What's he on about now?

In case the articles, essays and opinions throughtout this site just weren't enough for you, here's my online diary (a.k.a. 'blog'). It's as close as you'll come to the inside of my head, so don't say I didn't warn you
(and remember, you can always e-mail me if you love or loathe anything you're about to read)...


   Friday, July 11, 2008

   ALAS, POOR BLOG

I love a good Letter to the Editor and this week, my friend James Ip wrote:

Scottie - why don't you blog anymore? I checked your site and the last thing was from the fall?...

Sigh. True, so true. What started out as a slight Christmas break became a full-fledged shutdown.

Not that I was lazy. Being the managing editor of fab was always more work than most people assumed a fluffy gay rag would need but, as rumours of a buyout from Xtra became louder and louder, the urge to write about my life or state of mind became quieter and quieter. I endured months of paranoia and aggravation until the hammer came down in February and who wants to read about all that? You, my kind readers, had already endured the entirety of 2005 (aka The Year George W. Bush Made Me Insane)!

In the end though, it kind of worked out. Well, if you can call getting fired along with virtually everyone at the magazine 'working out' but I'm now writing for three gay magazines, including the one that fired me. At the time, it felt a bit like being dumped and then asked for rebound sex but, in the sunshine of a Toronto summer, that water has flowed well past the bridge.

I wrote a massive piece on the first year of the new gay and lesbian radio station and was offered the 'daily roundup' blog on Xtra's website, where I get to put on my Jon Stewart hat and have a bit of fun with the news. That and the ever-addictive Facebook have stolen from this page, my first love, but I think it's time to see just how promiscuous I can be. Now that I'm out of work and freelancing, it's important to just keep writing, writing, writing (preferably for money) and I think this blog could function well as an ongoing 'progress report,' just to let everybody know what I'm up to.

It's a little scary to be living like a journalist without necessarily feeling like one but, in times of self-doubt, I turn to the lovely people who post videos like these on YouTube:


How Not to Start an Interview


Blind, not gay


Disastrous Holly Hunter interview

So yeah, underemployed or not, it looks like the world still needs me! So I'm getting back to work and you'll see more of it here (along with a website revamp, hopefully soon).

Coming up: the 10th annual Friends for Life Bike Rally! Yes, I'm back in the saddle and you'll hear more on that soon...

Labels: fab, George W Bush, homo-a-go-go, introspective, money - lack thereof, repair, working girl, writing

Amazing how Cusack can so charmingly deliver the final ego-deflater.

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at July 17, 2008

 

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The words "sexy" and "Canadian Broadcasting Corporation" aren't often used together but that's what I'm hearing at the media launch for the CBC's "winter season" beginning in January, with a batch of new shows hoping to follow The Tudors' lead in sexing up our public broadcaster.

I'm led in by women from the CBC's PR firm Media Profile. There's over a dozen attractive women in headsets, like some power-lesbian secret service, leading journalists into a large, white-draped room. I sit in the second row, behind Due South star Paul Gross. He looks better now than he did as the hot Mountie, the bastard. We watch a slick montage of trailers for 12 new shows, including MVP, a hockey soap opera clearly modeled on the saucy UK hit Footballers' Wives.

Writing for fab, I'm viewing all this with a Queer Eye, like some pink filter. I'm forced to ignore the creators of gritty drama The Border and even the very cute David Kopp, star of the new comedy jPod. No gay office mate, David? I must move on, though I do have to stop and chat with Nicholas Campbell, Canadian TV veteran (if not icon). "You mean I have to play a gay character to be in your magazine?" he asks. Pretty much, I tell him, unless you want to come out, right here. He laughs.

I go looking for the very gay Chris Hyndman and Steven Sabados, stars of their own new daytime talk show. The former Designer Guys are thrilled. "This really is a step up for us," Hyndman says, "We feel like The Jeffersons!" Any pressure from their new masters to tone down the gay? None, says Sabados: "They keep saying, 'Just be yourself.'" Hyndman laughs, "As if they’re going to hire me and ask me to play it straight! They’re going down the wrong street!" The Steven and Chris Show will have the occasional celebrity guest -— who’s topping their wish list? "Pamela Anderson!" they announce in unison.

"We just want them to be themselves," CBC programming head Kirstine Layfield later tells me. (Did they rehearse?) But I point out that the CBC's gayest show, the British sci-fi drama Torchwood, has been airing with no promotion, buried in the Friday-at-9 time slot that MVP will occupy in January. Layfield insists they’re happy with Torchwood's half-million viewers and that limited funds for ads should be spent on Canadian shows. "We try to reflect Canadians back to themselves and diversity is obviously part of that," she says, "but we want to be natural about it."

The bubbly Natalie Brown has dubbed her single-girl show Sophie a "conflamady" (conflict-drama-comedy) and agrees that including a gay character felt natural: "Really, who doesn't have a gay best friend? Why would Sophie not? I do. It's not a cliché, it's true." My Gay Agenda satisfied, I'm ultimately forced to agree with Brown when she says, "After watching all those trailers, I have to say -- CBC is looking kind of sexy."

Labels: Canada, fab, homo-a-go-go, Trawna, TV

Blade Runner needs no explanation. It just is. All of the best. There is nothing like it. To be part of a real masterpiece which changed the world's thinking. It's awesome.

Far be it from me to argue with Rutger Hauer but just a little explanation is in order: I went with a few friends to see Blade Runner: The Final Cut tonight. It's the third time the film's been released in theatres but the first release that director Ridley Scott has had complete control over. And Hauer's still right.


Blade Runner: The Final Cut trailer

What amazed me about watching this movie again (since 1994 and 1982) is seeing how Ridley Scott removed everything that didn't work before (bad narration, awkward edits, a clumsy ending) and polished what remained into a dark diamond. This is a slow, despairing, elegant piece of future noir that's even more relevant now. Most movies set in the future end up looking silly when the time comes (welcome to the year 2000!) but this film's Los Angeles in 2019 is both increasingly implausible and increasingly unsettling. The details are wrong (no offworld colonies yet) but the overall dystopia feels disturbingly probable.

And the lead actors are so gorgeously understated: Harrison Ford is cynical to the point of brutality, Sean Young is cool and aloof but desperately sad, and Rutger Hauer is one of film's all-time great villains -- terrifying yet sympathetic. Watching the film again, you really see how he is the real hero here: trying to answer the question of existence in a mere four-year life span while the deadened and soulless human characters fail to match his vitality, curiosity or faith. I was going to post a YouTube clip of his big speech here but how can I? It's too good not to be seen in the context of the film (see for yourself when a splashy DVD set comes out Dec. 18).

What was especially nice about going to this screening was that I went with my friends Danielle and Josh and, in a surprise move, an old friend of mine from university named Glynis. I hadn't seen her in nearly 15 years but she'd seen me making plans on Facebook to see Blade Runner, her favourite movie ever, and asked if she could tag along. I loved that, especially in regards to a movie about a high-technology culture of emotional cripples. Here instead is technology bringing people together. I was impressed by Glynis taking the risk in asking to join us and it was great to see her again.

Meanwhile, other friends Victor and Trevor were literally just down the street, going to see Breakfast With Scot. I was able to make it to the theatre in time to join them and this Canadian indie comedy was a total delight:


Breakfast With Scot trailer

Though the film's plot is predictable as can be, the witty script, engaging actors and surprising lack of sentimental button-pushing thrilled the group of us. Plus it's just so great to see a film set in Toronto, about Toronto and filled with people you could mistake for your neighbours. And I love a film that recognizes that trying to avoid gay stereotypes doesn't mean making the gay characters bland, inoffensive and indistinguishable from other guys. We are different, just not as much as everyone seems to think. Breakfast With Scot got that and I was really pleased.

