I'm Creating A Cardcert Tour Now That I'm A MikWright Superstar!
Today
A Greeting Card, Tomorrow A Cardcert Tour! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Well if you’ve been to any page
of my website you know that my mother and I have been immortalized by the gang at MikWright. (Click here to buy the cards
individually and stock up for chrissakes! http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikefaves.html ) That’s right, you can finally say you know someone on a MikWright
card (well, sort of). It has been very fun, waiting to hear which pictures they chose and then finally seeing the card and
the magic the team at MikWright worked on for the captions inside. No doubt it’s the kind of thrill reserved mostly
for people like Helen Hallmark (or whoever invented the whole Hallmark thing). Some of my friends and family just can’t
believe that we would let ourselves “in for it” but what they don’t know is that my family (especially my
Mother and I) have always secretly seen ourselves as legends in our own minds. So like most things in my life, I’m going
to try to make the absolute most of it. Today a greeting card, tomorrow a cardcert tour! – Don’t Get Me Started!
All ready the
stories have begun to come in from family and friends about purchasing the cards in stores and online. One of my mother’s
(and our family’s) most beloved pals for forever, Bill (they continually tried to come up with recipes to win the Pillsbury
Bake Off one summer and everyone gained ten pounds! Meanwhile they never entered because all they ended up with was an icing
and nothing to put it on.) immediately went online and bought a dozen of my mother’s cards. My aunt who lives in Arizona
actually went to a store in Phoenix to do her purchasing. Here’s the story I got (as translated through my mother and
no doubt embellished by me a bit). So my mother says, “Your aunt went into a store in Phoenix to get our cards. You
know it was one of those <lower voice to whisper> gay <back to full voice> stores.” My father loudly (the
only way he talks), “How the hell do you know that it’s a gay store for chrissakes?” My Mother, “You
know, Ann said that it was filled with rainbows. <knowing head nod and wink>” As my mother continues on my Father
and guy begin to talk about something on the nature channel, meanwhile I am of course riveted to the story my mother is telling.
My mother continues, “So she gets to the counter with the cards and asks the guy if he thinks that these cards are funny.
Of course he thinks the whole line of MikWright cards are funny and yes he likes these cards too.” Because my family
can’t resist giving more information to total strangers than ever needed, my aunt proceeds to tell the guy that not
only is one of the pictures her sister-in-law but the other one is her nephew who has the Some Like It Scott site. Well, lo
and behold, he actually knows my site and has read some of my blogs. My aunt thought it was all hysterical (almost as hysterical
as when she first found out about the cards by visiting my site and calling my mother crying she was laughing so hard about
it!) and the guy behind the counter I’m sure had a “clutching of the pearls” moment over it. (We can only
hope he’s reading this now and that he has put our cards on the counter as the featured cards and he’s telling
and selling them to everyone in the store or that passes by!) Hey card seller of the rainbows, email me, we’ll chat!
You see, while
some people may find it odd that we’re getting so excited over becoming a card, my mother is (as we speak) rummaging
through every box of old pictures convinced she can “do better” and come up with a funnier photo of herself while
I’m trying to figure out how to make the whole thing a performance piece that tours card stores, complete with multi-media
slides of MikWright and old family photo images behind me and me reading some of my blogs. A Some Like It Scott Cardcert Event!
Agents reading this, are you listening?
The thing is that my entire family has always had one important thing going for it. We have a great sense of humor. Through
all of the rough times we’ve had we always have had the ability to make one another laugh…a lot. My aunt that
I talk about in this blog can tell a story like nobody’s business, she’s the aunt you would ask to tell the same
story over and over again and you’d be rolling on the floor crying you were laughing so hard no matter how many times
she told the tale. Bill that I talk about has the ability to crack you up with one look of complete disgust, without ever
saying a word. Whether we’re poking fun at someone in the news or someone closer to home, I’m so thankful to have
a family that laughs so much.
I
know that I’m making “Mik” from MikWright crazy as I keep asking for the stats about how many we’ve
sold, etc. But I can’t help myself. If I didn’t try to make this into something more than it is and fail miserably
I wouldn’t be the greatest never was been there’s ever been. No; fame for me must always be just close enough
for me to get my fingertips on but not close enough for me to actually grab a hold of it. Still, in my mind there’s
a hush that falls over the crowd in the fluorescent lit store filled with stuffed animals, cards and yes, perhaps even rainbow
merchandise. Through the overly candle scented air you hear the owner of the store say, “Ladiessss and Gentssss, here
today is the guy you read online, the card you’ll buy today in the store with the stories you’ll be repeating
tomorrow at the gym, Scott from Some Like It Scott!” Today a greeting card, tomorrow a cardcert tour! – Don’t
Get Me Started!
Gay Man Confused Here - Do We Talk About It Or Not Talk About It?
Gay
Man Confused – Do We Talk About It Or NOT Talk About It? – Don’t Get Me Started!
Is it wrong of me to
wish for a simpler time? You see as I’ve written (over and over again) I always knew I was gay and no matter how many
people tried to beat it out of me (sometimes literally) I just knew that’s who I was and that it wasn’t going
to change. (Read my “coming out” story… http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikegay.html scroll down on this page on the right side to the “What I Did
For Love” writings) So when I came out to my mother I remember saying, “Look, this is the deal, I’m going
to Houston for the summer because I’m in love with this guy who is going there for the summer. I promise you that I
will never go out of my way to embarrass you or make you or anyone in the family uncomfortable with me being gay it’s
just who I am and I need you to know.” To me this seemed not only reasonable, considerate but it also had some built
in Jewish guilt with it. (The interesting part of this whole story is that the guy I was going to Houston for was eleven years
older than me – though the age he gives now makes me a few years older than him – and wasn’t out to his
mother – another blog for another day.) So now when I hear people saying you should be in people’s faces with
your gayness and others like my mother saying, “Okay, we all get it that you’re gay, it’s enough all ready,
do you really think that’s what people want to read about?” I begin to wonder and that wonder becomes confusion.
Gay man confused – do we talk about it or NOT talk about it? – Don’t Get Me Started!
Honestly I don’t have the answer
to this one. I get the whole, the more you talk about something and put it on television and movies the less shocking or scary
it will seem to people but I also think there’s something to be said for just living your life as a good person and
the people you encounter will be like, “Wow, hmmm. Those gays aren’t as weird as I thought.” I think it’s
more of a personal choice. If you must put the rainbow sticker on your car then you must but I for one haven’t had anything
rainbow colored since I was trying to be Robin Williams from Mork and Mindy in the 1970’s and had to wear the rainbow
suspenders at least three days a week. (Yes, of course with all the buttons too)
While I slowly integrated bringing my six foot black
man to family functions (the only black face above the crowd – we’re all short Jews) after a period of a few years
and him bringing me to his family for Christmas, in contrast my cousin came out and was so gay that I think he used gay soap,
gay toothpaste and walked around saying, “Hi, you know I’m gay, right? Have you met my lover?” ten minutes
after he came out of the closet. It was like watching a race horse come out of the gate with no track or race, just running
and kicking up a lot of dust. I adore him so if that’s what he need to do, good for him. (I hate that whole phrase by
the way, when I first moved to Las Vegas and went to the doctor for the first time he asked about my sex life for the sake
of case history, etc. and when I told him I’d been in a monogamous relationship with a man for over 11 years at the
time he said, “Oh…good for you.” I never knew what that really meant. Like good for me that I found someone
who would want me? Good for me that I was with a man? Good for me that I was monogamous? Or just from the doctor handbook
– when patient says something to which you have no response try, “good for you.” – The doctor by the
way was gay too but didn’t get my sense of humor so I didn’t go to him for long…go figure)
The thing is that with
people debating whether Perez Hilton is right in outing people or not, I know in my heart that I don’t agree with this
tactic. Coming out is not easy and less easy if you’re a celebrity (not that I would know, mind you being the greatest
never was been there ever was) so why not let these people do what they need to do in their own time? They don’t owe
you or me anything but to entertain us at their chosen craft, period. (Frankly some of the latest “casualties”
of blogger outing I’d like to have thrown back, or at least ask them what so many of our parents asked us, “Are
you sure it’s not just a phase? I’ll bet if you found the right woman…”)
I’m not someone that needs to
hold hands in public but I’ll kiss my guy when I’m saying goodbye to him at an airport. I don’t need to
tell people I’m gay because they usually get that from the fact that I’m humming “Second Hand Rose”
ala Barbara Streisand in line at the grocery store. (To some that’s a horrible stereotype for some of us, it’s
not put on it’s just who we are on a normal day) And while I’m constantly chastised by friends for not going to
“Pride” or the parades (for me parades lost their attraction at an early age when we’d go to the Parada
Del Sol in Scottsdale, Arizona and watch the bad marching bands, wagons with mock cowboys and saloon gals on them and horses
that pooped along the entire route) I don’t discourage my friends from going and having a great time but it just isn’t
for me.
As I said, I know I’m
from a different generation now but even with all the “in-your-face-gays” today I see shades of myself represented
here and there in the media. I WAS “Justin” from Ugly Betty growing up. And I for one like the fact that they
don’t “define” him but just let him be this fun character that is flamboyantly feminine and a kid. I guess
that people are going to disagree about just about everything when it comes to talking about being gay or not talking about
it. And the important thing is that we keep debating, talking and learning from one another but try as I might to be the very
model of a modern major gay (with my apologies to Gilbert and Sullivan) for me, being gay is a part of me but certainly not
all that I’m about. I won’t “out” anyone on my site for my own recognition while saying, “I’m
doing it for the cause”, I won’t make out in the grocery store over the frozen foods to make sure everyone knows
I’m gay and I won’t put the damn rainbow, triangle or any other symbol on myself (because I think that being gay
and Jewish, we had plenty of those symbols mandated to be on us at one time, thanks to Mr. Hitler). So maybe I’m not
as confused as I thought that I was or then again, maybe I’m not so sure either. Gay man confused – do we talk
about it or NOT talk about it? – Don’t Get Me Started!
Am I The Only One Who Doesn't Care About The Anna Nicole Movie?
Do We
Really NEED An Anna Nicole Movie? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I know the movie is all ready in the making so perhaps talking about it here is moot but I must nonetheless
as I really have no idea why we would need a movie about Anna Nicole’s life. You see she already did that herself with
her wacky reality series, The Anna Nicole Show. Once you’re on a reality television show is there any need to show the
rest of your life? And in the case of most reality stars, how much is there really left to show, really? Yes, I know that
there’s all the editing they do so I’m sure there are endless hours of Anna eating pickles but really what’s
left now that we’ve seen Whitney Houston on the toilet and Kathy Griffin in a rat suit? Do we really NEED an Anna Nicole
movie? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I can’t lie, I watched The Anna Nicole Show. I loved it. I mean, where else are you going to see someone so
out of control now that Robert Downey Jr. seems to have gotten a handle on his drug problem? I would watch each week in shock,
disgust and lust after the next episode. I would see a coming attraction of Anna being crazier than she was on the current
episode and I would double check my Tivo to make sure I wouldn’t miss a minute of the next episode. With the odd cast
of characters from parasite Howard K. Stern, pathetic Daniel (her son) who just seemed completely lost, to Kimmie, the six
hundred pound gorilla lesbian with unrequited love for Anna (to the point she has a tattoo of Anna’s face on herself)
to the occasional guest stars of a Bobby Trendy (a supposed designer that I wouldn’t let decorate the inside of my cat’s
carrier) the show was plenty chockfull of entertainment in a reality kind of way. The thing is that I really think I saw the
best, worst and all I need to see of Anna on that show so why the movie?
