16
Aug
10

Fear the Schmear

The New York Post can be always be relied upon to deliver the important stories of the day that really make a difference in our harried, overcomplicated lives, such as this nugget about a woman who got tossed out of a Starbucks by the cops after getting into an argument with a barista about the way she was ordering a bagel. (It’s a biggie. It took a team of three reporters to cover it.)

She asked for a “toasted multigrain bagel,” and when the barista asked if she wanted butter or cheese on it, she dug her heels in the dirt and refused to specify or say “neither.” To her way of thinking, there was  no need to use their weird lingo.

“When you go to Burger King,” she told the Post, “you don’t have to list the six things you don’t want.”

No, lady, but when you go to Burger King, you don’t order a flame-grilled quarter-pound hamburger sandwich with mayonnaise, lettuce, tomato, pickles, onion, mustard and ketchup on a sesame seed bun, either. You order a “Whopper.” You use the conventions of the fast-food place you’re in. We all feel like assholes when we order a chalupa, but that’s what Taco Bell calls it. We can’t be responsible for the fool who named it. Just suck it up, and move on. There’s a line behind you.

Continue reading ‘Fear the Schmear’

04
Aug
10

A Family Weigh

The 1976 film Network may most commonly bring to mind overwhelmed, despairing Howard Beale bellowing “I’m mad as hell, and I’m not going to take it any more!” His performance is genius, and his newsroom messiah complex may seem to presage this generation’s personality-driven Fox News and CNBC, but something else stood out to me when I watched the movie for the first time not long ago. A much smaller moment. And it had nothing to with Howard Beale, at least not directly.

Over the course of the movie, Howard’s friend, colleague and defender Max Schumacher embarks on an extra-marital affair with Diana Christensen, a young woman who takes advantage of Howard’s ongoing mental breakdown to drive up ratings and advance her own career. Over lunch one afternoon, Max tries to clear his conscience by devastating his wife with the news that he can finally feel some emotion … for someone else.

Louise Schumacher places her teacup on the breakfast nook and calmly tells her husband where he can stick it, before storming out out of the kitchen to rip Max a new one. It’s an electrifying and unforgettable speech that sums up the feelings of centuries of downtrodden, browbeaten housewives.

“Get out. Go anywhere you want. Go to a hotel, go live with her, and don’t come back. Because, after 25 years of building a home and raising a family and all the senseless pain that we have inflicted on each other, I’m damned if I’m going to stand here and have you tell me you’re in love with somebody else.

Because this isn’t a convention weekend with your secretary, is it? Or … or some broad that you picked up after three belts of booze. This is your Great Winter Romance, isn’t it? Your last roar of passion before you settle into your emeritus years. Is that what’s left for me? Is that my share? She gets the winter passion, and I get the dotage?

What am I supposed to do? Am I supposed to sit at home knitting and purling while you slink back like some penitent drunk? I’m your wife, damn it. And, if you can’t work up a winter passion for me, the least I require is respect and allegiance. I hurt. Don’t you understand that? I hurt badly.”

She spent three days on the set and only five minutes of her work made it into the final cut, but that speech, delivered more elegantly and forcefully than I can demonstrate, won stage actress Beatrice Straight a best supporting actress Oscar.

Sitting in a dark theater more recently, watching The Kids Are All Right, I drew an accidental but illuminating parallel between Louise’s speech and a scene played by Julianne Moore.

Her character, Jules, has been caught having an affair with the man whose anonymous sperm donation years ago sired both her son and her wife’s daughter. Jules’ wife Nick, played by a slightly colder Annette Bening, confronts her and shuts her out. Jules spends days sulking around the house, unsure of how to talk to her kids, unable to get through to her wife, until she stands in front of the TV one night and clears the air.

“Your mom and I are in hell right now, and the bottom line is marriage is hard. It’s really fuckin’ hard. It’s just two people slogging through the shit, year after year, getting older, changing. Fucking marathon, OK?

So sometimes, you know, you’re together so long you stop seeing the other person. You just see weird projections of your own junk. Instead of talking to each other, you go off the rails and act grubby and make stupid choices — which is what I did. And I feel sick about it, because I love you guys. And your mom. And that’s the truth. And sometimes you hurt the ones you love the most. And I don’t know why. You know, if I read more Russian novels … Anyway … I just wanted to say how sorry I am for what I did. I hope you’ll forgive me eventually. Thank you.”