After seeing one film that questions our very ability to hold onto what makes us human, it's great to see another that champions all the little things that let us.

Labels: back in the day, Canada, friends, homo-a-go-go, movies

Dating a married man seemed like a good idea at the time. I’d gone through a long rough patch of singles hell -— false starts and heartbreak I both suffered and inflicted. One-night-stands and 'friends with benefits' weren’t making me happy either. I craved something safe.

Jeff seemed ideal. A fantastic guy in an open relationship, he wanted to play around but remain emotionally faithful to his marriage. He and I had inventive sex and good conversation and it was all like the best parts of dating but without messy insecurities or jealousy. His lovely partner invited me for dinner at their place and was impressively relaxed about the whole business. To me, it all felt very open, liberal and 21st century, until Jeff told me one night that his partner wanted to start having someone on the side too. The very thought of this made him sick with jealousy. "But you’re the one who’s been sleeping around," I said. Not any more -— they decided to close their relationship to one other married couple. This monogamy-for-four was "safer," Jeff told me. But safer for whom, I thought, surprised at how hurt I felt.

Weeks later, I met Sean, who liked me as much as I liked his boyfriend. This time, I abandoned any delusions of polyamory and told myself it would just be about sex, nothing more. Simple and tidy. The couple came to my home one night, bringing along another friend (who Sean obviously wanted to sleep with) and everyone seemed clear-eyed on what the night had in store. But as things heated up between the four of us, Sean was all over his new friend and utterly ignoring his partner, who stormed out of the room. Suddenly, I was sitting on my living room sofa playing marriage counselor, listening to this guy pour out his every frustration with his partner’s poisonous neglect. "I hate him," he cried. So much for safety.

Studies suggest that anywhere from 50 to 75 percent of gay couples are or have been non-monogamous but I’ve found that, for me at least, the truly honest, above-board, jealousy-free open relationship is a theory that only works on paper, like communism or Ikea furniture. Polyamory might be inevitable but I’m going to stick to dating single men for a while. It’s just safer.

Managing editor Scott Dagostino changes names to protect the innocent.

[reprinted from issue 333 of fab]

Labels: fab, health, homo-a-go-go, introspective, oh l'amour, writing

Figures.

Right when I seem to be hitting some weird low point of neurosis, my inner and outer romantic life dried up to a brittle husk, I find myself talking today to someone I've had a crush on for quite some time. He always flirts with me but then he's the sort who flirts with everyone so I don't take it too seriously.

Today, however, in the middle of our usual banter, I suddenly blurt out, "Hey, do you want to go out for dinner sometime next week?" I'm horrified. Where the hell did that come from? Worse yet, he says yes and sounds thrilled, immediately setting up a time.

So here I am, feeling rather empty with nothing to give, and I've got a dinner date in eight days with someone really delightful.

No pressure!

Labels: homo-a-go-go, introspective, oh l'amour, repair

That deadpan line from a Thrill Kill Kult song always made me laugh but "Sexplosion" is not what you'd call my weekend. It's a Saturday night and I'm staying in. I can't seem to muster up any desire to leave the house. This is not good.

It's strange because I did have a lot of fun last night. I went to Shane Percy's "Grapefruit" anniversary party at fly (80s pop, mixed crowd, zany drag shows -- what is not to love?) with Robert and Darcy. The latter was blue because he'd just broken up with his boyfriend and couldn't figure out why.
"Well, we broke up because you always got possessive and weird," I not-so-helpfully said.
"But I wasn't this time!" he whined, "I was trying a whole different tack!"
All this time and I still wonder: is he ridiculously adorable or adorably ridiculous?

So we danced together all night; me being guarded around him, fearing that we might end up sleeping together if not careful. Sex is the only thing that worked in our relationship (boy howdy) but I like to keep looking forward. Trouble is, I kept looking around the packed room at this wonderful crush of people -- tall, short, young, not-so-young, gorgeous, peculiar, you name it -- and feeling no pull toward any particular person whatsoever. Even the hot boys were just bland eye candy to me. I don't know what's going on.

I was waved over by Andrew, who I had a fling with once. He's brilliant and has that geeky-cute thing I love but way too young for me. Still, we were glad to see each other and I was chatting with Andrew until another young guy wearing similar chunky black glasses came over and stood beside him. I was introduced and said, "How do you know Andrew?" He gave me a bored look and said, "Uh....we're dating." His tone was enough to add the unspoken-but-obvious capper, "...idiot." It's moments like these when I really hate gay men. Does that make me homophobic? And if so, would I then get laid a lot more often? The answer to both questions is yes.

Later on, a really cute guy in jeans and a black T-shirt approached me and we danced for a bit. He said he liked my tattoo and he smelled really good. But I felt nothing. I couldn't think of anything to say that would intrigue him and didn't really want to anyway. A few years (hell, a few months) ago, I would have run off with him right then but last night? Nothing. Darcy walked me home, said he didn't want to come up and I was relieved.

I'm confused because my sex drive has vanished. It's not like I was ever a Love Machine exactly but I was happy with my Goldilocks status -- more slutty than a schoolmarm, more chaste than a porn star. Now, however, even the few times I have had sex in the last few months have been rather lacking on my part. Celibacy is fine, sometimes even restful, but having sex and being bad at it is an awful feeling. Not that I should ever admit that here on a blog. It's like the worst personal ad ever:

Clean-cut Irish guy seeks similar for feelings of apathy and occasional impotence. Likes thai food and long walks on the beach.

But so it goes. Was it the Baconator? At my nadir of paranoia, I start to fear I'm already turning into one of those fusty blank-faced old men you see walking their dogs at night. I've got the dog and yeah, I'm fusty but c'mon, I'm not even forty!

In rolling all this around in my head, I wrote a piece for the magazine about a couple of my dating travails this year (I'll post it later this week). I wrote it in hopes that people might look at their own search for love and think about what it is they want from it. Learn from my mistakes and all that. This here, however, is just me feeling confessional. It happens from time to time. I'm Catholic.

I'm a somewhat rare Catholic, however, in that I somehow grew up without much shame around sex. Whatever's going on with me right now is, at least, not rooted in that. At least I hope not. I've witnessed many an act of depravity (and occasionally joined in) without any judgments but I do admit I was rattled by a recent piece by Warren Ellis called "America Broke Sex" (rather horrifying and obviously NSFW so click if you dare):

This is how you know you're living in the future: when the pornography bears no earthly resemblance to sex as even the filthiest of us know it. You may as well be renting DVDs of aliens fucking. And America, as Martin Amis once said, is where they road-test the future.

Warren's piece makes me nervous because he's describing a world where the need for sensation (the type I'm desperately feeling right now) has escalated to the point of monstrousness. Clive Barker saw that coming -- it's what drives Hellraiser -- and, as a fellow Catholic, he always joked that he saw sex as horrific as well as sacred.

Excitement lies in the tension between both states. But what if you feel neither? Where's the enthusiasm gone? I don't know what I want anymore, except at least that I know I don't want any donkey punching.

Labels: homo-a-go-go, introspective, repair, writing

Fearing that the models he hired wouldn't show up for fab's "holiday entertaining" photo shoot today, Paul wisely asked me, Matt and Nick the intern to come along as "background artists" (as Ricky Gervais calls them on Extras) or -- worst case scenario -- as models ourselves.

Which is exactly what happened. The two models didn't show, nor the third one Paul asked for just in case, nor the emergency fourth who was promised to arrive "in 20 minutes!!" (We won't be exactly leaping to use Velocci again!)