Well, we know why the movie…there’s money to be made. Now good
for Willa Ford for getting her first acting job since…well, since ever. (This is really her first acting job and we
can only hope that the public embraces her more in this role than they did on Dancing With The Stars.) And now in a big twist
that has Anna’s ex-hairdresser in a teased up tizzy, Bobby Trendy has apparently been cast to play himself in the movie.
For those of you who need more clarification, Bobby Trendy (his real name I’m sure <much eye rolling>) was a designer
that Anna hired to decorate her home. As Anna’s taste appeared to only be in her mouth (when she was shoving food in
as fast as anyone could make it and then always following it up with a good old fashioned lie down) unless Guess was dressing
her, she wanted lots of pink. So Bobby Trendy did what any good designer wouldn’t do…he skinned a couple of Muppets,
stole their pink fur and went crazy with a glue gun. We all know from watching Top Design on Bravo and any number of design
shows that any designer worth anything employs the use of glue guns to do their best work. It was like having one of those
women addicted to crafts like crack decorate your house with fabric and fake pink fur from JoAnne’s! It was great fun
watching Trendy be not so trendy or good flailing about as Anna fired him. He retorted by talking about how great he was and
how many clients he has but I have to wonder just how many five year olds want and can afford to hire the swishiest and worst
decorator to come along since the person who invented Early American as a style for furniture and décor. (All those
spinning wheels, spindle chairs and doilies – ugh!)
Here’s my thought. If they’re going to go ahead with this whole
Anna Nicole movie shouldn’t it be more of an Afterschool Special than a prime time event? Shouldn’t it be a cautionary
tale of what happens when you get fake boobs, dance on a pole, suck ninety year old pole and eventually surround yourself
with enough sycophants throwing pills down your gullet that you won’t know how much you’re paying them or they’re
stealing from you or who you are anymore? I think anyone who has picked up a Playboy magazine or seen her reality show has
really seen all there is to see when it comes to Anna so why not show something that might do someone some good to the people
who need it? You know, like the teen girls out there who think that Anna Nicole is some sort of iconic goddess to emulate?
But I know that the
cheese stands alone on this one. I know that so many people are dying to see this movie (and if Delta Burke will bulk up again
and go back to being a blonde to play Anna’s mother, Virgie). These are the same people that want to watch the Fantasia
Barrino story (starring Fantasia Barrino) on Lifetime. If you’re a reality star, the reality is that we’ve already
seen enough of you and in some cases, more than we wanted to in the first place. I don’t need a television movie based
on your life to show me even more about you. I’ve already got all the entertainment you have to give and I’ll
just wait for your next album or tabloid article on TMZ.com to find out about your latest escapade. No need for a movie, a
play or a short story, in these cases enough is plenty. Do we really NEED an Anna Nicole movie? – Don’t Get Me
Started!
Rosie Leaving The View, What Will My Mother Do?! – Don’t
Get Me Started!
So it was announced
that Rosie is leaving The View after only one season. Is anyone surprised by this latest announcement? I mean with all of
the constant media attention to every word she said I can only imagine this whole thing has played out…well, exactly
the way Barbara planned. Because say what you like about Rosie, daytime television, etc. Barbara Walters is no dummy. One
season, get ratings up and then get rid of her. It was the perfect strategy. The big problem I see is much more personal.
You see every day I have to hear what Rosie said on The View from my Mother. In great detail she’ll sort of tell you
what Rosie said with commentary throughout of what my Mom thought about it, what the other gals on the panel did and what
my Mother sees as the solution for the latest Rosie dilemma. Rosie leaving The View, what will my mother do?! – Don’t
Get Me Started!
First I have to say that my mother despises when I write about her but she is a wealth of material so today she will have
to forgive me for making this about her. Hey, look on the bright side Ma, it’s a Wednesday, not a big day for blog reading
on the whole (well, okay, I’m lying). I have always kidded my Mother that she has a People magazine mentality. What
that means is that she loves reading magazines like People and that’s where she gets most of her material. This is no
longer true. Now that she is online all the time, she’s getting news from all over but the mainstay of her news is basically
“People-oriented.” I don’t know of too many people who have their mother leave them a voicemail similar
to, “Kitty Carlisle dead, 97” and then she hangs up. She has had her finger on the pulse of the celebrity news
for some time now and Rosie was a great added bonus for this season of The View because she gave my Mother (and everyone else)
quite a bit to talk about on what seemed like a daily basis.
We all know that Rosie has changed over the years and yet like most celebrities, everyone seems way more comfortable
trying to keep her in a box that she outgrew years ago. She’s no longer the chubby best friend coming into your home
via television to show you the latest Broadway show, throw Koosh balls at you, show you how to do a craft and then watch as
you all put your heads between your legs to see what she’s giving away to the studio audience today under the seats.
That said; she’s also not the crazy militant lesbian that so many people make her out to be either. (It’s amazing
what one bad haircut will get you! Thus the reason no one should hang out with Boy George, well, at least take fashion tips
from him.)
She’s still an advocate for children’s causes and what no one ever seems to talk about is that whether
she is doing the decoupage technique on a birth certificate onto a piece of drift wood or causing a rift between herself and
Donald Trump, she’s good television. What’s more she’s good for television. There’s only one Rosie
and what she proves time and time again is that while you think you know what you’re going to get from her, she always
manages to surprise you. (No, I’m not sucking up to Rosie, though I think she needs to know about me…click here…
http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikegay.html )
I don’t know who they’ll bring on next to try and revive The View but you can bet that if Barbara
wants the show to continue, she’ll come up with another smart idea as to who will sit in that seat. Let’s just
hope that there’s no chance of Star Jones coming back. (Read that blog… Why Is Star Jones Back?) And let’s hope they don’t try to play it safe this time
and hire someone like Lisa Rinna (The Broadway show Chicago is definitely not playing it safe, putting Rinna in as Roxie,
even with her husband in the show – anyone else see that pitiful performance on Dancing With The Stars last week? Whooo,
that’s some bad theatre ladies and gentlemen!)
But most importantly, what in the hell is my Mother going to do? They’ve taken off her Imus and now no
more Rosie on The View. Where will my mother get her news and commentary? And whose regurgitated comments will I have to listen
to now that she no longer has either of these people to listen to daily? Well, much like Rosie, my Mother is always full of
surprises and no doubt she’ll surprise me again when she finds her next great source for info. If you do your best to
not read the message boards filled with hate you’ll know that we’ll all be pretty sad to see Rosie go. Not just
because of what it means to have a lesbian on daytime television (hell, you can get that on cable any time now) but because
she really does have something that a lot of people seem not to have anymore…child-like wonder. She still gets excited
over her children, celebrities and coffee cake. So while I’ll miss her for the few times a month I watch that show,
I’m sure other people will be much more affected. Rosie leaving The View, what will my mother do?! – Don’t
Get Me Started!
Forget The Spelling Bee Kids; Get With The Texting Bee! –
Don’t Get Me Started!
There are several indicators
everyday that I’m getting old. It could be the gray hair (both above and below), it could be the several times a day
I say, “What?” or it could be the fact that while I consider myself pretty technologically savvy, I see no need
for a national texting competition. Forget the spelling bee kids; get with the texting bee – Don’t Get Me Started!
That’s right,
a thirteen year old girl from Pennsylvania won the championship and $25,000 that she says she’ll use to go shopping
and buy lots of clothes. She estimates that she sends about 8,000 text messages a month and won by properly texting the word
supercalifragilisticexpialidocious in fifteen seconds, beating other champs from across the USA. Well my, now there’s
something to be proud of, no? I can see the bumper stickers now, “My ten year old can out-text your ten year old LMAO!”
While I’m impressed
that she was able to spell the word above correctly (or had even seen Mary Poppins at all) and not LOL or LMAO her way through
the competition you have to wonder if this is the right message to send? If they’re sending 8,000 text messages a month
then aren’t some of those text messages happening when they should be reading, writing or doing arithmetic? But that’s
so old school, isn’t it? Forget learning and go straight to Idol, Texting and MySpace to get to the head of the class!
Sell your old text books on Ebay and get carpal tunnel syndrome before your eighteenth birthday as a rite of passage!
Perhaps this whole thing
makes me sick because I absolutely detest texting. I don’t get it frankly. I would much rather have my friends call
me (and have me send it directly to voicemail to listen to later) than to have to read a message and then figure out what
they’re trying to say with all their abbreviations and how in the hell to reply to it. I have friends who love it and
have tried (unsuccessfully) to explain the whole use of the “pre-emptive text” option that tries to read your
mind. You’re trying to write the word “done” and it tells you that you want to write “demon.”
Wow, that’s a great tool, huh? So I’m forced to hit buttons three to twenty times just to get a letter “c”
and God forbid you want it capitalized, then you’ll need to invest another twenty minutes.
I don’t want to have to figure
out abbreviations or codes obviously written so that only the Taliban and teenagers can understand! My mother was using LOL
for the longest time in her emails in a way that made no sense until I informed her that it meant, “Laughing Out Loud”
and not the eye rolling, sarcastic, “Lots Of Luck” that she thought it meant. My niece has a book (apparently
there’s a series of them) where the entire book is written in instant message format complete with Js and LYMI. Well I don’t Love it and I Mean It!
Swell for us that we now have so many ways
to communicate but can anyone explain to me why with all these tools at our disposal we’ve actually become worse communicators?
I remember watching Star Trek thinking, “If only I could have a communicator like Kirk, I would be communicating my
ass off!” Even if all I could get my hands on was that earpiece of Uhura’s I knew that I could not only be the
coolest kid in the world but I could communicate with the world and boldly go where no man has gone before. Well, I have the
cell phone (Kirk’s communicator) and the Bluetooth headset (Uhura’s earpiece) and yet somehow my guy and I both
managed to buy dishwasher detergent not knowing the other one was buying it. What does that tell you?
Technology
has made us faster, not necessarily smarter or better at communicating. No, we’re too busy using technology to keep
LaKisha (obviously another mother who spells as well as Anfernee Hardaway’s) on Idol or hopefully texting the right
suitcase into Deal Or No Deal’s home version of the game. Well there’s no way we old folk can even hope to compete
with a thirteen year old texting a thirty-four letter word in fifteen seconds. So someone else will have to keep my favorite
Idol on the show and win the $10,000 from Howie Mandel while I confine my voting for the politician who has spent enough money
on their campaign to convince me that they’ll actually make a change for good in the world. (Or has the nicest hair!)
As I said at the start
of this, I gladly admit that I’m getting older and that my tolerance for things is getting less and less every day.