She is the opposite of Max Schumacher, but she totally gets Louise.

Sitting in that theater with my husband of 6 years, it drove home to me the central point of the movie: Marriage is hard — whether it’s man on man, woman on woman, or … well, some other variation. You’re going to screw it up. And you’d better not do it if you don’t want to get your hands dirty.

Who knows what compels us to do it to ourselves and each other, but I am convinced it’s the same force for every relationship — gay, straight or neither. The Kids Are All Right is not about lesbians. It’s not about an unconventional family. (What family is conventional?) It’s about a marriage. It’s about a family. It’s about you, and it’s about me, nothing more and nothing less.

02
Aug
10

The Redcoats are Coming!

With My Rifle by My Side

Are those ducks or geese? Or terrorists?

Do your kids have enough firepower at their fingertips?

Just out this summer is a children’s book about the 2nd Amendment: With My Rifle By My Side (via joemygod). The title reminds me of similar stories about teddy bears and dolls. With their best buddies, real or imaginary, at their sides, there is no adventure they can’t meet, no task they can’t accomplish.

These days, apparently, teddy bears and dolls are just a distraction from what our children are truly called to do. Kids, we are told, need to be taught to defend their country.

The book is about “A boy’s initiation into rifle safety and hunting; and his awakening to the solemn necessity of firearms for preserving personal and national liberty. The young protagonist observes of the Founding Fathers: ‘With their rifles by their sides, they protected their right to be free. They defended their land, neighbors, towns, and families.’

I have nothing against kids learning gun safety and hunting. Yes, please do teach them respect and admiration for the guys who founded the United States. And if the country were threatened by an aggressive colonial superpower, and we were in desperate need of revolt, I might even understand the need to teach kids about the eventuality of taking up arms and fighting for our rights as free people.

However, in the real word, the United States itself is the aggressive superpower. What precisely are we telling kids they will need a gun to defend themselves against? You live in a dangerous neighborhood? Get a gun to defend against intruders. You have a problem with bears or wolves? Get a gun. And if you want to defend the country, go into law enforcement and work the border patrol. Join the Coast Guard. Join the Army or the National Guard.

The book was printed by a Christian book publisher, Young Heart Books, whose mission is to “encourage the young to seek the Lord in prayer, worship in church, and love the liberties provided by the sacrifices of our country’s forefathers so they may grow into tomorrow’s American patriots.”

The book’s description calls it “a charming children’s story written in verse that reclaims American values” and “a book with colorful illustrations and a delightful story that renews the spirit of American liberty and honor.”

Got it. It all sounds great. But under what circumstances does Young Heart Books think their readers will be called upon to fulfill their sacred destiny and defend their neighbors, towns and families? Do you think if this country were attacked, we’re going to want a bunch of yahoos with deer rifles running around shooting at anything they see as a threat? Isn’t that why we have an army?

The author, Kimberly Jo Simac, has another book out about appreciation of America’s military (American Soldier Proud and Free). Why isn’t that enough? Why do we need to essentially say that we don’t trust our military to do the job; we need to keep a back-up plan in the coat closet?

And what’s this business about reclaiming American values and renewing the spirit of liberty and honor? Are gun-owners the ones who own American values? If I don’t tell kids that they should buy guns when they grow up so they can defend their neighbors, towns and families, am I letting them down? Am I disrespecting the Founding Fathers? Am I trampling on the spirit of liberty and honor?

I don’t really see the connection between the Church and the 2nd amendment anyway. Using religion to justify government is an activity America doesn’t seem to tolerate in other countries — at least, if the religion in question is Islam. I am continuously intrigued terrified by the alignment of Christian morality with advocacy of gun violence.

There are so many ways to be patriotic, to defend America and to make it great, to celebrate liberty and live an honorable life — like … getting an education, working your way to the top of your field, and having some intellectual influence in the world. Or making global contributions as an American inventor or scientist. Defending America’s honor and reputation. Justifying our position of leadership. What about becoming a doctor and healing Americans or working to cure a disease? Or working to reduce or eliminate social catastrophes like poverty and urban decay? Getting guns off the streets instead of introducing more firearms to the problem.

