So in writing yesterday’s blog entry I discovered that I say, “but that’s a blog for another day” way too much because I don’t ever end up writing “those” blogs that I’m supposedly waiting to write for a rainy (or should I say creatively dry) day. Well the reference in yesterday’s blog (The G-A-A-A-Y Triple Threat ) was about the sometimes scary people (okay let’s just say it, men) that I seem to attract when out in public. Now here’s the big new flash, I do not feel that I am a looker in any stretch of the imagination. In my younger days I think I could have been considered, “cute” but my possible boy toy days are now most certainly behind me (the only way I could hope to be a boy toy now would be to find someone approximately 85 years old, I think it goes up five years for every year you put on so I’ll be having to look for someone in their 90’s before the end of the year). And before I go any further, please know that I am in no way implying that I have a lot of men who what I call, “hubba hubba” me on any kind of regular basis. No, I’m not one of the hit upon in life but in those rare moments when it does happen, it’s always the same type. Why is it the men that want me I don’t want at all? – Don’t Get Me Started!

For those of you who have read any of my blogs or the Prologue page on this site, you know that I have been very fortunate that I have had the same six foot black man in my life for over 18 years now. We’re in a completely monogamous relationship so believe me when I say I’m not looking but every once in awhile it seems that a man is looking at me and when he is, it’s never pretty. Now whether you’re in a relationship of not, I don’t care what anyone says, it’s nice to have someone “show some interest” in you if only to let you know that the time you spent showering, shaving and clothing yourself that day paid off a little.

And so it would come to pass that I was in line at Trader Joe’s (my favorite trendy grocery store) and I was waiting in line to pay. Now this gal who works there that I’ve grown to know over the years (a sassy red haired lesbian that always chastises me for not going out to the latest drag show or gayer than gay event). She started yelling at me for not noticing her recent haircut. So we had a pretty good homosexual banter going back and forth when suddenly I feel like someone is staring at me. Well, there he was, right in front of me in line in all his glory. He had to be in his mid to late sixties (but his hair was about two weeks old and as dark as black shoe polish) and he was wearing one of those jogging suits that make that crinkly noise every time you take a breath. Now from the look of him, the suit was really about the fashion he thought he was sporting because he had a gut the size of a ten month pregnant woman and gave the appearance of never having worked out a day in his life. He had on these large black rectangular framed glasses that made him look as though he was trying to look like Karl Lagerfeld (unsuccessfully, I might add). Meanwhile, he was doing something that just repulses me, he had opened one of the items he was about to purchase and was eating in line. At closer examination, I discovered that they were in fact one of those, “100 calorie” packs of crackers or something. Who was this fatty boomba latty kidding? There was no way he was going to be sated by one package of these things.

I don’t know if he was trying to tempt me with the way he was eating the 20 calories in his hand or what, but here’s a tip for you older men, don’t try to be all sexy in a grocery store line with a low calorie cracker. You’re no Kim Basinger in 9 ½ weeks. But there he was doing the whole look you up and down and all around thing and I felt like I couldn’t get out of there fast enough or scrub myself down enough (think Meryl Streep in Silkwood).

As I was telling one of my pals, I think most guys get hit on by other guys that are similar to their age or even their type but when it comes to me, I always get the older guys with little or over-styled hair wearing the big Sally Jesse glasses that open the conversation with the word, “Say…” with twenty “S’s” in it. Oh dear God, it just occurred to me, is that what I am? Is that how I appear to others and that’s why I’m attracting that type? Say (with one “S”) it isn’t so. The one thing I do know is that this is why I could never be single again. Thank God, there was someone looking out for me when they made my guy interested in me but I have to wonder, why is it the men that want me I don’t want at all? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Back at the beginning of time when I thought I had a chance at a career in what we call, “the show business” we used the term “triple threat” for someone who could sing, act and dance – proficient and excellent in each area. But now that I’ve become the greatest never was been there ever was, I find myself using this term to describe another phenomenon. Now I’ve said it before; that I am more than thankful for the fact that I have been with the same handsome man for over eighteen years and that I don’t have to be out there living the single gay life. Frankly, my boa is off to the boys who are out there day in and day out looking for that special someone. Now just because I’m not looking doesn’t mean I don’t look and that I don’t want people to look in my direction (sometimes with scary results on the people I tend to attract – a blog for another day) but what I’ve discovered is that there are basically two categories for gays. They are either the too too thin gays (similar to the weight of one Girl Scout Thin Mint cookie) or they are these big built up muscle guys who seem to be interested in perfecting their G-A-A-A-Y Triple Threat, arms, ass and abs – Don’t Get Me Started!

The problem with most of the gays (and straight men too) who are trying to achieve their G-A-A-A-Y perfection is that they really focus on their arms and their ass (occasionally they also obsess over their calves, I even saw a Discovery show once about a guy who had implants put in his calves – ugh) and yet somehow the natural phenomenon occurs that while their abs are well defined they are basically big guts with the shading of a six pack like a stenciled frosting on the top of a cake. These guys strut around with their bodies that are so tan they look as though they’ve created a whole new race of people (they don’t quite look black but they are so brown and you can see that there is a white person in there somewhere when you look around the eyes but then again, maybe they’re just from Tanzania or something – a land where everyone is oddly and artificially tan, in my mind anyway). Their arms are as big as a normal person’s thigh (or bigger) and yet with the tan and everything their guts are sticking out looking like a lobster tail from a Red Lobster commercial. Sort of all sticking out and you can see there’s definition but it’s just overflowing, covered in butter (or in the boys case, oil) and yet it’s not appetizing in the least.
 