All the while I’m starting to wonder if being able to heat up a leftover to the temperature of molten lava in half a
minute is worth the radiation I’ve been receiving from my microwave. I’m wondering if I’m not losing some
of my hearing from my headsets (Ipod and Bluetooth) or is it just that I’m in a place getting bad reception? Can you
hear me now? If not, give me six hours and I’ll text it to you. Forget the spelling bee kids; get with the texting bee
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Down And
PlanetOut In The Land Of The Gays! – Don’t Get Me Started!
A new pal of the Some Like It Scott site sent me a link to an article
on Queerty.com (try to keep up people, will you?) regarding the big media congaymorate PlanetOut and the fact that their business
seems to be going down without a Molly Brown in site (yes, I know I wrote “site” not “sight”)! For
those that don’t know, PlanetOut owns gay.com, The Advocate, Kleptomaniac, Out and more – you get the idea. See
they pretty much own everything when it comes to the current gay magazines and online trade (and yes, I’m talking about
that kind too as they cater to shopping for everything from clothes to someone who will come over and take theirs off for
you). Down and PlanetOut in the land of the gays! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Long
have I read the magazine The Advocate (and not just because my blog was rated one of the top ten by Advocate readers’
in 2006 – shameless plug but there you go – no boys, I did not write butt plug – gutter – minds –
out!) however recently I decided not to renew my subscription because I was thinking that perhaps I was getting too old to
read a magazine that really only cared about who Jonathan Rhys Meyer would kiss if he was going to kiss another boy and if
he had any boy crushes. These seem to be mainstay questions in any article in The Advocate lately and it really holds no interest
for me. It just seems a pathetic way to portray gays, wanting every man these reporters interview to admit that they’re
gay, had a gay thought or at least sat next to one on a bus at some point and thought they looked nice. Honestly, the magazine
is like Tiger Beat Gay. Now I read Tiger Beat for years and let me tell you something, there’s an idea right there that
could pull PlanetOut out of the alley and back into the club, well, maybe. But today I expect a little bit more from a magazine
that is supposed to be the frontrunner in being an advocate for the gay community and what matters to them. (Read the letters
to the editor I wrote to The Advocate - Advocate Magazine)
And here in lies the problem in my opinion (be it ever so humble) all of
the stuff that PlanetOut puts out looks exactly the same. For a company that is supposed to be celebrating a culture that
celebrates diversity, they’re like a twink convention. Everyone in the magazine has to be twelve, airbrushed within
an inch of their life (unless they have their shirt off and then they need to have their six pack stencil on) or they’re
part of the three token lesbian articles where the women can look like, well, you know…whoamen! Then again, perhaps
they are representing our “culture”, you know the guys who only date other guys who look exactly like themselves?
I don’t know if these men do this because they love themselves so much or it’s easier to see what that new haircut
will look like on them without them having to take the risk of getting it themselves? Same thing with PlanetOut, it’s
a little like publication masturbation to me. (They’re the only ones getting anything out of it!)
The thing is that if you
just thumbed through the pages (literally or online) you would find that the demographic PlanetOut seems to be going after
is one that only exists in the rarest of places, you know, like Neverland (or LA). Their demo appears to be twinks with a sugar daddy rich enough to take them on a cruise, furnish their home in Mitchell Gold furniture and buy
real estate in Palm Springs from the classifieds in the back of the magazine. Now before you all start writing in, let me
just say, “Shut it!” I can hear the emails now, “You’re a bitter old queen.” Wrong, I’m
something that the gay community only parades out once in a great while…I’m an adult in an adult relationship.
Sure I’m a stereotype, love the Judy Garland, have two cats named after characters from the Broadway
musical Wicked and have several very close female friends. I understand that my demo is one of a by-gone era and I’m
not saying that these publications have to cater to me exclusively but come on people, throw me the proverbial bone, will
ya?
Some would say that the same could be said for the leading fashion magazines for women but see the difference
here is that they’re not trying to be magazines with a conscience or promote equality, they’re trying to sell
clothes and orgasms (You know, like GQ used to do for all of us before there were magazines that identified themselves as
gay).
I would hate to see the PlanetOut gang go down without getting paid (and I’m talking about the employees
now) because they need the work and we as “the gays” do need magazines and online sites that speak to us directly
but come on, let’s not model ourselves after People magazine with their intellectually stimulating articles and diverse
selection of People and People En Espanol. Let’s challenge ourselves to have a wide variety of publications that represent
a larger range of who we gays truly are, shall we? Maybe we can’t do it as long as PlanetOut is responsible for most
of the gay publications. It’s a little like playing Monopoly with my brother when we were little and he was the bank
too. Somehow he always had money while the rest of us were trying to sell off pieces of property to stay alive. Maybe more
in this case truly is less?
As a t-shirt I saw in a catalog said,
“I don’t have the answers, only the complaints!” I hope that PlanetOut finds their way to profitability
but how many of us are wearing leather chokers with the word “butch” on a sterling silver coin from Kleptomaniac?
How many of us are buying property in Key West from the guys who buy the classified ads in the back of The Advocate? And how
many of us really find who we’re looking for on gay.com? There’s an old phrase that I think rings true here –
you only have yourself to blame. PlanetOut needs to get out more and represent more of us, period. Down and PlanetOut
in the land of the gays! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Alec Baldwin I've Been A Thoughtless Little Pig Before Too!
Alec Baldwin,
Kim’s A Thoughtless Little Pig Too! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Well,
well, we’re obviously all starved for news when a parent telling off their kid (no matter what their celebrity status)
becomes the big new story of the day. I guess we all needed a little flash and trash after the recent events in Virginia this
week to get our minds back on the important things in life…watching the celebrities we build crash and burn. The thing
I don’t get is that I’ve heard (and surprised it isn’t the same in Mr. Baldwin’s case) parents say
a lot more damaging and profane things to their kids when I’m in a store than was on this tape. And usually they’re
using physical force on the kids too! So I really don’t understand the big fuss. However, I suspect that for the ex
there’s a bitter table for one reservation in her name somewhere (say in a center square on a game show). Alec Baldwin,
Kim’s a thoughtless little pig too! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Now I loved when Baldwin and Basinger were together. To me they were one of the more attractive and “old Hollywood”
in the “new Hollywood” couples. They were almost the Clark Gable and Carole Lombard of their day (if Basinger
could act). So when the ugly divorce happened, I was as sad as everyone else. Yet like a traffic accident, how could any of
us look away from the public jabs they hurled at one another? To be honest, much like any fight in your life, I forget what
exactly they were fighting about at this point I just know that it got ugly.
Here’s the deal. I live in a house with two actors in a relationship, I’m one of them. For those of you
who have not done this and are considering it, I encourage you to step lightly as it is not always the easiest relationship
in the world. You have two people who are used to getting applause with no one there but the cats to applaud (and you know
that cats – not the ones in the Broadway show – really don’t make a lot of noise when they put their paws
together). So egos flare hotter, hurts hurt more and it’s not at all like an exercise at the Actors’ Studio with
Shelly Winters and Brando. It can be a volatile mix I tell you and I’m sure the same thing happened in the Baldwin/Basinger
home.
You see, although you
may know in your heart that the part your spouse got was one that you could never get, it doesn’t stop you from being
bitter when they get a show and you don’t. There’s no avoiding it. There’s so much rejection in show business
that no matter how hard you try (and I know a lot of people lie about this) you can only be so happy for the person next to
you who is now the lead and you’re the second farmer on the left in the Farmer and the Cowman number. It’s just
human nature (unless you’re Mother Teresa) that you want your spouse, friends and family to do well, just not better
than you.
So one has to ask themselves
if this whole recent flare up between Baldwin and Basinger has to do with the fact that Basinger “couldn’t get
arrested” right now career wise. I mean she is moments away from joining the next cast of The Surreal Life or Dancing
With The Stars. While Baldwin is “slaying them in the aisles” on 30 Rock (with the same character incidentally
he played on Will And Grace but it’s still funny) in this larger than life persona he has now created for himself on
the screen. I can imagine that Basinger is less than amused at her ex’s recent good career fortune because the only
thing worse than your spouse doing better than you is your ex spouse doing better than you.
You see we want our ex’s to be fatter than
us, balder than us, out of work and really just wandering life’s bumpy road wondering how they’re going to live
without us. This is not being a bitchy queen, it’s as they say in Avenue Q – schadefreude – “happiness
at the misfortune of others.” (No surprise it’s a German word) And to a certain extent we all experience this
with more than our spouses or ex’s (That’s what keeps the National Enquirer selling and the Jerry Springer show
on the air). We love to scoff at these people and say, “Ah, at least I’m not as bad as this bunch.”
I hope that we’ve seen the last
of all of this business with Baldwin and Basinger (that is until his book comes out – yes, while doing damage control,
he managed to plug his book that he’s writing where apparently all will be revealed.) But I’m sure there are parent
groups right now up in arms running around willy nilly to make a name for themselves while they admonish Baldwin for his “ego
damaging words” he delivered to his daughter. I’m sure the Today show will have a therapist on to talk about how
wounding words can be to children. (We all know that the real damage was done when they picked the name Ireland for the kid’s
first name!) The point is that we can all be thoughtless little pigs from time to time and sometimes we need someone to tell
us that’s what we’re being. Alec Baldwin, Kim’s a thoughtless little pig too! – Don’t Get Me
Started!
I Swear It Was The Woman In Front Of Me Who Farted!
The One Who Smelled It Isn’t Always The One Who Dealt It!
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Do you remember as a kid when someone would say, “Who farted?” the common response was, “The one
who smelled it, dealt it!”? Well, I was in line in Target yesterday and let me just say that the one who smelled it
isn’t always the one who dealt it – Don’t Get Me Started!
I was doing the typical worker getting off work trying to run a million
errands before getting home to make dinner for myself (my guy is out of town), feed the cats and do some more work while trying
desperately to get the amount of saved programs on my Tivo down to a minimum. All that was missing was a boss named Lou Grant
and a Jewish neighbor to come over with a schmata on her head to talk about her inability to find a husband. I indeed was
Mary Tyler Moore without a pull out couch or “M” on my wall.
Anyway, back to my harrowing tale. So I’m zooming through (random
thought – remember the Aretha Franklin song, Who’s Zooming Who? – why doesn’t anyone ever play that,
love that song!) I’m zooming through the Target trying to beat the Mom and everyone who also just got off of work rush
and pretty much everything that I’m there for is out. I mean from lotion to dish detergent soap, it felt like a conspiracy
or perhaps there’s been a run on Lubriderm that I’m simply not aware of…what’s next hoarding of the
Lubriderm?
Now I can never get
out of Target without spending a million dollars. Usually it’s because I’m trying to get bargains that end up
just costing me more money than I was planning on spending. Whether it’s me going for the twenty-seven pound box of
kitty litter to save twenty cents (but not my back) or the gum at the checkout, I’m a store’s dream come true,
falling for every piece of marketing and suggestive selling they throw at me.
So I get to the checkout line with my purchases and the woman in front of
me is nice enough to put the divider on the belt. Now I always do this for the person that is behind me too. At first I was
afraid that people would think I was doing a whole, “Ugh, let me put this divider down so that the cashier knows there’s
no way I’m paying for the crap this person behind me just put on the belt. And who in the hell would buy pudding that
hasn’t been refrigerated and sixteen bags of beef jerky anyway?” But then I discovered that this was paranoid
thinking. I discovered if you smile and do a little head nod, people are actually appreciative that you put the divider down
for them and aren’t offended at all. (Lesson learned - not everyone offends as easily as me.)
