Sea Sick

"Vomiting birds save icebox pair adrift for 25 days"

The article itself really says it all, but I really hope I'm never so hungry that I owe my life to two birds who came by and threw up in my icebox.

Speechless

With the ridiculous flurry of media coverage and specials - including the Jonas Brothers and Beyonce performing in honor of the President's inauguration - it's as clear as ever: Barack Obama is a celebrity. I suppose it was inevitable, but it's nice to see that he handles it with dignity and doesn't really buy into the hype. His speech was definitely that of a politican, not of a sudden media star.

I'd like to say more, but with all the exhaustive media coverage and everyone else talking about it too, I can't think of anything that could possibly be fresh or enlightening. It's a historic day - because of Obama, and because for once I have nothing to say.

Still, it was pretty cool, less for Obama's speech or any of the pomp and circumstance, and more just for seeing the enormity and unity of the crowd, the hopeful mood of the people, and the restoration of what our capitol, the presidency, and our country are meant to stand for - which we'd all forgotten at some point over the last 8 or 12 or however many years. It's just so great to see someone we like going into the White House.

Justin Plus Fun #1

I'm starting a new posting series here on J+1. In Justin Plus Fun, I'll give you my personal recommendations on what to spend your hard-earned money on. As a solid Capricorn, I have a very intimate connection with my money, and therefore know what is worth it, and what is not.

When something gets credit on J+Fun, you have my guarantee it's worth your time and coin. And when something gets shamed on J+Fun... well... consider it a leper that should be avoided at all costs.

Here we go!


Justin Plus Fun in Film:

What you should see: SLUMDOG MILLIONAIRE
I just caught this doozy over the weekend with a group of trusted friends (Kristin, Melissa, Mikey, Ricky and Ryan.) WOW! Expect to cry - happy and sad. Expect to want to vomit at least three times (especially if you have poop issues).

Expect to hate and love and cover your eyes from time to time. Danny Boyle brings you a high-octane, cute, horrifying, and energized film that (while promoted as indy) is completely UN-indy. But, as a mainstream movie - it's one of the best I've seen this year.

What you shouldn't see: My Bloody Valentine 3D
I can't tell you from a personal perspective that this movie is terrible. But I can tell you that my friends left the theater bloody... with guts pouring from their eyes. Then again, if you willingly go to see a movie called "My Bloody Valentine," you're expecting a blood-soaked shit stain.

I don't know the movie at all. I imagine it has something to do with valentines and gore. And, frankly, Valentine's Day is bloody enough. If I want a bloody and horrific 3D valentine's experience, I'd cheat on my boyfriend, and give him a ball-peen hammer before I tell him what I did.


Justin Plus Fun in Theater:

What you should see: You're Welcome, America
I have always loved Will Ferrell. And yes, I know that his Dubya impersonation is not much like the real Dubya at all. That doesn't matter. The slight drawl and attitude Ferrell adopts to play our 43rd President allows for perfect comic timing, and invites us to laugh away the horrors of the past 8 years.

From the first moment when Dubya is lowered to the stage by a helicopter, telling us the joke is on him because he said "hey, since we're flying over New York, why not drop me in the faggy theater district?" you know you are in for a fantastic night.

Any fears you have that Ferrell may not be able to keep his Dubya funny for longer than a five-minute sketch are absurd and unnecessary. He carries the show expertly from beginning to end. And the show, itself, has much besides Will to love - including a break dancing secret service man, three huge screens for multimedia presentations, a sexy dancing Condi Rice, a shoe-throwing audience shill, and a gruesome shot of a limp penis that constantly appears (I'm not kidding).

The show is only open for 8 weeks... so I suggest you get your tickets NOW.

What you shouldn't see: Hedda Gabler
If Pal Joey was strike one for this year's Roundabout season, then Hedda Gabler is strikes 2 and 3 (okay... I'll STILL see Godot, even though these two shows sucked something fierce). A friend of mine texted me two days after I saw this play, saying "Is Hedda worth 20 dollars?" I quickly responded: "She isn't worth a fucking penny."

There is nothing to like about this Hedda. Mary-Louise Parker does nothing for the character. The translation and adaptation do nothing for the already maligned story. The acting does nothing for the characters. The strange between-scene set dances do nothing for nothing. And the direction does nothing for human decency.

When you see Hedda, you are seeing a show that got so caught up in being arty that it went to hell with itself. Nonsense abounds. This Hedda doesn't come across as crazy so much as she seems bored to tears. The lines are written in wood and delivered by marionettes who stand completely across the stage from each other and scream so they can be heard.

Sure, there are a few good performances. But nothing stands out. Perhaps the next adaptation needs to reconsider their female lead. Choose someone better to play the role. How about a turkey? (Hedda Gobbler?).

Point is, you can't stage Hedda Gabbler without a flawless Hedda. And not only is this Hedda flawed in all the ways she shouldn't be, but everything working with her is too weak to soften the blow.

Taste is Waste

In the past day of blogging alongside X, there's been a lot of discussion on films, taste, quality and all those other things that are often the source of bloody battles (what, you didn't know that Shock and Awe was a result of George W. Bush and Saddam Hussein disagreeing on the merits of 2 Fast 2 Furious?)

But Hollywood and film in general has so often NOT been about taste. In fact, good movies are often left to die lonely deaths while Hollywood hogwash wins the hearts of millions. Rob Schneider is huge in Australia (really, ask my best friend Becky). Some of the worst movies that I won't even watch the trailers of are sent abroad and come back bringing massive profits.

And, in the latest proof that taste does not equate to tickets - Paul Blart: Movie Cop has once again dominated the box office.

Last night I was invited to see My Bloody Valentine 3D. Of course I turned it down. I have better things to do with 13 dollars and 2 hours, namely, setting fire to 13 dollars and watching the smoldering ashes for 2 hours.

I far preferred to spend the night at home, watching the new and promising series The United States of Tara, which I highly recommend.

And finally - let me put my final say in this Were the World Mine debacle with my buddy Lucas: I maintain that the movie is terrible. I understand people worked hard on it, but that doesn't mean it's a good movie. And yes, a movie can be fun - but that doesn't mean it has to be good. I defer to my co-blogger X for more on that.

I am not saying anything terrible about those who enjoyed WtWM... it clearly hit you somewhere deep - as movies are intended to do (else they will fail). But I did not have any fun at WtWM. Well, that's a lie. My friends and I had a blast making fun of it throughout, and then for days afterwards.

xoJR

...But Some People Really ARE Critics.

