Are You The Master Of Your Domain? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know when people look at my website with all its glitz, glamour and fabulous music that some think that I am toiling day and night writing code with a lot of “0”s or whatever the hell “code writers” do. The truth is I’m the first to admit that while I like to consider myself a “bi-techual” I do not possess these skills in the least (though my brother definitely does as the VP of Information Technology for one of the country’s largest retailers). No, instead when it was time to create my site (a way back in the year of 2006) after consulting my brother, we both decided it would be easier and better for all concerned if I went with a web design/hosting company that was basically click and go. I like to put it this way, while my brother put together a Mazda rotary engine model that actually worked when we were kids, I was confused by Snap-Tite models and always had parts left over. So you can imagine my panic when I went to look at my site and discovered that it was not there. Are you the master of your domain? – Don’t Get Me Started!

When I first signed up with the company known as web.com what I learned from them was that they were going to basically be my parents while I was a baby in the world of websites. That’s right, they were going to register my domain (even though it belonged solely to me) and were going to give me templates to create my site. This was great. I spent an entire weekend getting the basics down and then endless hours really trying to make their templates my own. (Because you know us gays, always redecorating at every chance we get!) So much like most things in my life, I found a way to take what should be simple and make it much more difficult that it needs to be. And while I was delighted that I learned how to put things on my site that flashed, rotated and lit up my web pages, the truth of the matter is that nothing on the site is anything that I “coded” myself. I begged, borrowed and stole what I needed to make it look that way and on the whole I like it.

Yesterday I went to post to my usual daily blog when I noticed that all of the pictures on my site had that nasty red “X” that comes up when something doesn’t load properly. For once in my life, I did not panic. I poked around on the support pages and almost immediately discovered that my domain name was not registered to be automatically renewed (though it had been automatically renewed by web.com for the three years I’ve had that domain) and much like white shoes after Labor Day (I still insist this is a crime) my domain had expired. I called the web.com support line and they were as helpful as could be in correcting the problem and within the hour all of my Some Like It Scott rants, raves and glitter were back up for the World Wide Web to enjoy!

Still, this is a bit of a cautionary tale for those of you who have websites and domain names. While admittedly I don’t know much about the whole thing, I do know that you need to have your domain paid for in order to have a site so if this runs out, it’s a bad thing. Take a moment to look at whatever documentation you have on your domain. Write out a post-it for yourself if need be as to when it expires and whatever you do, much like your heart, be careful whose hands you put it in. You also don’t want to lose your domain either because someone may grab it and then try to sell it back to you for a crazy amount. (Or so I’ve heard tell) But most importantly, ask yourself if you’re the master of your domain? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Dancing With The Gay Stars – Don’t Get Me Started!

Okay now I have officially heard it all. Apparently some of my comrades in gayness are flying into a fit at the fact that Lance Bass is going to be on Dancing With The Stars but will have (take a deep breath and clutch your pearls boys) a female partner! ARGHHHHHH!!! I can’t take it! (Yes, meant to sound like a Peanuts character) Come on gays, lighten up. The show isn’t Dancing With The Gay Stars – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although Bass’ camp is saying that he is just fine with being heterosexually partnered for the show and a producer for the show made a statement that the show isn’t a dating show (even though it’s turned out that way on occasion) still some of my pals with the pink arm bands on are claiming that fear of advertising backlash is what paired Bass with a girl.

I’ll admit that I have a soap box that I practically carry around with me at all times as I’m always ranting about something (thus the “Don’t Get Me Started” title of my blog) but I just think this is ridiculous. If they really want something to be upset about they should be upset about the fact that Dancing With The Stars (and other highly rated network shows) is known for preferring to cast heterosexual men as the “professional dancers” on the show. This came out a couple of seasons ago. Why you may ask? No one is saying for sure but I would think it’s because the show thrives on having the straight jocks on the show and they would be less inclined to be on the show if they thought their competitors were busy looking at their ass. Plus let’s face it, one of the ideas behind the show was to show that not all dancers are swishy fellows with sequins (well, they’ve accomplished part of that goal). But allow me to remind Dancing With The Stars (and other show producers) of the quote Mel Brooks says in the movie, To Be Or Not To Be, “Without Jews, Gypsies and Faggots there would be no theatre!” Such also is the case with these shows. They may not want to show us but we’re there…case in point, Bruno.