So I put my items on the belt and as
the woman in front of me (nicely dressed, late forties, well groomed and seemingly normal) is using the credit card machine
it suddenly hits me…this wave of odiferous something or other that attacks me like a lead pipe (in the Conservatory
with Colonel Mustard) on Nancy Kerrigan’s knee! (And I’m thinking the same thing Nancy did, “Why me?”)
There was no noise and the checkout next to us wasn’t open so the only place this could have come from was her. I don’t
know if she had eaten sauerkraut, asparagus and something had died inside her or if she was on some fad diet that causes you
to have unbelievably bad gas but this seemingly normal woman had cut one of the smelliest farts I had ever smelled in my entire
life!
Now what are you supposed
to do in this type of situation? I did what any normal person would do. First I immediately opened my mouth in a mock smile
that would allow me to breathe through my mouth and not my nose while looking inviting and lovely at the same time. Next I
looked at the cashier to see her expression, was I close enough that she could have thought this came from me? I made eye
contact with her with the mock smile so that if we needed to we could give each other a knowing small facial expression that
would say, “Can you believe this woman just cut the cheese this bad?” but there was no expression change in the
cashier. The woman left and I assisted the cashier as she was trying to shove my twenty-seven pound box of kitty litter over
the scanner and proceeded to my car.
Now I know some of you are used to me talking about political things, things that piss me off or an injustice done
to me because I’m Jewish and/or gay but today I just had to share this experience. Now I know that people can’t
help the fact that they fart (Yes, I’ve watched Dr. Oz on Oprah, people) but this woman cut the most SBD (Silent But
Deadly) fart in the world and I couldn’t help but wonder who it is that feels so comfortable just letting one rip in
line at Target? I would rather clench my butt cheeks together like I was trying to pick up a quarter (no, I haven’t
had practical experience in this) and self implode trying to hold out for the parking lot but I guess good for this woman
for being so comfortable with her bodily functions. Hooray for the incredible farting woman! And to anyone who may have been
in the vicinity I just want to make it very clear that the one who smelled it isn’t always the one who dealt it –
Don’t Get Me Started!
Yesterday I lamented that I thought that I
had finally lost all patience. With some reviewing of my blogs I discovered that in fact I may have lost my patience a long
time ago.
Enjoy this classic Don't Get Me Started blog... "Skip Bagging"
That's It...I Think I May Have Lost The Last Bit Of My Patience!
I Think I May Have Lost All My Patience – Don’t Get
Me Started!
As I was bussing the dishes off of my table from a dinner Sunday night with my parents at a half way decent restaurant,
I convinced myself that I was just doing this because I don’t like to sit at a table with dirty dishes (And having been
a singing busboy back in my day, my standards for service are pretty high). Although the restaurant is an intimate one with
few tables, there was only one server on and one busboy on during the time we were at the restaurant. The busboy chose to
set up tables as opposed to clearing our dirty table so I sat there, trying to be as patient as possible but then I could
take it no more and so I proceeded to put our dirty dishes on one of the tables that the busboy had just reset. Now for most
of my life I’ve been the Jew that doesn’t complain, send my food back or say anything but as I get older I find
that I can no longer tolerate a lot of things. I think I may have lost all my patience – Don’t Get Me Started!
I really think that
this whole thing has to do with age. I always wondered why older people just said whatever they wanted and didn’t care
but suddenly I’m beginning to see the light. The thing I’ve finally discovered is what is the worst thing that
can happen from speaking your mind or not accepting mediocrity – especially when you’re paying for service that
you aren’t getting? Sure you can take the easy way out and leave a bad tip but my new philosophy is to just get it out
of your system.
I don’t care if you’re at a nice restaurant like the one I was at Sunday night or at Popeye’s chicken
place (like I was last night) people need to start stepping up their service when I’m around because I will no longer
sit back quietly. I go to the counter, place my order and there are three people behind the counter. There was only one person
in front of me so it wasn’t as if the place was packed. After the person in front of me receives their order, the three
employees move to the back of the kitchen. Two were looking at their work schedules for the week and the third was doing something
else. I waited all of about ten seconds before I came out with my best Steve Martin “Excuuuuse me?!” The two kept
looking at the schedule while the third one started filling my order as quickly as possible to get me the hell out of there.
Now I don’t recommend this everywhere, especially where you’re not watching them put your order together as there
is the distinct possibility that they will spit in your food or worse. But I do think it’s time we all stood up against
all this bad service.
In a previous blog I talked about needing a gay when it came to guest service and I still stand behind that statement.
(Read the blog here When Bad Customer Service Happens...Gotta Get A Gay! ) I was at the Burbank airport last
week and as I was going through security I guess I had forgotten to take out of my briefcase a travel sized cologne and put
it in my plastic bag (Read the 3-1-1 blog about the whole plastic bag requirements for travel 3-1-1). As my briefcase came through the screening chamber and I was standing
there with my shoes, belt, laptop in hand and taking my carry on off the belt, the cutest lesbian told me that they needed
to check through my bag. She said it looked like a small cologne was in the bag and I said that I had tried to remove everything
like that and I apologized. She found the cologne and as I was trying to juggle my belongings to get out my Ziplock bag to
put the cologne in, she looked at me in a knowing way and said, “You know what? Don’t worry about it, I’m
going to put it back in where it was but remember next time it needs to be in the plastic bag.” She gave me a wink and
I was on my way.
See, a little kindness goes a long way and can diffuse the most impatient people if done correctly. I don’t
know if it was years of feeling “less than” or not wanting to be known as a complainer or bitchy queen due to
the fact that I’m Jewish and gay (My Mother right now is saying, “Why do you have to talk about being Jewish and
gay in every blog? It’s enough already, they get it.”). For a long time I just put my head down and took it because
I didn’t want to be that Jackie Mason version of a Jew or Waylon Flowers (without a puppet). But I’m just putting
everyone on notice that the time has come for me to not sit idly by and take a bunch of crap from anyone anymore. The thing
is that I’m not sure if it comes with age or just having had enough. All I know for sure is that I think I may have
lost all my patience – Don’t Get Me Started!
The Advocate No Advocate For Idol's Sanjaya's Rights
Shame On
The Advocate For Trying To Out Idol’s Sanjaya! – Don’t Get Me Started!
I subscribe to The Advocate and I am
always very excited when I get to tell people that my blog was voted one of the top ten by Advocate readers in 2006. But in
the recent music issue (April 24, 2007 with Idol dropout Mario Vasquez on the front cover – read my blog about this
guy - General Pace and Mario Vasquez DO ask and DO tell!) The Advocate crosses a line that in
my opinion is beneath them. Inside the issue is an article discussing the Idol contestants that are gay from past seasons
of the show. (The article is gossipy enough to feel like Rona Barrett wrote it in the late 1970’s) They interview some
of the past Idol contestants who talk about their gayness now that they are out (while promoting their latest musical endeavor)
and they talk to a contestant who didn’t make it to the final 24 during the current season because he thinks he was
a little too gay for the judges’ tastes. All of this is fine because the people talking are pretty much talking about
themselves. Even the small picture of Clay Aiken and The Advocate raising the question about Clay’s gayness is okay
as he’s an adult, this has long been the topic of public speculation and he has chosen to not address it so he gets
what he deserves (while he becomes the Barry Manilow for this generation – um hello…Barry and Clay….hmmmm….enough
said.) But before The Advocate decides to be the next Perez Hilton, they need to check themselves. Trying to out a 17 year
old (Sanjaya) is a bit much. Shame on The Advocate for trying to out Idol’s Sanjaya! – Don’t Get Me Started!
For most, coming out
is a difficult process and for The Advocate to act this irresponsible when it comes to being sensitive to a teenager (yes,
we’re talking a teenager here folks, the kid is seventeen) dealing with enough in the spotlight all ready just feels
like the bitchy queens at The Advocate are sharpening their tiaras and are hooking their Lee press on nails into a defenseless
kid for no other reason than to sell some magazines. Bad enough this kid can’t sing and somehow has remained on the
show, shouldn’t a magazine that has page after page of important stuff like retired military leaders coming forth after
the recent comments from General Pace and other important articles keep their bitchiness at bay when it comes to outing teens?
The “outing”
of Sanjaya is a small blurb in the corner of the main article and supposedly they’re only quoting what “some bloggers”
are saying. Well being a blogger myself I know that bloggers can be as accurate as playing “telephone” at a party
when you’re eight years old. Surfing the web and taking what some people write as the whole truth and nothing but the
truth is a dangerous thing to do. I admit that I get a lot of what I write about from the web and we have to understand that
it isn’t always gospel, in fact most of the time it’s opinion from a land where the moon for the misquoted rules
supreme. While we bloggers don’t claim to be journalists, we should at least make the attempt to do our best to get
the facts right. Otherwise it creates the whole, “well, they said” which is the excuse grade school children use
so one would think we should do a little better when we become adults. Also when you press people to find out who specifically
they’re talking about it’s always, “well, you know, everyone.” This is high school behavior and perhaps
that’s where The Advocate thinks that they can get a free hall pass to say and do whatever they want. But for those
of us who have been reading this magazine for years, we all know that this magazine usually shows it’s style and it’s
intelligence to the level of a masters degree so this current sophomoric misstep we can only hope is just that, a misstep.
The failed the test but hopefully they’ll ace the midterm to keep a passing grade.
I’ve never been one of those people
who think that everyone is gay because I am because that whole thing I’ve always felt is insecure people who have the
need for everyone to be gay to make them feel better about themselves. But I have many memories of a childhood that were “less
than” they could have been because of the hate that was thrown at me on a daily basis growing up Jewish and gay. And
whether you’re gay or straight, we all know that the teenage years can be difficult for everyone, even the most popular
or seemingly popular teens. Have we forgotten how difficult these years can be? And is being glib and sensational better than
being sensitive and supportive? I would expect the bloggers of the world and gossip rags to come up with the whole Sanjaya
thing but I just expected more from a magazine like The Advocate.
Growing up, my parents didn’t really yell at us that much and maybe
it has to do with Jewish guilt or something but the worst thing my parents could say to my brother and me was that they were
disappointed in us. Well Advocate, I’m disappointed in you. Shame on The Advocate for trying to out Idol’s Sanjaya!
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Could Broadway Musicals About Disease Be The Next Big Thing?
Cancer…The Musical – Don’t Get Me Started!
Having been in theatre
for years I know a lot of people who are still doing theater. They’re doing everything from touring children’s
theater to Broadway and the stories that evolve as you’re putting together a show are some of the best in the world
to me. In talking with one of my best pals in the world yesterday, she was telling me about a new musical that she had done
some readings for as the writer and director shape the show. These readings are not full blown productions but rather where
they get some actors to have a few rehearsals and then read the show on a stage so that the production team and some invited
guests can give their feedback on the show. Sometimes they are partially staged and some times they are not. So we start talking
about this show that she is now doing the second reading for and I was stunned to learn that the show is all about breast
cancer. And all I could think was Cancer…The Musical – Don’t Get Me Started!