It being Awards Season and all, I will soon be weighing in on the best movies of the year, and whether or not the Oscars got it right. But first, let us step back a bit and look at the process itself.

I get annoyed when people complain about awards shows being boring. It's an awards show! It features actors and filmmakers receiving awards. If you enjoy watching high-caliber films and seeing talented artists rewarded for their work, then you quite probably will enjoy the Oscars, the Golden Globes, and what have you. Seeing as I have no interest in cross-stitching, I would not watch The 69th Annual American Cross-Stitch Awards for four hours and then complain that it was boring. No. I just would not watch it.

For some reason, though, a lot of the general public feels the need to weigh in on film, when a lot of people really don't know what they're talking about. The Oscars are a good example - because it's televised, there's a lot of razzle-dazzle of big stars on the red carpet and montages meant more for the folks at home than the folks in the Kodak Theater. What all this distracts most people from realizing is that the Oscars have nothing to do with them. It's not a popular vote. The Academy - basically, the people who are out there making films today - is rewarding its own members, much as a pizza parlor hangs up a plaque saying Joey B. is July's Employee of the Month. (Yaaaay Joey!) Naturally, these are the people most qualified to make the selection of what are the year's best films.

Is that to say the Academy is always right? Well. Sometimes it nominates films that, quite frankly, are undeserving. Sometimes a big star wins when a lesser-known actor has given a riskier, more impressive performance. Of course there is no authority that can say which winners are "right" or "wrong," and most years I have my quibbles with at least a couple choices that are made. But who is more qualified than the talented artists and filmmakers themselves to honor their own? (Besides me, I mean?) So if the Oscars are meant to be an award for filmmakers to honor filmmakers, the choices they make really can't be wrong. Even when they clearly are.

Almost everyone sees movies, and almost everyone likes movies. Everyone is bound to give their opinion on which movies they do and don't like. Because movies are meant as entertainment for wide audiences, that makes sense. But it's an important distinction to note that just because a movie is "enjoyable" (to you, the viewer) does NOT mean it is good. Some movies are clearly poorly executed - whether through amateurish writing, sloppy direction, haphazard editing, or any other number of factors. People who work in film, have studied film, know quite a lot about film, see a lot of high-quality films, or simply have very good taste can tell the difference - and oh yes, Virginia, there is a difference. Sitting through something like Were The World Mine (which, granted, I am unfairly judging, having not seen it, but am still almost certainly right about my reaction to) could be quite painful because of all the glaring blunders I'd find therein.

A point was made that there are two kinds of good movies: those that are good because of the quality of script, acting, cinematography, and such; and those that are good because of the emotions they bring out. This raises an interesting point, but isn't quite accurate. No movie is great because of the script, acting, and cinematography alone. A movie like No Country For Old Men is also awarded because of the emotional response of the audience. A great script is what inspires those emotions, combined with terrific acting, masterful direction, beautiful cinematography, and so on. The people who get those awards are, if not the best, among the very best at what they do. An Oscar is essentially an award that says that these people did their job in invoking a strong emotional response from the audience. (That audience being their peers.) The reasons that more dramatic, more serious films tend to be awarded is because that's the kind of material that provokes the most intense emotional response.

A movie like Twilight, on the other hand, is seen as not "good" by many because it strives for and fails in what it aims to achieve, at least for many. Obviously, it has a lot of young female fans - precious few of them discerning cineastes, I gather - and some other fans also, most of whom are also devotees of the book. I'm not one to tell anyone whether or not they can enjoy a movie or not. Any movie can be enjoyed - film is entertainment, and entertainment is meant to be enjoyed. But that doesn't make it good. Twilight is a film enjoyed primarily by a demographic that is not known for its highbrow tastes; they are young and silly and swoony (not unlike the target audience for Were The World Mine, perhaps?). The film provokes an emotional response from them, but because it is not as well-written, well-acted, well-directed, etc. as No Country For Old Men, it would not provoke the same emotional reaction from me. I would be so distracted by the bad moments writing and filmmaking that the only emotion I am likely to feel would be frustration. As someone who has studied film, works in the film industry, and has seen a hell of a lot of great movies, I notice and know a lot of things that the average filmgoer doesn't. Does that make me more qualified to say whether or not a movie is "good"? Quite frankly, yes. That's my area of expertise and that's part of my job. Just because not everyone can tell the difference between a good and a bad movie doesn't mean there isn't one.

That being said, the movies that are being nominated for Oscars this week are aiming for a different audience than Twilight and Were The World Mine. The ones being nominated are better movies, by pretty much any count. However, there are different audiences out there to feed and some are satisfied by films that aren't technically as well-made. That's fine. I enjoy a number of movies that aren't "good." That's entertainment. Those who enjoyed Twilight and Were The World Mine probably fit the demographics they were aiming for, just as the Academy Award nominees have satisfied their intended audience (people who know a lot about film and have more discerning tastes).

This certainly doesn't mean the Academy is "bitter" (I find it unusual that so many people talk about "the Academy" without really grasping what the Academy is) - they just know their shit when it comes to movies. They can tell amateurish filmmaking when they see it and are instead moved by films that are better written, directed, and so on. (Plenty of first-time independent filmmakers make movies that are skillfully crafted, but it doesn't sound like Were The World Mine is one of them.) Slumdog Millionaire is currently the frontrunner for Best Picture, a film that actually will leave you feeling "warm and fuzzy" and could accurately be called a "cute movie." It's also superbly written directed, acted...well, everything about it was superbly done. And that's why it will probably win the Oscar. Because it was so well-crafted that it inspires an emotional reaction from its audience. It's when these two elements come together - and only then - that it's really fair to call a movie "good."

Times, They Are A-Changin'

An anecdote:

A friend and I met for coffee. We picked a table outside, and decided to go in and get our coffee one by one, so as not to lose our table. He went first.

Shortly after he went in, a woman came out and was harassed by a homeless man who was doing the usual tramp schtick: "blah-blah-blah-wealthy-white-motherfuckers-don't-even-look-at-me-blah-blah-blah." And let's be honest: when a homeless is ranting on the street about how people never look at him, the easiest thing to do is to go right on by pretending you don't see him. Because if you do look, what then? For someone who despises the rich so much, I question the choice of standing on Beverly Drive.