I guess what gets me is all the defensiveness. I don’t care that Lance Bass is dancing with a girl, frankly it’ll give me a few minutes to not think of him as on my team. I’m so bored with Lance Bass gay mania that I could puke. He didn’t discover the gene that makes us gay, he didn’t even lead the charge on gay marriage so why we should be clinging to him (like the pants of a male ballroom dancer) as our best chance to get gay across to middle America is simply beyond me. I don’t have anything against the guy but come on, he’s just a guy who was in a boy band and admitted that he sucks dick. End of story. Sorry Lance, just don’t see you as the Great White Gay Hope!

And let’s be honest, I think if the gays who are so offended took a moment to be sensible they would see that it doesn’t make sense to have Lance dance with another guy. Who would wear the dress? What would the costumers do? And honestly, you can quick step or waltz all you want around this issue to me it’s just a bunch of jive. Dancing With The Gay Stars – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I Can’t Help Myself, I Love Michelle Obama…Oh Yeah And Her Husband – Don’t Get Me Started!

I try to stay away from all of the politics until about a week before I go to vote. This way I can just go about my daily life without being encumbered by the stress of trying to pick a candidate something like two years before the election is even going to take place. It never ceases to amaze me how much time, energy and money is spent on these campaigns. I wish we spent the money on something more important like helping the homeless and getting health care for everyone but I guess you can’t really expect the candidates to just paint some posters, hang them up and give out cupcakes with their slogan on them (like back in high school). Though personally I do believe that I’m onto something here with that idea. So when I happened to turn on the television last night about ten minutes before the end of the coverage of the Democratic convention, I didn’t expect to be sucked into what I saw however, sucked in I was and I can only say that I can’t help myself, I love Michelle Obama…oh yeah and her husband – Don’t Get Me Started!

I refuse to listen to anyone who says anything to the contrary, what I witness was a fabulous speech delivered expertly by a fabulous woman. A smart woman, a woman who not only seems as though she could (and should) be first lady but that could also be a friend. I heard some analysts say that she needed to give more of an insight about who Barack is as a man at home but what I saw was an eloquent woman who shared with the world how someone as self possessed and intelligent as herself would vote for her husband and why we should too. Brava!

I don’t know about you but I’m really tired of the mealy mouth Laura Bush types for first lady. I want a first lady who knows what she’s talking about but won’t scare the public like a Hillary Clinton. You see, I think Hillary scares everyone because let’s face it, if you met up with her or Laura Bush in a dark alley you know Hillary would “cut you” in a second. (Whereas Laura Bush would just bore you to death while wearing another bad sweater set!)

No, Michelle Obama seems to have it all. She’s smart, funny, and conversational in her demeanor and seems to be a great mother too. And even while I’m writing this I know that somewhere McCain is trying to find some way to discredit her or make us believe the Obamas are simply not ready. So allow me to fire back, preemptively if you will - I’m waiting for someone to come up with the analogy of McCain being a prisoner of war and the movie, “The Manchurian Candidate” (the original one with Angela Lansbury at her scariest!) – we don’t know what happened while they were keeping him a prisoner, do we? Maybe the hairless cat has been “programmed” without our knowledge. (Okay, farfetched but is it really so different than the “celebrity” crap they’re slinging at Obama?)

But back to Michelle Obama - she’s the closest thing we’re ever going to get to having Oprah in the White House. Not because they’re both black women, not because they’re both educated women, not because they’re both seemingly effortless and tireless in their concern for the country and its inhabitants, because all of those reasons. We need her and we need the hope she and her husband inspire. We need, dare I say it “MObama” and her husband because they’re not just the right choice, they’re the only choice. So forget about the hairless cat and “Guy Smiley” (Mitt Romney) who will most likely be his running mate and join us Obama lovers. Like the O’Jays sang so eloquently back in the day, “People all over the world – join hands – start a love train, love train…” I can’t help myself, I love Michelle Obama…oh yeah and her husband – Don’t Get Me Started!