For some reason, having big arms seems to be a get out of having a flat stomach for free card. I don’t get it. Are we supposed to be so dazzled and in awe with your arms that we don’t notice that big, hard (wait for it) gut? Well, we do and in talking with some people, apparently the way the muscle gut is achieved is that when you’re working out, lifting weights, you should be sucking your stomach in (You know, like Tyra does for an hour each week on Top Model) but these guys are lifting such huge weights to get the big arms that they are actually pushing out their stomachs instead of sucking in. And by pushing out the stomach, they’re training it to be a muscle gut. Sure it has all the markings of a six pack but it also sticks out about eighteen inches from where it should.

I know that gays come in many varieties and that we should just be thankful we gays do not have to walk around with pink triangles on (Thank you Mr. Hitler) but it does get to me that when these guys “bulk” up they seem to lose all perspective on what is hot and what is not. True, this is a bit open to your own turn ons and offs but come on, how many times have you seen a guy from the back that has a great ass and arms and they turn around and suddenly you think you’re seeing Barbra Streisand doing the pregnant bit in “His Love Makes Me Beautiful” from Funny Girl?
 

I think it’s great that you’re all achieving something that I will never be able to achieve and for once I can honestly say that I’m not bitter. I think the word is more hopeless. I will never be either gay thin or have a body builder body that stops traffic but hopefully at some point from all this working out I will have a toned and half way decent body that I can begin to look at again. (I have the tendency when I’m feeling a little fatter to never look at anything below the neck in the mirror – I could be completely gangrene from the sternum down and have no idea). That being said, I aspire to be a triple threat if only so I can keep my gay membership in good standing. So here’s to trying and remembering to suck it in as often as possible. The G-A-A-A-Y Triple Threat, arms, ass and abs – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Gentlemen, Put Your Damn Socks On – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know this is not a new thing but it just makes me so freaking crazy that I felt it was time for a good old, Don’t Get Me Started about men who wear dress pants and dress shoes yet don’t wear any socks. I truly believe this is one of the nastiest things in the universe (and probably the whole reason we have to watch those commercials with the cartoon character “Digger” the toenail fungus mascot). Here’s the deal, you are NOT Clark Gable who when he took his shirt off in the movie, It Happened One Night and the public discovered her didn’t wear a t-shirt sent the undershirt business to a crashing halt almost immediately. Men wanted to be like him and women wanted their men to be like him so everyone stopped wearing undershirts. Well, for those who choose to not wear socks with their suits, I say, guess what? You’re not Clark Gable, not even close so gentlemen, put your damn socks on – Don’t Get Me Started!

Last week on the show Top Design on Bravo, not only did the fussiest designer in the world (and I’m being polite for once with that comment), Jonathan Adler not have socks on but also, guest judge, Tom Colicchio from Top Chef didn’t have them on either. Every time they would cross their legs sitting on the stools in the judging room and I would see those bare ankles, I’d get more and more disgusted. So here’s the deal, I can ALMOST forgive the overweight (Are you listening Mr. Colicchio?) as it seems to me that they could get a heart attack trying to get their leg up to get their socks on. You know these men, the ones who wear the loafers that are so worn down in the back from trying to wriggle their fat little feet into the shoe without a shoe horn. To these men I say, lose weight, put your socks on and get rid of any shoe that slips on and has a tassel (unless of course you’re a court jester and they’re very pointy). But I can almost forgive you for this sin due to the health peril it would put you in trying to hold in your breath and swing that leg up to get the sock on. But when it comes to the Queer Eye’s Carson, or Jonathan Adler no sympathy here boys, put some socks on.

We have a relative who has done this for years and he actually accompanies the sockless shoe look with the horrific duck embroidered pants. I credit this fashion faux pas to the South. It seems to be that all those white, white, whiter than white people who go to the country club were looking for a way to make their wardrobe more whimsical and this is what they came up with as their big fashion trend. No socks and embroidered chino cloth on the bottom (oh yes, they make them in skirts for women and pants for men.) Although our relative thought that he was looking like the country club smart set, we all knew he was a good ol’ Jew like the rest of us and that no matter how many ducks, geese and hunting dogs he had embroidered on his pants or how many loafers he wore without socks, he was never going to be truly accepted.

And why do we accept this whole no sock thing? I don’t know but no pun intended, someone needs to put their foot down and I’m just the boy to do it. Can you even imagine how smelly these men’s Kenneth Coles and Cole Haans must be at the end of the day? There aren’t enough odor eaters in North America up to that challenge. And more than the hygienic reasons, let’s face it, no matter how they try to make us think that it looks hip or cool, it’s really just stupid looking. It looks like you were running out of the house and forgot to put socks on.

No, I have no interest (or stock) in the sock business but I feel for them because we’re so susceptible to fashion trends, forsaking common sense and comfort for the latest and/or greatest (supposed) look. I say; take your feet back from the designers and southern men who are trying to get you to really stink up your shoes and look stupid. Call me old fashioned but socks are just a must in my book (the exception being when you’re wearing sandals and if you ARE going to wear sandals for God sakes, at least trim your toe nails and have the sense to lotion up those crusty dusty heels, please). Let’s face it, other than the say six million people who have a foot fetish, the rest of us pretty much just use them to get around and although we’re not foot models, we should try to keep them as nice as possible when they are in sandals or flip flops. Otherwise, put those potatoes in their sacks before you put your shoes on. Gentlemen, put your damn socks on – Don’t Get Me Started!

So I managed to make it through Girl Scout cookie season without letting the little bitches in front of the market tempt me into actually making a purchase. This is very difficult as I do feel as though the Girl Scout Thin Mint cookie is perhaps the most perfect cookie in the world, what with its thinness, chocolate and minty goodness all in one cookie I go crazy for it. Don’t get me wrong, I did manage to eat an entire “sleeve” of these cookies at my parent’s house (as my mother knows that I love them and had them at her house – yet another reason everyone should have a Jewish mother). If they were in my house I’d eat so many that my shit would end up looking like the chocolate cookie itself (yes, I speak from experience having practically OD’ed on the cookies before, I know it’s not pretty and I have no idea why I’m sharing this but if you eat enough of them in one sitting…well, let’s just say it isn’t very pretty). But today when I went to the market the Boy Scouts were out in front. I don’t even know what the Boy Scouts were selling but I’m not buying – Don’t Get Me Started!