The homeless guy and the woman had a brief chat about how times are tough and such, which I couldn't help but overhear. Both were black, so I guess the homeless guy felt a camaraderie with the woman. The homeless guy complained that even with a black President being inaugurated tomorrow, a black man on the streets gets no love. (I don't think a homeless person of any race would fare much better, but I digress.) The woman humored him for a little while, though she wasn't someone I'd call "approachable." "Times are tough," she told him, "people are all worried about losing their retirement money, they can't be worried about you." Then, when she'd had enough, the woman suddenly sat down across from me at my table.

I'm all for sharing a table if need be, when there's a crowd, and to rescue someone from an uncomfortable encounter with the homeless (I've had plenty). But to suddenly sit down without asking is unusual, and my friend was just inside getting his coffee. "Is your girlfriend sitting here?" she asked a moment later - and I said a friend was, but he's inside getting a drink, and she was welcome to sit there until we both returned with beverages in hand. (Keep in mind, though, she looked planted. If, God forbid, I had said the seat was taken and I'd prefer she didn't sit there, I have a hard time imagining her actually getting up.) "You're saving me," she said, clearly fed up with the chatty bum. My friend came outside and gave me a questioning look about why this random woman was sitting in his seat. It seemed more awkward to explain it than to just get up and go inside and let him figure it out, so I gave him my seat and went in.

Five minutes later, I return outside with my iced Americano. Now I had my drink, my friend had his, and since we just got together we were ready to catch up. The only problem: the woman was still sitting in the other chair at our table, and she shows no signs of getting up. Aaawkward.

There was an uncomfortable moment where my friend is still wondering who this woman is and how she ended up joining us, and I clearly don't have a place to sit, and she clearly isn't in any hurry to leave. (She was nibbling off a fruit plate.) "Is it cool that I stay here for another minute?" she said at last, and of course I said yes, even though - again - I don't believe a "no" was ever a possibility in her mind. Finally we did manage to grab an unusued chair from a nearby table, so my friend and I scooted close together and went on with our conversation while the woman across from us ate her grapes.

Sure, this was a bit awkward, having an audience. It was a rather small table. But as I said to my friend once the woman finally left: "All I know is that you definitely do not ask a black woman to give up her seat on Martin Luther King Day, on the eve of Barack Obama's inauguration."

9021-Uh oh...

I spent the afternoon on Beverly Drive in Beverly Hills having coffee with a friend. For those of you who've never been, Beverly Hills is every bit as ritzy and pretentious as you'd think from watching Pretty Woman, but what the rest of the world isn't often told is that there are quite a lot of characters milling about, also. (My next entry will go into further detail about one such character.)

It reminded me that Beverly Hills is actually an amazing place to people-watch, and not just for the rich and fabulous or the occasional celebrity. It attracts all sorts of cliches, nutsos, and walking tragedies. An example is in the photo above - I'm not sure the photo accurately depicts just what a Beverly Hills mess this girl was, but you get some idea. (Take special notice of the hair and furry boots. It's a shame you can't make out the hue of her Sally Jesse-red sunglasses.)

Lately, I've been noticing that I run into someone I know pretty much everywhere I go in Los Angeles. Today I found my friend Mike on the street working for an organization to help the homeless, which was a pleasant surprise, and it turns out he'll be in Vegas coincidentally this weekend, as will I. (And quite a few other friends of mine.) It's gotten the point where I feel like I could go just about anywhere, totally on my own, and within minutes someone I know will show up by happenstance It makes everything feel like a little make-believe world that revolves entirely around me (not that I needed any more incentive to feel that way). It's also a little creepy and Truman Show-esque. It's probably a sign that I need to get out of Los Angeles, and everywhere else I've ever been, and go to Tahiti or something.

Another sign I should leave LA: from having coffee with a friend on Beverly Drive in Beverly Hills, I immediately went to have coffee with another friend on Beverly Boulevard, which runs perpendicular to Beverly Drive and actually is not in Beverly Hills. (I'd like to report that one of my friends is named Beverly, but alas, no.) Is this really my life? It's hard to believe sometimes. Not that I'm complaining - it was a completely fun and relaxing day filled with friends I saw either purposefully or by accident, minus any sort of calamity or misfortune. It just sounds so ridiculous on paper! All too pleasant and convenient. And with such a cast of ridiculous characters walking the streets as the girl above, as a Los Angeleno I can't help but wonder sometimes:

Did somebody just make all this up?

What It Do, Boo?

What a glorious week.

Out with the Bush, in with the Obama (well-timed, following MLK Day), the Academy Award nominations, and me. Here. Blogging. Three major pop culture events happening simultaneously right before your very eyes.

You'll all get sick of me talking about movies by the end of this week, I assure you.

And it is good to be back: Justin and I had plenty of good times (if all-too-brief times) upon his last visit, and someday, someday, I will return to visit him in New York City. And by someday, I mean in the late spring or summer, because I am no match for a polar bear.

Were the World Miserable

Last week I made a passing statement about the celluloid cadaver better known as "Were the World Mine," which I referred to with:

Mostly because people figure you can throw two shirtless guys together, and then the story, narration, ANYTHING no longer matters. See: Were the World Mine.

I promptly received an anonymous comment back:

"Were the World Mine" is not at all what you describe as just being just shirtless boys-unless you were dumb enough to not get the Midsummer references and adaptation of Shakespeare.

Now, whoever this is clearly hasn't been here for long, and by here I mean on this earth. Listen, Anon - no one. I repeat. NO ONE is too dumb to not get the Midsummer references in were the world mine. The movie practically cock-slaps you with Midsummer at every turn.

And we must not grant a film credit just because it endeavors to make passing shoutouts to the bard's work. Tons of movies do it. That doesn't mean they're all fantastic. In fact, if you really paid attention to the movie, you'll notice that Shakespeare was used improperly. Scenes were changed in odd ways to fit a sub-standard story. In certain points, for no good reason, the bard would suddenly be evoked through line readings... in ways that hurt the story more than they helped. Why quote Midsummer if it's not going to IMPROVE the scene you're in?

It's like learning from an expert swordsman, and then slicing off your own nose with the tactics you were taught.

No, I maintain that Were the World Mine is a steaming pile of nipples, homoeroticism, sexism, and ridiculousness.