Sometimes I scare even me. I wrote this blog this morning. Well, just now (4pm PST) they announced at the convention that Barack Obama would be the Democratic nominee for President and according to CNN - "There were hugs and handshakes as "Love Train" blasted from the arena speakers." Psychic or Just Scott? You Be The Judge!

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Why I Don’t Think Hallmark Needs To Make Gay Wedding Greeting Cards – Don’t Get Me Started!

I was raised that you send a thank you note for a thank you note. Personalized stationery has been in my life for as long as I can remember and although the Internet has brought the immediacy of an “e-card” I still like the good old fashioned greeting cards that come in the mail for any occasion. So it should not surprise you that I am a Hallmark gold card member. However, over the years I got less and less cards from the gang at Hallmark and the recent fervor about Hallmark making greeting cards for same sex marriages didn’t surprise me or really have an effect on me. Why I don’t think Hallmark needs to make Gay Wedding Greeting Cards – Don’t Get Me Started!

Let’s face it, Hallmark hasn’t really done all that much for us gays or any of the minorities I belong to or am associated with ever, frankly. They feel like that person who hugs you because there’s an awkward pause in the your greeting them but once you’re holding them you may as well be holding a block of wood. They’re not comfortable, you’re not comfortable and you just wonder why you’re doing it at all. That’s how I feel about the Hallmark gang (on the whole). Long have I wondered why the Christmas cards are all boxed and in plentiful supply yet the Hanukkah cards are always in some obscure place on a bottom shelf or corner end cap, the cards are much smaller than the Christmas cards and they’re shrink-wrapped instead of being in a box. Do they think that it’ll make us “cheap Jews” think they’re cheaper because they’re not in a box and are smaller? What’s the psychology behind that one, I ask you experts? I’ve never been able to figure it out but it pisses me off all the same so to not get myself aggravated, I don’t go into a Hallmark around the holidays.

Then there’s the ethnic every day and event cards. Puhlease! Due to the fact that I have been with a black man for what will be twenty years (a few weeks from now) from time to time on a birthday for a nephew or for what can only be called my “in-laws” after all these years (even though we’re not married, our state doesn’t recognize same sex marriage and I can’t see us “jumping the broom” over to California to do it any time soon) I, on occasion, have looked to get them a Hallmark card that wasn’t so white it seemed as though it was made by Wonder bread. Aside from the Maya Angelou line, the rest of their “ethnic” card lines once again feel forced, awkward and like that hug from that block of wood person.

The only saving grace (in my humble opinion) for Hallmark is their Hoops and YoYo line online. If you want to send a funny e-card, you’ll send one of these. And if they weren’t created, voiced or had someone gay along the way to make them happen I would be very surprised.

So when I heard that Hallmark was going to come out with “Same Sex Wedding Greetings” a look similar to when it’s hard to pass gas came across my face. Should Hallmark even be trying to get into this market? I thought back to the tiny plastic wrapped Hanukkah cards and the cards for black people that always seem to have only the colors of the flag of Africa on them or some scene from the Serengeti on them and it just seemed to me that Hallmark need not even go there because it was going to be yet another half-hearted, block of wood hug from the company. What is it they say about the alley behind a gay bar being paved with good intentions? (Wait, that can’t be right, can it?) Maybe the road to Hallmark Gay Wedding Cards is a little like that road to hell that’s paved by good intentions? But when the “American Family Association” and “Concerned Women for America” demanded a boycott saying that “Hallmark is jeopardizing its brand as a family-friendly company” and certain Hallmark managers refused to put the cards on their shelves, I had to say, “Good for you Hallmark and screw you, you concerned ladies and Hallmark Managers (who may very well be one and the same) who are so uptight you probably don’t screw well at all!” But am I really as angry as I seem? No.