So just for a moment, let’s take out of the equation the fact that the Boy Scouts have thrown the gays out on their ass, that I myself was thrown out of Scouts for an unhomosexual reason when I was a boy (read the vintage Don’t Get Me Started by clicking here - Scout-O-Rama!) and the fact that have you ever seen when they show the boys who have made it all the way to Eagle Scout in the paper – they’re either gayer than gay or have a future of never have sex with anyone that they didn’t pay to have it with (some overachieving Eagles land in both those categories at once, God love them). But all that aside, I do feel the boys deserve equal time selling and before you all start sending me hate-mails, I’m sure that somewhere Scouting has done some boys a lot of good somewhere (even though it certainly wasn’t the case in my case – again, read the vintage Scout blog).

Here’s the deal, the boys had what we used to call a “card table” (you know those rickety portable square tables that will go down in a minute with all the deviled eggs on them if you don’t extend the legs all the way) with like four sheets of paper that had printing on them. Whatever they were selling (and honestly, I don’t know if it’s the uniforms or what but I did a quick sprint right past them saying, “no thank you” before the runny nosed blue shirt wearing, son of a den mother could tell me what they were selling) I got the impression that it was more about something you had to order and then pick up weeks later.

Now if the Scouts ever needed homos in the organization, it is now. At least to let them know that they have it all wrong when it comes to sales. As I’ve said before, if you want great guest service you gotta get a gay. We’re absolutely the best when it comes to sales. From clothes to windshield replacement (as I found out recently) we gays are pretty tough to beat in the selling and servicing department (just ask all the boys on Santa Monica Blvd in LA who sell themselves daily and nightly). The whole whatever it was they were selling was all wrong from minute one.

Here are my five quick suggestions for the Scouts on the selling of the products. 1) Get a better table and for God sakes get even a plastic table cloth to make it look a little nicer 2) Sell something that you can take home right then, an impulse buy if you will 3) Go ahead and learn from the Girl Scouts, we’re a country of obese, fast food, crap eating citizens, sell something that will practically sell itself, especially in front of a grocery store – think food items 4) Whatever you’re selling, have an example of it right there so even if you’re going to stick with ordering stuff off of a paper and pissing people off that they have to come back to get it at least they can see what the hell it is you’re selling and it’s not just on some printed eight and a half by eleven paper with a picture on it 5) Put the gays in front. Although we’re not allowed to be Scout Masters, you know that much like the military there are plenty gays (or as we say in the homo code language, future salespeople for Nordstrom) among you. Gays just sell and give better service so play to those strengths and let the “boys” do the selling.

I don’t know what the future of Scouting holds but I hope they weren’t hanging their future on the sales (or lack there of) that I saw at the grocery store. I mean, as last week showed us, they can’t even teach them how to find their way out of the woods (which excuse me, isn’t that one of the big things that the Scouting hangs its hat on, teaching hiking, camping and reading a compass?) at this point if they can’t even do that how do they expect to run a good sales effort? I don’t even know what the Boy Scouts were selling but I’m not buying – Don’t Get Me Started!

Well last night was the big Miss USA pageant 2007 and who really cared? Even me, a professed guilty pleasure pageant loving homosexual left my house before the pageant was done and didn’t even Tivo it. Does that give you any indication about how even I don’t get what Miss USA does or why we need one at all? I guess that Mr. Trump would have us believe that Miss USA represents us as a country but as I’ve lamented before about this pageant, the Miss USA pageant has nothing on the Miss America pageant and never will, no matter how much money he dumps into it. So I have to ask Mr. Trump and the girls in the pageant to tell me again why we need a Miss USA? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The one thing you find out right away about Miss USA is that while Miss America seems like an 18 hour bra commercial (non-sexual and so large that there’s no chance of you ever seeing a nipple) the Miss USA pageant is a Victoria Secret meets Fredrick’s of Hollywood affair. Exactly, Miss America’s are for marrying and Miss USA’s are for screwing in a bathroom at a fraternity house after they’ve spent too much time on the beer bong.

Kudos for a well produced and coordinated show but even from the introductions, there was a need for some help with the direction and choreography. The girls did their intros themselves and as we know these gals aren’t the smartest in the world so it’s a little like asking them to chew gum and walk at the same time. They can’t do the put the foot behind you and spin around until you almost fall over and then walk out of it (an apparent classic move as they did this through all of what I saw for every part of the competition) and introduce themselves in the odd way that they were directed both at the same time. They would say their name then they would mention their city with the same emphasis as their name and then they would walk and do the classic almost falling over turn and then say their state so you kind of didn’t know if their city was an additional last name or what? It sounded like, Magen (yes, that’s how one girl’s parents actually spelled it – welcome to illiterate America) Muldoon Ft. Wayne….Indiana. It also looked as though these intros were pre-recorded before the audience came in (I’m sure so that nothing would throw them off) and then they would cut to the live show where the six or seven girls in each category would pose in their coordinating outfits.

A pregnant Nancy O’Dell and some guy who was awful (but he has an Australian accent and as we know, that’s all it takes to be a host on an American TV show these days, an accent) did the perfunctory bad dialogue (who writes these shows anyway and do they think they’re good?) and did their best (which wasn’t all that great). The male host, I think his name was Tim, would say something (usually about being around so many hot looking chicks when we all know the only way he’d be taking one of those gowns off those girls was if he was hemming it) and then make the classic goofy host face while Nancy would give us the next piece of information.