So I ended up sitting in a chair, getting made up (for the first time since doing high-school theatre) by the charming Gregory Graveline, who has not only worked his magic on Canadian Idol (gasp with me now!) but regularly charges $125 a face! I felt so exotic! He eased the bags under my eyes, assured me that I won't go bald as quickly as I think I will and left me looking ready to hold my own with the 20-year-old cute boys I'd brought with me.

If I'm sounding terribly vain by now, here comes the karma: first off, I may love my Chuck Taylor sneakers but no one else did. They had to go. I grumbled but Paul said I was "a meat-puppet" and would have to wear the shoes they gave me. Then I had to lose the tee I was wearing under my button-up shirt. Then I was moved to the back of the group, pretending to chat up Nick, and then it occurred to the photographer that everyone but me was wearing black and wouldn't it be great to have a more symmetrical look? A fine round of "you so ugly" jokes followed and I was soon sitting in the living room, while the shoot carried on without me.

So much for my modeling career!

But the host and cover subject made some gorgeous dark-chocolate almond brittle and insisted we all take some back with us and then I got an email from Rick Mercer mentioning that he liked the interview we did in September. Whew! My ego restored, I was able to get back to work. I will never be a supermodel but, even when I'm old and ugly (2009?), I'll still be clever (and I'll still have the almond brittle recipe)!

Labels: fab, homo-a-go-go, introspective, media, writing

This evening, I discovered my New Favourite Thing Ever!
"You say that every week," says one friend of mine.
He's right.
Fine -- it's This Week's New Favourite Thing Ever:

The Midwest Teen Sex Show

Oh get your minds out of the gutter -- it's a PG-rated video podcast put together by Illinois' own Garth (the director), Britney ("just a smalltown girl, livin' in a lonely"...hey wait, that's Journey) and Nikol, "former expert practitioner of teen promiscuity, [now] a Midwestern mother of three"). They're trying to raise the bar on getting sensible sexual health information to teens while lowering the bar on tasteful sketch comedy. Pure gold!

MY sex education in high school merely consisted of a small, mustached little man hesitantly pointing a stick at an illustrated cutaway of the human torso on an overhead projector while mumbling, then a cheery black woman from the Board of Health who rolled a condom over a banana. That's about it. Thanks to that, I'm in my thirties and still think that doing it up the butt means I'm a virgin.

Yeah, okay, these midwest kids are funnier.
And they're hitting all the right topics, including:
Abstinence
The Older Boyfriend (creepy but necessary)
Birth Control
The First Time
and my obvious personal favourite:
Homosexuality in High School

Labels: America, evolution, health, homo-a-go-go, silliness

[also printed in issue 327 of fab]

Earlier this summer I went with a group of friends to the True Colors concert tour, organized by Cyndi Lauper and featuring Erasure, Debbie Harry and the Dresden Dolls. It aimed to entertain and inspire people to fight for gay rights and, for us, it succeeded wildly—-except in one case.

As the lead singer of Blondie and an actress in cult favourites like the original Hairspray, Debbie Harry is a pop icon, no question. But when she meandered out on stage in a black pantsuit and a short haircut that made her seem like a rockin’ Hillary Clinton, Debbie changed the whole tone of the show. As she tore through a set of unfamiliar and uninspired tracks from her upcoming album, Debbie made it clear that the other performers may have been there to celebrate us gays but she was there to have the gays celebrate her.

But why would she try harder? We gay men have always been loyal to our divas. Too loyal. Martha Wash and Crystal Waters played Toronto Pride this year. Straight people have pretty much forgotten who these women are, but not us. We love them so much, we ignore the fact that neither singer has done anything new or interesting in nearly two decades. Just like Gloria Gaynor, recently quoted saying she loves gay people and wants to "lead them to Jesus." Okay, just as long as she sings "I Will Survive" on the stairway to heaven.

Madonna is, of course, the gold standard of gay pop diva. The Advocate magazine named her the biggest gay icon of all time and her pioneering efforts to include us have made her a hero to two generations of gay men, even the ones who say, "Judy who? Barbra what?" But we must remember that our relationship with Madonna is symbiotic. She was created and maintained by the talents and hard work of many gay men—-producers, stylists, musicians, dancers. Like Cher, she is a bionic woman—-super-strong, made of plastic and built by us. Our talents, our money, our loyalty. Cyndi Lauper understands this. Her tour helped raise money for gay rights advocacy because, as religious and political authorities fight to undermine our lives, she wants to repay her gay fans with a bit more help than Christina Aguilera telling us we’re beautiful.

But what do I know? Personally, I’ve always loved Kylie. She makes the kind of campy disco records the boys love and merrily refers to her stylist William Baker as her "gay husband." She’s built up so much good will, she could cook and eat the little gay boy on Ugly Betty and I’d still line up to buy her next album.

Labels: fab, homo-a-go-go, music, tributes

Agreed--Kylie seems far less cynical and industry-driven in her relationship with gay men than the likes of Madonna.

-- Reply posted by  The Guy in DKNY at August 23, 2007

 

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I just heard that Jerry Falwell has died at 73. I feel a sense of relief.

I wish I were a better person, one with compassion for all, but he's the guy who said this:

AIDS is not just God's punishment for homosexuals; it is God's punishment for the society that tolerates homosexuals.

And let's not forget this gem, right after New York was attacked on September 11, 2001:

I really believe that the pagans, and the abortionists, and the feminists, and the gays and the lesbians who are actively trying to make that an alternative lifestyle, the ACLU, People For the American Way, all of them who have tried to secularize America. I point the finger in their face and say 'you helped this happen.'

So I can't feel too sorry for him -- he's now sitting at the right hand of God in a glorious paradise free of anyone he disliked so very much.

At least that's what he hoped.

Labels: America, homo-a-go-go, media, politics, religion

Halfway through this video, I was completely horrified but, as such insanity often does, it eventually tips over into the blackest comedy:



What the Government Doesn't Want You to Know

Best of luck with that march tomorrow...

Labels: homo-a-go-go, insanity, politics

Now any longtime reader knows that I'm quite hard on the Christian churches
--
can't
imagine
why
--
but I'm always strive to be fair, which is why I was so thrilled by two stories today.

First, I chatted on the phone today with Rev. Shawn Sanford Beck, an Anglican priest in Saskatoon who will have his ministry license revoked at the end of this month. Rev. Beck believed that denying gay couples the rite of marriage was "theologically problematic and fundamentally unjust." The bishop ordered him to recant and Beck has refused.

This afternoon, Beck explained to me how this stance was completely consistent with the work that he's done in Saskatoon's poor and Aboriginal communities. He still has a teaching job and his wife works with the food bank so, he says, they'll continue to "live simply" and get by. He was low-key and laid-back throughout the conversation. I told him how honoured I was by his support. I'm not sure I could be that brave in supporting a minority I have no connection with -- what a fantastic person.

But bravery can come from numbers and the second story today comes from the 30-million members of National Association of Evangelicals. Having recently weathered the loss of their hypocrite leader, the NAE have apparently reexamined their stance on a number of issues. Today, they publicly condemned the US government's use of torture while recently reaffirming a commitment to addressing the global warming issue, or what they sweetly call "creation care" -- this is a trend that began last fall but the NAE's involvement marks a big step forward.

Amusingly, the right-wing leaders of the other Christian groups are now freaking out over such disobedience, with a letter to the NAE warning that the global warming debate will "shift the emphasis away from...sexual abstinence and morality," leading (oh, of course) to mass abortions and infanticide. Jerry Falwell even calls the climate discussion "a tool of Satan" used by his usual laundry list of "liberal politicians, radical environmentalists, liberal clergy, Hollywood and pseudo-scientists."

No mention of gay men and lesbians, which is odd since we were (oh, of course) responsible for 9/11. I guess even sodomites can't be responsible for every disaster but what do I know? I'm working for the Jews.