You see I don’t need Hallmark for their Barbie, limited edition Christmas ornaments or their cards because (and yes, here comes another shameless plug) I have friends in the card business who make the best freaking cards in the world and guess what? I’m featured on a couple of them! (And how funny is it that my latest one is a Christmas card?) That’s right, if you want great cards and gifts that will endear (and perhaps give you some distance) from your loved ones, look no further than MikWright at www.mikwright.com Thanks to Phyllis and Tim, “Hallmark, we don’t need your stinking gay wedding cards!” And that’s why I don’t think Hallmark needs to make Gay Wedding Greeting Cards – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Nothing Is Ever As Good As It Seems Or As Bad As It Seems – Don’t Get Me Started!

In talking with a pal recently he said this phrase and it’s stuck with me. You know how things do that, right? Like the song that’s playing on your radio alarm clock in the morning, can you ever get rid of that song and by the time that you do stop singing it to yourself you forgot how awful it was to have it in your head to begin with but if you think about it then it starts all over again. Well, what my pal said was, “Nothing is ever as good as it seems or as bad as it seems” – Don’t Get Me Started!

Take a moment and think about it. Think about a time when you thought something was so great. Maybe you won the lottery or you just found a box of Girl Scout Thin Mint cookies in the back of your freezer when you thought you had all ready eaten them all. In the lottery scenario, you know you’ll be paying a crap load of taxes and anyone you ever knew is suddenly going to expect you to pick up the tab for everything from dinner to that “elective” surgery they’ve been dying to have but can’t afford. With the Girl Scout cookies, you are going to become as obese as the girl who sold you the cookies mother. (The mother is always the heavy one because she has ended up buying – and eating - more than she should just to keep Ashley in the running for being the girl who scouted the most).

Now let’s think about the bad things that could happen. Your car breaks down or you owe a lot of money in taxes. In the first case scenario, how bad could things be when Javier comes to pick you up in his tow truck? Sure he’s dumb as rocks but his biceps are like boulders and there’s no air conditioning in the truck so you get hot and sweaty to look at and perhaps become yourself all the way to the car repair place. As far as the taxes go, think about how much money you won in the lottery from the paragraph before that you’re paying the taxes on and shut your pie hole.

Seriously, I never really thought about life in this way but after this pal told me that phrase I couldn’t help but re-examine my life and do you know what? As simple as that phrase is, I think it’s right on the money. Is it a pessimistic view to have or merely a way of letting you know that there is perfect balance in our lives (even if you’re like me, who lives his life going from one extreme to the other) it’s good to know that fate has a larger purpose and plan to make things not too awful while at the same time, not making them terrifically good either.

So take some time today to examine all that is stressing you out at the moment or making you insanely happy. Chances are (as Johnny Mathis would sing) you’ll find that “Nothing is ever as good as it seems or as bad as it seems” – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Gay Spies What The Brits Know That We Americans Don’t – Don’t Get Me Started!

Yesterday I read an article about the fact that the British Secret Service (MI5) was actually doing everything they could to recruit gays into service. I don’t know if it’ll make James Bond nervous or excited but you have to ask yourself, gay spies what the Brits know that we Americans don’t – Don’t Get Me Started!

The Brits are so hell bent on getting the gays that they’ve even enlisted the assistance of gay advocates to “get the word” out that much like the old “B” movie entitled “Mars Needs Women” apparently “MI5 Needs Gays.” Now for those of you out there wondering just why a spy organization would want gays in particular there’s a very simple answer. You see they seem to know what us gays have known for a long time, gays are really good at “fitting in” and also at not being noticed. I know that seems a bit shocking to some of you, after all aren’t all the images we see of gays portraying just the opposite? Feather boas on a parade float with glitter false eye lashes aside I think they’ve tapped into something a little deeper that tells us more about us gays than we want you to know.

First of all, while times have changed for many gays to be “straight acting” is coveted almost more than having a large penis. There, I’ve said it. (You’ll notice I said “almost”) Just look at any online dating site or Craigslist (should you not want to be discovered looking at such things) and you’ll see immediately that the gays pride themselves on being “straight acting” and what they want is another “straight actor” for their dating and/or humping pleasure. Because some gays not only aspire to it but have made a career at “passing” for straight (much like light skin African Americans used to “pass” for white back in the day) they have it down better than anyone (I didn’t say, “they go down” – which they most likely do, I just said they have “it down” better than anyone). So imagine what an asset having someone who has perfected the art of “passing” as a spy. If those clever gays can play it straight just imagine how they’ll do when they have to play a scientist with a limp and only one good eye!?!