But the real “main event” was seeing the outgoing Miss USA, Tara (I need rehab too) Conner and what she would say about her indiscretions that almost had her drugged up, slutty ass out on the street before she could give the tiara up at the pageant this year. If the eyes are the windows to the soul, then her hair dresser knew what he was doing by giving her the most annoying bangs in recorded history that covered her soul-less eyes. And I’m not talking in a sexy, one eyed look like Veronica Lake. No, I’m talking in a Prince Valiant, straight across, fried out blonde, Sam you made the bangs too long kind of look. Her false eye lashes were fighting to get through the bang like a car through those huge brushes in a car wash. She didn’t mention drugs or rehab really, just that she was glad she could “feel” what was going on tonight as opposed to repressing her feelings as she had done for so long in her life. As if we care, right? Get to the good stuff sister and do a little asking of forgiveness to at least give the illusion you weren’t just bouncing on The Donald’s lap in order to keep your tiara a few months ago.  

They kept going to the backstage for footage of the pageant as it was happening and as an actor, I can tell you that the backstage can be really exciting but not in this case on any of the times they went back there with their cameras as they were going to the commercial breaks. To be honest, the pageant was dull and that’s why I had no trouble leaving it. The girls would come out and then they would show the judges score on the screen for that part of the competition. The finalists were all getting 8.something or other scores except for Miss Tennessee who was getting 9’s all the time so there was no surprise when I Googled today to get the results and found out that she had won.

I’m sure that there are some die hard fans of this pageant (though I don’t have any idea why as there’s not even a talent portion – hello) but for my homoney, I’ll stick to the Miss America gang. At least with Miss America you know that they have those platforms where they actually try to do something to help society as opposed to Miss USA that flashed up “hairstyling” on the screen as one of the girl’s “interests” as she walked in her bikini and did the almost falling down turn once again. Tell me again why we need a Miss USA? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Read more Some Like It Scott blogs about pageants by clicking the links below:

Miss U.S.Alright Already

Pageant School: Becoming Miss America

Miss America's closet

Miss America Judges Get It Wrong

I admit that I’m a little late in the week for this topic but as I have had something called life happening at a fast and furious pace this week, I haven’t been able to even get near my Tivo to catch up on all my shows. Last night I finally sat down with remote in hand to catch up on the two hour shows, Dancing With The Stars and Idol. But today, let’s talk about Dancing With The Duds – the new season of Dancing With The Stars – Don’t Get Me Started!

I have watched this show from the first season and I have really loved it but I always had someone I was rooting for or at least was thinking would be interesting to watch from the first episode. After watching the first show of this season I have to say that there’s no one I really even care that much about and that’s not a good thing.

It seems as if this season’s “stars” have slipped to a new all time low making it just barely squeak by The Surreal Life for  the “Most likely to have celebrities we can’t place and don’t care about” award. There’s no John Hurley or Springer as the older statesman this year and while you’ve got Apolo, Ian and Joey from N*Sync, the show certainly isn’t the Boy Toy Ballroom it was last season with Mario and Joey. Come on, we all know that ballrooms were made by and for the gays so at least give us a little eye candy please. (And no, we don’t want to have to wait for Fatone to slim down during the course of the show.)

Every season these reality shows seem to get “watered” down a little bit more and such is the case with this season of this show. You can feel it all ready; the show has lost its edge by getting too polished in some areas and not enough in other areas. All ready they only gave the celebs four weeks to get ready instead of six so they all look shakier than they have on any other season opener. What the producers need to remember is that we want the stars to seem half way decent so that we’re not stuck doing what we do at the election polls every four years (begrudgingly rooting for the lesser of the evils). As shaky as the “stars” are, the judges are starting to sound too scripted and are being way too nice (even for the first episode). Bruno is a cartoon of himself, trying desperately to spit out his scripted (but supposedly spontaneous) comments, Len is looking more and more like Fred Astaire (not in a good way – and what was that blushing moment he had over Clyde Drexler?) while Carrie Ann’s comments are getting as useless as Paula’s on Idol, “You look really good.”

Meanwhile can someone please explain to me why they have the worst singers in recorded history on this show? I know that we’re not supposed to be focused on the singers but how can we not be focused on them when they sound so bad? At this point I think we’d all prefer to have someone just DJ the show. I love the idea of the band and they’re great but the singers are one notch above the famous Kathy Lee on the vintage game show, Name That Tune where she would sing a song but, “la, la, la” its title. I say bring in a DJ, maybe it’ll seem edgier to have someone spinning instead of listening to bad karaoke singers kill our favorite songs.

And then there are the hosts of the show. While Tom Bergeron is his usual lovable self, Samantha Harris continues to sound like she just came from a vocal coach that is teaching her how to make her voice lower. Harris sounds like she’s rehearsed every line at least a dozen times in front of a mirror, trying to make her voice sound lower and richer yet for some reason she still trips all over herself in whatever she tries to say. We haven’t seen it yet this season but I loved watching Tom Bergeron watch her last season when she would biff a line or just do her whole, “listen to my round, deep tones” voice. Bergeron does not have a poker face and you can tell he’s like, “Geez, how did I get stuck with this chic? She sucks.” Watch him people, trust me, I’m sure there will be plenty of these moments again this season.

Finally, I just have to say that if you want me to invest two hours a week (either on the same night or a dance night and then a results show) you have to give me something that is enjoyable to watch or at least pretty. We need more than the sequins on the gowns to sparkle here and more importantly we have to know who the hell the supposed stars are or what they’ve done.

Although I have no connections with the psychic world, I’m going to go ahead and make one prediction. Fake leg or not, I think America can’t wait to vote off Heather Mills who was mean to our beloved Paul McCartney. I get it, she’s famous for being with someone famous and has a fake leg but I don’t think America is going to let her continue to drag that leg around the floor for long.