Why? Well, for one, it's a poor film. In the literal sense. The editing and transitions are rough. The actual story is compromised on multiple accounts due to what appears to be missing scenes (like when they are en route to the carnival, stop, are there somehow, then are back out, fighting about whether they should go or not.)

Not a single character is interesting. Coming to mind presently is the drama teacher, who is written like every other drama teacher you see in bad movies, and not at all like any drama teacher you'd meet in real life. Or the bi black friend who is all but a throwaway while our protagonist determines what to do with his new power.

Also, the idea of Puck's love juice being squirted in the eyes of millions is played off poorly. No real questions are asked or answered. When the movie ends, I feel like no argument or opinion has been pushed, tested, tried, or challenged. You end much where you began - with nothing.

And I, too, almost bought the soundtrack - until I noticed that all of the tracks were 30 seconds.

I'm sorry. If you loved this movie, then power to you. Perhaps it resonated somewhere deep within you. But I couldn't stop laughing. Rolling my eyes. Predicting what happened next, and what would happen after that happened.

The odd homoerotic pedophilia of the drama teacher as her stage turned into an orgy. The entire town falling into gay horror. The random side story with the makeup lady and the protagonist's mother. It all was so cobbled together. So unimportant. So uninteresting.

No, Were the World Mine was not fantastic, regardless of how many scenes and lines from Shakespeare it used improperly. No matter what songs it sang or High School Musical-esque dances it presented.

Chris - have you seen this pile of "cinema"? Would love for you to weigh in here.

xoJR

Re-Meet X!

As I shiver my ass off and hop over piles of snow and puddles of sludge, I like to close my eyes and transport myself. Thousands of miles West to where celebrities are wearing short sleeve shirts and gay bars have no roofs and their patrons gaze up into the starry sky as they drink their appletinis. To a place where you keep the windows down while you cruise down La Cienega, a cigarette in hand and the wind coming in through the moon roof.

You know, the same place where our returning co-blogger X comes from. Last time he was here we had a total blast, and I can only expect the same to happen this time.

Rest assured that this week will be filled with awkward jealous comments from me as I fight off polar bears and employ sleigh dogs to get my lunch every afternoon, and imagine X sunbathing nude without a single goosebump while getting the autographs of passing celebrities.

Oh! And thanks to co-blogger Ben from last week. Expect him to return sometime in the coming months!


My Name:
X. Alexander

My Location:
Los Angeles, CA

Why I came back to Justin Plus One:
I woke up with a horse’s head in my bed one morning and I just knew: it was either this, or exile in Sicily.

What I might blog about this time:
Ohhh, I don’t know…movies? Entertainment? Alternative energy solutions I dream up off the top of my head? Actually, this week is a fortuitous one since it sees both the presidential inauguration and the Oscar nominations. I’ll also be posting my Top 10 List of the year’s best films (no, really – I see everything worth seeing and I have impeccable taste). I’ll probably whine about a thing or two that happens to me also.


What’s happened to me since the last time I blogged:
A brief internment in a POW camp; a Pulitzer prize; a short-lived love affair with Jennifer Aniston, but it didn’t really work out. Okay, actually – nothing.

The Last Word:
Hamburger.

Woah.

So I don't think I got a single post in there yesterday. That was Saturday.

Readers. I really apologize for that. It's bad. I'm sorry. But I intend to make it up for you tomorrow. Err. Today. After I go to sleep, and wake up. See, the thing was.

Friday night there was that huge party that Justin and I promoted, and was real intense. There will be a post coming, and it will be titled "Parable of the Bartender."

Then there was the "Native American" Casino, Mohecan Sun on Saturday. That will probably include a socio-political rant.

Then there was Justin's actual party on Saturday night, which I didn't make it to until about 2:30. That story might be slightly depressing.

But there's at least 3 discrete tales there. Just waiting to be told. So wait. And they'll come. I promise.

-Ben

My boyfriend's back (and so are some other boys)

I have to admit, I'm extremely surprised at the response my request for guestimonials and pictomonials for my Birthday party tomorrow night have been going. Not only have I found people willing to make videos, but I've also found guys willing to go practically naked to advertise the event.

First, the second installment of boyfriend Jack and his best friend Will:



And now, some near naked guys who took the time to pose and advertise the event!

TONIGHT: Operation Open Bar

Attention New York citizens. I have created a new event on Facebook. Here is the conceit of the matter:

Ricky and Ryan are two boys who won bottle service tonight at HK Lounge.

Then they found out that, if they get 25 people there, that bottle service turns into an open bar.

We are nothing if not goal-oriented go-getters.

So let's make this happen. Bring your friends. Bring your enemies.

THE ONLY RULE is you MUST be at HK Lounge by 9:50.

This message (and free booze opportunity) will self destruct at 10PM.

So it's that simple. Come to HK Lounge at 9:50. Bring your friends. You will either get to enjoy free bottle service, or a free open bar.

Either way, we all win.

So get on it.

Maybe not.

So I wrote this the other day on the subway. Does anyone else write a lot on the subway? I've been finding that I've been writing some decent stuff on it. I really need to get a better purse. And no, I'm not ashamed to call it a purse; it's what it is. Calling it a "murse" or "manpurse" is just being sexist against yourself.  Anyway, it's indispensable for carrying books, paper, pens, and even your wallet. Which is nice to not have to carry in a pocket. 

I thought to post this because it sort of went with the video that Justin posted just before this. Here it goes. It's not the most flattering of myself, I suppose. Ahh well.

Maybe not.

Some of our expressions are universal.

The girl across from me,

on the subway, is

appalled. 

Her lips make a ring

and the outside corners

of her eyes are placed in a vice. 

Maybe my expression

was universal too.

How you put your arm

around my shoulder,

placed your hand on

the inside of my thigh.

How I didn't

react.

Maybe not.

People I slept with who never called me back

Gay media angers me. Well, gay anything in the media tends to get me riled up. Mostly because people figure you can throw two shirtless guys together, and then the story, narration, ANYTHING no longer matters. See: Were the World Mine.

BUT. Every once in a while, a show comes along that is gay by nature, and still looks to be a good time. Today I am talking about a one-man show I just discovered on Facebook called "People I slept with who never called me back"

It's performed by an uber-cutie (with excellent comic timing) named Jeffery Self. (He also has a YouTube channel... and a Twitter... so he's like me... but a lot hotter.)

I think I may attend. Any of you in NYC should consider it, too. I mean, check out his highlight reel (it seems funny, and he looks cute in a suit!)