Now not being very literate I had never
read the book Les Miz so when I heard that they were going to make a musical of it I was at a complete loss as to why as Broadway
musicals always meant the flashiest of the crashiest experiences (unless of course it was A Chorus Line) up to that point.
The Broadway “opera” had not been born yet. I knew there was something about someone stealing a loaf of bread
in Les Miz and my roommate and I used to walk around our apartment singing, “You, you stole that loaf of bread!”
(A song we made up but were sure would be in the musical). Of course when I saw the show I thought it was fabulous (although
I do have to admit that where he steals the bread the song “You stole that loaf of bread” went through my head
and I chuckled out loud.)
So that’s my sort of disclaimer that perhaps doing musicals about disease are the next big wave and I just
don’t know it yet. But the more my friend was telling me about this particular show I couldn’t help but have images
of choreographed numbers running through my head. (Taste Disclaimer: almost everyone in my family has died of cancer and I’m
pretty sure that if I was to only drink green tea and eat bark from now until the end of my life I’m going to be struck
down by cancer too so this means I can make fun of it.)
Imagine if you will the diagnosis scene…there would be a large
microscope that comes out onto the stage while men dressed in black unitards to represent the cancer cells and women dressed
as the “good” cells would come out dancing wildly on a large Petri dish. Next up would be the treatment number
– think lots of people dancing with IV poles like Gene Kelly in Singing in the Rain. The finale of Act One would be
the “What’s in a wig?” number where wigs drop down from the flies as the dancers (with their bald heads)
spin to pose with one wig then move on to the next wig until they all have wigs on and are dancing with wild abandon. The
number finishing with all the wigs in a pile in the center of the stage as the characters discover their inner strength and
show their determination to not wear a wig through their treatment. Act two would open with everyone wearing schmatas on their
heads looking a little like Valerie Harper as Rhoda. Sure there are I’m sure plenty of dramatic scenes in between but
everyone’s spirits will be lifted in the finale number “Gotta Get A Boob” where they actually put taps on
the prosthetic boobs and do a complete 42nd street number by holding the boobs and tapping on rolling examining
tables as the doctor sings, “You’re Cancer Free! Wow wee Wow Wee!”
I know I may be one
of the only people in the world who hear about someone doing a musical about breast cancer and have the entire show mapped
out in my head in a ridiculous fashion moments after but hey, we all need a skill and this is mine. But I have always been
the type of person that chooses to laugh at adversity. If I didn’t have the sense of humor I have, I know I would have
killed myself long ago. And who knows, maybe this is the future of the Broadway musical. I’ll wait to make my performing
comeback until they come out with Tay-Sachs The Musical but for now we’ll have to go support the breast cancer musical
(if it ever makes it to Broadway) but can you imagine what the t-shirts and the rest of the merchandise will look like? No
surprise, I can. Cancer…The Musical – Don’t Get Me Started!
I understand
the loss you feel when you start losing your hair. The good news for me is that my hair loss is being kept at bay by drugs
and sprays. Also it’s happening in the back of my head so I can fool myself into believing that it isn’t really
happening because I don’t have to look at it unless I hold a mirror to the back of my head while looking in the mirror
in the morning. So I get it that you would want to do something about your hair loss but I also believe very strongly that
whatever you do should look as good as possible. On a daily basis I see so many men wearing the worst hairpieces imaginable
and I just have to say, hair piece out! – Don’t Get Me Started!
I don’t care if you’re the president and a member of the
hair club or not, you’re pedaling some of the worst imitation hair I’ve ever seen. If we can put a man on the
moon, couldn’t we find something that replicates hair a little bit better at this point? I can’t take the way
it just sits on the head like a hair hat and the worst is the attempt at “blending” on the sides of the head that
don’t really blend at all. Almost always there’s a fiber in the back of the head flipping up, going the complete
opposite way of the rest of the “hair” on the head of the guy. The hair piece is basically just a mistake and
when you look at the other alternatives like Elton John’s hair plugs to Prince Valiant in thirty days look, I’m
not thinking that is the answer either.
On the complete other end of the spectrum are the guys who think they’re going to be proactive about everything and
just shave their head altogether. You know, showing the world just how much they really don’t care. This is good in
some cases but not so much in others, you have to wonder if they didn’t know that the shape of their head was something
akin to a mutant sweet potato before they started shaving? These guys also spend more time shaving, moisturizing and polishing
than most women and are fussier about it than some men are about their hair. Lex Luther’s of the world unite! Speaking
of bald heads can someone explain to me the hoopla around ex-NBA star John Amaechi’s (who came out recently) big endorsement
deal? I get that the deal is with a supposed mainstream product, The HeadBlade, Inc. (A razor shaped to go along with the
contours on your head) and don’t get me wrong, I’m glad that he got the endorsement deal even if he was the “G”
word but let’s face it, a razor for your head isn’t quite like the Nike swoosh. I’ll go ahead and just wait
for a deal with a company like that before I pull out my pom poms of excitement over gays getting the same deal as straight
sports figures. But once again, that’s a blog for another day…back to those who have “hair.”
But hairs (forgive the pun) the
deal. Most of the men who wear the God awful hairpieces walk around as if they are really something. The love themselves so
much I don’t know how anyone else even puts up with them. They spend so much time looking at the thing in the mirror,
adjusting it, patting it, and practically making love to it. They walk among us acting almost superior to us with their hair
hats. Let me tell you something boys, you put Astroturf on your noggin, you didn’t get Steve Austin’s Bionic eye
or anything. Perhaps some of the toxic glue starts to seep into their brains mutating them into thinking they’re hot
when they’re not. And don’t expect me to break out a telethon or even throw an intimate pity party for you guys.
You’re mentally ill if you think you’re fooling anyone with that “Har” (you know it’s a little
like that imitation crab meat they call Krab) on your head and you need to just accept yourself for who you are and cut that
shit right off your head as soon as possible. The only one you’re fooling is yourself, the rest of us are saying, “Hair
Piece Out!” – Don’t Get Me Started!
It's okay to be hateful as long as you only use the first letter of the word in quotes!
The Whole
“insert letter here” Word Thing Is On My Nerves – Don’t Get Me Started!
I can’t take it anymore. Do you hear
me? I simply can not take the whole big deal that everyone is making trying to be politically correct with their slurs of
hate as of late. Don’t say the word but just use the first letter and then pat yourself on the back for being a swell
person. Oh, by all means, go ahead and think the word but don’t ever, ever actually say it and then you’re
safe. Is it long before we hear kids on the playground screaming, “You’re an N” or “Stop being such
an “F”? Can someone explain to me where in our conscious thinking we’ve reasoned that this is the answer
to hate? The whole “insert letter here” word thing is on my nerves – Don’t Get Me Started!
Does anyone really think that
by using the first letter, it’s going to make it all more palatable? That it makes it sound better than using the word
so therefore it actually is better? Now don’t get me wrong, as someone who heard the “FAG” word every day
(sometimes many times a day) for all four years of high school and beyond (along with being slammed into lockers, punched,
etc.) I am keenly aware just how damaging this word can be but I can tell you that having people use the first letter (even
as a way to refer to what happened) instead of saying the whole word wouldn’t make it feel any better (or should I say
worse) and we’re ridiculous to think that it would or does. I get that people don’t want to repeat the word that
was used by say Michael Richards but come on, it’s a real joke to think that you’re being more civilized by just
using a letter to represent the words that hurt.
What’s worse is that now it’s started to become an advertising trend! Currently there’s a commercial running
for Burlington Coat Factory (a discount, warehouse-type clothing and home furnishings place for those that don’t know)
that shows a woman and her children shopping at a department store. When the “mother” sees the prices she says
something to her kids similar to, “We need to go to Burlington.” All the sales clerks huddle horrified and say,
“She said the “B” word!” The Marketing department of this place knew exactly what they were doing
and I guess good for them for tapping into the current trend of our politically correct bandwagon of stupidity.
I have to wonder if this isn’t
all part of American laziness taking over. When you see all the abbreviations people use in text messages and online perhaps
the one letter thing is just an extension of that - a way to get your message across without giving yourself carpal tunnel
of the brain. I don’t know but I just don’t think this is the answer kids.
For years my family (and many Jewish families)
have taken to whispering “bad” or distasteful words. You know, like, “Your Aunt Helen has (lower your voice
so it’s barely audible) cancer.” or “He was such a nice boy, we had no idea he had been in (make no sound
but mouth the word so broadly that you seem as if you’re in a silent movie) prison.” This never made sense to
me either but at least it is fun to watch and never fails to make me laugh.
Perhaps that’s the real deal here, we
all have to stop taking ourselves so seriously. Also, the groups that hate the words being used as slams against them can’t
make up rules to make it acceptable to use among each other but not for others to say. Black people need to stop using the
word amongst each other yet being offended when someone else says it. The same thing goes for us “Fs”! I get how
it currently works because it’s like my older brother when we were kids. He could beat the crap out of me but no one
else better touch me. Maybe we feel that if we use the words amongst ourselves we will desensitize ourselves to them and show
the people who use them against us a thing or two. But all we do is continue the stereotypes and the stupidity.
I know this is going to be shocking
for some of you but I don’t think that we’ll ever get rid of hate. It’s like Miss America wishing for world
peace. Sure it would be nice if it happened but if I can’t have that I’ll take the convertible, the sash, roses
and my walk down the runway with the dead Bert Parks singing to me. Where we could really do some work here is in the education
of our children and ourselves. After all, if we were all more educated then we would know more words to use but since we’re
all reading at a fifth grade level we’re just working with what we got here.
The hardest thing we all need to do is to be a bit more courageous.
We have to stop other people from being hurtful when they’re doing it otherwise we’re just trying to put a puppy’s
nose in a pile of pee from six hours ago. And what good does that do really? I guess just say what you mean and if it’s
mean, know that we’re going to fight back from now on. But we’re going to fight fair and call a spade a spade
or is that call an “S” an “S”? (A definition from online - To call a spade a spade, which
means, ironically for this discussion, 'to speak plainly and bluntly; to speak without euphemisms') The
whole “insert letter here” word thing is on my nerves – Don’t Get Me Started!
Star Jones Needed To
Stay Away – Don’t Get Me Started!
Let me just say that I have never liked Star Jones…never. She just
always struck me as one of those “holier than thou” types. Even when she was as big as a house she got on my nerves.
She has that speech pattern reserved for people like her and one of my all time “get on my nerves” women, Phylicia
Rashad. You know, they have that very metered and calculated speech that makes it seem as if they’re trying so hard
to sound educated while they’re telling you that they’re better than you. And when all the hoopla around Star
Jones started (first she lost the weight, then she married the gay husband and then the whole leaving The View thing) I really
didn’t care. In fact I was very excited when she seemed to drop off the face of the earth and I was starting to think
that even her God had had enough of Star Jones. Well, recently flipping channels, there she was, I guess guest hosting Larry
King. Ugh. There she was in all her glory and she was so damn thin that I wasn’t sure if she was going to even be able
to push some air through her lungs to speak. I flipped channels as fast as I could and all I could think of was that Star
Jones needed to stay away – Don’t Get Me Started!