I’ll continue to watch and to hope that the so-called “stars” get better but with Maksim’s haircut making him look fat (and is he putting on weight or is it just part of the choreography to pull your vest down?) the new kid, Brian Fortuna who managed to get on my nerves within the first five seconds and the new inexperienced blonde bimbo they put with Apolo even some of the pros are a bit shaky. Thank God we still have Cheryl, Tony and Edyta! Dancing With The Duds – the new season of Dancing With The Stars – Don’t Get Me Started!

Phil Spector, Killer Or Just A Victim Of Bad Hair? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Before


Today

(Sung to the tune of “Dear Mr. Gable”) Dear Mr. Spector, I am writing this to you and I hope that you will read it, so you’ll know. My heart beats like a hammer and I stuttered and I stammer every time I see the hairstyle you chose. I guess I’m just another fan of yours and I thought I’d write and tell you so oh, oh oh. Enough. I don’t know if he killed someone or not but I do know that whoever has been doing the hair of this music legend needs to be shot. Phil Spector, killer or just a victim of bad hair? – Don’t Get Me Started!

For those of you who have no idea who Spector is (other than a freaky looking defendant) he created the unique Wall of Sound with his 60’s girl groups. He was truly a genius (and a Jew) – I know you’re thinking that Einstein was the only Jewish genius (kind of fun to say) but there have been many and Phil Spector was one of them in his time. Unfortunately, now it’s all about the murder that took place in his house. While some would focus on the murder, I prefer to discuss the real issue, his hair.

I too have been the victim of hair don’ts through the years (look no further than to the right side of this page). And to his defense, when you’re trapped in that chair getting your hair done, the person with the scissors just seems to make so much sense. It’s like buying jewelry in a store, always take it outside into the light of reality before purchasing (even if you have to do so with the salesperson attached to your hip) because they know exactly how to light those places to make things look better than they truly are in reality. The same can be said for some hairstylists, while they’re cutting away, chatting about their bad relationship (if you know what’s good for you, you will engage in as little conversation as possible because the more they talk, the more they cut) and spin you around in the mirror, things can look half way decent. That is until you get out into the light of day.

One of my worst experiences was a perm. Now several “stylists” have talked me into perms through the years. What can I say? I was foolish, I was young, and while I had poker straight and thin hair my brother’s was what I thought I wanted, the complete opposite, thick and curly. You always want in life what you can’t have and for some reason you think that that although you can’t have the perfect mate, car, or anything else in your life, a stylist can make what you think you should have a reality. What you don’t realize is that there’s a reason you shouldn’t have what you think you should have in some cases. Hairstyles are definitely one of them. Well, I got the perm that was (according to the stylist) supposed to give me volume and make my hair so much thicker looking. Instead I looked like Harpo Marx. Because the bitch had left the solution on too long, my hair color had lightened about three shades from dark brown to a dirty blonde and because my hair was so thin, you could actually see where she had rolled the rods up. I looked like a human Q-tip with track marks in his head. (See Spector “before” picture, think me at thirteen). I remember going to meet my father and brother for dinner after the perm. As my mother and I sat down at the table in the restaurant I remember looking across the table to see my brother desperately trying not to laugh and my father calculating how long this “phase” would last. (Thank God for all parties concerned this “phase” did not last long at all. I can’t say the same for some others.)

The thing is that when you sit in a stylist’s chair they can talk you into all sorts of things so Phil I want to say that I feel your pain but Dear Mr. Spector you’ve gone to the other end of the spectrum now and someone needs to defend you from your stylist, yourself or maybe both of you. Whoever is doing your hair has taken you from that permed, palmed out huge do to the 1977 Dorothy Hamill. This “new” style will not make you seem more normal to the jury, in fact, I’m afraid it’s going to make you seem all the nuttier. (From the musical Mame when the characters Mame and Vera are singing the song, “Bosom Buddies” Vera: Though now and again I’m aware that my candid opinion may sting. Mame: Though often my frank observation might scald; I’ve been meaning to tell you for years, you should keep your hair natural like mine. Vera: If I kept my hair natural like yours, I’d be bald!) I too have made bad hair mistakes but your life really depends on it this time so get rid of the John Denver blonde do and go for something more natural like mine (see headshot on homepage www.somelikeitscott.com). Because as my mother always says, they’ll forgive you anything if you have a strong finish and at the moment, you need someone who knows how to finish that hair of yours! Phil Spector, killer or just a victim of bad hair? – Don’t Get Me Started!

For those of us who can’t shave our heads and poke at people with umbrellas, die of drug overdoses leaving father-full children behind, what exactly are we supposed to do when our mid-life crisis hits? I’m not sure that it’s actually here but when I get up every morning singing the Peggy Lee classic, “Is that all there is?” then I think if I’m not there I’m very close. Mid-Life crisis – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m not saying that I’m suicidal (as I decided after I could no longer be a homosexual teenage suicide statistic that it really wasn’t worth it). If I’m going to die by my own hand, I’d at least like to help a cause and be part of some sort of statistic.

Here’s the deal, I know Newsweek recently had an entire cover story dedicated to male depression but I’ve always prided myself on not running with the emotional pack. I have always been my own “dare to be different” seminar since my days of parachute pants and Duran Duran hair (before either was popular). I wouldn’t call this depression as much as I would call it a discovery that you aren’t the person you always thought you would become. As someone I knew in high school remarked about me when it was getting close to our twenty year reunion and we hadn’t heard from one another in all those years. He apparently said to a mutual friend, “What DID ever become of Scott? I always thought he would have Matthew Broderick’s career by now.” So did I and for the record, I don’t.

I guess there comes a time (soon after you discover gray pubic hair) when you have to face the fact that no matter how young you look or feel that you are getting closer to death. In my case it’s not a matter of looking old, hell, I still say that I could play Peter Pan in the right lighting and when I tell people that I’m forty-two they are shocked. My classic line is that I sleep in formaldehyde! Smells funny but keeps you looking great. No it’s more than running on the treadmill of life not losing a pound while the twenty year old next to you is doing half as much as you and looks twice as good as you. I’m finally starting to understand why people become bitter in their old age.