Honestly, the ability to get a gun license is nowhere near the first thing I think of when I consider what can make this country great. But if you have to do it with a gun, join the damn Army and put your money where your mouth is. Find out what warfare and defense are really like. Hating terrorists from the comfort of your cabin in the woods or your ranch on the prairie is pretty easy.

In other words, let’s teach our kids to put some real work into making America great, and not just sit by the window with a cocked shotgun, or worse, go out looking for a fight.

28
Jun
10

Foxy Boxx Really Rocks

Pandora Boxx, Miss May

Pandora Boxx, Miss May

It’s always May in my house, because my RuPaul’s Drag Race wall calendar is forever turned to Pandora Boxx‘s page. She is my drag obsession. I might even have a crush on her.

A recent visit to Chicago last month coincided with an appearance by La Boxx at a local gay bar. The night of the performance, my husband and I were sitting around with some friends, contemplating going out. I looked at the clock. 9 p.m. I looked at my husband. I looked at my friends. I looked at the six packs and the chilled bottle of white wine waiting for us. I heard the gentle hum of the air conditioner. And I decided: I am too tired to deal with a dance bar full of screaming gay boys, flashing lights, and ka-thunk ka-thunk ka-thunk — even to see my favorite fake lady. Heaven forgive me, but I am staying in tonight.

Sometimes getting old is no bloody fun.

I never felt good about the decision, and since then I’ve been looking for a chance to make up for it. It came last week. Pandora Boxx was in New York for a Gay Pride kick-off party at the Gramercy Theater, and I was able to get on the VIP list because my company had something to do with the event. This was it. I was going to meet the Pandora Boxx! Get a picture with her! Shake her hand and tell her I love her and that she was robbed on season 2 of RuPaul’s Drag Race — robbed, I tell you!
Continue reading ‘Foxy Boxx Really Rocks’

26
Jun
10

How I Learned to Relax and Love Drag Queens

It’s Gay Pride Month for a few more days. I’m as gay in June as I am July through May, but I think one big difference is that the world’s drag queens probably see the light of day more now than any other time of year. So much sunlight bouncing off so many sequins. What is the SPF on that foundation, girl?

The other day, I was at a Gay Pride kick-off reception at an ad agency in Manhattan. They had set up a couple of bars in their lobby and conference room. Beers, cocktails, something called a “drag-me-to-the-bartini” (it involved mango nectar) and a curiously strong vodka and raspberry lemonade mixture.

The company I work for (a certain gay cable network) sponsored the event in an effort to get some face time with an agency with whom we want to drum up some business. Britney and Madonna were turned way up. Wall-mounted flatscreen TVs displayed a DVD loop of promos and clips from RuPaul’s Drag U, The Big Gay Sketch Show, Beautiful People. We had posters up all over the walls advertising our gayest shows. And the place was mobbed with very attractive, very casually dressed creative types. (One guy’s engorged pecs were nearly popping out of a very thin tank top.) Many, many of the guys were by all accounts pretty much gay. And a drag queen named Lady Bukaki (Lady B, if you want to be delicate) was cruising the crowd, stopping to take pictures with the Yuengling-swilling office folk.

So there I was, through some sort of company diversity initiative, sipping cocktails and getting looks from beautiful strangers in what, for all the world, looked like a swank cocktail lounge (Turning your office into a gay bar is business? I’m in.) — and chatting with a gentleman in a wig, makeup and fishnet stockings, named after a Japanese masturbation ritual. I couldn’t help but think, What a strange life — and how wonderful.
Continue reading ‘How I Learned to Relax and Love Drag Queens’

08
May
10

The Best Movie Never Made

Dreams can really make you glad to wake up sometimes. Witness the one I had a few days ago, in which I could not stop shitting myself.

Last night’s was much lighter in tone but no less weird.

It was in the format of a movie trailer. Not sure if I was watching the trailer, or if the dream was a trailer — or if I was some kind of omniscient observer. And not just any trailer, but the trailer for that 1979 Bill Murray summer camp movie Meatballs. Or, rather, a remade version of it. It had that grainy, filmic quality of those old trailers, with garish, yellow titles and an overenthusiastic voice over.