Next up, we gays are really good listeners. Just think about our gal pals (commonly and inappropriately known as “fag hags”) and how we listen to their problems and make them feel all better. I would think that you would need to be a good listener to be a good spy I mean at some point you will need to remember the codes to the bomb, right?

Finally, unlike Mr. Bond we can’t be swayed by a beautiful woman. There’s no chance of us making out with a woman while she pulls a knife out of her garter belt. Believe me when I tell you that us gays go in for the tight clinches and we check/pull things out early on to ensure we’re not dealing with someone who just bought “shape enhancing” underwear. That’s right if you’re doing your job right as a gay man, it’s not a gun in their pocket, they’re just happy to see you!

All in all, I think the Brits (and several other spy agencies across the world who have apparently been collecting gays like some Italian women collect Capodimonte pieces of china) are onto something. As shocking as it may be to the “moral majority” (are they either?) here in the States, we gays are good for more than just doing your wife’s hair, throwing throw pillows and making you laugh. And maybe just maybe it’s time for the 007 franchise to look at bringing in a new agent…say, Agent 69? He’s smart, smartly dressed and always gets his man! Gay spies what the Brits know that we Americans don’t – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Facebook Is Bringing Everyone I Thought I Got Rid Of Back Into My Life – Don’t Get Me Started!

I wouldn’t say that I had the worst high school years of anyone in the universe but let’s just say “it was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Every single day of my high school life I was called a “fag” at least once if not multiple times in the day. I would always make pretend that the comment wasn’t for me (this is how I learned to be such a good actor). I would hear the comment and then I would look around as if the person who spewed the hate must have been talking to someone behind me. I’m sure it looked a lot like when my cat discovers he has a tail and starts chasing it. I would first do the subtle look behind me and then the complete turnaround if the situation warranted it. Under the pressure of my LA gays, I joined “the book” or Facebook as it were and since joining apparently everyone from my high school years is on “the book” because Facebook is bringing everyone I thought I got rid of back into my life – Don’t Get Me Started!

It amazes me how much we all cling to a simpler time in our lives. Although my high school years were lived trying to be popular yet failing miserably, I have to say that I don’t look at them just as awful times. And although I came out of it with a few friends that I still have in my life today most everyone I knew in high school were strictly “acquaintances” and nothing more. I don’t care that they filled an entire page of my yearbook talking about how I was “2 Good 2 B 4 Gotten” the few times I’ve looked back at my yearbooks I get enormously frustrated that these people didn’t sign their last names because although they claim we had “some wild times at the lake” I’m afraid I don’t remember the wild times nor them. Yet by the time I finished my profile on Facebook the old high school chums seem to have smelled me out like sharks do with blood in the water. I was amazed.

With some of the “friend” requests, I felt a bit nostalgic and thought, “Wow, that’s so nice that they wanted to say hello” but there were plenty that made me just say, “What the f?” As with most things in my life I went directly to my two gay pals from high school, or as I like to call us, “The Three Muskequeers” (but in our case, we’re named after colognes, I’m Paco and the other two are Vetiver and Aramis) after all, they had been the ones who told me I simply “had” to get on “the book.” I really wanted to ask them about this one person in particular as I knew that if this bitch from high school had found me that she had most certainly found them. You know the type, she was always a bitch in high school yet seemed as though everyone was her friend but mostly people tolerated her because her family had money, threw great parties and honestly, they thought their mock friendship would stop her talking about them. It didn’t. And so every time I log on to Facebook I see her “friend” request in my inbox unanswered by me and I just can’t bring myself to “accept” it. Well, Vetiver said that this bitch had been in his inbox for three months and not only that, there were about another 100 other people sitting in the same box waiting to be opened like a gift you get that you don’t want. Aramis on the other hand said that he even deleted the messages from such folk and just moved on about his day. But how could I with all my Jewish guilt a(nd still trying to gain popularity still even though my high school days are twenty-five years behind me) going to allow the bitch to sit in my inbox? The answer is easy (though I must say that it got easier when the LA Gays told me how they responded to such requests).

