And before those there were [...]]]> Oh, bygone eras of sublimated male eroticism! Before there was Xtube there was newsgroup photo-sharing and before those there were dirty videos (βeta!) and magazines. And before those there were International Male catalogs and “fitness” magazines and before those there were the swimsuit and underwear sections of Sears and Eaton’s catalogs.

And before those there were Ivory soap ads:

“Ivory soap had a good many unusual experiences during the war…”

“Not the least of the pleasure of a hard game is the bath that follows it.”

I believe it’s safe to say that I’ve devoted the latter part of my life to being 0 ⁵⁶/₁₀₀% pure. And I can’t help but think that ads like these got Mad Men‘s Sal into advertising.

(From Divine Caroline via MikeP.)

I don’t think I’ve got a good body. And that’s not cause I want you to say I have. I don’t look in the mirror and go: ‘Fucking hell Benny, good body.’ I look at it and [...]]]> Rugby star — and TTNO fan-fave — Ben Cohen strips for Attitude mag and says this about his physique:

I don’t think I’ve got a good body. And that’s not cause I want you to say I have. I don’t look in the mirror and go: ‘Fucking hell Benny, good body.’ I look at it and go, actually, I need to lose some more weight, I need to do some more work and I’ll go into the gym and I’ll try, I don’t really think I have a good body. If people do than fair enough. I think it’s my genetic make-up. I don’t really have much of a say in it.”

I’m sorry, Mr. Cohen, but they simply do not make ‘em much hotter. Predictably, more after the jump (underwear shots, possibly NSFW)…

Courtesy Towleroad.

Important Reminder: The “Green on Thursday” series always reveals very much more about your host at This.That.No Other. than it does about any of the featured personalities.

Protect Insurance Companies PSA from Will Ferrell

Courtesy Sheepy.

Aptly-Named Beach, Vancouver, 21 September 2009

With J.D. (7 September 2009)

…bought an awesome new citybike, heard the seven trumpets:

The Seven Trumpets

…discovered that in Space, no one can [...]]]> Short week, lots of work done, busted my Craigslist cherry (sold a TV and a Betamax — oh, yeah!) and my Kijiji cherry (sold my old bike), hung out with the inimitable J.D.:

With J.D. (7 September 2009)

…bought an awesome new citybike, heard the seven trumpets:

The Seven Trumpets

…discovered that in Space, no one can hear you eat:

Space Lounge

…ate some hard strawberries:

Hard Strawberry

…had problems with scale:

Scale

…lusted after Doug Brooks on Leverage:

Doug Brooks in Leverage

…and we’re currently enjoying Friday Night Martini # 3 4, featuring garlic- and jalapeno-stuffed olives.

A good week.

(Courtesy Glark – thanks, Dave!)

1) Big

2) Bad

A) Acting

B) Room

Image: Screencap from this week’s episode of True Blood

Don’t get me wrong, I love me some over-the-top Alan Ball zaniness, but the scene above, between Bill and The Queen, was one serious thespian trainwreck.

Oh, cripes, when I was sick last week I totally missed the brouhaha over several Coors’ billboards in British Columbia, allegedly dissing Toronto with the slogan COLDER THAN MOST PEOPLE FROM TORONTO and, I hafta say, as one of those people from Toronto, I’m deeply offended at the inaccuracy of [...]]]>
Coors Billboard in British Columbia

Oh, cripes, when I was sick last week I totally missed the brouhaha over several Coors’ billboards in British Columbia, allegedly dissing Toronto with the slogan COLDER THAN MOST PEOPLE FROM TORONTO and, I hafta say, as one of those people from Toronto, I’m deeply offended at the inaccuracy of such a claim. Seriously, if they wanted to honestly draw comparisons between their mule-urine product and the people from Toronto, MORE TASTELESS THAN MOST PEOPLE FROM TORONTO would be a helluva lot closer to the truth.

And, for real, reading the comments following The Star‘s story on the phony controversy, one has to wonder whether Toronto’s problem is its “coldness” or its residents’ unwavering capacity to strenuously defend their city’s abundant — and obvious — shortcomings.

Well, the cause of the recent radio silence is that for the past two weeks I’ve been suffering from, firstly, one of the worst summer colds I can ever remember having and, secondly, following that summer cold, one of the nastiest sinus infections imaginable. It’s only looking backwards that I can really [...]]]> So, what’s new, huh?