Two more birthday guestimonials!

This time, my brother and best friend Jared, and my ex-boyfriend Paul get in on the action. Both will be at my party - will you!?

xoJR

JARED


PAUL

I have found it!

You can't tell from these photos, but I'm a fan of tattoos. 

I'm not usually fan of tramp-stamps.

However, in re-reading a favorite poem of mine, I think I've found one I'd like. Nothing else would be appropriate in that glorious spot right above my ass. It's part of a Margaret Atwood poem.

Messy love is better than none,
I guess. I'm no authority
on sane living.

Isn't it just beautiful? Once I saw a man in central park with an infinity symbol placed there. Was that supposed to be a challenge? Who knows. This is much better.

Oh, the full poem can be found here.

A better way for us all to get laid

After posting condom sex videos last night, and reading Ben's post about the silent subway fandango, and stopping by Fuck You, Penguin this morning - I've had sex, and our social difficulty with getting it when we want it, on the brain.

And I think I've finally discovered what we humans need:

A mating dance.

And it doesn't need to be a complex set of maneuvers, either. The human mating dance can be simpler than the cotton-eyed joe or the macarena.

Check out this Blue-Footed Booby, for instance.



All he has to do is do a mini kickline with his little blue feet, and he knows he's getting fucked. It's a done deal.

Imagine, Ben, if you could've just stood up on the train, kicked your feet up and wobbled from side to side, the dude would then spread his arms and grab a leaf in his mouth... and it'd be time for action, Jackson.

Just a thought. We should gather all the gays of NYC together to establish this mating dance.

Oh, and for fun, here's another video of the Blue-Footed Booby dance, with Mahna-Mahna as soundtrack.

Shoot me now.

My life is over.

I'm officially one of them. I officially "get cold-sores." I had never had one before last month, when I got deathly sick with the plague and thought I was going to die. First it was strep, then it was a viral infection, one right after the other. But in the midst of that sick-shit-storm I got my first cold-sore. I tried to justify it. "No, look! I did research, and it says that they're much more common if you have a fever." And it was true, I did indeed have a fever of 101 for about four days in a row.

This morning I noticed that I'm getting one in the exact same spot I had it last time. It's the sequel. It's a ghost that is returning to once more haunt my social life. The worst part is I'm not even sick. Well that's not totally true. I have a small cold -- you know, congestion, slight sore throat. But that's it. I don't once more have the plague. Fuck.

Luckily when I was home for Christmas my mom gave me some of her super-chemo-strength cold-sore pills. I took two just now. I'm thinking of ODing on the whole bottle. Not because I want to kill myself, but because I want to get rid of thsi thing that badly. I HAVE JUSTIN'S BDAY PARTY THIS SATURDAY! In merely TWO DAYS.

And after seeing some of those video testimonials of his, I was definitely not hoping to go home alone. Or at the very least to get the #s of 5 smoking hot guys, minimum.

But now I'll have a Martian growth on my lip. And the thing is, I've always been a face-guy. You know, there are two types of guys. Guys whom you go after because they have beautiful faces, or guys whom you go afte beacuse of their great bodies -- body-guys. Once in a rare while, you find a combination guy. Back away. Slowly. Not quickly. He's really a dick-eating alien Communist in disguise, waiting to pounce at any moment.

Does this mean I have to turn into a body-guy? I do NOT have the discipline for that.

So the moral. Is there a moral here? No. I don't buy into that whole stupid prayer, how does it go? Something like "Give me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change." Horseshit.

But that doesn't mean I have the moral yet... I'll be back with it later today.

Condoms gone wild

I don't think this video needs an introduction. Or any commentary. Just a quick THANKS to M@ over at uberesque vagaries for giving me the greatest 30 seconds of the past month.

xoJR


Durex from lucianoparis on Vimeo.

Only in NYC: The 2 train bass guitarist

In NYC you'll see certain subway and street performers enough times that you begin to remember them by name, and be able to dance or sing along with their acts. And then there are the folks who only pop up every once in a while.

I've only seen this guy once before. How excited was I to have my FLIP Mino HD in my pocket when he started his gig!

xoJR

Let's be humble on this very cold day.

You know what I love? Instances that remind us that we don't know anything. At all, really. In fact, there's much more that we don't know than what we do. 

This morning, I was poignantly reminded in two separate instances.

A) One knows a few things about cats, doesn't one? They like cat nip. They purr. They're almost as aloof as I am. They don't like water.

Oh wait, what? My cat reminded me that I don't know shit. So I brushed my teeth. So I walked out of the room to put my clothes on, so I could walk back in to put deodorant on. Because you can't put deodorant on before your shirt -- everyone knows this. But as I walk back into the bathroom, the cat is lying in the still-wet sink. 

Huh.

B) I was walking to the train. Like I do at about 8:30 five days a week. Let's be honest, I'm always late, so more like 8:45.  There's an East-Asian girl walking in front of me. And she continued a trend that I've been observing about her demographic (And if you can explain it, please do). Every once in a while, at seeming arbitrary moments, she breaks into a jog. 

Huh? She's just walking to the train. And her average speed isn't much greater than mine. I try to predict when she'll break into trot next. And I just. can't. do. it. 

So, as you begin your day, remember. There will always be a cat in a wet sink. There will always be seemingly-arbitrary East-Asian girls. 

Is my taste in music degrading?

I've always taken pride in impeccable taste in music. How do I know my taste is impeccable? Most people start to like music I suggest, if not at first, but after multiple listens. For example, I'm a huge Bjork fan. And while there are lots of Bjork haters, I've turned MANY people onto her. And there's more to my coercion than merely making love to her angelic Icelandic voice. I can even convert with the clothes on. If you don't like Bjork, let me know.

So the trouble came when I sent this song to my best friend. Normally he and I share musical tastes extensively (He's one of the ones I turned onto Bjork. Although that one might have included non-G rated influencing). And I sent him a song. He didn't like it. "Meh," he said. "What's so special about it?"

It took me a moment. Because my first reaction was that there's nothing immensely special about it. The singer isn't amazing. The lyrics aren't amazing. The music isn't terribly complex.

But then one thing hit me. It's sexy. Just listen to the interplay between the guitar and bass. That's what really does it for me. I feel that lots of music today ignores the space between the notes. Or rather eliminates that space altogether. However, this band, The Whitest Boy Alive (isn't the name reason enough to love them?) treatss these smalls silences as gold.