Don’t get me wrong, I think that the whole Facebook thing is really cool. I like that old pals want to say hello, I don’t want the pressure of constantly emailing with them or seeing the dreaded, “tell me everything you’ve been doing for the past twenty-five years” email but I’ll add them as part of my “entourage” and it’s kind of nice to have people who knew you when know you somewhat now. On the other hand, I don’t want to hear all their problems, trials and tribulations either. My suggestion is that Facebook have “friends” and “acquaintances” and the “acquaintances” should only be allowed to say, “Hi, remember me? Hope your life is going great!” While your real “friends” can pick up the God Damned phone and ask you how you’re doing for real, yes there is friendship that exists outside “the book” people.

So while it’s great to reconnect, I guess people just need to be clear about what return they expect on their investment when sending a friend request. Do they just want to say, “hey” or do they expect you to go to their children’s birthday parties now? All I know is what they can expect from me and for most, they can expect me to accept their request and do one to three emails back and forth because I have enough with the people who are actually in my life for real and not just “book” people. I like to think of my life like a great nightclub, in order for me to let anyone in, someone has to leave! I’m at capacity and Facebook is bringing everyone I thought I got rid of back into my life – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Is There Anything But Volleyball At The Olympics? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know that there are several sports supposedly going on there in the China land for the Olympics and yet all I’ve seen every freaking time I turn on the television is volleyball. Is there anything but volleyball at the Olympics? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Now I’ve heard all about Michael Phelps and even watched his many interviews with Bob Costas (and Michael’s mother – incredible woman but come on, did you see the way her son looked at her in those interviews with so much love in his eyes? They’re either Jewish or he’s gay the way you can see him loving that mother of his with all of his might). But whenever I turn the television on to just watch the Olympics, all I ever seem to catch is the damn volleyball. It’s as if I’m on some sort of Twilight Zone channel that can’t be changed or something, “all volleyball all the time.” Whether it’s women’s, men’s, indoor, outdoor all I know is that I’ve seen it all and care about as much about volleyball as I do say, tetherball. I won’t use the “hate” word as that’s pretty strong but I can tell you that it wasn’t one of my favorite sports going into these games and it won’t be coming out of them either.

Lest you think I’m not Tivoing like there’s no tomorrow, I have done that with the women’s all around gymnastics but hey that’s one event out of many. I’m sure many of you are feeling as though this is all my fault for not buying some glossy guide to the events to know exactly what is playing when but come on, is it so much to ask to see more than one event every time I tune in? And can anything truly be my fault? I think not.

What hurts the most perhaps is that I seemed to have missed all of the men’s gymnastics. That’s right, not one man in cute tight stirrup pants have I seen and that my friends is a gay mistermeanor of the highest order. If my Olympic challenged television could only get stuck on one thing oh why Lord couldn’t it have been men’s gymnastics? I could watch those boys hang from the rings for hours and never get tired of it. Whereas the whole, “Oops, the serve went into the net” leaves me cold. Bring on the buff boys with the chalk on their hands and muscles to rival some statue made of marble. It’s like flowers for fuck sake. Look, I don’t want to smell flowers or even know how they’re made but I like to look at them and I’m thankful to whoever plants them and maintains them. The same can be said of the gymnast boys – hooray for whoever made ‘em and by all means, let’s see them become as prolific as flowers in a lush garden, shall we? Oh wait that would be like Cirque, which let me say is keeping those gymnast boys in top shape here in Vegas and are available for the price of admission!

I remember that when I was little I watched the Olympics every night, all night. As someone who never possessed any skills when it comes to sports I have no idea why I was so fascinated by the whole thing. I guess it’s because it’s one of the largest stages in the world and stars are made seemingly overnight, just like Lana Turner supposedly being discovered at a drugstore counter in Hollywood. Sure, all she had to do was sit there in a tight sweater as opposed to Michael Phelps who was getting up at 5am every morning to swim but hey, in my world everything relates back to the golden age of Hollywood and the Olympics (steroids and all) still feels like it just a bit. So I’ll keep trying to catch men in tight pants but until that time comes, here’s to the Overhand Serve (Yes, I Googled it to find a Volleyball term – I’ll watch it but I won’t learn it!) Is There Anything But Volleyball At The Olympics? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Why We Watch Crappy Reality Shows – Don’t Get Me Started!

