But I’m always left uncomfortable by the apparent message of these come-ons. There seems to be an idea that the simple physical act of walking for 60 miles over three days while wearing pink hats, shirts, boas and other gewgaws is somehow, in and of itself, helping to cure cancer. The dewy-eyed testimonials from walk participants, about the life-changing nature of the event – I don’t get it. So, a bunch of people walked around for awhile – what is the big deal? I mean, I understand that the walkers raise money by getting sponsored – but what about getting sponsored to do something actually worthwhile, like volunteering at someplace like – oh, I don’t know, Planned Parenthood – to disseminate information about breast cancer screenings?

I suppose this is just an outgrowth of my both my cynicism and my view that charity is something one ought to provide without undue fanfare. Sure, I get that we all (even mean old me!) give ourselves a pat on the back for our selflessness and magnanimity when we write a check or perform volunteer work. And that’s fine! Particularly given that both of those acts actually do benefit the recipient organization. But schlepping around town wearing pink deely-boppers, novelty sunglasses and rubber bracelets? There’s something so smug about it. “Look at me! I’M CURING CANCER!” Every time I see those folks, the same mean question pops into my head: “How much money did you spend on that pink get-up you’re wearing? Wouldn’t it have made more sense to wear the clothes you already owned and donated the money you’ve spent on pink stuff to cancer research?”

And it’s quite difficult not to be cynical about an organization like Komen that partnered with KFC on “Buckets for the Cure“…

Oh, and lest you think I’m some sort of misogynist (I am not – I am a misanthrope) by singling out breast cancer fundraising, I have the same feelings about the AIDS LifeCycle, the Walk to End Alzheimer’s, the Out of the Darkness Community Walk and the scores of other such fundraisers. Their goals are all AOK with me! And if you support the goals of these organizations, then I think it’s great to give them money! Or volunteer with them! But enough with the walkathons.

Also, please donate what you can to Planned Parenthood to help make up for the funds Susan G Komen for the Cure (Unless You’re Poor, In Which Case You’re on Your Own) has yanked.

THE MAN WHO LIVED ON HIS BIKE from Guillaume Blanchet on Vimeo.

from The Hairpin

Seriously, though, despite the bizarre silhouettes, the collection is rather fascinating…

"Hi - I'm here for the job interview?"

from Style.com via The Hairpin

Anyhow, Thursday night wasn’t too bad. The main annoyance was the guy who chose, from the literally scores of empty lockers, to use the one directly next to mine as I changed into my sweats – though at least I had only started undressing and I was able to move to another less intimately located locker. This is the type of guy who’ll use the urinal right next to you despite there being 12 other unoccupied urinals. Weirdo. Also, the lady who was wearing so much perfume that it made my eyes water from eight feet away while I used the elliptical machine was not making my evening. Yeesh…

But (before the designer imposter fragrance assault), I was peacefully enjoying the view from the elliptical machine. The Y is located directly across from the SF Bay, so I was gazing at the water at dusk, the western span of the Bay Bridge beautifully lit up for the evening. And there were a couple of sea lions frolicking in the water… Really kind of amazing and a reminder that while I may hate the gym, I do love San Francisco.

And, as is to be expected, someone pointed out that some of them sounded like names of porno actors – which I of course took as my cue to modify the names into their appropriate and obvious porn analogs. And I was, of course, hilarious! Louis Trezevant Merkinfall, anyone? Here are a few of the gems I came up with…

Original                                                     Porn
William “Extra Billy” Smith                    William “Extra Willy” Smith
Bushrod Rust Johnson                            Bushrod “Rusty Trombone” Johnson
Amiel Weeks Whipple                             Amiel Tweaks Nipple
Benjamin “Spoons” Butler                      Benjamin “Poons” Butler
Young Marshall Moody                           Young Marshall Nudie

And the pièce de résistance:

Gideon Johnson Pillow                          Gideon “Johnson Pillow” Johnson Pillow

Thank you! I’ll be here all week!

And apparently, this is not her first time pulling this off so very well…

via Dlisted

It was immediately followed by lots and lots and lots of reinterpretations with various other genders/ethnicities/descriptors replacing “Girls.” And, for the most part, they were kinda meh. But just yesterday I came across three excellent ones.

First is “Shit White Girls Say to Black Girls.” It’s both funny AND cringe-inducing, since I’m quite sure that the lady who made this video has fielded all of these questions/comments many, many times.

“Not to sound racist, but…” is a classic. It is code for “I’m about to say something horribly racist, but by announcing that being racist is not my intention, that means I get a pass, right?”

Of course, it’s a conundrum. I’m a white male, but also a gay. How important is context? Am I racist for my exasperated observations of what-appear-to-be culturally-based differences in methods for boarding public transportation? Perhaps. And I certainly see a difference between being greeted “Hey Queen!” by one of my fellow gays (and generally responding “Hey girl!”) and being referred to as “that queen” by someone not of my tribe. Eh, like I always say, I’m just a misanthrope. I hate everyone, regardless of race, creed, color, national origin or sexual orientation.

Then there’s “Shit Gay Guys Say to Their Cats” – which could have been filmed in my apartment. It is eerily accurate. I don’t know whether to laugh or cry, frankly…

After seeing that, I was like “Game over. That’s it. This meme cannot be improved upon.” And then, this:

Perfection.

via fourfour