The guitar is one hand, the bass is the other, and the notes are fingers. And think about it. What makes the interplay between appendages sexy, as they glide over each other? The absence of contact. It's crucial. The absence of contact, and a lightness of touch, are what really raise the goosebumps.

Ok, so now you want to hear them? I don't blame you. Enjoy.

Jared Zirilli: Belter Extraordinaire

This short video is the end of the musical Altar Boyz. In it the boys all discover that they are sinners, having hidden secret contract negotiations with rival music companies behind each other's backs.

The boys discover that they believe in each other, and that they are more powerful together. My brother, Jared Zirilli, who plays Matthew, is the last to discover it.

See that moment here. And watch my brother belt the fucking shit out of his notes. Good God I don't know where his voice came from. Maybe my voice once could do that, but I smoked it all away.

Oh well, here's to living vicariously through more talented siblings!

xoJR

I'm not a chicken, you're a turkey!

I'll never forget when my heroes, the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles, told me by way of their friend Joey to never try drugs. I did end up trying some drugs in college, and I blame the fact that this PSA was poorly dubbed and, frankly, didn't provide any really good argument as to why Joey needed to get out of his jam.

(and how old is he? six? I wasn't propositioned until I was at LEAST 15!)



But today my friend Matt sent me a visual representation of Joey - a piece of Folk Art that shows the real chicken: over the counter and prescription meds.

Matt then apparently downed his meds like a good boy. I wonder what he'll come up with next?

Morning is for sharing.

I'm not sure if any of you wonderful readers are poetry fans, but I sure as hell am. Which makes me suspect that maybe some of you are too? As I was heading into the office today one of my favorite poems popped into my head. I love this poem. I keep thinking that my next tattoo will be a poem, and really I'm thinking it will be this one.

Repetition

BY KAY RYAN

Trying to walk

the same way

to the same store

takes high-wire

balance:

each step

not exactly

as before

risks chasms

of flatness.

One stumble

alone and

nothing

happens.

Few are

the willing

and fewer

the champions.

It would most likely go on my right ribcage. So then, on the subway, I wrote one of my own. This was a first draft; please be gentle. I'll go home and edit it later. 

I don't understand

why we are so comfortated

by plush tricks of words.

Is "Surf and Turf" the brown

fur of a favorite stuffed toy?

Does "Britney's Baby Blowout"

cast the glow of a favorite lamp?

My favorite are the words of wisdom

like "We don't find ourselves; we 

create ourselves." As if the warmth

of parallel structure makes it true.

We should cast off our baby blankets.

Try to sleep through the night alone.

Getting Up the Bawls

Reading Ben's post last night on the silent subway ride took me back (why am I so goddamned nostalgic this week!?) To a time when I didn't have boyfriend Jack. To my slutty summer part 3. To many a situation like the one that Ben penned so accurately last night.

The only difference is that, when slutty summer 3 rolled around, I dropped my shyness like a snake sheds its skin.

Now don't give me credit for overcoming internal obstacles through mental dedication or inner discovery. Really the secret ingredient was vodka. Lots and lots of vodka. I ended up developing a "what the hell? who gives a shit?" attitude to the whole game. If I caught someone's eye, I smiled and said hi. I did it so quickly that I didn't have a chance to hesitate and think "wait, maybe he's too hot for you."

This resulted in a lot of meet-cutes that weren't really all that cute. I suppose it depends on what you're looking for. If you're on the market looking for a one night stand, then you're doing exactly what you need to do. If you're looking for something more formal and long-term... well, I've never met someone on a subway train that became anything meaningful in my life.

Ben I applaud your guts, and challenge you to up your ante next time. In the end, who the fuck cares? The worst thing that happens is he rolls his eyes. (Okay, worst thing that happens is he's so drunk and nauseous from the rumbling train that he promptly vomits on your Guccis.) But so what? Get it, girl. And get it good.

Learn from Justin. If you want something, just go for it. You'd be surprised how often what you want is there for your taking.

xoJR

A Silent Subway

And people make you nervous
You'd think the world was ending
And everybody's features
Have somehow started blending

People are just people
They shouldn't make you nervous
And if you kiss somebody
Then both of you'll get practice

Two A.M. and I'm waiting for the subway at Times Square. You wouldn't think much could look radiant in the jaundiced yellow light of the subway station, but there it was, radiance, standing right next to me. I hadn't noticed it at first. It wasn't until I looked away from the empty subway tunnel, up and to my left, that I saw him.

A sort of stillness curled around the man. As much as stillness can curl. He looked over at me, and held eye contact for slightly longer than one normally would, quite the feat considering that my jaw must have been slack somewhere around my collar-bone. There was no smile on his lips, and it might have been wishful thinking, but I thought I saw it in his eyes. Tyra would have applauded him.

While it's always refreshing to encounter kindred souls not subscribing to the baking-bulb aesthetic, this man held alabaster the way that few can. It was something about the smoothness of his cheeks, his cliff-like cheekbones, impressive jawline, or dark brown hair. Or the culmination of all those elements. No, even more so, it was surely the eyes like none I had seen. Blue, deep navy blue, without hint of gray. I felt sure they were some scientific anomaly, with not quite black hole gravity, but at least that of Jupiter.

We boarded the train, and, much disgruntled, were forced to sit with a very large man between us. I'm not sure how many times we locked eyes in the space of the twenty minute ride. Many. Exacerbating the effect was the fact that the train was silent. Yet crowded. Everyone else seemed to be in a slumberlike stupor. Except for mystery man and myself.

At one point, about two thirds through the trip, I started defending my resignation to remain strangers. "Why should it have to be anything more?" I asked myself. "The event can be perfectly complete, beautiful, and fulfilling ending in silence." As we reached my stop I realized how fully I was lying to myself.

I tested it one last time. I made eye contact with him, smiled what I hoped was an adorable yet seductive smile. Held eye contact for a bit longer. I stood up early and curled my fingers around the support pole so my departure wouldn't come as a surprise. Difficult as it was, I held my eyes out the window until the train stopped, at which point I lowered them to his. I thought I offered a subtle encouraging nod. It might have been too subtle. Regardless, he didn't follow me as I had hoped. I walked home quickly, eager to find a wall to punch. Angered, and slightly drunk, I wasn't so much as to waste my hand on some near-frozen object.