Labels: fab, homo-a-go-go, politics, religion, repair

I finally put my profile on John Amaechi to bed yesterday, by the way. I'm disappointed to see that the Advocate beat me to him by a week but Amaechi's PR person told me that they'd set up a deal with ESPN in advance. I'll have to settle for landing the first Canadian gay Toronto bi-weekly newsprint magazine interview.

I spent half an hour on the phone with him last Thursday and he was every bit as kind, intelligent and elegant as he'd come across in his book. And it's been really delightful to see the sports world support him, especially after Tim "I hate gay people" Hardaway sprayed venom everywhere.

Now we'll just have to see if a pro sports player can come out during his career. It's like that morbid joke that floated around the premiere of Philadelphia and Tom Hanks' Oscar win: everyone cries for the dying AIDS patient, but it's the ones who live they can't stand.

Which makes for an unplanned-yet-effortless segue into mentioning the piece I did in the current issue on a new plastic surgery treatment for people with HIV-related facial wasting. The foundation director I interviewed read it and said she was thrilled with how "kind and complimentary" the piece was. I was pleased but surprised, since I thought the tone was just matter-of-fact. I guess I'm just a big softy!

Labels: Canada, fab, health, homo-a-go-go, sports, Trawna, writing

...yet completely perfect.
Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. George Takei:

Labels: homo-a-go-go, silliness, TV

I do believe George has discovered how to "get a life" beyond Star Trek!

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at February 21, 2007

 

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There was an old Saturday Night Live fake commercial for "BAD IDEA Jeans" in which basketball buddies make comments like, "Now that I have kids, I feel a lot better having a gun in the house," and the screen flashes BAD IDEA.

I guess the ad was successful because there's many, many pairs of those jeans being worn now. And, for the most part, we're used to it. When I inevitably stop over the latest insane headline of a newspaper and inevitably rant, "Wow, can you believe this shit?" someone will inevitably say, "So what? It's just someone's opinion. Who cares?" Those people will undoubtedly live longer than I will but I still have to argue with them because we're never just dealing with one wrong opinion. A bad opinion stems from a bad idea and, like an untreated infection, will lead to bad actions, even from well-meaning people.

Here's my two favourite recent examples: last week, Joe Biden announced his candidacy for the US Presidential race. Like a typical politician, he did so not with a speech explaining why he'd be the best choice but with a speech criticizing his opponents. Biden now-infamously described his fellow Democratic presidential candidate and strong up-and-comer Barack Obama as "the first mainstream African American who is articulate and bright and clean and a nice-looking guy. I mean, that's a storybook, man." BAD IDEA. As blogger Atrios said, "I believe we've just witnessed the shortest presidential run in history."

While most of us howled over Biden's unconscious racism with his use of "articulate and bright" and puzzled over what the hell he was thinking with the word "clean," others were pointing out that he'd made previous racial comments, like this gem: "You cannot go to a 7-11 or a Dunkin' Donuts unless you have a slight Indian accent. I'm not joking." And remember, he's the left-winger. The only thing worse than his foot-in-mouth disease was what happened next, as the foot-in-head crowd dissected his comments. Two days ago, Bill O'Reilly actually said this to Temple University professor Dr. Marc Lamont Hill:

Now you got to feel sorry for us white folks here, because I’m telling you now I’m afraid to say anything...Instead of black and white Americans coming together, white Americans are terrified. They’re terrified. Now we can’t even say you’re articulate? We can’t even give you guys compliments because they may be taken as condescension?

Oh Bill, for the love of God, shut up! Don't you see the big neon BAD IDEA hanging in the air? Dr. Hill predictably, gorgeously, tore Bill a new one though, as usual, the host didn't notice. He was probably still marveling at how articulate Hill was. Meanwhile, on that same February 5th, national radio host, CNN anchorman, ABC correspondent and walking example of the "liberal media" in action Glenn Beck also used the presence of a black author on his show to confess:

I don’t have a lot of African-American friends, and I think part of it is because I’m afraid that I would be in an open conversation, and I would say something that somebody would take wrong, and then it would be a nightmare. Am I alone in feeling that?

No, of course not, Glenn -- there's lots of bigots out there. I love that Bill and Glenn suffer from the same fear: that their hearty pronouncements of "the truth" will be met with hostility by those confused, uppity Negroes. Why must the blacks be so sensitive? This is the ultimate BAD IDEA.

Beck infamous called the Katrina survivors "scumbags" and demanded that Rep. Keith Ellison, the first Muslim elected to Congress, "prove to me that you are not working with our enemies." Since he's dumber and more arrogant than Bill O'Reilly(!), I could go on about Glenn Beck all day (BAD IDEA) so I'll just point out Media Matters' extensive listing of his horrible opinions.

I have to move on to my second example of how well-meaning people can be roped in by bad ideas, courtesy of William Saletan, a columnist for Slate who's written excellent pieces explaining stem-cell research, cloning, the abortion debate, etc. He shocked me this week with his column on the New Zealand 'gay sheep' study. For the first time, we have hard evidence that homosexuality is biologically determined (at least in sheep, anyway). Neat! Until Saletan goes all Frankenstein on us:

"Roselli offers lots of evidence that human homosexuality is linked to biological conditions, some of them genetic. If he figures out how to manipulate sexual orientation in sheep, will others try to manipulate it in humans? We already have. Doctors used to "treat" homosexuality with hormone injections. Some still do. This idea failed miserably in adults, but it might work in fetuses, since their brains are forming. And if we can't engineer sexual orientation, maybe we can select it. Millions of Asians have used modern sex tests to identify and abort female fetuses. If we learn how to recognize gay brains in development, look out.

But killing is the horror scenario. The more likely path is gentler. Science will gradually convince us that sexual orientation is innate, more like the color of your skin than like the content of your character. Condemnation of homosexuality as a sin will subside. Freed from the culture wars, we'll turn to the biological differences between race and sexual orientation: Homosexuality defies the aspiration to procreate with your mate, and it's easier to isolate and alter in embryonic development. Resentment will give way to pity. We'll come to view homosexuality as a kind of infertility —- a disability, like deafness. The rhetoric of "acceptance" will shift from liberals to conservatives. We'll inoculate our offspring against homosexuality out of love, not hate."

Saletan's column had me quaking in horror at the notion of eradicating homosexuality by genetically-altering fetuses. I swear I could hear the hospital page for Dr. Mengele, Dr. Mengele to the operating room. For decades, we've had to listen to bigots go on about me and my friends being "unnatural" -- now they want to practice altering the chromosomes of babies? BAD IDEA. Isn't that an awful lot of work just to prevent the next Elton John? Is any of this making sense?

But that's science fiction, one might say. Calm down. Even if the whole world hated gays, we've proved pretty tough to eradicate over the centuries, no? Why not relax? If a bunch of people have racist or homophobic views, that's their problem -- we're dealing with it just fine. Well, I have to ask, are we?:

"The Ku Klux Klan, which just a few years ago seemed static or even moribund compared to other white supremacist movements such as neo-Nazis, experienced "a surprising and troubling resurgence" during the past year due to the successful exploitation of hot-button issues including immigration, gay marriage and urban crime, according to the Anti-Defamation League (ADL).

The League, which monitors the activities of racist hate groups and reports its findings to law enforcement and policymakers, has documented a noticeable spike in activity by Klan chapters across the country. The KKK believes that the U.S. is "drowning" in a tide of non-white immigration, controlled and orchestrated by Jews, and is vigorously trying to bring this message to Americans concerned or fearful about immigration."