It starts out normal, but then there’s a scene in which Bill Murray and the shy, awkward teenage main character Rudy (played in the movie, as in my dream, by Chris Makepeace) have some kind of fight. Bill Murray is shouting at Rudy and provoking him, poking him in the chest and berating him until Rudy flips his lid and shouts “There’s nothing I want more than to kill you right now!” He charges toward Bill Murray, arms flailing, and they both fall into a gruesome fist fight.
Continue reading ‘The Best Movie Never Made’

20
Apr
10

In Greenwich, Sicker, and Embarrassment on the Tube

July 3, 1997

It rained while we were at Greenwich today. Crummy weather. You’d never know it’s July. Damp and cold as a Michigan November. It kinda brings you down, and I’m already tired. I need to sleep. I’ve done a lot of walking, but I am really excited about everything. I think I have a cold or something. My throat feels worse now.

We couldn’t decide if people living in Greenwich divided their houses into two time zones if the Meridian ran through their living rooms or if the whole town was on one clock. No one here should be late, ever, to anything. ₤3 for admission to see the longitude line!

Continue reading ‘In Greenwich, Sicker, and Embarrassment on the Tube’

11
Apr
10

A Little Bit About the People I’m With

July 2, 1997

Recovering from a pint of Guinness and two pints of Fosters last night. I tried the eggs this morning at breakfast. Feh.

Decided to stay awake and do something instead of going back to bed as I’d originally planned. Throat was raw, probably from the dry ice at the club and shouting over the music and everyone around me smoking. I could have smoked a whole pack myself second-hand! I was wearing Courtney’s sweater. (I hope it doesn’t smell too bad.)

Continue reading ‘A Little Bit About the People I’m With’

11
Apr
10

In Which We Hitch a Ride with Firefighters, I Get a Crush, and We Get Misled in Central London

July 1, 1997

First day of class. Met Sarah and Lisa for breakfast, walked to Birkbeck Col. for class. Not a bad first day. I feel confident I can do as well as or better than others in the class. I had written an essay about how my initial ideas of London came almost entirely from films like Mary Poppins. A little trite, but not untrue. And probably not uncommon.

We found out that the prof will pay for us all to see the “Reduced Skspre Co.,” which Lisa, Sarah and I had planned on seeing anyway. Feels good to be saving money already.

After class, Sarah and I tubed to Piccadilly and walked around for about an hour before we met Lisa back at Birkbeck. We flew back because we were already five minutes late — and her class had gotten out 20 minutes early anyway! The three of us bought lunch at Safeway and ate quickly at Lisa’s room. Then we had to run back to Birkbeck because we were late  (again!) for the guest speaker, Brian Bates, who talked about Celtic mythology. Made it just on time — whew!

Then prof. Penn took us to some used book stores in the vicinity of the British Museum. Lots of old stuff. Saw a Herb Ritts photo album with quite a few early shots of Madonna. Yum! But S, L, and I got separated from everyone else. We walked around like we knew where the hell we were. Stumbled onto Holborn Station and tubed back to Piccadilly.

I whipped out my map and led the girls to some shops, pubs and cafes Michael wanted me to visit. They were in Soho, somewhere near Old Compton St. and Dean St. Saw a lot of pretentious but hilarious (and intimidating!) gay clothing stores (expensive!), an insanely queer salon called Cut/Uncut, and a few cute pubs and cafes. Got a latte at a little Greek cafe whose name I can’t remember. Wanted to pick up a Pride ’97 t-shirt, but they didn’t have any large size (just S, M, XL), so I’ll wait. Picked up a Gay Times to learn a bit about this weekend’s P97 stuff.

Tubed back home and got dinner. No mistakes this time!

Continue reading ‘In Which We Hitch a Ride with Firefighters, I Get a Crush, and We Get Misled in Central London’

02
Apr
10

A One-Apple Day: Our Intro to the Tube and Half-Price Tickets

June 30, 1997

Lisa had an episode in the cafeteria this morning. She wanted two apples, but one of the workers said, “No, only one.” It was mildly embarrassing, as any mistake would be. It felt like being scolded, and none of us was prepared for that. Ah, this is Europe — not the land of all you can eat. And apparently not the land of cafeteria workers who don’t give a shit.

After my shower and breakfast, the first order of business was to get a Tube pass for the next six weeks. Unfortunately, we got to Russell Square Station during the rush hour. Sarah still needed a photo, and we waited in line to be told so. So we decided to go get the photo and let the crowds die down a bit.

Continue reading ‘A One-Apple Day: Our Intro to the Tube and Half-Price Tickets’




the untallied hours

the tweets