Happy Mother's Day

Don't forget to tell her you love her today.

Gone Too Soon

My mother (d. August 5, 1990) and MM (d. August 5, 1962)

Happy Father's Day!

This is not our father; which is a good thing, otherwise we'd be pretty sick for thinking the things we do when we look at him.




Via SISSYDUDE!

Take Her, She's Mine

Where Love Has Gone (1964)
Dir.: Edward Dmytryk
Cast (L-R): Mike Connors, Joey Heatherton, Susan Hayward and Bette Davis

A Mother's Love

Turkey

We're slightly horrified by this undoubtedly well-intentioned tableaux, for several reasons.

- The cadaver-like skin tone of the gents in the foreground, their gaping maws, and their sightless eyes, seem to indicate that they're less interested in eating the turkey than in eating your very souls.

- It's one thing to wear clothing that's too tight; it can be chalked up to an accident, or unexpected weight gain, or, given the tough economic situation, a lack of funds to replenish your FCUK/A&F/H&M/AX coffers. It's something else altogether to intentionally paint your subjects' clothing too tight (and to make them appear to be fashioned of rubber). We won't even discuss the disturbingly out-of-place chest hair that the Hostess with the Mostess is sporting.

- And, finally -- is that a cranberry "sauce" mold we see on the table? A cloved ham with pineapple rings? Sweet potatoes with mini marshmallows??? It looks as if the cast of Queer as Folk stepped into a dining room set styled for a Very Special Thanksgiving episode of That 70's Show. Do you really think that any of these queens would dare touch broccoli covered with ten pats of butter, unless it were organic soy lactose-free almond butter? We didn't think so.

But the sentiment this illustration expresses is a nice one: Thanksgiving is a day to give thanks. Thanks for your loved ones; thanks for your families (blood and chosen); and thanks for the fact that we live in a free society where bitter gay bloggers can make snarky comments about bad gay commercial art Norman Rockwell rip-offs. (Say that three times fast.)

Happy Thanksgiving, everyone.

Wham Bam, Thank You Peenee...

...for tagging me. You can check out his gratitude check-list here; and Miss Janey's original here. And, as Peenee was kind enough to mention, you can also view a pantless Mr. Janey and his drums. (Miss Janey, I hope your bandwidth server doesn't implode from all the hits your husband's bits and kit will undoubtedly git.) Peenee's handsome hubby is featured on his list, too; we do not have a handsome or pantless husband to be grateful for; but we shan't dwell on the negative.

What are we grateful for here at Stirred, Straight Up, with a Twist? Cliched though it may be, we are unwaveringly grateful for Friends and Family.





We are grateful for, and endlessly amazed by, the fact that we have made nearly 20 trips to Italy, France, and England in our (relatively) short lifetime. The sights, sounds, smells, and tastes will never die in our memory, even if this Big Bad Recession temporarily halts our future travels.



We are exceedingly grateful for Beauty, in all its many forms.



And, of course, we are grateful that you take some time out of your busy day to read this little bit of irreverence on the 'net. Your wit and humor have been inspiring and keep us on our toes; and your support in more serious matters has touched us. We do it all for you, darlings!

The End

Today marks the fortyi-sixth anniversary of Marilyn Monroe's untimely death. It's not without some poignant irony that it also marks the eighteenth anniversary of the passing of my mother.

My mother was an extraordinary woman, capable of great love and compassion, and also capable of remarkable cruelty and pettiness. She really was a theatrical character out of a Tennesse Williams play: sometimes Blanche du Bois, other times Violet Venable; still others Maggie the Cat. As a young child, I adored her; as an adolescent I feared her; and it's only recently, as I look back on a life both incredibly full and sadly inhibited by her own fears and demons, that I can view my mom with some clarity and understanding.

I don't believe in "baring all" in public; not necessarily out of any embarassment or reticence, but in the interest of the good taste of discretion, and the feeling that most people aren't particularly interested in anyone else's neuroses. But I did want to pay some kind of public tribute to my mom, and Marilyn, whom she forbade me to read about or watch on TV. My mother, you see, had an almost paranoiac fear of sex and sexuality; I couldn't, at the time, reassure her that my intense worship of La Monroe had no basis in lust, but, even if I had, I doubt that her reaction would have been any more positive!

So, wherever you are now, Mom, I hope you're at peace with yourself. You always said that we were soul mates, and in many ways -- some which I'm amused by, others that I'm bemused by -- I realize that we really are two sides of the same coin. I love you. Maybe you're hanging out with Marilyn now, finding some common ground, and looking at me, saying, "The kid turned out all right, after all."

Jump In, the Gene Pool's Fine

Gena Rowlands' late husband, John Cassavetes...



...and their son, Nick Cassavetes.