Late as it was, I stayed up for another hour. No matter how hard I searched I couldn't find him online. Wasn't that what the internet was made for? There were only three more stops on the line, so I guessed his zip with what must have been decent accuracy. No luck.

Cause people are just people
People are just people
People are just people like you

I don't consider myself shy. Yet still the squashing of any shyness is what I'm making my belated New Years Resolution. Never again will I allow that situation to happen. It would have been simple to ask him to go get a cup of coffee with me. Or ask for his number. But I didn't.

Never again.

Sometimes I just wanna DANCE (the history of Office Party Dance Party)

Today a co-worker sent around a funny video of some of our friends dancing around on YouTube. It made me a little teary-eyed. Nostalgic. Made me think back to my younger days at my old job. And a short-lived video series we created called Office Party Dance Party (we were aware of the redundancy).

It began with a new camera I bought, which had video recording capabilities. One day, we just started dancing in my co-worker's office:



(I still have and wear that shirt).

Then, when I posted the video to YouTube, another one of our co-workers wanted to join in on the fun. And who were we to deny?

Thus was born Office Party Dance Party 2




At this point, Office Party Dance Party had reached near-celebrity fame at the office. Everyone wanted to be involved! So this time we involved everyone including some slightly higher-up management... and coupled it with some simple choreography.

And so came Office Party Dance Party 3




And sadly, that was it. After a while, we got tired of dancing. I went and got a job elsewhere.

It makes me sad, really. I miss that crew. And the dancing. Always the dancing.

The Score with 24: ISO Agent Gedge!

Hello 24 whores, it is your pimp, JR checking in after a night so insane, stressful, and horrifying that I'm pretty sure I shat myself at least 12 times. And that is a rounded number. I may have shat myself more, and passed out for a period of time. I'd ask Jack or Kristin, but I think they passed out too.

You think you've been surprised before? YOU AIN'T SEEN NOTHING. Jack Bauer is back and he's got a Bic pen and eyes that focus on shoes and his gruff voice... and he looks sexier than ever.

Now, I understand that some of you may not have seen the two-hour first night premiere of 24 last night, and so I will give you NO spoilers. (Though, sweet Jesus, I want to TALK ABOUT THEM).

But I will say this: President Taylor's husband's personal detail, Agent Gedge, is one of the hottest characters I've ever seen grace the screen of 24. His lips. His dumb looks. His blind morality. I'm sure he'll end up being a terrorist, alien, or alient terrorist... but for now, GOD he's something to stare at.

Note to 24 producers: you NEED to get some photos of Agent Gedge online STAT. Don't make me stream through an episode I've already seen to take screenshots! That's a huge imposition on a dedicated fan such as myself.

I also hope that a subplot story involves the President's husband being shot, forcing Agent Gedge to remove every article of his clothing to fashion a makeshift tourniquet. Get working on that.

Sure, you can all go crazy for your vigilante Bauer or your dead Almeida... but I'll be pleased as punch to have a night in the West Wing with Agent Gedge.

xoJR

Good morning!

Hey there everyone. Happy Monday. I say that as unironically as possible. I hope the day finds you well. And by that, I hope it finds you having had more than four hours of sleep, as it finds me. Baah.

So remember when you were in college? (If you haven't been, play along) Remember when your professors had you read the materials prior to the lecture so you'd be prepared? Well this is like that. Wait, you probably didn't read the books anyway. So this is nothing like that, because you're going to watch the video I'm posting. But I'm going to discuss this in greater length after work.

Watch this:

More later today.

Meet Ben!

This week I am excited to welcome another brand spankin' new Plus One - my friend Ben. He comes from Michigan, but spends his time living in Astoria and working in the publishing industry. We got to know each other over the summer, and have become fast friends.

I'm excited to see what he does here this week. Won't you welcome him with open arms?

And a special thanks to CL for last week's posts... really had a great time with you. Expect to be asked back real soon!

xoJR

My Name:
Ben

My Location:
Astoria, NYC

My Site/ Sites:
Find me on Facebook, LinkedIn, Twitter, and after this, perhaps a blog – if all goes well.

What I might post about:
Sexuality, Politics, Music, Arts, Work, Dating

What I love:
Red wine, trashy bars

What I hate:
Under-caffeination, gaybrows

The Last Word:
Hey beloved readers of J+1. Thanks for having me – I'm thrilled that y'all might be interested in reading what I have to say. But I think I might have unusual methods for saying it. See, I got a minor in creative writing, and I might try to make a bit of use out of that while blogging. So forgive me if posts aren't the most typical.

Let's hear it for bottoms!

It's funny that CL penned the post just before about the general disrespect and/or feminizing of bottoms, because I've been hearing things like this recently from many of my friends, exes, and neighborhood priests (Father Flanagan is a power bottom, or so I hear).

And, as one who is 97% top, 3% occasional bottom, I have to say the following: WTF TOPS!? Seriously, I don't understand why this happens. It doesn't make any sense at all.

PJ made a comment on CL's post to the effect of how manly one must be to take on the discomfort of a big fat hard one. I fully agree. I openly admit that I am a coward and can't take the initial pain. Yes, I've done it a few times, but they are literally countable on two hands.

Because of this I have an immense respect for bottoms. Immense. When I meet a person who bottoms I am impressed. I don't treat them like pussies or defenseless cretins. Quite the opposite, I often admit I'm a total top with much shame. I wish it were different. Hell, every once in a while I ENDEAVOR to... open myself up... to the other side of the sexual spectrum.

So a quick note to my fellow tops. Get your shit together and learn where to give credit and respect. Because we are so weak and afraid, our only alternative is to be lucky enough to find someone who appreciates and can take the sensations of bottoming. And trust me, we need them more than they need us. I've been with another top on many an occasion, and we might as well have been playing Super Smash Brothers, it was that lame.

And finally, I don't want to discount the fact that versatility seems to be the new black. Why do just one when you can flip flop and have a party of it. It's certainly a goal of mine. One I will continue working towards.

But, in the meantime, bottoms have all my respect and adoration. They aren't girly men. They're manlier men than me.

xoJR

Bottoms Up

I'm going to get almost feminist for a second.

As someone who attended art school, and travels with a pretty liberal crowd, I'm no stranger to hearing grand statements about men with words like phallocentric and heteronormative sprinkled throughout. And I always swore to myself that I would never be like one of those people so obsessed with something that they felt it oppressed them just by existing. And yet... I've noticed this weird thing that a lot of guys who define themselves as exclusively tops do. They treat anyone who bottoms (and that means both bottoms and guys who define themselves as vers) in a way very similar to the way chauvinists treat women.