So let me make sure I've got this: it's the 21st friggin' century and we have a spike in membership for the Ku Klux Klan? Because the good ol' boys have put away their bedsheets and learned to make nice with Nazis? Wow, Molly sure was right about the ATM and the garlic press! But, as I've said, all these 'concerns and fears' simply stem from bad opinions made up of bad ideas -- notably the tired old canard that everything is the Jews' fault. The Jews I've known can't agree on bacon, let alone running the planet, and the KKK are trying to convince people that America is being overrun with Muslim fanatics because that's what Jews want? Yeah, good luck with that.

But Barnum was right -- there's a fuckwit born every minute (I paraphrase, of course) and John Rogers' 27% Crazification Factor theory still seems apt to me. All we can do to stem the tide is to come up with better ideas, or at least make savage fun of the bad ones.

I admit the latter is more fun but almost as necessary. How, for instance, could I -- growing up in white-bread Hamilton -- ever have a problem with black people? I grew up watching Bill Cosby on TV, hearing Martin Luther King's famous speech, dancing to Aretha Franklin and, perhaps most powerfully, learning about black history from Eddie Murphy on Saturday Night Live:

"So, Professor Carver's two dinner guests...Edward 'Skippy' Williamson and Frederick 'Jif' Armstrong -- two white men -- stole George Washington Carver's recipe for peanut butter, copyrighted it, and reaped untold fortunes from it. While Dr. Carver died penniless and insane, still trying to play a phonograph record with a peanut.
This has been "Black History Minute". I'm Professor Shabazz K. Morton. Good night."

I was 13 years old and Murphy's hilarious delivery burned into my memory, just like the BAD IDEA jeans sketch. Ultimately, bad ideas are useless and silly so I like a useless and silly response. Fight fire with fire. Like the two nimrods who shut down Boston last week -- I might have disagreed with their hare-brained corporate marketing stunt if not for the wildly-paranoid overreaction from the city's mayor and administration. It was so ridiculous that I could only applaud the two goofballs for their Dada press conference. Listening to the reporters getting angrier and more self-righteous in their questioning is still funny a week later.

As for the gay sheep -- implications aside, the story is kind of funny but leave it to wisecracking playwright Paul Rudnick to bring it home. His New Yorker piece, you see, was a very very Good Idea. And, in the interest of fairness, so is the end of Saletan's piece (mainly because he agrees with me, of course -- ha ha). Having hastily lumped him in with Bill O'Reilly and Glenn Beck, I give him the last word:

But bad ideas —- communism, eugenics, wars of liberation -— don't happen because they're bad. They happen because, in the beginning, they're good. What we do with the biological truth about homosexuality, for good or ill, isn't written in our hormones or our genes. It's up to us.

Labels: America, evolution, homo-a-go-go, insanity, politics, religion

As a lifelong champion of The Silly, I think this clip is fantastic. Dan Savage has a point, however, when he asks, "Come on now -- could gay people do more harm to marriage than straight people already have?"



Speaking of Dan (my true love, if not for his husband, their son and a restraining order), he recently started snowboarding and his story is a delightful one.

Labels: homo-a-go-go, silliness

I hope that wasn't the groom doing all the show-boating. If it was, I can't help wondering if this marriage was such a good idea - svelt, supple guy with all the moves down cold. As Homer Simpson would say, "You gotta wonder."

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at February 07, 2007

 

There may be a man out there for me yet!!

-- Reply posted by  carguyto at February 07, 2007

 

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Three days away and I've barely started my Christmas shopping -- oh, the stress! I've been obviously quiet on the blogging front these past few weeks as most of my energy has been going into the magazine. But it's been fantastic. The new issue features a lengthy piece on gay activists in Iran and a little wrap-up on this year's 'outing' spree in the press. Meanwhile, I had a lovely series of interviews with New York-based photographer Joe Oppedisano. He was surprisingly open and friendly, just a incredibly-cool guy, and I can't wait for the piece to be printed.

Yes, after a tumultuous year (I changed jobs twice!), I've had a great autumn, full of friends, writing, my little dog and watching America start to wake up from its six-year nightmare. Life feels a little better for me and hopefully all of you, your friends, your family.

In A Christmas Carol, Charles Dickens wrote:
"It is a fair, even-handed, noble adjustment of things, that while there is infection in disease and sorrow, there is nothing in the world so irresistibly contagious as laughter and good-humour."

With that in mind, happy holidays from me and the gang at -- oh dear -- Star Wars:



I could only make it about three minutes in -- it's a brilliant car wreck! Have a wonderful holiday and I'll check back in before the New Year...

Labels: fab, holidays, homo-a-go-go, Middle East, writing

Where did you find that? I can't believe I made it through the whole video!

-- Reply posted by  carguyto at January 03, 2007

 

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But enough about Ted Haggard. Or Mark Foley. Or Ken Mehlman. Or Charlie Crist. Or any other of the seemingly-endless parade of right-wing anti-gay closet-cases (as comedian Bill Maher joked last week, if any more Republicans come out of the closet, they'll have to change their symbol from an elephant to a moth!).

I come not to bury cowards, but to praise Doogie, as actor Neil Patrick Harris came out on Friday. I phoned my friend Tara on Saturday to say hello and see if she'd heard. Before I could say a thing, she said, "Did you hear about Doogie?!" We're fans.

Long ago, Tara and I worked at a movie theatre in Hamilton with a boy named Darryl, of whom Tara was fond and I was...fonder. He was a fantastic guy -- funny and overly-confident but just decent enough to keep from being an outright jerk. It helped that we all thought he looked like Neil Patrick Harris' TV character so the name 'Doogie' stuck to him like glue. Doogie Howser MD was by means great TV but we liked Darryl and became fond of the show by extension (there's a soft spot even now -- Doogie was the first blogger, after all).

It helped that Harris was a wonderful kid actor and, by all accounts, a good guy. After the show ended, he got stuck in that image but, even so, he didn't go bad like the Diff'rent Strokes gang or the Coreys. He did a lot of theatre and later appeared in Starship Troopers, wearing a long black coat and looking like the leader of the Hitler Youth. There, I thought, is an actor desperate to get un-typecast!

Sure enough, he did it, by developing a Shatneresque sense of humour about himself. He first tweaked his image, playing the "white culture" expert in Undercover Brother ("I owe all of you a huge apology. I just watched this show...Roots? Maybe you've heard of it?"); he then destroyed his image, playing a horny, drugged-out asshole named Neil Patrick Harris in Harold and Kumar Go To White Castle ("Yeah, I've been craving burgers, too. Furburgers. Come on, dudes, let's pick up some trim at a strip club. The Doogie line always works on strippers!"). The producers of the sitcom How I Met Your Mother were looking for a Jack Black-type actor to play Barney, a disturbingly-cheerful womanizer, but they liked the 'White Castle' bit enough to audition Harris and he won them over. Barney's a jerk but Harris' dorky charm makes him funny and oddly endearing.

I'm whittering on like a fan but here's the point: Neil Patrick Harris has paid his dues and has a solid career. He's only 33 and he's on his second hit TV show, making lots of money and playing a wildly-popular ladies' man. Actors, singers, athletes (anyone making money, really) are only allowed to come out after their careers have run dry, not right in the middle, so following some press speculation (you just can't trust those Canadians), his publicist issued the usual weird Hollywood non-denial: "Neil Patrick Harris is not of that persuasion."

I saw that in the paper last week and was disappointed. I prefer it when actors just avoid the question rather than lie -- kind of like how Ricky Martin was interesting when people wondered if he was gay, as opposed to how boring he became when he kept going on about the ladies in that completely hypothetical 'who are you kidding?' way. It's sad. In Harris' case, the denial was especially pointless, considering how people had been commenting for a while now on the guy he keeps being seen with around New York. I could understand why the publicist would try to suppress the story but it irritated me that, in 2006, a TV actor still can't say he's gay.