Well, the cause of the recent radio silence is that for the past two weeks I’ve been suffering from, firstly, one of the worst summer colds I can ever remember having and, secondly, following that summer cold, one of the nastiest sinus infections imaginable. It’s only looking backwards that I can really understand just how out-of-sorts I was, as an improvement of, oh, 60% or so barely enabled me to lift my head off the pillow (or couch).

But that’s in the past.

I will say, though, that being under the weather enabled me to catch up on my Nurse Jackie and True Blood episodes, the former being the most richly-rewarding new series on television, with the added bonus not just of the always-awesome Edie Falco and the exceedingly-sexy Paul Schulze, but some of the most subversive plotlines on television, too. I mean, any show which causes noted blowhard (and professional a-hole) Brent Bozell to deem its lead character “a filthy degenerate” has got to have something going for it. And True Blood continues its over-the-top craziness, with next month’s season finale shaping up to be one bloody good — and good ‘n’ bloody — catastrophe.

Also on the docket was a lot of Brit-com fun, from the always-dark Nighty Night, featuring the deliciously evil Julia Davis, who happens to be romantically entangled with Julian Barratt (of The Mighty Boosh infamy). I’d much rather be watching Julia & Julian than, say, Julie & Julia. Barratt and his writing and performing partner Noel Fielding front the wildly inventive and absurdly psychedelic The Mighty Boosh which, in turn, leads afficionados to Garth Marenghi’s Dark Place and Snuff Box and back to some live Boosh to round out many hours of completely fucked-in-the-head giggles.

Less insane but almost as funny is the ITV series No Heroics, about English everyday superheroes and which, apparently, has been made into a pilot for American television starring Freddie Prinz, Jr., so you just know how that’s gonna turn out. Badly, yes.

I do not quite know how to introduce the clip below, other than to warn you that it’s pretty gay, probably NSFW and unquestionably the weirdest fucking thing you’ll see this week. So, like, enjoy:

Video: Ultimate Muscle Roller Legend

It’s bad enough that bigoted hags like Maggie Gallagher, who heads up the odious National Organization for Marriage, can get any sponsors for their events, but when one of them [...]]]> Full disclosure: I can’t stand Tim Hortons and their long line-ups for mediocre coffee and, worse, the smug, anti-elite posturing of their loyal customers. That said…

It’s bad enough that bigoted hags like Maggie Gallagher, who heads up the odious National Organization for Marriage, can get any sponsors for their events, but when one of them is among the most widely-recognizable names in Canadian culture? That’s just fucked up.

NOM Rhode Island + Tim Hortons

Please skip your Timbits today and contact them instead to tell them what you think about their sponsorship of an organization entirely devoted to taking away the equal rights of same-sex couples and to ensure that that inequality be enshrined in law. When I called this morning, Tim Hortons Customer Service office seemed a little thrown by the news and was unwilling to comment until they’d investigated to make sure the use of their corporate name and logo had been approved.

UPDATE: Tim Hortons responds in a good way (link courtesy Madge):

Recently, Tim Hortons was approached in Rhode Island to provide free coffee and products for a local event, as we do thousands of times a year across Canada and the United States.

For 45 years, Tim Hortons and its store owners have practiced a philosophy of giving back to the communities in which we operate. As a company, our primary focus is on helping children and supporting fundraising events for non-profit organizations and registered charities.

For this reason, Tim Hortons has not sponsored those representing religious groups, political affiliates or lobby groups.

It has come to our attention that the Rhode Island event organizer and purpose of the event fall outside of our sponsorship guidelines. As such, Tim Hortons can not provide support at the event.

Tim Hortons and its store owners have always welcomed all families and communities to its restaurants and will continue to do so. We apologize for any misunderstanding or inconvenience this may have caused.

Though Champ and I never really did The Pride Thing in Toronto — at least, not together, and not for the past few years — we didn’t need to really discuss whether (or not) we were going to take in Vancouver’s festivities . We just knew, y’know? I mean, [...]]]> There really wasn’t much discussion about it.