And may I present a big special, “Fuck You” to Oprah and “The Secret” people. Yet another reason we have to blame ourselves for not being happy. If you don’t think positive enough long enough and hard enough and surround yourself with happy people you’re doomed. It’s more and more like when Tinkerbell eats the poison to save Peter Pan and he has to make the audience clap really loud to show they really believe in fairies to make her live. Well, here I am, taking the poison for the world at large and no one is clapping. What chance do I have for survival?

Contrary to the previous paragraphs, I’m still not as cynical as I could be at this point in the game. (Years ago my first boyfriend who was eleven years my senior though the age he gives to everyone now makes him five years younger than me, used to say that I was “jaded beyond my years”) Is it so wrong of me to just want someone to come in and fix everything for me? I mean, if you had your choice would you want to learn how to be a plumber and then fix your pipes or would you rather someone made the call and paid for a professional to come in and fix your plumbing issues? I know a lot of my friends swear by therapy and perhaps that’s where all of this is headed but having a really close friend who is a therapist I know for a fact that most of the people sitting in the chair across from the couch you’re lying on are nuttier than you are for chrisssakes! I’ll just record myself saying things like, “uh huh…hmmm….and how did that make you feel?” and see if that works before forking over money to go to the real thing. Can you even imagine what these blogs would read like if I was in therapy or medicated?

No, for now I guess my therapy is going to just be me screaming in my Mini Cooper with all the windows rolled up and singing along with the Dreamgirls soundtrack with Effie as she asks, “What about how I feel? What about what’s best for me? What about how I feel?” One thing I know for sure is that I need to keep away from all television that could make me even slightly emotional. No Extreme Home Makeover, no reunion shows on Maury and no Animal Planet, I can’t take the risk that it’ll push me over the edge and I’ll be out on the street looking to score some Kava Kava to crunch up and snort.  (I Detest Cheap Sentiment - Don't Get Me Started!) And finally, I’ll look for inspiration the only place I know I’m sure to find it…old Hollywood movies…as Scarlett would say (and I’m paraphrasing), “I won’t think about this now. I can’t. If I do I’ll go crazy. I’ll think about it tomorrow. After all, tomorrow is another day.” Mid-Life crisis – Don’t Get Me Started!

Send your thoughts, cash and "secrets" to scott@somelikeitscott.com

Of Cell Phones And Cars – Don’t Get Me Started!

So there are a couple states that are trying to make it illegal for teens to use their cell phones while driving. Some other states are trying to outlaw text messaging while driving for teens. It’s supposedly all about the bad teen drivers but as someone who uses their cell phone while driving (of course I use a Bluetooth headset usually because I’m very bi-techual) let me just say that we all need to admit that driving and talking on the phone is not a good thing. Of cell phones and cars – Don’t Get Me Started!

That’s right, using a cell phone in a car absolutely distracts you and anyone that says it doesn’t is a complete liar. How many times have you had to ask yourself if the light you just went through was green, yellow or red? Yes, this happens when you’re driving without talking on a cell phone but I think it happens more often when you are talking on a cell phone. Now let me say that I have been on the freeway and seen people reading newspapers, books and applying makeup. All of these activities should be left for the bathroom of your home and not for driving, especially in freeway traffic.

Having said all of the above I have to say that I try to be more hyper sensitive to the roadway when I’m on my cell. Yesterday I was on my cell phone without my headset and was turning left when a car traveling the opposite direction from me turned right. I was in the left lane and he was in the right lane. As the driver of the Ford Festiva from the 80’s started driving alongside me, he drifted from his lane (right) into my lane (left). There was no turn signal, no anything. And then, just as I was being astonished and pissed off about the fact that he drifted into my lane and I had to slow up as to not cause a collision, he then began drifting until he was actually just driving down the middle of the road! Honestly, he was centered on the two lanes. I did what anyone would do, I honked my horn. I saw him look in his rear view mirror and correct himself so that he was back in the left lane. Then he did it. He made a gesture like he was holding up a phone to his ear (no doubt mocking me) and then flipped me off! I got in the right hand lane and sped past him. True, I was on my cell phone but I had stayed in my lane the entire time while he was drifting from lane to lane to the center of the damn roadway! And yet I’m sure the story he told his friends and family was that there was this crazy driver on his cell phone behind him who honked at him for no reason.

Recently during a garage sale at my mother’s (a long story and a blog definitely for another day) one of our looky loos (didn’t buy a thing, after finding that we didn’t have any military items – as if Jews would) started in a whole story (unsolicited) about how he had been rear ended four times, each time by a woman on a cell phone. He just shook his head in a way that has rarely been seen since the 1950’s when men blamed women drivers for everything. The point is that there are a lot of bad drivers out there and while I agree putting a phone in the mix is not good we also have to face the fact that some people are just bad drivers who get on our nerves. And as unbelievable as it may seem, bad drivers come in all forms – men, women, teens and old people.

So let’s admit that we’re all less than great drivers when on a phone and teens who have been driving for less time are even worse. We should all give up the cell phones for our own safety as well as others. Let’s face it, with all the really bad drivers out there do we really need to arm them with an additional distraction? Of cell phones and cars – Don’t Get Me Started!

In the latest on the whole General Pace comment regarding homosexual acts being immoral; some of the other presidential hopefuls have weighed in. Per usual, their answer is a lesson in political ridiculousness. Kansas senator and presidential hopeful, Sam Brownback (again I say, could these people’s names evoke any more gay images? Or is it just me?) is writing a letter to the President praising General Pace’s comments and asking other congressmen to sign it. However, like most politicians he left the closet door ajar a bit by saying that he doesn’t think homosexuality is immoral but homosexual acts are indeed immoral. In other words, be gay but don’t be gay (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) – Don’t Get Me Started!