Happily, it seems that Harris was annoyed, too. Rather than start playing that fame game -- hiding his boyfriend, showing up at parties with random women, jumping on sofas and yelling about his lady love -- he silenced his handlers and simply issued the briefest, classiest statement possible:

The public eye has always been kind to me, and until recently I have been able to live a pretty normal life. Now it seems there is speculation and interest in my private life and relationships.

So, rather than ignore those who choose to publish their opinions without actually talking to me, I am happy to dispel any rumors or misconceptions and am quite proud to say that I am a very content gay man living my life to the fullest and feel most fortunate to be working with wonderful people in the business I love.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it's done. I can only hope the Republican party is paying attention. Bravo, Doog!

Labels: back in the day, evolution, friends, homo-a-go-go, movies, the 80s, tributes, TV

You really are a good writer ole pal. I enjoy reading your posts.

-- Reply posted by  Vinnie Delpino at November 08, 2006

 

Sigh. You always sound the way I should have but didn't. Its a wonder I don't put arsenic in your Tapioca. ;)

Marvy article darlin'....

T.

-- Reply posted by  Trev at November 14, 2006

 

Pet Shop Boys on Dancing With The Stars: the musical equivalent of Jumping the Shark.
Neil Tennant just had this look of "please, someone shoot me now" as he sang West End Girls, 20 years after it was popular.

RIP Pet Shop Boys
(1981-2006)

-- Reply posted by  Chris Lowe at November 15, 2006

 

I like that I have a better shot at Doog then my female friends do. Giggity Giggity Giggity Go!

-- Reply posted by  Dave at November 17, 2006

 

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Obviously, I've been turning cartwheels over this week's revelation that Ted Haggard, leader of the 30-million-member National Association of Evangelicals, bought crystal meth from the gay prostitute he's been visiting for three years. With the US midterm elections tomorrow, it's a political jackpot and the metaphorical culmination of everything I've been ranting about for years!

So why does it make me feel so sad?

Well, first off, I feel sorry for his wife and kids.
Mrs. Haggard must obviously be devastated and, as for the kids, it's hard enough on children when they learn that Dad lied to them about Santa Claus; what if Dad lied about everything he believed in and everything he taught you?

But I actually feel sorry for Ted Haggard.
Watching clips of the infamous interview (with his wife and kids in the car!!!), the troubling face-off with hectoring atheist Richard Dawkins or the truly-terrifying excerpt from Jesus Camp is all creepy enough, but reading transcripts of the prostitute detailing their time together in karmic 'Bill-Clinton-Starr-Report' fashion is totally gruesome.

Last year, Harpers did a lengthy profile on Haggard called Soldiers of Christ that I found profoundly unsettling; now it's also profoundly sad. The man is clearly a seething mass of frustrated contradictions:

The fact is, I am guilty of sexual immorality, and I take responsibility for the entire problem. I am a deceiver and a liar. There is a part of my life that is so repulsive and dark that I’ve been warring against it all of my adult life.

For extended periods of time, I would enjoy victory and rejoice in freedom. Then, from time to time, the dirt that I thought was gone would resurface, and I would find myself thinking thoughts and experiencing desires that were contrary to everything I believe and teach. Through the years, I’ve sought assistance in a variety of ways, with none of them proving to be effective in me. Then, because of pride, I began deceiving those I love the most because I didn’t want to hurt or disappoint them.

I don't hear the words of a 48-year-old right-wing Christian leader in this statement Haggard made on Sunday, I hear the unhappy rationalizations of a gay teenager. Maybe I'm projecting here but this statement sounds an awful lot like what I was writing in my diary at 17. I wish someone could've taken Ted aside and said, "You're not repulsive and dark -- you're a homo!"

I even began to feel sorry for his followers. I can't imagine how confusing this must be for them. When Bill Clinton admitted to having sex with "that woman," I felt disappointed in him and frustrated by his lack of control. But when you get right down to it, Clinton wasn't part of a massive political movement blaming all the evils of society on young Jewish interns, was he? That kind of disconnect between Haggard's private actions and public rabble-rousing is the sticking point here and, unfortunately, where my sympathies end.

You see, I'd like to think to something good could come from this, that perhaps the evangelical movement will understand that splitting the world into 'us' versus 'them' never works because there's no distinction. 'They' are 'us' and 'us' are 'they.' I'd like to think that this incident may help evangelicals understand that homosexual is less important than the way people channel them. I want them to see that allowing a self-hating gay man to hide by marrying a woman and having five children will ultimately ruin all of their lives. I'd like them to accept that allowing such a person to be honest, to find and live peacefully with another man, would be far more beneficial to society than the sad freakshow we've had to witness this week. I would like to think that but the odds are unlikely when the conclusions are already drawn. Mollie at GetReligion quotes from an e-mail she received, comparing openly-gay Anglican bishop Gene Robinson to Ted Haggard:

A pastor is married for years, has children, runs a successful church, advances in his denomination/sector of Christianity, and then “finds himself” and abandons wife and children for a live-in situation with another man. His reward? Consecration as a bishop in the Protestant Episcopal Church of America and wide-ranging media praise
...
Another pastor apparently is married for years, has children, builds and runs a a successful church, advances in his denomination/sector of Christianity, fights temptation and loses, stays with his family, and when the dam breaks, is crucified in the press as his reward.

This to me is an insane comparison. Gene Robinson divorced his wife three years before he got involved with his current partner. He and his wife are still friends because he was honest with his family and his community through the whole 'coming out' process. However one might feel about Robinson's status as a bishop, anyone who can't see a difference between the way he's dealt with his sexuality and the way Haggard has is either intellectually or spiritually bankrupt. On that note, Canada's own poster boy for nepotism David Frum (creator of the hit catchphrase "Axis of Evil") then chimed on along similar lines:

Consider the hypothetical case of two men. Both are inclined toward homosexuality. Both from time to time hire the services of male prostitutes. Both have occasionally succumbed to drug abuse.

One of them marries, raises a family, preaches Christian principles, and tries generally to encourage people to lead stable lives.

The other publicly reveals his homosexuality, vilifies traditional moral principles, and urges the legalization of drugs and prostitution.
...
If a religious leader has a personal inclination toward homosexuality - and nonetheless can look past his own inclination to defend the institution of marriage and to affirm its benefits for the raising of children - why should he likewise not be honored for his intellectual firmness and moral integrity?

Where's the "intellectual firmness" in Haggard hiring a prostitute and buying crystal meth? Where's the "moral integrity" in doing so while denying people the right to marry? And lying to your own wife and children? And I love the way the argument is framed as either 'stay in the closet for the children' or 'wallow in drugs and prostitutes' -- because no middle ground is possible, right? I can't believe that Frum would try to peddle this kind of crap, but then I read this take from The Christian Post:

While Haggard has only partially admitted guilt, the situation in its entirety is a stark reminder of man’s sinfulness and a dark exposure of how deeply the sin of homosexuality has taken root in the American society. If the accusations are indeed true, now would be the time for the Evangelical community look within its own walls and battle against the culture of sin that looms before the Church of Christ.

Yes, I'd like to think something good could come from the sad story of Ted Haggard but it seems a lot of other lessons have been learned, all of them wrong and none of them helpful.

Labels: America, family, homo-a-go-go, politics, religion, repair

I'm lucky to have a small but diverse fanclub here as we ramble on, so I imagine many of you will have little interest in Philip Olivier. The rest, however, certainly might. Allow me to introduce you to the man who, as I said to Robert today, would be my husband in a perfect world. "No," said Robert, "In a perfect world, he'd be my husband."