Though Champ and I never really did The Pride Thing in Toronto — at least, not together, and not for the past few years — we didn’t need to really discuss whether (or not) we were going to take in Vancouver’s festivities . We just knew, y’know? I mean, Champ’s lifelong friend (and fierce-partying fire-dyke) Cindy Kampmeinert was named Honourary Pride Hero, so the parade was a given. And there’s no denying I wanted to check out the party because, hey, my two favouritest groups in the whole world are hippies and gay people, so it had that kind of built-in appeal, right there.

Toronto’s Pride has become a leviathan of scale with which I now neither enjoy nor even feel comfortable, so an expected crowd of half that seemed about right for me, about the size at which Toronto’s Pride in the ’90s balanced the city’s community, our neighbours and visitors from abroad. And, indeed, it’s at this point which Vancouver’s Pride committee will need to either scale back or expand to accommodate the crowds.

Friday Night’s street party on Davie saw two blocks of that avenue fenced off in what can only be described as Party Pens, because Canadian Anglos can’t be trusted with alcoholic beverages right out in the open where minors might accidentally brush up aginst them. But looking at a line-up of 45 minutes to get into one of the two Party Pens ($7 entry) and a line-up to get drink tickets and then yet another line-up of about an hour to get a goddamn drink? Uh, no.

With Ken and Champ (2 August 2009)

On Saturday we met up with our pal Ken, in town from Toronto for the weekend, and had some awesome sushi at the roundhouse in Yaletown while catching up. We set a date to watch the parade together and he took off for parts unknown while we went to a fireworks-viewing party in the West End and drank far too much, for which we apologize to our enchanting hosts. Any untoward behaviour, including shameless flirting, too. There were line-ups outside every bar and club along the route home. The gays love their bars.

Pride Day found us up early and eager to hit the parade. We met Ken and stationed ourselves at the corner of Beach and Bidwell, where we were treated to nonstop commentary from a Hippie Douchebag and unending jostling from the ever-increasing entourage of an Asian family who saw fit to bring one of their children’s bicycle to the front of the spectator lines. This happens with such regularity at Pride Parades — if not a bicycle, it’s a baby carriage which inevitable is pressed into the back of my legs.

And let me take this opportunity to tell those Hippie Douchenozzles and rude, straight gawkers out there: you may be a citizen of this country and therefore legally able to go anywhere in public, but THIS IS OUR FUCKING PARTY, ASSHOLES, not yours. You’re invited and you’re welcome to have a good time with us. But don’t you fucking ask to have pictures taken with complete strangers among us to make you look hip and cool. Because it demeans us and, most of all, WE ARE NOT HERE FOR YOUR ENTERTAINMENT. We are here because it’s our party, and if you do not like seeing fat dykes on motorcycles or old, wrinkly, naked fags with their junk hanging out, you can just keep your stupid-fuck comments to yourself while you are getting the fuck away from us, like, right now.

And then the parade started and it was fun even if it was also far too long. And that fucking bicycle. And that Hippie Douche, with whom we’ll deal in a moment.

There were Dykes on Bikes, the traditional harbingers of Pride parades:

Hippie Douchewaffle behind us felt it necessary to say, at a volume perfectly-suited to someone utterly oblivious to his obnoxiousness, “so… a bunch of fat chicks on motorcycles? What next?” Stay classy, Hippie.

There were mounties, who had to endure chants of “Take! It! Off!” when they stopped briefly in front of our section. Hey, it was really hot and we were just offering a helpful suggestion because us gays, we’re nothing if not helpful, especially when it comes to wardrobe and costumes:

If they laughed, that made it okay, right? It was hot, people.

There was the dashing and handsome Ian Hanomansing, a newsreader for a television network, the name of which I’ve forgotten:

There was Grand Marshall Cleve Jones, whose door sticker seemed as concise as it was… limiting:

My dad showed up unannounced:

Hippie Douchebucket found this particularly distressing: “straight people can’t go naked in our parades, so it’s wrong to allow old gay people to do it,” which, when you think about it, is a statement fucked up on too many levels to bother with for any reasonable length of time. Like beyond the end of that last sentence.

There was a quartet of First Nations chicks fiercing it up to Tina Turner to get the crowd going (and it worked):

It was tough not to get choked up by the abundance of love and respect for Cindy “Big Cins” Kampmeinert by her fellow firefighters:

I understand Cindy was also a bit of a Vancouver Pride legend when it came to water fights. Do not fuck with a kick-ass lesbian who knows how to operate pressurized water, people. R.I.P., Big Cins.