Meanwhile, Mitt Romney (the Mormon Presidential candidate) spoke in circles stating that he felt Pace’s comments were “inappropriate for public discourse” then stating the great thing about America is that Pace can think whatever he wants but said in a governmental setting, the right way to go is to show more of an outpouring of tolerance. He went on to tell Larry King that he didn’t feel the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy made a lot of sense but he wouldn’t change it now. Isn’t that who you want for President? A man who knows a policy is wrong but does nothing about it? Someone who wants the “show” of tolerance but doesn’t really mean any of it? But since America isn’t ready for a Mormon president, we don’t have much to worry about.

For all the supposed strides that gays have made we are still meant to be seen, laughed at but not politically heard and certainly not thought of as having sex! Eeek! And by all means, whenever there is talk of gay sex, make sure that you talk about orgies, Sodom and Gomorrah, sex with children and the entire animal kingdom.

Last night I saw commercials for two different sitcoms that had the flamboyant gay character and the straight characters responding accordingly. You know, the “Oh those gays, with their pink feather boas, they are zany aren’t they?” I mean, when you look at it closely enough, we are the new black people. Back in the “Golden Age of Hollywood” blacks were mostly seen tap dancing, being a servant to a white person or bugging their eyes out for an extreme reaction take. And who could forget all the performers like Al Jolson (who performed in black face) and even Judy and Mickey, “blacking up” for a finale in one of their movies with their gross imitation/exaggeration of blacks? My point is that when you stop to think about it, we gays have taken their place. If the character is gay they are either used as “entertainment” for the straight people in the script, waiting on the straights or “clutching their pearls” and gasping in an extreme reaction take. When the “straights” play “gay” on a show, they are always camping it up, going over the top much like Jolson or Mickey and Judy. And while I know a lot of people don’t feel it’s a fair comparison all you have to do is look at one episode of Will and Grace or any other show with gay characters to see that we gays are the ones tap dancing, serving and delivering the over-the-top takes in television today.  

“Playing” gay seems to be an obsession in this country. People find it hysterical to lisp, show a limp wrist or butch it up if you’re doing a lesbian impersonation. But when it comes to actually being gay suddenly everyone gets very serious. Much like the politicians are saying to us, some people don’t care if we’re gay just don’t make them think about us really being gay – you know, having sex.  Well, here’s the news flash, there aren’t too many people I want to think about having sex. I mean come on, do you really want to imagine Hillary and Bill Clinton going at it? Oprah and Stedman? The list goes on and on. So I suggest that they stop thinking about the sex and start thinking about the person. I’m sure if we knew half of the stuff that people were doing in their bedrooms we’d never be able to make eye contact with anyone we know ever again. So let’s do the right thing and leave what happens in the bedroom (alley, airplane bathroom, etc.) to the people actually engaged in the act and do our best not to think about it. On the other hand, don’t ask me to lie about having sex with the same sex, or play the fop for you so that you can convince yourself I’m an asexual court jester put on this earth for your entertainment. And I certainly won’t listen to everything in the media and from politicians that says be gay but don’t be gay (wink, wink, nudge, nudge) – Don’t Get Me Started!

Much like E.F. Hutton apparently, when General Pace talked, everyone listened. What didn’t happen right away were statements from the Democrat front runners in the presidential campaign (a campaign that will be going on for the next year and a half at this point, ugh). Instead they decided to do the “political” thing by not really dealing with the statement but with it being expressed publicly. Instead of saying that they agreed or disagreed with Pace (right away anyway, Hillary did come out later against the actual viewpoint expressed by Pace and a spokesman for Obama said later in the day that Obama disagreed with the remarks) they said that they felt he should not have expressed his personal views publicly. Hillary, Barack, love us, hate us, just tell us – Don’t Get Me Started!

From the time I was a small child to today I have spent my life trying to get as many people as possible to like me and the one thing that I’ve learned is that this is like being on a treadmill with no “off” switch. You never get anywhere, you work up a sweat, there’s no end in sight and it is exhausting. If your focus is on getting other people to like you have the wrong focus. The cliché is 100% accurate, if you don’t like you, you stand less of a chance that any one else is going to like you. I know from personal experience that some people may not “like” you because they don’t like what you’re wearing, what car you’re driving, how you speak, what religious affiliation you have and the list goes on and on. Some people even subscribe to the theory that we all give off auras and scents that either attract or repel certain people to and from us. It’s okay not to like everyone just respect people enough to let them know where you stand.

Honestly, I don’t mind (well, I mind but what I mean to say is that I’ll respect your point of view) if people hate me because I’m Jewish, gay, am with a black man (for over 18 years now) so long as you are honest about it. Honestly, what can I do about it? Can I hand out or go door to door like the Jehovah Witnesses or the Mormons to try and get people to “see the light”? (Are there any hard numbers on how effective this approach is for “converting” people?) Should I invite the “haters” to sit down to a cup of coffee at Starbucks and try to convince them as I caffeine them up? These approaches just feel like taking someone to rehab before they are ready. I can’t make you agree with me or like me by forcing you, but I do believe we can expose people to our real stories enough so that as the Christians love to say, “When you’re ready to receive it in your heart” (not Jesus but the information) is there for you.

