immediately, because it is so genuine, generous, that I must move fast and seal it with a kiss, because joy requires it.

As I waded near Ellen Burstyn to get to Kathy Bates mouth, I noticed her colorful gauze smock floating on the surface of the water and I thought to myself in the dream, “like Ophelia”. Ellen’s fingertips grazed my leg beneath the water as I passed and I swore I heard her say, “Same time next year.”

Exclusive: Stevie Nicks quote of the week

fire on fire rain on my face

fever grows higher what can you do

wild in the darkest places of your mind

that’s where I needed you where I needed you the most

(name the song & a line from another song from same album and win a chance to sing on Juicy Planet)

Chocolate sight for a mountain seal

In the dream there was a large ocean creature hoping to be acknowledged as the first true centipede rising up from a deep clear green pool of water that was shaped into a curve, more like a circus peanut than a smile, and we came upon it as we climbed the side of a Swiss chocolate mountain crag. It had been raining for days, and the wet chocolate mountainside was so dark and bittersweet that it made everything else seem light and lemony surrounding it. So too this green pool of cool water, whose smell rose up to our noses as a lemon-lime soda, clearing our sinuses and changing our thoughts of failure into the feeling one gets at the top of a roller coaster, 360 degrees of a moment of no up and no down.

We could hear the seal before we could locate her, our vision blurry from the thin vanilla oxygen. We heard her thick clay grey nose breaking the surface of the water softly, firmly. She was there in a smaller pool of milky water that was connected by a shallow channel to the pool with the ocean centipede in it. She steered mightily in the opposite direction but the pull of the channel was very strong. We were too far away to be of any help, so we stood there licking the backs of our hands in delicious prayer for her, humming and licking until the seal was safely somersaulting on the other side of a pile of timberweed. Since the way we had come had already started to slough itself off behind us, our only hope for getting back home was walking closely past the dark ocean centipede creature, treading water there by the side of the pool like it had nothing but time.

Our Kelly is who we thought he wasn’t

According to Juicy Planet insiders, alleged pop star & willful womanizer, R. Kelly, was seen tucking a BLT sandwich with extra lettuce into the right side pocket of his suit jacket outside the Cook County Criminal Court in Chicago this past week. Kelly was standing between buildings on California Avenue trying to get some lunch privacy away from the throngs of media and various and asundry fans, former fans, former lovers, future litigants, plus a smattering of Cook County government workers who had no idea what the fuss was all about as they snuck cigarettes on another “coffee run”.

Clearly unnerved by low blood sugar, Kelly threw his pickle spear down in frustration, showing more emotion than he had at any time inside the courtroom, where jurors with more productive but not more interesting things to do had been asked to decide whether the naked man urinating on the under-aged girl in the video they had to watch over and over again was the same clothed man sitting at the table in front of them acting as if he had never before seen the man in the video and indeed, since Kelly is known to be severely allergic to mirrors, it is understandable that he would not be able to ever recognize himself. But that can’t explain the fact that whoever the man is, who looks just like Kelly does, is the kind of dumb guy who not only thinks it’s alright to abuse and scam people decades younger and much poorer than he is, but thinks it’s especially genius to tape himself doing illegal stuff. We sure hope they catch that guy.

Juicy Planet guest post of the week: Obama, Clinton and the Little People

CLICK here for entire essay: EMPTY SUIT VISITS THE LITTLE PEOPLE, by Mark Nickels

EXCERPT:

Cintonistas and the GOP have relentlessly brainstormed for ways to frame Barack Obama to the media and the little people who are, per Hillary loyalist Paul Begala, the sole arbiters of his political fate. Bob Dole snarled about Obama that, like the pied-piper, “ calls them, and they come.” Hillary, willfully deaf to all irony, derided all the known political coin of the realm as effectively used by Obama, finding fault with “speeches”, “big rallies”, “caucus-goers”, “money”, anyone presumably not “hard-working”, and finally, in a sort of reverse apotheosis—her absolute career nadir, her personal worst— all but the “white.”

There are two other characters. On the one hand is Obama as the amiable and naïve Prince Mishkin on whom the politically needy pin their aspirations. This is a tactical representation from an earlier stage of the primary campaign, only a few months ago, just before their repressed memories of his eleven (or was it thirteen?) consecutive victories. Prince Mishkin (or, to update, Elwood P. Dowd?) appears to be played out. Nothing is likelier to dissolve the image of the stammering but smooth Elwood P. Dowd than having his wingtips on your neck, repeatedly.

Just lately, assorted dittoheads and Bush dead-enders have been delighted to resurrect empty suit. One upon a time, this was applied to their own George Walker Bush, mostly by opponents but even by manifest allies, namely like the generalissimo of the Swift Boaters, a Texas businessman who had a low opinion of the man he did so much to re-elect. Empty suit, as used by empty suits, is another example of the classic projection rhetoric of the right. Other notable examples, this time standard issue…

CLICK here for entire Barack Obama essay by Mark Nickels

craigslist free item of the week: bushes

Would like to make room for a shady garden. You must be able to dig them out and haul away yourself. We will not be home.