While we armwrestle, I'll let the rest of you know that Mr. Olivier is a British soap opera actor, athlete and Doctor Who sidekick -- clearly a concerted plan to make me fall in love in him. Plus, he has the endearing habit of apparently leaving his clothes behind whenever he leaves the house. Last year, he posed for his own beefcake calendar and a gay magazine recently informed him that 70% of the buyers were men. "I've never known why gay men like me so much," he says, "but they've kept me working!"

More importantly, this straight man has hosted Pride parades in the UK and said, "I used to think my gay friends had a choice, but it isn't their choice. When you are gay it affects your whole life."

You see? A concerted plan! Now here he goes, dropping his pants again. Thanks, Phil!

Labels: comic books, Doctor Who, friends, homo-a-go-go, tributes, TV

And to think I came here for the Pecan Pie recipe...

-- Reply posted by  Whisky Prajer at October 13, 2006

 

That's filled my head with the image of Philip Olivier feeding me pecan pie.


I can die now!

-- Reply posted by  Scott at October 13, 2006

 

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Wow, where did two weeks go? Oh yeah, the new job as fab magazine's Number 2. In a word, awesome. I'm so happy. In a perfect world of better luck and smarter choices, this is the job I would have had after Glad Day books a decade ago but who cares? I'm thrilled and very busy working to advance the Dreaded Gay Agenda.

I only half-joke because this is the secret issue I have with my magazine in particular and a good chunk of homo-dom in general -- it's all a bit silly, no? Skim through an issue of fab and it's all parties and dancing and sex and art and music and joking and costumes and sex (yeah, I know, twice). But so what? I've read Maxim magazine, I've watched NASCAR, I've listened to 'bitches'n'hos' gangsta rap -- 'straight culture' is plenty ridiculous too.

The difference, however, is that heterosexuality never has to justify its existence. Oh sure, that Gay Agenda notion is thrown around by people who find it less funny than I -- people who think that the human race is dying off because Vermont lets men marry one another. In reality, however, the world has been, is and will be 90% heterosexual. If I have to justify the content of fab magazine to myself, it's because I have to justify myself to the rest of the world. Why? Paris Hilton doesn't have to. But then, she's not a fag.

LAND OF A THOUSAND WORDS

Yeah, it's hard not to sound snide but I've been bristling all week over the gay witchhunt spawned by Florida Congressman Mark Foley's gruesome e-mail exchanges with the teenage boy pages on Capitol Hill. The media's calling it Foley-gate; I'm calling it Where-the-hell-have-you-been?-gate (April, people!). The pleasure I'd take from the imminent and long-deserved collapse of the Republican party is quashed by the disgust and sadness I feel over this whole mess.

Plus, it ties into an e-mail I got from my old friend Darrell, responding to the "Jesus Camp" post below. Darrell has always provided a thoughtful and eloquent counterpoint to my 'Christian-bashing' (like that time I passed legislation to stop them from teaching, or marrying, or joining the army). With all honesty, I say that his own blog is far more interesting and well-rounded than mine but, before you rightfully click on over to it, stay with me for a while as I think it's past time I answered his honest, wise and pertinent thoughts. He's had me mulling for a long while so it's only fair I try to get it all out. Let's go:

IT CAN'T COME QUICKLY ENOUGH

Re: the questions you raise on your post - I'm thinking you know the answers to most of them already, which makes them rhetorical. I'll raise one of my own, which we touched on in an earlier e-mail exchange: what are the chances the North American Gay Community (a term I use without irony), given its singular and revolutionary experience in the last half-century, will promote a sexual paradigm of trust, respect, sensitivity and safety - a commonly recognized "manifesto" for humanity at large?

This ploy might seem cagey of me, but I think it touches on surprisingly common ground. The religious impulse and the sexual impulse are not that far removed (I still blush to recall a Pentecostal meeting I once attended). I do, in fact, grind my teeth when I see footage of this woman and her vile little camp. But turning tables: if some evangelical had the fortitude for it, he could walk into a bath house with a video camera and put together a documentary designed to get His People similarly "put off".

I'm the quiet guy in the corner who considers sex a sacrament, as well as marriage, and thinks the two work best when they're purposely housed beneath the same roof. To my mind, the bath house is not a physically or spiritually (I don't separate the two) healthy environment in which to experience the sacrament. I believe a human being actually needs to recover from (as a for instance) group sex.

Furthermore, it would sadden me if either of my daughters' coming-of-age experience included some time in a bath house.

But the human spirit is a resilient thing. It can survive a Warrior For The Lord boot camp; it can survive extended exposure in a bath house. But I'd say in both cases, there is more than a little "figuring it all out" required when the tenure is up.

My question to you is this: what purpose does this video serve on your blog? My guess is that most of your readers don't need convincing of the malign intentions of Evangelicals and Republicans, just as most of their number don't need convincing of the unhealthy lifestyle of the Gay Community. I'd propose that the truths which both camps need to face lie in a very uncomfortable spot between the two extremes. If we can't be the first ones (sorry - I'm gay now) to take tentative steps in that direction, I don't see much hope for progress.

But I'm just a crazy liberal that way!

Much love,
Darrell

LIGHTS

So snarky, this talk-back from that brainy Mennonite. I'd slap him but he'd just go and turn the other cheek so where's the fun in that? Seriously though, much love to Darrell in return for standing up to my ranting. Contrary to popular belief, I don't blog just to force my own opinions on people, I'm aiming at a dialogue here (for years now, I've been hoping some irritated American will write me and explain exactly WHY the Bush Republicans must remain in power -- just ONE good reason, please! -- but, alas, only silence).

Let me move along through Darrell's questions with each paragraph. First, he asks:

what are the chances the North American Gay Community...will promote a sexual paradigm of trust, respect, sensitivity and safety - a commonly recognized "manifesto" for humanity at large?

Hmmm. I'd say the chances are not bloody likely. No, I'm just kidding. Half-kidding. See, don't ask me -- I'm a misanthrope. The problem with gay people is that they're people -- they carry forth the same trust, respect, sensitivity and safety as their heterosexual friends and family, no more and no less. And, watching the evening news, I'd say hopefully no less whatsoever.

LOVERS IN THE BACKSEAT

But I'm being snide. It's unattractive. More importantly, I'm dodging the real thrust of Darrell's question which is, why do gay men have cheap, anonymous, unhealthy, promiscuous sex more often than straight people do? Sorry, my homo brothers, it IS a legitimate question but -- ah! not so fast, my straight pals -- not THAT legitimate -- I've been on craigslist lately and I also know that gays did not (as rumoured) invent the sexual revolution, we just happily rode on its coattails. No, as always, the truth is somewhere in the middle so let's talk promiscuity.

I'll get the self-blame out of the way first -- it's easy 'cause it's flimsy. We're men. We're pigs. One of the big 'Mars vs. Venus' differences I always hear about men and women is that, when it comes to sex, men want quantity over quality; women, vice-versa. That seems generally true to me. Take the ladies out of the equation and guys will happily have sex in gas station washrooms. Women only do that in movies and even then only with Brad Pitt. So yeah, there's just a lot more of it with gay guys. Variety is the spice of life and we want the whole rack. In one bowl. Now. A little self-control wouldn't be such a bad thing once in a while, fellas.

But here's where -- having cheaply attempted to exonerate slutty men based on weak theories of biology -- I now return to the more fun side of the blame game and point my finger at religion. Whether it's Christianity, Islam, Judaism, Buddhism or what-have-you, religion has always served as a handy check on sexuality. Every horny adolescent has been stopped dead in his tracks by a lecture on how God watches everything (eeeeeeverything) a person does, that He thinks sex before marriage is sinful, that He finds your masturbation horrifying, that He absolutely hates those faggots, and that He created AIDS as a punishment for all of it. Personally, I think this makes God sound like a miserable and sadistic bastard but that's just me.