I guess we’ll all have to rethink the gay husband thing because if
he let her go on that or any show (see picture) with that hair and makeup he’s either not gay or he was busy sleeping
with the pool boy when the spackle crew came to create that so-called look. Now before you start getting in a huff or calling
me a bitter queen let me just say, “Shut it!” (My favorite new phrase to say to everyone which incidentally, no
one likes). Is it my fault that she has lost so much weight with her “medical assistance” that she now looks like
the Incredible Mrs. Limpett? (see picture) I mean with losing all that weight all you see are those lips, buggy eyes so she’s
looking more and more like she needs to be in an aquarium than on my damn television set! And what are those thiny, thin,
thin glasses because they aren’t helping the matter one bit. She can even slap Beyonce’s old weave on her head
for red carpet events but someone needs to slap some sense into this woman AND give her a Krispy Kreme or something.
The
thing here is that the woman does not look healthy. She doesn’t need to be as heavy as she once was but I am telling
you that there is a fat woman in that body just dreaming of food and the day that she can get the hell out of that “new”
body of hers. Why am I so pissed off about this you may ask? It’s because Star Jones is now gay thinner than me and
I can’t take it.
But wait, I think I may be on to something here…
I think that not only is Star Jones husband gay but I think she’s
a man. That’s right…a gay man who was a drag queen and convinced that he had to “slim” down for his
husband and that’s when she decided she needed to be gay thin. Let’s face it, the only way she could get all that
free stuff for that wedding of hers would be if she was Jewish or gay and we all know that she isn’t Jewish (Praise
Jesus – you can have her we don’t want her).
That’s it, Star Jones is a man, baby. Okay, well maybe she’s
not but you have to admit there are a lot of things pointing to my theory being right and the least of which isn’t the
husband or the skinniness but the fact that she’s actually gone out in public wearing a tiara. I’m just saying…I’m
just saying that she is truly one of the most annoying people in the world and I thought that we had finally gotten rid of
her. (Cue disco bass line) But now she’s back, from outer space, hosting Larry King with that there look upon her face.
They should have changed that stupid lock should have kept her off TV if we’d known for just one second she’d
be back to bother me. Go on now GO! (Sorry for the Gloria Gaynor moment, I’m all better now). But come on, you know
you don’t want her here as much as I don’t want her here. Can’t we all agree Star Jones needed to stay away
– Don’t Get Me Started!
People Who Steal Sections From The Newspaper At Starbucks
Don’t
Just Steal Sections, Take The Whole Newspaper! – Don’t Get Me Started!
It will come as no surprise to anyone that
I don’t read the newspaper. I get all of my news from television and the Internet. I don’t know if that makes
me more evolved or just able to read what I want to read. It’s a little like reading only the good reviews when you’re
in a show. If you don’t look at the bad ones then they don’t really exist in your mind. However, my guy loves
to read the paper so every Monday, Friday and Sunday when I get my Starbucks I grab the paper for him and have it on the table
waiting for him. (And some say chivalry and romance are dead) So yesterday I pick up the paper at Starbucks and much like
a drug dealer can feel how many twenties are in the wad without counting (I’m only guessing) the paper felt, “light”
to me. So I look at the directory on the front, then go through to see if I have every section from “A” to “M”
(remember when that was a record label?) and sure enough several sections are missing. Don’t just steal sections, take
the whole newspaper! – Don’t Get Me Started!
Now you know that the
Starbucks environment is supposed to cool, sophisticated, have that goodwill toward men feeling all the time and charge you
outrageous money for what I’m sure is the crack laced coffee they sell that is so addicting. Why in this holy temple
of all that is supposed to be right with the world, would someone steal sections of the paper? I get that some people are
in there on a Sunday morning and want to read the paper with their coffee and I’m good with that, but why not take the
whole paper, give sections out to those that want them and read away. Don’t try to slyly put a half of a newspaper back
on the bottom of the stack because someone (usually me) is going to get that half of paper. Don’t these people know
about Karma or the big Jell-o bowl theory of my brother’s that I talked about last week? (read it here Using Return Address Labels That Charities Send )
This whole incident reminds me of a roommate of mine that would never admit
that they ate things like mayonnaise (they had the weirdest shit like Nayonaise – some herbal, soy and yuck thing that
was supposed to resemble mayonnaise but be good for you at the same time). So I would buy my mayonnaise and when I would look
into the refrigerator it would appear as if the jar was still full but under further examination (taking the lid off) you
could see that they had burrowed their way into the mayonnaise down the center (drilling out the core) so that from the outside
it looked full but when you got into it, there was nothing left but a thin coating around the jar to give it the appearance
of being full.
Here’s the deal, if you do this kind of shit, burrowing through your roommate’s mayonnaise, stealing sections
out of the paper then you are most definitely on a one way ticket to hell. It’s that plain and simple. The fact that
this happened on Easter when Jesus rose up just makes it all the worse for whoever did this to another human being. I know
some of you are thinking right now, “What is this something to get upset about?” (Let me translate for the non-Jews,
“Why are you upset about this?”) But the thing is that we’re not talking about the classified section being
gone because someone who is out of work is looking for a job and couldn’t afford the paper. No, we’re talking
the real estate section and the “Living” section which is the section that has all the entertainment stuff in
it. (Something that I have never understood. The entertainment stuff is in the “Living” section when we don’t
fund the arts at all yet on Sundays it’s part of how we live supposedly)
Now I’m a take from behind the front milk (soy) in the grocery
store kind of guy (and if my mother has taught me nothing else it’s to keep digging until you get a “good date”
on your dated foods – don’t take the one in the front that has a date that is going to hit this week, dig through
to the back and get one that has a date for a week from now). So the paper that I took was the one that was underneath the
other ones. This is a tip for everyone, look for “good dates”, take things from behind but always check them out
first to make sure they have everything you want. (To all you gays who couldn’t help but let your mind go right to gutter
during that last sentence, good for you)
Incidentally, I did make the Starbucks team aware of the “light paper and as I was walking out I saw a young couple
getting out of their BMW for their morning coffee. There was a cup on the ground that someone had just left there and as the
guy from the couple got around the front of the car, it hit his foot. He just stepped over the cup, never even thinking about
picking it up. And that ladies and gentlemen is what’s wrong with the world today. If you see litter, pick it up (you
don’t need to be Naomi Campbell on your work furlough to know this) because the little things we do actually do matter.
So pick up litter and for God sake, don’t just steal sections, take the whole newspaper! – Don’t Get Me
Started!
It’s
Passover…Jew Eat Bread Yet? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I’ve quoted it before because I think it’s one of the more hysterical scenes in a movie, when Woody Allen
is walking down the street with Tony Roberts in Annie Hall explaining how he knows that people he encountered were anti-Semitic.
He’s talking about one guy who he is sure said, “Jew eat?” instead of “Did you eat?” Now on
the whole, Jews talk more about food than any other group in the world. We’re the only people who can be eating a meal
and planning every other meal we’re going to eat for the next 72 hours. It’s not uncommon to hear my family at
a breakfast (with their mouth half full) saying, “Ooh, tomorrow night’s dinner is going to be really good.”
And when it comes to Jewish holidays (for the mildly religious at heart) our main concerned is always about our next meal.
At Yom Kippur during the fast, all anyone can talk about is, “I’m so hungry I’m actually weak. Look, my
hand is shaking. If I pass out, you’ll just step over me and go on with the service so I shouldn’t be a bother
to anyone. But come back and let me know when it’s time to eat, yes? Oy, are we going to eat at the break fast! How
many more hours until sundown? What are we eating besides the brisket?” So it’s not uncommon for Jews not to suffer
in silence as they eat their matzo for ten days during Passover. We also prefer to suffer collectively and be our brother’s
keeper all at the same time. So it’s not uncommon to hear Jews talking amongst themselves saying, “It’s
Passover…Jew eat bread yet?” – Don’t Get Me Started!
This actually happened to me yesterday on a business call. And once
we Jews start talking (and kvelling) over food, forget it. It all starts innocent enough but always turns to the bowels in
the end (end, get it?) “Don’t you love fried matzo?“ How do you make your fried matzo?” “Boy
are we going to eat some bread when this is all over.” “How much did you pay for your matzo?” “Does
matzo bind you up too? I feel like I’m going to push out my liver one of these Passovers.”
As much as I try to not feel
as if the world is against me as a short, gay, Jewish man with a six foot black man who was an altar boy for over eighteen
years now as my partner in life, sometimes I just have to call it as I see it. In the grocery store there are all these tables,
extending the checkout lines filled with a virtual build your own Easter basket display. If I didn’t know better, I
would swear it was a craft fair for Jesus (well, it is kind of, isn’t it?). But to find the Passover stuff you have
to go all the way in the back of the store where you’ll find one end cap with gefilte fish, some boxes of matzo meal,
three cans of macaroons, Dr. Brown’s black cherry soda and the industrial sized five boxes of matzo econo-pack. The
matzo is where they get us. The five pound warehouse size is $3.99 (as the big sale item for Passover) but if just want one
box it’s $3.99, the same price if you can believe? Now what Jew I ask you is going to spend the same amount for one
box when they can get five? Trust me, I tried to go against everything that is me and my people and just buy the one box.
After all (I reasoned with myself) I’m the only one in my house that eats it, what am I going to do with all that matzo
if I buy the five box size, where will I store it and if I do eat it all will I ever be able to go “number 2”
again in this lifetime?
And
so the battle began (cue Ravel’s Bolero as background music) I would pick up the one box and suddenly there appeared
Harry the Hasidic (who sells discounted silver toe socks, “What they’re just as good as the gold toe but cheaper”
in the garment district in New York) on one shoulder and my mother on the other.
Harry: What are you crazy with the one
box? Boytshik, you’ll listen to me because I’ve been around, you’ll excuse me, a few more years than you
and I know what is what. Buy the five boxes and so you’ll eat it and enjoy it, is that so bad?
My Mother: Your father loves matzo, what you
couldn’t get the five boxes and bring one over for your father to enjoy? At your brother’s seder he told us we
have to “Jew Up” this year. They joined a synagogue and the little one is in Torah school. So we didn’t
know every tune for every song in the Haggadah, we read the story, we hid the matzo and we were together that’s what
was important. Well, we were almost together I’m sure I still don’t understand why you couldn’t drive to
be with all of us. Next year not in the Holy Land but all together in San Diego, do you hear me? What were we talking about?
Oy, of course you’ll buy the five pack that is on sale, what did I raise a idiot?
And so I bought the five boxes of matzo
packaged together (which was like carrying a patio lounge chair sideways through the market). As I went down aisles taking
down canned goods and bags of plastic grass for Easter baskets (I think this is all part of the conspiracy. They make us have
to carry these big boxes so that everyone in the store knows…”Jew with matzo walking on aisle five!!!”)
I finally reached the checkout. The shikse cashier just gave me the once over as I plopped the enormous box down on her belt.