Obama, Clinton, and the American perversion of the testes

As the 2008 U.S. Democratic Presidential primaries continue to roll themselves out like artificial turf over the natural sod of the American psychic landscape, Juicy Planet is perplexed by recent and frequent references to the gonads of male human beings, as they may or not relate to Hillary Clinton and Barack Obama’s perceived personas and how that persona influences their ability to win the nomination.

So Juicy Planet took an informal testicle straw poll of 917 Midwestern respondents of all genders and the results indicate that even though there is absolutely no rational or scientific basis for it, there is a perverse cultural belief that the ownership of testicles and further, the size of those testicles, has something or other to do with a person’s perceived mental strength, social courage, and/or political attractiveness.

Some voters in Indiana’s primary race last week were overheard stating, “I’d rather have a woman with balls than a man without balls…Obama is a nice man, but he is a wimp”. (Balls are another word commonly used in place of the word testicles). But what exactly is behind this testicle business? What do these gonads have to do with getting anything done that is any different than the tough workaday complexity and clarity of purpose put forth by the ovaries? The testicles, in fact, are one of the most vulnerable, sensitive, passive, chilling-out parts on the male body. So, how is it that Obama is being characterized as having less of these balls, and Clinton as having more of these balls?

Sexism takes many shapes, sometimes in the shape of a television frame, sometime in the shape of a ball. Hillary Clinton does not need a pair of testicles to be a tough, resilient, effective leader any more than Barack Obama needs to show the ones he has to prove he has the qualities, the brilliance and the fortitude to be the President of the United States, and to help bring us closer to the moral, educational, and economic redemption we’re so clearly pining for.

Fast Cash Monday

Juicy Planet was doing laundry on Ridge Avenue and enjoying the sleepy sonic vibe of “Baby, I Love Your Way” (remake) on Love-FM as it rose up over the hum of the dryers when suddenly the slippery voice of chance squeaked in, telling us to be the 50th caller now for $5000 cash, call now, 50th caller…We stood near the front window and dialed a busy signal 27 times, hoping for the sound of connection and of being chosen, not giving up on the dream until we heard Mariah Carey threatening her “Baby, Baby” all over the spin cycle.

Juicy Planet was stunned to realize that when “Baby, Baby” and our permanent press spin cycle occurs at the same time on a Monday, we lose ourselves in the physical and emotional sensation of a supreme lift-off, followed quickly by the pleasure of a 3-foot hovering above the orange fiberglass folding tables.

We did not expect, after so much bouyancy, to feel so sad when our fellow launderer, with the yellow tank top and Dickies, finished up before we did, and left with her fancy wheelie-cart without saying good-bye.

all immigrants on a juicy planet

Juicy Planet got quite thirsty watching the May 1st march for undocumented immigrants rights in Downtown Chicago and so decided to drop by Wrigley Field for an ice cold overpriced Budweiser draft on the way home. It just so happened there was also an afternoon Cubs game underway versus the Milwaukee Brewers. Starting pitcher Carlos Zambrano wowed the drinky drink hooky-playing crowd with an unexpected home run. We stuck around long enough to have a hankering for an $8 kosher dog and the suspicion that the Cubs lead was about to be lost again by relief pitcher Kerry Wood. We high-tailed it back out to Clark and Addison just in time to see a police officer helping an older woman cross the street. Inside Wrigley we could hear the voices of 40 thousand fans cheering for a win, while at the same moment, 140 thousand supporters were cheering and marching for immigrant justice near Dearborn and Jackson.

CLICK for what immigrant rights issues are

CLICK for MSNBS coverage of May 1 immigration protests

CLICK for Chicago Cubs news

Laurie Anderson taught me to whisper through barbed-wire

Juicy Planet stared at the bottom of Laurie Anderson’s new red shoes, as Laurie talked about voice sampling with violins, Julien Schnabel films, what O Superman really means, and how birds had something to do with how human memory began. On the bottom of Laurie’s left shoe was a white, worn-down, rectangular price tag. Her feet were always in motion, ever so slightly.

Anderson’s is touring in support of her new show called, “HomeLand”, and she seems more concerned than ever about our own government’s abuse of power, predicting that we will soon enter into a post-capitalism era, replaced with, she does not say, and instead, with her haunted music, drifting humor, and startling short stories, inspires us to take proactive roles in developing indeed, whatever we want to come next.

CLICK for Language is a Virus video

CLICK for Laurie Anderson web site

CLICK for London Times recent article on Anderson

the kite that was magic

The man lifted his arms suddenly then and then again, pulling and reaching while looking always upward. It looked like he was reeling in an invisible, formidable dinner fish, holding a large spool of clear fishing line in his right hand. Juicy Planet followed his eyes and searched the salted sky between Lake Michigan and the charmless buildings of the Gold Coast near Lake Shore Drive, but could not see what the man was seeing. He pointed a number of times but the only movement was a sparrow diving drunk into a treetop.

Juicy Planet moved then to stand right next to the nodding man named Juan, who lent us his arm and finger to gaze across until we were startled and blessed with the tingle of discovery as the tiny, so tiny, red kite appeared, snaking and dancing like a spermatozoa at last free from the boredom of biology and skipping instead through the unseen waves of the 40 mph lakeside wind, and losing itself until our eyes found it.

For 3 cents, Juan had turned a piece of 8 1/2 by 11 paper into a sparkling kite church, where nobody ever cares how long it takes.