I remember the first time I went to a doctor here in Vegas. I insisted on finding a doctor that was “gay friendly” and although my guy told me I was crazy and that I should look more at qualifications than for the rainbow sticker on the doctor’s car, I choose to look to the rainbow. Although the doctor had no bedside manner (he told me that his boyfriend was a lawyer and when I remarked, “Oh my God, the two of you together is like a Jewish mother’s wet dream.” He just looked confused, he didn’t get it. I should have known then that I was in trouble) he was gay; which seemed the only important qualification at the time. As the doctor was going through his usual “get to know the patient” questions, he asked me about my sexual activity. When I explained that I had been in a completely monogamous relationship with the same man for 13 years (at the time) his face contorted. He stammered seemingly not knowing what to say and then finally after a few seconds uttered this now famous line to me, “Oh, um, well…good for you.” I still don’t know what he meant. Good for me that I was in a monogamous relationship? Good for me that I could find someone? Good for me that I found someone to put up with me for that many years? What? I’ll never know what he meant and I don’t think even he knew. I think that maybe he was just uncomfortable with someone who was honest and even though he was gay, a long-term relationship and being homosexual just didn’t go together in his mind. He had only been in his relationship for a short time and there had been much breaking up, back together, etc. (Can you see how I become everyone’s therapist within the first five minutes of meeting them? Gift or curse, I don’t know, I’m just pissed I can’t charge them for the advice! “That’ll be five cents, please.”)

My point is that like Hollywood celebrities, it’s the exposure that is important. (Except in the case of the panty-less Britney Spears because honestly, who wants to see that? She needed to “hit the cymbals” (put her knees together) as my grandmother would say) My theory is that the more people that see us “normal gays” the more they will realize we have a lot in common because we’re all human. Sure, we may know more about them when it comes to putting a sofa or throw pillow in the right place but we still put on our eyelashes like them, one at a time. Seriously, unless you are very impressionable (you know, like the people targeted and easily converted to cults) I think the best way to desensitize a situation is continued exposure (not talking George Michael in a bathroom here).

All I can do is live my life the best way I know how, being as nice to the population at large (I am a constant door holder for strangers) and allow them to feel however they want to feel. I won’t try to “butch it up” (because I have been a miserable failure when I tried that approach) and I also won’t flit and swish for effect. I’m not saying that everyone should be in a monogamous gay relationship with a black man for a million years and own two cats, that’s just who and what I am and what works for me. (And as my doctor would say, “Good for me.”) Don’t ask me to be less than I am and I won’t ask you to be more that you can be when it comes to understanding my choices. But let me know where you stand so that I know whether to avoid you or purposely make you crazy by being in your face. And when someone asks me, I’m going to tell them proudly who I am and what I think. There’s a certain honor in being honest. I wish our politicians understood that more than they did their popularity polls. Hillary, Barack, love us, hate us, just tell us – Don’t Get Me Started!

Okay, I love how everyone is all up in arms (get it?) that the top US Military Officer, General Peter Pace (and if that name doesn’t sound like a gay porn star I don’t know what does) said that he thinks homosexual acts are immoral. Whooo, really big surprise there, I better call my cardiologist for some nitroglycerin for under my tongue at the shock of these comments. Immediately lawmakers (who love how the gays throw fundraisers and give them money) and a (that’s right, only one) gay rights organization wanted an apology but the general was standing his ground on this battlefield when all of a sudden, late in the day he makes the statement that he should not have focused on his personal views in the interview and just stated that he supported the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy. Come on, I thought military guys are supposed to be tough. The top general, Peter Pace, becomes a bottom for the press – Don’t Get Me Started!  

So why I ask you would all of this be coming to a (pardon the expression) head in the media on this particular day? Um…could it be to get our minds off of the fact that George Bush’s token Hispanic, Alberto Gonzales’ cover was (again, you’ll pardon the expression) blown about systematically firing US attorneys that didn’t go along with the white house agenda? Another case of the white house thinking everyone has A.D.D. like they do. Now I’ll admit that we gays like shiny things but it won’t always make us look the other way, even when you parade a guy in uniform with shiny medals on his chest in front of us.

As far as Peter Pace goes, did you see the picture of him with George W. at the National Prayer Breakfast in February 2007? Did you even know there was such a thing because I didn’t know anything like it existed? Just another great example of the separation of church and state, George W! But back to the matter at hand, right? I have to say that I’m surprised anyone is surprised that the top military brass finds homosexual acts immoral. And to Peter Pace’s defense, he also called out adulterers too. So, when you consider that most of the world finds it impossible not to commit adultery (and since we gays can’t marry we can never technically be adulterers), I guess we’re finally being lumped in with a group that is considered pretty normal.

As I’ve said before, I would much rather know who hates me and who doesn’t. Not to mention the whole thing about supposedly having free speech in this country. Some of us gays aren’t dumb enough to think that because he wears a uniform he speaks for everyone in the military or that a lot of the supposed “straightees” who are in Iraq right now wouldn’t want to trade places with a gay (or anyone for that matter) just to get the hell out of there. The people we should really feel sorry for are General Pace’s family. Because as we all know, there’s a gay in every family. You usually don’t have to use a gay detector to find one somewhere in your family’s past or present. Not to mention the fact that this guy must be a real hoot in bed, right?

On another front that has me saying, “Don’t ask, don’t tell” me is ex-Idol sort of finalist Mario Vasquez (he quit the competition in 2005 stating he had family issues that prevented him from staying in the competition). Well apparently he really left the show because he pulled (himself) out in front of an accountant at Fox studios trying to do the accountant George Michael style in the bathroom. Oh Mario, don’t you know you have to be famous first for something like this to work? And did you really need to go stall hopping? Come on Mario, you’re more attractive than that, you should be able to find sex like the other gays out on the street or Craigslist. How long do we think it will be before he shows up at rehab for a sex addiction to try and get out of the pending lawsuit? And weren’t you surprised it was Mario and not Ryan?

I don’t find what Mario did so much immoral as just stupid. I mean, he was on Idol and had he waited he could have had every gay and supposed straight man in a bathroom or anywhere else. Or maybe bathroom sex falls under the “don’t ask, don’t tell” policy? I don’t know we’ll have to ask General Pace because he’s the top general. The top general, Peter Pace, becomes a bottom for the press – Don’t Get Me Started!