Okay, I’ll admit it, I’m not immune, my Tivo is filled with just as much reality television as yours and while I have plenty of guilt that it’s not all “Meet The Press” on my Tivo there’s a part of me that has accepted the fact that I’m more of a Project Runway person that a 60 Minutes person. If you give me the choice between Andy Rooney bitching about something and Austin Scarlett making a wedding dress out of tissue paper, the tissue paper is going to win every time. Why we watch crappy reality shows – Don’t Get Me Started!

When I walked in to find one of my bosses watching Sunset Tan yesterday, the picture came full circle for me that we Americans are all obsessed with the crappy reality shows. I mean, here you have a guy who was a professional sports figure for years and usually has nothing but sports on and yet suddenly he’s glued to the lives of some overly tanned people on a show about other people who want to get really tan. (I’ll admit that I watched one or two episodes of this show when it first came on but I quickly realized that while my standards are pretty low that even this was too low for me. Good to know that I do have a bottom line when it comes to this matter) What was even more shocking was when straight men numbers two and three came into the room and also knew all the characters and what was going on with the Sunset Tan people. Shocking, right? Or is it?

As I stood there amazed that these guys were watching this like General Hospital (back in the Luke and Laura days) it made me start to think if I wasn’t a physician who needed to heal thyself? You see currently my reality line up looks something like this – Project Runway (of course), Greatest American Dog, America’s Got Talent, Kathy Griffin – My Life on the D List, Gs to Gents, Shear Genius and Cash Cab. You put that all together and you have a lot of crap TV going on my friends. And why? Why do I have all of this on? I don’t know but it certainly made me begin to wonder…a lot.

What is the reason? Why DO we all watch all this crappy programming? I remember as a kid I would watch (on my portable color television, I bought with my own money) the Carol Burnett Show, Mary Tyler Moore and eventually Saturday Night Live. These were the shows I could not live without. Sure there was some Wonder Woman thrown in there and some Saturday cartoons but those three shows were really my staples. These shows were entertaining but today’s reality television isn’t so much entertaining as a way to I think make us feel better about ourselves. You see, there was never a time I felt smarter than Mary Richards but I sure do feel a hell of a lot smarter than the deluded people I see on America’s Got Talent who think they’re some great singing stars when actually their voices sound as if someone took a stick and ran it across a grate in the street. Is it that great sense of superiority that keeps us watching?

Or perhaps it’s that by watching other people’s misery or failures it helps us to not feel so bad about ourselves? During the great Depression, movie ticket sales were at their highest and the movie musical was really born to help the public “keep their sunny side up.” But now it seems as though we don’t want the world of fantasy to make us feel better we want to see someone making an ass out of themselves so that we feel like less of an ass ourselves. And do you know what, I’m good with that answer. That’s right. There are too many things in life I can’t control and when I don’t feel thin, enough, smart enough, attractive enough I think I like the fact that all I have to do is turn on the television to feel a whole lot better about me and my life. And that’s why I think we watch crappy reality shows – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Thanks To My New Iphone I Spend A Lot Longer In The Bathroom – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know it’s something anyone of good breeding or character really isn’t supposed to discuss but as I have grown older I’ve noticed that there are more magazines and catalogs in my bathroom and sometimes even a book. That’s right, whether it was done willingly or by instinct, I have reached the age where I have become my father when it comes to the time I spend in the bathroom. While some may say that it’s because it’s a sanctuary away from it all I think that they are just kidding themselves. And not only do I find that that I have more in the bathroom to keep me “entertained” shall we say, but thanks to my new Iphone I spend a lot longer in the bathroom – Don’t Get Me Started!