The obvious example that I can think of is, look at how many google hits you get by searching for "boy pussy" (or don't. You know, if you're at work). But there are more subtle examples, obviously. I was dating a guy like that a while back, and once, when we were talking about that website Confessions of a Bareback Top (which, is disgusting, bt dubs), he said and I quote, "The worst thing is that he tricks bottoms." And the way he said it had just the right mix of condescension and concern that it sounded exactly like someone saying, "You don't hit girls." Maybe I was overly sensitive to it (it came after a string of similar comments) but it had so much weight in that sentence. And I got to thinking about it, there is something to that power of the phallus that feminists always complain about.

Look at our language, our insults, specifically. Saying your average frat brother is a fudgepacker is mildly insulting in an almost jocular way, but saying he's a cocksucker has this spite to it. If you tell someone to suck your dick, you're not necessarily coming on to them, you're attacking them. We even say "get fucked." We don't say "Go fuck someone" (unless that someone is yourself, in which case we get you twice).

At least some people out there consider wanting a dick inside of them to be just the lowest thing you can do. Even in the gay world.

I love UCB

And this fantastic sketch from some of their best and brightest!



PS: Thanks to Chris for the HTML for gays lesson... I knew how to update width but didn't know you could delete the height... brilliant!

HTML for gays

When I'm not writing blogs, watching porn for continuity errors and criticizing the grammar on advertisements, I'm a web developer/designer. I've created, among other things, the layout and functionality for my own blog (unlockforme.blogspot.com). And as a web savvy fellow, I'm always on the lookout for times when there's been an HTML mistake on someone's site, at which point it's fun for me to try and fix it.

Some of you may have noticed, as you checked out the blog this morning, that one of the posts had a video which went too far to the right and lapped into the navbar. This happens often when you have a blog with a not very wide main pane and you're embedding a video from a source like Veoh or Crackle or one of those not YouTube places. And it's easy to fix if you find that it's happening to you.

A video that you embed from a website like that, if it's too long will look like this:

And it'll have code similar to this (this comes from YouTube, but they're all about the same):<object width="650" height="425"><param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/fYCzDhaRV60&hl=en&fs=1"><param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"><param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"><embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/fYCzDhaRV60&hl=en&fs=1" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="650" height="425"></embed></object>

Now there's a lot in there, and if you're not up on your web languages, a lot of it's going to look like gobbledygook, but what you need to worry about is the last little bit, which reads as follows: width="650" height="425" (or whatever those numbers happen to be). That's telling your browser how wide and tall the video should be. If your video is running over the sides, obviously, you're going to want to change the width. I don't see you having a blog less than 450 pixels wide, so make it read width="400" and you'll probably be in the clear (if not, just keep scaling it down until it works).

Doing so will give you a video that looks like this:

Just make sure that, unless you're a percentages sevant, you erase the height (don't try to guess what the height should be, you'll be wrong). Your browser will automatically adjust the height to scale, unless you give it another number to use, and leaving the height as is will create a video that's taller than it should be, stretching out faces and what have you. Unless of course you want to look a little bit skinnier, in which case, feel free to stretch all you want.

So now you know. HTML="Not scary"

24 IS COMING!

I hate reality television. I know I've said that before. I used to take issue with people who consume reality TV like a snack product, but I thank Patrick over at A Blog About Things for changing my mind. The way he and Carolyn talk about the show actually makes it sound fun (though I will NEVER watch those shows).

But you know what I don't hate? Scripted dramas and comedies on television! And, especially, 24 WHICH RETURNS THIS WEEKEND. The New York Times has a great article on the upcoming season of 24, which has many obstacles to overcome including:

• Decreased viewership
• The writers' strike and its effect on the originally intended 7th season
• The fact that the show was actually affecting the way the army interrogates captives (god I wish I were kidding)

Wait. I need to focus on that last bullet. Am I the only person who thinks this is ridiculous? Read here:

Five years later the series, like the Bush administration, was engulfed in controversy over how it treated suspected terrorists. In fall 2006 the creators of “24” received a visit from the dean of the United States Military Academy at West Point and other experts in military interrogation, who told them that West Point cadets and soldiers in Iraq were being influenced by the uninhibited — and unrepentant — use of torture on the series.

Really? Come on, Man! This is getting out of hand. Marilyn Manson is responsible for school shootings. Grand Theft Auto is responsible for police shootings. Yaddi yadda. GET OVER IT. I like my Jack Bauer to be ruthless with suspected terrorists. If certain cadets are so brainwash-friendly to think they are impervious to bullets like Jack Bauer, and therefore can use his tactics, then they shouldn't be on the frontlines of interrogation any way.

I digress. I am VERY excited for this season. I have to give it to 24: they put themselves in a tight bind by creating a show that, by its very nature, had to do a realtime event every year that spanned 24 hours. There's only so much you can do in 24 hours!

I have faith in them. I expect the best. The two-night, four-hour opener is going to be a bullet-ridden, terrorist-butchering, ragged-voiced orgy of delights.

I'll see you there.

LiveJournal... Dead?

Oh my dear readers. Once upon a time, Justin Plus One didn't exist. (And by once upon a time, I mean a few months ago). Before this blog came to be, I had a presence on another blogging site, my alma mater: Livejournal.

On that site I maintained a blog for over five years, called Change at Jamaica. And boy did we have a good time together, LJ and I. There was My Slutacular Past, a 9-month, daily serial that recounted my entire gay romantic past. Then there was the Hump Day Sex Poll, a popular weekly poll that asked my readers important, and sexy, questions.

What began as a small blog read by no one grew into something read by hundreds, and then began to die a slow death.

Well, my Blog isn't the only thing that's dying. It looks like LiveJournal is on its way to the afterlife as well.

So sad! Poor LiveJournal. Sold off to SixApart, who then sold it off to some Russian company, who then just cut more than 2/3 of their workforce.

So what's left? Swim away, Livejournalers! Go elsewhere! Like, you know, Blogger! Or you can all just come here and be Plus 1s with me. That'd be a hoot.

xoJR

YouTube rocks

I just wish that they would come out with a similar smell for people. Because the one I got in the mail was apparently for rhinos. Not that I'm complaining.