Joshua Orkent responds to the entry below:

“That sad, chained penis was none other than ‘Dick Cheney!’Get it? The other puns represented in that ensemble were the leafy green
George ‘Bush’, a large black bowl of Condoleeza ‘Rice,’ and my personal
favorite, a long pink ‘colon’ Powell! Didn’t you wonder why those characters
were rolling a tank over the statue of liberty?

I must admit, it took me a little while to figure it out as well, but I
really liked that troupe, and was glad to see someone making reference to
the administration’s unusually noun-like names. Though having made a ‘Dick’
puppet, I wonder why they didn’t create a big skanky ‘Bush?’ Seems like
there would be more dramatic potential. Well, no one looks to the Solstice
Parade for logic.”

THIS WEEK, highlights from our sunburn-inducin’ trip to the Fremont Solstice Parade and street fair. Today, the beautiful costumery and skinosity. On Tuesday or Wednesday, the rest of the spectacle.

The “World Naked Bike Ride” the previous weekend was billed as a participant event, but seemed more like a spectator event. The unofficial bicycle nudes at the Fremont parade are often judged as a spectator event, but seemed this year more like a participant event.

By this, I mean the naked ladies & gents walking and biking, and the more or less clothed audience members standing and sitting, all behaved as if they were of one joyful whole. There was no public making-out, but there didn’t have to be.

Fremont Parade nudity isn’t about the mechanical or hydraulic aspects of sexuality. It’s about showing off yourself, seeing and being seen, just as you are. It’s about freedom and comfort, and togetherness. It’s about having your physical, mental, and emotional beings united. It’s about taking appropriate pride in the gifts with which we were created, and with which we may help create others. It’s about demystifying the female body, and un-demonizing the male body.

And, with or without paint, the nudity is ultimately just another costume choice. You can parade as a human, or as a flower or a bat, or as part of a team uniformly dressed for group unity.

A conspiracy theorist claims the Olympia riot grrrl bands were all devised by one women’s-studies prof at Evergreen, as an experiment in “estrogen therapy” designed to counter the effects of media/government psy-ops drives “to turn impulsive reactions to sexual stimuli into increased consumption.”

The “World Naked Bike Ride,” held Saturday in Seattle and various other burgs planet-wide, was supposed to be a political statement against foreign oil or car-culture or censorship or some combo of the above. Its local incarnation was more of a fun run.

Dozens of men, and six or seven women, pedaled their bare buns through Fremont, Westlake, Seattle Center, and downtown. At several stops along the way, cheering spectators and avid photographers expressed their vocal appreciation for those who dared to bare. (Though, unlike the body-paint bikers at the Fremont Solstice Parade, this was intended as a participatory, not a spectator, event.)

There were no arrests, and only the most formal of official disapprovals. That’s good.

Now if we can only get a legal public nude beach in this town….

…utter coolosity factor: The huge, graphic cigarette warning notices.

Something’s gotta be done to overturn the banning of Western Washington U’s “Pornfest.”

It turns out that the guy who’d been Portland’s mayor in the early ’70s had an ongoing affair with a 14-year-old girl at the time. Neil Goldschmidt went on to be Oregon’s governor, a hi-profile corporate lawyer, and an eminence on various private- and public-sector boards of directors. He’s only admitted his past affair now, with deteriorating health forcing him to retire from public life and the news media about to out him.

…about the Feds’ current war against sex: “Mrs. Ashcroft should tie her husband up in front of a sinfully large television and make him watch Footloose. While drinking an Irish coffee.”

One of my long-standing “received ideas” about the failures of the ’60s was that hedonism was a lousy pretext for a revolution, though a great way to advertise one.

Every now and then, I find someone who begs to differ. These would include the Scandinavians who’ve started a nonprofit porn site to benefit rainforest preservation. (Found via Pagan Moss.)

An alternative-sex zine editor who supports Bush and the Iraq war, and who accuses antiwar activists of anti-Semitism.

Heather Rogers, who derives more enjoyment from drag shows than I do, contributes the following second installment of personal entertainment recommendations:

“Hello you pretty people,

Today’s Earth Day, so cut the whole “I’m so over the whole PC thing… I gave up recycling in ’94 along with my Birks” attitude. Today’s a great day to do something good. Like make a window box of flowers. Or get your soil tested for lead and arsenic and report the results to the city (it’ll help you with your lawsuit later on!). And you know what—you’re helping the environment RIGHT NOW—by reading fabulous online media (although I know a lot of you print out my column so you can read it in the bathtub while touching your “special place”. But I forgive you, you dirty doggies!)