She treated it like a bomb, she really didn’t want to touch it but eventually she tried to scan it. Then she couldn’t
find the bar code. And why couldn’t she find the bar code? Because it isn’t on the bottom where it should be,
it’s on one of the ends. So she stands the huge box up vertically and then puts it aside. Next she does my favorite
thing ever. She takes a plastic bag and puts it on the enormo-box of matzo like a condom. There’s no way it’s
going to reach to the bottom of the now vertical box or that I’ll be able to use the handles on the bag to carry it
so I have no idea why she would bother even putting the bag on. Suddenly I start to laugh to myself. What does she think it’s
like porn and I don’t want anyone to see me carrying the big box of matzo? Did she just want to give the box a plastic
yarmulke because that’s what “my people” do? Or could she just not take looking at it herself because she
was afraid Jesus might get mad at her?
Well, I’m happy to report that I did make it home (with the big box of matzo sticking out of the sunroof in my Mini
Cooper) and I had some delicious fried matzo. But now the huge box of the five boxes of matzo is on my counter and I’m
going to have to go feed some Jewish homeless (is there such a thing) or something because I can’t look at all this
matzo, it’s all ready making me crazy. I’ve thought of how it figures into my lunch and dinner plans and tomorrow
morning it’s fried matzo again because it’s Passover…Jew eat bread yet? – Don’t Get Me Started!
Christians Should Passover Easter – Don’t Get Me Started!
There’s no denying
that when it comes to the battle of the holidays, Christmas will always win over Hanukkah. Christians have the birth of their
savior and we have the fact that we only paid for one night of oil and it lasted eight nights. So between the facts, the trees
and the sidewalks, busy sidewalks, dressed in holiday style, you Christians win that one. But I have to say (and we all know
that my facts on anything other than classic movie lines or lyrics to musical theatre songs are shaky at best) when it comes
to the spring holidays, Christians should Passover Easter – Don’t Get Me Started!
Passover has the whole great story
about the Pharaoh in Egypt keeping us Jews as slaves until Moses works with God on sending down the ten plagues (don’t
ever forget that we built the pyramids with only water, dirt and a little straw and they’re still standing…see,
it’s not that we don’t know how to do manual labor with great workmanship it’s that we’ve
been there done that and frankly, we’re not doing it again). Finally with the help of God, Moses softens Pharaoh’s
heart and he lets us go (of course not in time to finish baking so that’s why we have the matzo or unleavened bread
for Passover that let me just say could bind you up until Christmas if you’re not careful.) For those who don’t
know, the final plague was when Pharaoh tried to kill the first male born of every Jew and instead of his gang being able
to do it to us, God sent a plague to kill the first Egyptian born instead. The plague itself wasn’t all that smart so
we had to smear lamb’s blood over the doors of us Jews so that the plague would know to go to our goyish neighbors.
Worked great and we were out of there (we Jews like to focus on the positive so at Passover we talk about the bondage and
being freed – not the forty years we wandered around looking for a good buffet after the whole “Let my people
go” thing – thanks a lot Moses!)
But when it comes to Easter, Jesus rising from the dead apparently wasn’t enough for the Christians or merchandisers
so it’s now more about chicks and ducks and geese (which is more about a Surrey With The Fringe On Top – a song
from the musical Oklahoma) than about the rising of the savior. I guess in some esoteric way they’ve taken the rebirth
of Jesus and broadened its appeal to a holiday about the renewal of nature in the spring and of course, when we’re talking
renewal, it would be in bad taste to talk about people fornicating and creating babies so they use the euphemisms for it by
representing it with bunnies (bunnies = fornicating) and eggs (eggs = women’s eggs that are invaded by sperm to make
babies) which won’t cut down on pregnancies with youths but at least we can say that we’ve “started the
conversation” and isn’t that the politically correct thing to do?
At Passover we Jews sit around the table and tell the story of our struggles
in Egypt and celebrate the victory of being freed from slavery and of course eat. While the Christians look for eggs in a
garden. Now the only way they could kind of shake things up is if they took a tip from The Wizard of Oz. (If you’re
gay or have lived on the planet for more than ten minutes you’ll know what scene I’m talking about.) Remember
how Dorothy has tried to grab an apple from the tree (“She was hungry!” “She was hungry!” exclaim
the trees as they come to life) and Dorothy and the Scarecrow get pummeled with apples by the trees? She goes to pick them
off the ground and suddenly finds a man made of tin (which by the way, you haven’t lived until you go to a movie theater
filled with gays watching this movie because when Judy Garland says, “Why it’s a man! A man made out of tin!”
– the gays go crazy! And I don’t really know why) Well, that’s what I think they need to do with Easter,
as the kids are all scrambling around looking for the dyed eggs (which incidentally are going to give everyone cancer –
think red dye number 4, remember?) if one of them came across Jesus’ sandal like Dorothy comes across the Tin Man’s
foot and they’re like, “Why it’s a man, a savior, a dead man reborn…Jesus has risen, let’s
go off to see the Wizard or at least the catholic priest who will hopefully not molest us or make us feel so bad about ourselves
that we’ll need to spend years and years in therapy.” (True, you’ll have a little trouble singing, “We’re
off to see the Wizard” with those lyrics but the Christians will figure it out. After all, if they could figure out
the Hallelujah Chorus lyrics, “in egg shells, day-o” they can figure this one out.)
I’m just saying that if you don’t
sort of spruce up the Easter holiday (as suggested above) then let’s face it, it’s nothing more than some artificial
grass in a basket with a chocolate bunny that you’re going to eat the ears off of like some deranged cannibal. We’ve
got the whole slaves to Great Race participants (to get the hell out of Egypt) and a meal with real symbolism not just, “Hmmm,
well, we can’t really sell Jesus in chocolate (see blog What's not sweet about a chocolate Jesus? ) I know, let’s make it about bunnies, chicks
and eggs!” I’m pretty sure that’s why they made the traditional Easter dinner ham, the Christians we’re
just trying to shove it in our face because they’re jealous that our spring holiday is better than theirs (you know
how competitive those Christians can be in the name of the father, the son and the Holy Ghost). Well, we win this one, yarmulkes
down. Christians should Passover Easter – Don’t Get Me Started!
I Was Healed
At 24 Hour Fitness – Don’t Get Me Started!
When you look around my gym you notice that we’re not exactly the
location for the pretty people, at least when I’m there (wait, did I just slam myself?) At any rate, when I’m
there in the morning, I usually see older folks rather than the hot people one normally sees on Bravo’s Workout or sweating
in all the right places on Bally’s commercials. I admit there’s great comfort in sweating to the oldies as opposed
to being intimidated at the gym by the boys that threw me into lockers for years. So it’s no surprise to me that on
the televisions at the gym they usually play Fox news. I don’t know something makes me think that only the elderly believe
in the crap spin that Fox news puts on everything. (Now immediately, I know I’m wrong about this but just go with me.)
Well this morning, alongside the Fox News I looked up while I was ellipticalling myself into a frenzy listening to the movie
soundtrack of Dreamgirls to find on the other television a tele-evangelist healing a 13 year old boy. I was healed at 24 Hour
Fitness – Don’t Get Me Started!
Now I’ve never been one of those people to be offended at the slights life hands me. After all, when you’re
short, Jewish, gay and have a six foot black man as your guy if you got offended easily that would be all you would spend
your time doing. But I wondered as I was sweating, pumping my legs and arms in unison with the song, Steppin’ To The
Bad Side, if having healings on at the gym is crossing some sort of line? I really don’t even know who I would complain
to? The gang at the front desk can barely scan my membership card and I don’t want to become known as a troublemaker
(because we know that gays and Jews are born troublemakers, right?) but at the same time I was getting pissed that I had to
be subjected to faith healings (in closed caption) while trying to get fit. Should I say something to the gym management or
should I simply step on over to the bad side (and possibly have my abs healed to be more defined? Something incidentally I
would consider if I thought that it would work). Suddenly I was wrestling with becoming my mother (who is always thinking
everything and everyone is anti-Semitic) or just letting it be. I chose to not say anything for now but I have every feeling
with every fiber of my being that I’m going to have to say something eventually if the healings continue.
I
guess more than even having to see it at the gym; frankly I’m offended that these people have television shows at all.
Not only do they have shows they make millions and millions of dollars channeling the “Lord” (and I don’t
mean the chocolate one – see What's not sweet about a chocolate Jesus?) and “healing” people. As they scan the audience you
have a bunch of white people in their Sunday best crying, swaying and hoping that there will be some laying on of hands. (I
was hoping for some laying on of hands too but that has to do with a fantasy, another area of the gym and well, just not the
time or place to get into it here.)
But while I was watching the healings, I was thinking about the thirteen year old boy they had laid out on the floor.
I have no idea what was wrong with him (as I wasn’t close enough to read the closed captioning) but he was crying and
he was all sorts of full of the “spirit” and it made me sad. (How can you be sad and work out? Where were my dolphins
or endorphins or whatever the hell they were?) I hoped the boy was not really sick and being deluded by the man in the white
suit and gray hair into thinking that prayer alone was going to cure his cancer, lengthen his shorter left leg or even worse,
cure his gayness. Sure I believe in the power of positive thinking and its affect on the human body but seeing the three or
four people laid out waiting for the healing to happen and especially this young boy, I had to wonder if the man in the white
suit with the gray hair had any kind of conscience or was even in good standing with the “Lord” he pretended to
represent? The four people laying there were looking like dead bodies, victims of something and the more I thought about it
the more I realized that they were indeed victims.
Oh I’ll go back to the gym (And I’m Telling You I’m Not Going…to stay away that is otherwise
I’ll end up like Miss Scarlet in Gone With The Wind when Mammy measuring Scarlett’s waist says to her, “You
done had a baby Miss Scarlet and you ain’t never gonna be an 18 and ½ again”) and if Mr. Healer is on again
I’ll have to make some decisions but for now I’ll just wonder what was wrong with that boy, if he was healed and
whether or not I was healed at 24 Hour Fitness – Don’t Get Me Started!
Are The Christians Mad Because Jesus Has A Penis Or Because He’s The Color Of Chocolate? – Don’t Get
Me Started!
By now you all must have heard about the chocolate art sculpture of a naked Jesus that Christians lobbied to have removed
from a New York hotel’s gallery. Well, I’m a little confused. There were even some death threats made to people
at the hotel and gallery which I find kind of interesting, as it hardly seems the “Christian thing to do” threatening
other people (unless it’s with eternal damnation for not getting all American Idol crazy over the big JC). And although
the hotel cancelled the exhibit and the gallery’s Artistic Director resigned over the incident I have a feeling we’re
not done hearing about this one any time soon. Good or bad taste, milk or dark chocolate, my real question is are the Christians
mad because Jesus has a penis or because he’s the color of chocolate? – Don’t Get Me Started!