We screamed for ice cream. Okay, ice cream vendors:

We accepted a sincere apology, even if apologies fall far short of actual retribution:

We got a giggle (and mild political arousal) from the PumpJack float, and made a mental note to go there on my Vancouver Gaybar Re-Un-Virgining:

We observed a touching moment of silence for fallen friends:

Hippie Douchewaste: “what a downer, man.”

Hey, by now you’ve probably established a mental picture of Señor Smartass, right? How close were you?

So hot.

And close to the end of the parade, my decision to not join Fitness World — despite their incessant, insistent phone calls to follow up on a single free workout at one of their facilities — was utterly reinforced by the bane of my gay existence: the sailor cap on a hairless, hot-pantsed go-go stud. People, for the love of all things good and sweaty, Let. It. Die. already.

Argh.

Following the parade, we traipsed towards Sunset Beach, where a whole bunch of vendors and volunteer agencies set up shop beside the — predictably overcrowded — single beer garden. Memo to the Pride Committee: next year? Think bigger. Like, maybe get rid of banking booths — who the hell opens a chequing account on Pride Day? — and stick in another beer garden or three. There are bears out there and they are thirsty.

I volunteered to model for checkhimout.ca, a gay men’s health website that looks, promisingly, as fun and sex-positive as it is informative:

And, no, that photo isn’t mirror-backwards. Hot, tired and thirsty, we headed back to a lovely BBQ at one of Champ’s colleague’s patio deck and then home to crash, happy homos, us.

Happy Pride, Vancouver-style, everyone.

Fragments: “Better than Crash“

Let me say this upfront — I wholeheartedly endorse the laser-etching of anything on anything. That said, what a treat to check out meatcards.com, which boldly proclaims…

Screw die-cutting. Forget about foil, popups, or UV spot lamination. THESE business cards have two ingredients:

MEAT AND LASERS.

Unlike other business cards, MEAT CARDS will [...]]]> Meat Cards:

Let me say this upfront — I wholeheartedly endorse the laser-etching of anything on anything. That said, what a treat to check out meatcards.com, which boldly proclaims…

Screw die-cutting. Forget about foil, popups, or UV spot lamination. THESE business cards have two ingredients:

MEAT AND LASERS.

Unlike other business cards, MEAT CARDS will retain value after the econopocalypse. Hoard and barter your calorie-rich, life-sustaining cards.

Want! Especially after checking out their prototype:

Murders-and-Executions Image: Courtesy meatcards.com

I Call Him “Inky”:

H-Mart is my new favourite store in Vancouver, an Asian supermarket with which one could easily become obsessed. The anthropomorphizing of nonhuman life forms seems to have reached a new level. Mouseover the image below and, behold, the brain-sucking allure of Inky…

Mouseover. C’mon, do it. DO. IT.

Okay, I’m not that drunk, but kinda, I’ll admit it.

(H/T: chiqui of CPMCoG for meatcards)

More interesting — to me, at least — was the 45-second TV spot for the airline, featuring the talents of Air [...]]]> I hope you’ll welcome the return of an orphaned series here at This.That.No Other., prompted by a post earlier this week on Joe.My.God. showcasing the cheeky Air New Zealand video “The Bare Essentials of Safety”.

More interesting — to me, at least — was the 45-second TV spot for the airline, featuring the talents of Air New Zealand’s own staf–hey, wait a minute! Who’s that silverfoxy baggage-handler with the yellow “shirt”? Check it out:

Video: Air New Zealand: Nothing to Hide

That silverfoxy baggage-handler is an employee, too. CEO Rob Fyfe, to be precise. The 45-year-old Fyfe, a former New Zealand Air Force officer, recently won stuff.co.nz‘s “Hottest Businessman” poll. Well, duh. If you felt Fyfe’s presence in the ad, above, was a tad too brief, here’s some meatier stuff, in the behind-the-scenes video. Accent-related swooning is allowed (if not encouraged):

Video: Nothing to Hide: Behind the Scenes

Important Reminder: The “Green on Thursday” series always reveals very much more about your host at This.That.No Other. than it does about any of the featured personalities.