Speaking of special places, you need to read Middlesex by Jeffrey Eugenides. It’s Hedwig chilled and served with a slice of baklava. It’s a fuller Bildungsroman. It’s fabulous. I know I mentioned it last time, but I don’t think enough of you are actually reading it yet. Plus if you want to be part of Nerd Out book club, you need to read it. Our next meeting is May 9 at 3 pm. There will be a special screening of Hedwig following the meeting, featuring erotic food. Email me for more details at slowdiva@yahoo.com.

Now, onwards to what the hell are you going to do this weekend:

Make time this weekend for the MC5 True Testimonial film at the Little Theatre. It’s playing April 23-29 (no show Mon.) at 608 19th Avenue East, $7. Dir: David C. Thomas. This will also go along great with Middlesex because it, too, will Detroit race riots in the late ‘60s, albeit from a very different perspective. Plus, a rare MC5 photo show following the film Dial 206- 675-2055 for more info.

Tonight: Rest up—you’ve got a busy weekend ahead of you.

FRIDAY NIGHT, the favorite choice is the BIG GAY DANCE NIGHT at Chop Suey. Or you could check out the Turn-Ons and Film School at the Croc. But I think we all need a little big gay dancing right now. (Oh, underagers—you could go see a cool band called Holy Ghost Revival at the Old Firehouse. But I’m mean and don’t like that venue, and I don’t go to the Eastside. Sorry! I’m a West End Girl now (see below for details).)

SATURDAY NIGHT, the music isn’t really making my slot go ca-ching, but I know what will… and you heard it hear first. Check out the window peep show at Salon Dewi, right by the Baltic Room. Travis the Waxing Diva will wax a girl’s private area (that is, PUSSY!) in public. Ooh, Naughty Naughty. Anyway, it starts at 10 pm and it’s free. Perfect—you have some din-dins over at Machiavelli, then watch some poor innocent girl (he always seems to talk some clueless little thing from the suburbs into this action—it reminds me of that sexy ravishing-of-the-innocent-girl scene in Interview with the Vampire. Yum.) have her icky old hair removed, exposing her oh-so-tender, flushed, peachy flesh… Then go to the Baltic Room after you’re all charged up and dance sweatily to house music with someone hot. OK!

Monday is actually the BIG NIGHT this weekend (or week, whatever). You have to choose between Kraftwerk at the Paramount and BLACK REBEL MOTORCYCLE CLUB and the Rapture at the Showbox. Whatcha gonna do now?  Huh?  (Tho’ I love BRMC and the Rapture, the correct choice is obviously KRAFTWERK. Duh. They’re playing only three American cities, I heard).

So, I’m moving to West Seattle this weekend, so I’m going to rely on my gentle (and rough) readers to give me the skinny, because though my ear will still be to the ground, the vibrations will have to travel farther to get to me. So, fork over your fab events and if it sounds cool, I’ll tell everyone.

You know what? I love you. I really, really do.”

…at the under-construction SAM/Paul Allen waterfront sculpture park: British wire-sculptor Antony Gormley’s vision for a 12-meter-tall “Ejaculating Man!” (Scroll toward the bottom of the page.)

The concept didn’t make it past the selection committee, for fairly obvious reasons. Still, Gormley’s philosophical about the idea:

“The figure was meant to give an 11-second ejaculation of salt sea-water every five minutes, so there would’ve been a lot of people standing around waiting for it. I intended it as an ironic comment on the male figure in relation to the whole idea of a fountain, because everyone knows that the fountain is a male fantasy of permanent ejaculation. I wanted it to be a celebratory piece, but I don’t know if the feminists would find it offensive.”

…in the coolness department: the new Vancouver affiliate of Toronto broadcast trailblazer City TV. Imagine: A commercial VHF station in a region no more populous that ours that’s got local cooking shows, local ethnic-cultural shows, local filmmakers’-showcase shows, serious arts documentaries, old silent movies, sex documentaries, uncut soft-R movies after midnight, and a Speakers’ Corner where citizens can videotape themselves ranting about anything they want.

A WIDELY-REPOSTED online essay by Martin Cannon posits whether Mel Gibson’s movie version of Jesus is the ultimate bondage bottom.

BACK IN THE EARLY ’90S, a porn mag ran a fictional spoof pictorial depicting topless baristas at what the mag billed as “The Big Cups Coffee House in Seattle.” Apparently, some guy in Maine wants to really create such an establishment.