A quick Google of the Internet
will come up with various versions of Jesus in chocolate (should you want to buy them). The big difference is that he isn’t
life-sized and he isn’t naked (think of the shipping costs and all the breakable parts). But one has to wonder, with
the candy industry making a fortune on chocolate eggs and bunnies during the Easter holiday isn’t it just a quick hop
for an artist (who deals mostly with food – he covered a house in pepper jack cheese at one point apparently) to put
Jesus and chocolate together to make a big art statement? What do people think that someone is going to do, bite the penis
off of Jesus like the Easter Bunny that we decapitate every year to celebrate the resurrection of Jesus? (And I’m still
all kinds of confused over how the resurrection turned into eggs, bunnies and Peeps that will be here even after a nuclear
holocaust)
I really can’t tell if all the Christian outrage (and it seems like a lot of white hot Christian outrage
– if you know what I mean and I know that you do) is about the nakedness of Jesus or the fact that he’s actually
being depicted (thanks to the use of a dark chocolate) as we all know he probably would be, a little darker in complexion
than they normally draw him. I mean, let’s face it, there are no real photographs taken of him so how do we know he
looked the way he’s always portrayed? A similar situation that we’re all aware of is that we got our idea of what
Santa looks like from an artist who worked for Coke. How do we not know that it was some artist’s rendering that we’ve
all accept as the look of Jesus when in reality it was just a great ad campaign for wafers?
One Christian rights woman who was
being interviewed said, “Can you imagine walking down Lexington holding your five-year-old’s hand and looking
over to see that in the window?” Um, excuse me, I guess your five-year-old better never see the statue of David either
oh holy one. In fact, let’s just continue to let your precious children watch television shows with no value whatsoever
but by all means don’t expose them to art, God forbid. Let them watch the Anna Nicole story unfold about a drug addicted
gold digger that caused all media to stand still when she overdosed, let them watch sexy girls open suitcases while some shmuck
tries to act animated while picking numbers desperately trying to get themselves out of debt because no one told them the
American dream came with a 29.5% interest rate and absolutely let them text in a million times to vote for American Idol but
please don’t expose them to art.
We
all know that art is the root of all evil. Never mind that there were civilizations built on art because as Americans we seem
very proud of the fact that we don’t value art in our society. Oh sure, we’ll revere the Simpsons (and why shouldn’t
we) but we don’t want our kids to study fine art because they might see naked people and we all know what that leads
to…being cultured and educated. No, we want to keep our kids stupid when it comes to art unless the sculptures have
pants on. Don’t let them learn about their bodies from art and science, let them learn in the back of Jimmy’s
pick up like everyone else. Let’s ignore the fact that kids are becoming more sexually active younger and younger, catching
more diseases than the plagues that the Christians would have thrown down on us homosexual sinners. Let’s forget that
kids think that oral sex isn’t sex at all anymore. And by all means, let’s forget to tell our kids how not to
get pregnant because that’s obviously working so well in the war against teenage pregnancy. Let’s blame art for
it all and to teach that art stuff a lesson, let’s continue cutting funding in our schools and everywhere because art
makes you think and that’s scary for a lot of Americans, especially the ones with the big “W” bumper sticker.
Let’s go ahead and outlaw all art and make the only acceptable art the turtle you can draw on the back of a pack of
matches!
And when it comes
to nakedness does anyone ever wonder why it is that everyone gets all upset over naked men yet naked or half naked women are
fine (as long as it’s not a boob at the Super Bowl), you know, like the highly acceptable prime time Victoria’s
Secret fashion show? Could it be more of that male dominated, ever worried about the size of their own penis are the ones
running the show here? And aren’t the men usually the ones who have the conversations with God and Jesus? Hmmm….is
there a correlation here or am I just a crazy lesbian with a talk show talking nonsense conspiracy theories here?
If this blog seems more riled
up than usual it’s because art is something that saved me growing up. When people were mean to me because I was Jewish
or effeminate, I had movies to escape into, I had dance and acting classes to express myself and I had my parents who taught
me right from wrong. They never asked the schools I went to or the world to teach me, they taught me and loved me. I was taught
to appreciate that someone can take a lump of clay (yes, a Fiddler on the Roof reference) and make a man or a million other
things by using their imagination and their abilities. How amazing is it that people sculpt, make music, movies, and dance
or do a million things to enrich our lives? And how sad is it that we’re only interested about what some British guy
has to tell us about talent and have lost all ability to trust our own instincts to form opinions and thought? Well my thought
is that a chocolate Jesus never hurt anyone and if he was half the man these people want us to believe he was I think he’d
like to be immortalized in something that we all love so much such as chocolate. It’s a lot better than being on some
doggy door, right? (Read my blog Jesus Needs A New Booking Agent! ) . Are the Christians mad because Jesus has a penis or because he’s
the color of chocolate? – Don’t Get Me Started!
When Did So-Called Medical Professionals Become Used Car Salesmen?
– Don’t Get Me Started!
Recently I joined the ranks of those that need glasses. Although I’m quick to follow that up with the fact
that I only need them to drive at night, something I truly don’t understand (how my eyes can only need help at night)
but apparently my optometrist knows all about it and convinced me getting glasses was the right thing. Now I was not surprised
to find that when it came time to order the glasses, I was passed off to a salesperson and boy did they sell up the wazoo
(I ended up with a pair of Armani glasses that have every possible coating on them except being simonized). I’m not
surprised that when you get passed off to the sales person that they sell you but what I am surprised about is all the selling
that goes on in the office when you’re actually with the doctor, dentist and yes, even optometrist. When did so-called
medical professionals become used car salesmen? – Don’t Get Me Started!
I noticed this about six months ago when I had to
go to the dentist. The dentist that I had gone to for a couple of years had suddenly moved but sold his practice to a new
dentist. Being the lazy person that I am, I decided since my files were there that I would just go to the new dentist that
was in my old dentist’s office. Immediately I could tell that things were different, they actually called twice to make
sure I was coming in. I couldn’t tell if this was them being really efficient or less than efficient (not knowing one
of the other people in the office had called me so they called again). I arrived at the office and when I checked in it immediately
hit me that the shelves that used to be filled with the color coded files was now about less than a third full. Hmmm…were
they just cleaning up or did no one transfer over to the new dentist but me? As my teeth were being cleaned by someone who
looked about seventeen, he told me about some plaque reducing toothbrush that was really “awesome” and the next
thing I knew, he had brought it up to me, telling me that it would really help my plaque and that he would give me a coupon
for $10 off, if I bought one today at the front desk when I checked out. I thanked him and told him I would think about it.
Next up was the dentist who was also very young looking. After checking that my teeth had been cleaned properly, he started
probing around. Now normally I would think that this was just routine but when he started trying to replace some filings that
we mercury based and telling me that there was another filling that he thought was about to break apart (what was he psychic?)
it dawned on me that much like his dental hygienist, he was really just trying to sell me so that he could make some money.
Those more than half empty shelves were telling the whole story and before long it was all about getting one of my teeth pulled,
an implant and finally, “So to get the whole process rolling I’ll need $1,700.00 up front.” What did he
need to pay the rent? I left dazed but knowing that I would never go back there. (Although I need to get my files as I don’t
know how much longer he’ll be in business if he selling techniques don’t improve.) The thing is I thought about
the $100 toothbrush and the implant seriously because I was brought up in a world where if the doctor or dentist said you
needed it, then you needed it. Who would ever think that it was just a ploy to get more money out of you? I’d like to
think that I’m paranoid but I know that I’m not.
My doctor is the one person who doesn’t seem to try to sell me anything,
in fact all he’s really interested in is how my results on Propecia (the hair loss drug) is doing compared to his progress.
He knows that when he’s going to put me on something, I want to walk out of there with a hand full of samples and he
gladly obliges when he can. I remember once he was all excited because he found some samples of Xanax that dissolves under
your tongue. He brought them in to me like he had found the Holy Grail and kept reminding me that he doesn’t get these
often so never to expect to get them again. “What else do you have back there?” I inquired. “After all I’m
a Jew remember and I don’t want to pay for anything that I don’t have to if I can help it!” I managed to
score a few antihistamines and a six day supply of Ambien!
But back to the optometrist, this was a busy office and they were apologetic
that their super laser eye machine was down. (I think they were really upset because it was an extra $35 that my insurance
didn’t cover that they could get in their pocket if I had the test done). Supposedly it’s a whole three dimensional
examination of your eye, your retina and whether or not the whole system is working but since the machine wasn’t working,
I didn’t have it done. When it came time to get the glasses themselves, they first told me about my insurance, “Hmmm,
your coverage is very good.” The saleswoman said as she moved me over to the side of the office with only designer frames.
When I tried to go over to the non-designer ones she wrinkled her nose, tried to convince me that most were close outs with
no warranty and back again we went to the Armani’s, the D&G’s and the Calvin Klein’s. Upon selecting
the frame we sat down and she told me all about the different coatings for the lenses that I simply had to have to ensure
the best seeing possible. Well right there they have you. I mean, you’re there to get glasses, what, you DON’T
want to see the best humanly possible? So no matter what frame I chose or the great coverage I had by my insurance, the glasses
all ended up being about the same out of pocket – a small fortune. But I paid it and as I was leaving, I suddenly felt
as though I had been through buying my Mini Cooper all over again, the only thing that was different was that I didn’t
have to wait for them to go back to the finance manager because they took my American Express Gold card. When did so-called
medical professionals become used car salesmen? – Don’t Get Me Started!
began years
ago when I was at dinner with a producer from a dinner theater where I worked for eleven years. (It's what I refer to
as My Dazzling Dinner Theater Days)
I was riled up about something and this producer
said, "You should have a radio show where people call and get you fired up and you just go off." As I had a reputation
for going on a tirade the likes of Dixie Carter on Designing Women (remember this was years ago) and as I was constantly starting
my sentences with the phrase above; when I started blogging I decided that this might be a way to get my rants out to the
public at large.
I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing
them.
Scott
Forty-Something Gay
Since the site began in August of 2006, people have been writing in (okay, mostly my Mother) telling me that
I needed to do a video blog (or “vblog”) like Rosie and everyone else in the world. Writing the “Don’t
Get Me Started” blog five times a week is daunting enough without adding video production on top of it. Plus, what would
be different about the video blog from the written blog? After the huge response from my blog about being a Forty-Something
Gay during Pride week, it hit me that my video blog would feature topics for us garden variety Forty-Something Gays! I hope
you enjoy them as well as the rest of the Some Like It Scott site!
Some Music While You Read?
At the request of Some Like It Scott reader you can now read
or listen or read AND listen when on the "Don't Get Me Started" page. Click below to turn the music on and
scroll to the bottom to find out what you're listening to!
That's right, Don't Get Me Started! I have no
idea what I was thinking. Well, not true, I thought it looked fabulous. The hair was sufficiently “palmed” out
to give it height and that’s not a shadow you see behind my head, it’s the true bi-level cut of the 80’s
going on, not a mullet, my friends, an honest to goodness Duran Duran inspired bi-level! I had purchased this Gulden's
mustard colored all silk suit at Bloomingdale's with the collarless purple silk shirt and just knew I looked fabulous.
(What a difference a decade or so makes, huh?)
Anyway, I was simply overwhelmed by how many people wrote in telling
me about their hair and fashion disasters, everything from a "Super Freak" outfit to get into a Rick James concert
to a swell guy who wrote about his perm that gave him that “greatest star” Streisand “Star Is Born”
look, or so he thought until he reflected back on it “with one more look at you.”
What's your fashion disaster that was caught on film?
