Tom Waits for no man


While cleaning out our car to try and find the receipt for a wedding gift (clock) we  needed to return so we could pay our dentist bill, Juicy Planet discovered instead a  ticket stub from a 2002 Tom Petty concert (Grand Rapids), a reddish piece of soft glass that did not want to be found, a good half pound of pretzel salt (once swept), and a photograph of Tom Waits, minding his own business on Rush Street in Chicago on some cloudy afternoon when he couldn’t pretend he wasn’t him and we couldn’t pretend we didn’t care that he was the kind of guy who can charm and stun a heart in a hundred kinda ways before breakfast. We went where he just was and ordered a mocha. Juicy Planet is keeping the clock.


little pea green boat!

2 minutes.

The owl and the pussycat went out to sea in a beautiful pea green boat. When they came back, Juicy Planet let them in and this is what they tried to say.

Flaming Finger will not be put out, even with beer

guy named charlie tempted by flame

moth guy drawn to wicked flame

Sometime in the near past, Juicy Planet was swooped up by an un-forecast-able Midwest tornado, and was sleepily set down again in the middle of an electrocutionist’s drunken indoor carnival, except without the good food (see below). In the center quadrant, near tingling seductive games of chance that involved fake gold medallions and giant watches, which forced us to rediscover the power of generosity and friendliness, there was a tornado within the tornado around a peculiar game called Flaming Finger. It pulled on us like we were a tiny cardboard skiff inside the Bermuda Triangle. Hundreds of sleepwalkers gathered just to be near it, but the moth we’ll call “Charlie” refused to give anyone else a turn on it, madly in love was he with the after effects of the magical but deadly tracing game. Hours later, we woke up headed north on the #36 bus, completely rewired and calm, grateful for the Morse code message of Tesla’s fluorescent lighting overhead.

thirsty lady fears flame may demand sacrifice

thirsty lady fears flame may demand sacrifice

CLICK for “Who was Nikola Tesla?”

Juicy Planet Guest Blab of the Week: Clinton or Obama, Who’s Better in Bed?

by field correspondent Mr. Randall TeVelde

Choosing a presidential nominee is not like picking a brand of peanut butter, or a pilates class, or a place to eat. Or is it? It’s tempting to say that president-choosing is pretty much its own thing, like the way choosing a college is its own thing. But, really, there are only three critera that are important for the Democratic nomination, and one overshadows the other two combined.

Best Drinking Buddy
Winner: Hillary Clinton clinton_drink.jpg

The most entertaining drinkers have gossip to share that hasn’t leaked out yet. Buy Hillary some jello shots and she just might tell you what she said to Bill when she found out about Monica, or Jennifer, or, better yet, Janet Reno and Madeleine Albright. You know she’s got dirt on half of Washington, since anyone would trade their petty little secrets for hers. No one gets invited to her parties who hasn’t confessed something career-threatening.

Barack Obama looks like he’s barely had one good drunk under his belt. Sure, he says he experimented with drugs, but that didn’t hurt him, since most people think all African-Americans do drugs anyway. He wishes he were wild enough to do everything he claims, but he’d look a lot more like Quincy Jones if the claims were true.

Best Sexual Partner
Winner: Hillary Clinton clintonobamalaugh.jpg

The skin on her face looks pulled super tight, and no amount of layering can cover her Weeble shape. Yet Bill keeps coming back for more. He’s tried every brand on the shelf, but he still likes it homemade. There’s a reason she smiles every time someone trash talks her at the debates. Her handlers just tell her: “Don’t get mad; just think how much better you are in bed than they are.” Her handlers know.

Barack Obama would not be such a good speaker if he had a good sex life. He chooses his words carefully and delivers them so well, because the cheering crowds are more satisfying than going home to Michelle. But don’t blame her; he’s up late every night writing new speeches for his groupies.

Best Roommate
Winner: Barack Obama obama_icecream.jpg

You can count on Barack to return any bacon he snitched off your shelf in the refrigerator. In fact he’ll probably give you thick slices in exchange for the wimpy Oscar Meyers you bought. He’s just that kind of guy. And if you go too long without cleaning out your shelves on the fridge, he’ll clean the whole thing without saying anything.

On the other hand, you know that Hill is the roommate who’ll fill seven-eighths of the fridge with Weight Watcher’s so far out of date that mold oozes out of the packages. She eats out every night. But don’t dare throw out her science experiments, or steal from her doggy bags; she’ll insinuate that you should replace them. And if you don’t, she’ll be happy to file in small claims court.

When it comes down to essentials, you don’t want a president for a night at a bar, or for a one night stand. You gotta live with your choice for at least four years; early divorces are exceptional. No doubt he’s a rare drunk and a snooze in bed. But take the guy who keeps the fridge clean, and you’ll be happier about it later.

David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are my neighbors

david_gillian.jpg David Duchovny and Gillian Anderson are in production of the X Files film sequel. Most folks in their late teens, early 20’s don’t have a clue about pop cultural significance of the X Files TV show. But there are enough people out there who will clammer to see another movie. X Files was a phenomenon in that it drew together conspiracy theorists, nerds, sci-fi fans, liberal, conservative, humanist and queer viewers into the underbelly of the connections between our criminal, political, and metaphysical realities. All before the world of ubiquitous cell phone, internet, or Bush Administration darkness would come to pass. It will be interesting to see how the upcoming sequel reflects these changes.

David and Gillian may be older but they are both looking super fine and loose in other new work. Duchovny has a hit new Showtime series, Californication. We were skeptical about it’s heavy use of predictable male fantasy stuff, similar to all the Entourage characters. But turns out that Cali is a much better-written series. It stays focused on the psyche of writer Hank, and his numerous insecurities and visceral, sexual exploits. It’s much less superficial than Entourage, which is also set in L.A. amidst agents and filmmakers. Hank and Karen give us delicious glimpses at human complexity, vulnerability, and believable sexual chemistry, while delivering lots of hot bods and naughty trysts. Californication lets us give a crap about it’s characters, maybe even the human condition, while Entourage is strictly a situation-fraternity, Hollywood-insider ride.


Juicy Planet dreamt that Gillian Anderson moved in next door in the big blue house, the one with 2 dogs and the weekly Peapod deliveries. She had a lab set up in her attic and on starless nights we could see her weighing photographs and sometimes rolling foam curlers in her hair. She was wearing a long jean skirt, and some slippers. David Duchovny showed up with some rainbow sherbet, but she didn’t hear him knocking. gillian-anderson005.jpg

Irina and Georgia in town

We took queer academic theorist Judith Halberstam to Chicago Diner last night. Reeling film fest this week so lots of opps to traipse with queer-bees. Fun convos and lovely ladies all around. My 95 Odyssey vibe seeped warmly into all bodies aboard. Both before and after the fake chickin enchiladas.