BETTER LUCK NEXT TIME

What does all that have to do with gay men not keeping it in their pants? Plenty! We get the worst of it. From the moment somebody thinks that we're gay (always before we do), we're told that our very feelings are disgusting, that it's impossible for men to feel love for one another, that every wildly-depraved sexual act possible (or impossible) is only performed by gay men, that we'll inevitably contract AIDS and deservedly die and that, because we just didn't learn our lesson from all this, we'll go to hell and burn forever in a lake of fire. Hey, they're just trying to keep us from making the wrong "choice"!

Given that twelve-ton-loaded-against-us scenario, damned either and every way, it's no wonder most gay men reject religion altogether but the real dirty secret is that their internalized belief in it all never truly goes away. Imagine how those years of self-loathing, that fear of damnation, simmer away until you're just screaming for sex, drugs, something, to quiet the voices in your head telling you how sick and filthy and worthless you are.

The people who did this to you have a solution, of course -- just accept Jesus Christ as your personal saviour, give up your life of sin and live a celibate life! Wow! I could've had a V8! Of course, your heterosexual friends and family won't be joining you. They'll get married, raise children and have a healthy sex life. Everyone but you, because you're a filthy faggot. Hey, stop that crying! God loves you!

KISS YOU OFF

That's not a solution. So we're back to option B: if you're going to lead an unhappy, loveless, diseased life leading to the pits of hell, you might as well have fun on the way down. Gas station toilet sex, here we come, woooo-hoooo!

This leads us neatly into Darrell's next point about bathhouses and yeah, they're not actually spiritual places, are they? The first time I went, I envisioned a brave adventure deep into the heart of darkness. I was actually disappointed to discover, well, just another bar scene -- only with towels. There was a very fine room of weightlifting equipment and a truly gorgeous little hot tub that was literally better than sex. I left feeling a bit gutsier but with little desire to return.

But I've always been a little more...flexible in a couple. Years ago, on a dare, I went to a spa with my little blond boyfriend and we discovered certain accessories and equipment that we'd never have been able to try at home. We felt supremely naughty about it all and laughed over it long afterward. And, just this summer, I ran into someone I'd gone on a disastrous date with a couple years ago. Reunited, we danced at a club before he suggested going for a swim. "A swim?" I asked. This was downtown Toronto. What I didn't know was that the bathhouse down the street has a large outdoor pool. At 3 in the morning, we swam under the stars and soaked in a hot tub afterward as he told me his stories. I found it all very soothing.

COMFORTABLY NUMB

But enough romanticism. I'm not trying to sell anyone on a bathhouse -- far from it. If you never go, dear reader, you're missing nothing and probably gaining. The problems with bathhouses are obvious -- they're geared towards quick, anonymous trysts between people too shy, too impatient or too creepy to chat someone up in a bar, and that sheer pace makes them breeding grounds for disease. But so is the Internet. And before bathhouses, it was public parks and toilets. None of it's right, you can argue, but it's happening (for reasons I'm saving for my Big Finale coming up). Bathhouses, at least, are controlled environments with attentive staff and bowls of condoms everywhere. The debate has been going on for two decades now and there's been no 'smoking gun' either way. Personally, I think the cons outweigh the pros but, in the end, bathhouses are simply venues -- what goes on within them is as friendly or as horrible as their patons' motives. Play or prey.

That's what leads from our bathhouse conversation into the bigger picture. After telling the good and the bad, there's still the ugly: I caught a relatively minor but wildly-unpleasant sexually-transmitted disease from a guy I went home with one night. No bathhouse was needed; this was a clean, comfortable condo that was home to a tall, blond, fun-loving guy I felt comfortable with. Until things got frisky and his games proved less open to negotiation than most. I put a halt to things but only long after the encounter had gone south. Finding out I'd contracted a disease from it was the cherry on the cake.

Now I can easily imagine some uncharitable type out there saying, "Well you see? Sex with a stranger? A homo? You were asking for it!" I can imagine it because he's in my head somewhere, actually. This is where I must be clear on this -- I didn't blame anyone during this. Not Republicans, not the Christian Churches, not gay advertising egging me on, not even the guy himself, really. It was my choice. I decided to go, I decided what I was comfortable with, I decided when to leave. No one controls me.

RETURN TO OZ

But there is one nagging thought in all that -- why did I let it go on so long? Why did I (why DO I) have so much trouble standing up for myself? Why is there always that inner voice that asks me, "Who cares what YOU want? A good person wouldn't be so selfish. Who do you think you are, anyway?"

Where does that voice come from? My parents? My teachers? Eight years of Catholic grade school? I feel we're getting warmer. My scientific curiosity about the world always quashed by people who insisted that the Bible must never be doubted, that the ones holding the Bible must never be doubted. The only person I could doubt was myself. And I did. And I do. Unlike them. They've got all the answers right there in that book.

But they've never been able to answer my questions and certainly not the ones in regards to sexuality. That's the crux of the problem here. Telling a gay teen to shut up and not be gay is not an answer. Telling him he's an abomination is not an answer. Telling him he's going to hell is not an answer. If that's all the Bible has to offer, then how can anyone be surprised when people reject it and seek answers elsewhere?

I got out when I was thirteen. Faced with the prospect of going to a Catholic high school, I snapped and told my parents I had to go to a public one. My first brave act of self-protection. One of my classmates called me a traitor. He meant it.

THE OTHER SIDE

Looking back on my religious upbringing, I don't think my childhood was a bad one -- I was a bit banged-up but not damaged. Nothing severe. Beaten by nuns but not molested by priests. As Bill Maher once joked, frankly I'm a little insulted. I can joke about it, inspect the dents in my psyche like it was a car fender, but I fear how much worse it's been for others, the ones who stayed.

To stick around, trying to reconcile two utterly conflicting worldviews, leads to a particular kind of soul-death. And I could never dream up a more apt, more grotesque example than this sad bastard Mark Foley, a man who devoted his career to crafting legislation for harsher penalties against paedophiles, while secretly trying to lure his teenage congressional pages into having sex with him. The news media is horrified at this bizarre double-life, this shocking self-destruction. Idiots. I remember what I was like at eighteen, screaming in my closet, and imagine what I'd be like if I stayed like that for the next twenty-five years. I'd be Mark Foley.

I imagine him spending his days working alongside Republican family-values conservatives like Marilyn Musgrave who -- in a time of war, torture, terror and lies -- says that gay marriage "is the most important issue that we face today." Foley wants to be one of these people, he always has been, but he goes home to an empty house, drinks a few glasses of alcohol and thinks of that beautiful 16-year-old page who smiled at him yesterday. I'd feel really sorry for him except that he's a grown man who chose to hide from these people and, well, those e-mails really are gross.

The real scandal, of course, is that Foley's right-wing buddies knew how pathetic and creepy he was but, as long as he stayed quiet about it, he was still useful to them ($100,000 useful!). They just ignored the chatter:

Mark Beck-Heyman told The Washington Post warnings were circulated to steer clear of Foley, R-Fla., after he began inviting pages to his office for ice cream in notes and e-mail.
...
"Mark Foley knew that he could get away with this type of behavior with male pages because he was a congressman," said Beck-Heyman. "But many people on Capitol Hill," including many Republican staff members, "have known for over 11 years about what was going on and chose to do nothing."

Well of course not, Mark -- Republicans couldn't possibly have devoted any attention to a possible sex scandal involving one of their own trying to molest teenage boys because they were all too busy with a certain sex scandal involving Bill Clinton and an adult intern. Maybe you heard something about it. While Al-Qaeda was growing like a maligna