I don’t think that I’m unlike a lot of people that as technology has grown I seem to be able to spend less and less time away from my technology and feel whole. First it was the cell phone which when it first came out, without the camera or Internet was easy to put down, turn off or simply leave behind but as the phone started doing more the more I craved to have it in my possession at all times. By the time I got a Blackberry (Crackberry as it’s known to anyone who has one) I actually get nervous when I didn’t have the thing on me and fully operational at all times. So then it was a “smart phone” and my grip became even tighter but now with the Iphone, forget about it, it’s my new best friend and I don’t want to go anywhere without it.

If only the thing weren’t so fast at searching the Internet. If only I couldn’t read all the headline news I crave with simply placing my index finger on the magical screen maybe that would make me need it less. I honestly don’t know at this point. All that I DO know is that whither thou goes…so does the Iphone and that includes the bathroom.

I’d like to say that the Iphone has made me more efficient but that would just be a lie. Unless of course you can call having “the Magic 8 Ball” at my fingertips a tool that makes me more efficient. True, when I have a difficult life decision, it’s good to have it right there to ask it the future but let’s face it, I usually just end up shaking it over and over again until it finally reads, “Outlook Good.” Or maybe you could say that having a light saber at my disposal makes me more efficient. Nope, just makes me another silly man who remembers how cools Star Wars was when it originally came out in the 1970’s. Of course I do get email from my three different email accounts so at least that’s a step in the more efficient direction, right? Well, when you consider most of my emails are really just those chain emails and ads for Viagra I guess that doesn’t really qualify either. No, no matter how you slice it, no matter how quick it is to tell you the showtimes of movies in your area or show you step by step on how to get somewhere with its GPS, the truth is that this is a toy. A great toy but a toy nonetheless.

Maybe the answer is like most technology, at some point you need to put the damn thing down, turn it off and walk away. But like most everything, although I know I can make it to the bathroom and back without it, dare I do it? What if there’s an earthquake and the bathroom caves in and that is the only way for me to communicate that I’m in there to be rescued? Okay, sure it’s unlikely but it could happen, right? What if I’m wondering whether or not to wipe or not how can I figure it out without my Magic 8 Ball program I ask you? No, I’m afraid that the Iphone is going in there with me and when we come out is anyone’s guess. Ooh, guess I should ask the Magic 8 Ball – “My Sources Say No.”   

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Why I’m Excited About The Olympics And Dubious All At The Same Time – Don’t Get Me Started!

Hey, I’m “Old School” Olympics – not so old school that I remember the original ones in Greece where they apparently competed naked (not that I wouldn’t want to see everyone shot putting with their dangly parts out but that’s a blog for a different day). I remember watching Mark Spitz win and cheering for Nadia Comaneci and loving every minute of it. I love how it completely unites the country for those few weeks. Whether you’re talking Olympics with your family or the people at work, we love to revel in the superhuman feats these athletes achieve. And while we’re on the subject of those superhuman feats, I can’t help but feel that the whole world of competition athletics is more than a little bit tainted thanks to all the steroids stories that always follow these games and other sports. So that’s why I’m excited about the Olympics and dubious all at the same time – Don’t Get Me Started!

I read an article online yesterday about an East German female swimmer who competed in the 1980’s, thought she was receiving vitamins when it was actually steroids and after she grew a dick decided she should just go ahead and have the sex reassignment surgery. Okay, so maybe she didn’t grow a dick but it was close enough that she really had no choice but to change her sex. She/he is angry, upset and feeling betrayed by her/his government and can anyone blame this person? I mean, I remember the first time we got sight of these “women” swimmers and of course what was going through our minds was that they were more “WHOA Man” than a “woman” but hey, we just figured those Nazis were up to their usual tricks of nutty genealogical mayhem.

So in this modern age where we can have the host country of the Olympics be the country that poisoned our children with lead paint toys, beat their citizens at the drop of a chop stick, you have to wonder if the athletes (and more specifically their coaches) have just found a better way to dupe the Olympic judges and dope their athletes. Hey, I want to believe in unicorns too but unfortunately, history keeps showing us that there are more than weights being lifted in the sports field. Just let someone come on the Olympic scene with a large forehead and you can’t help but immediately wonder if they’re not “juiced” and with more than Tang!

Perhaps it’s the movie industry that has helped this along too. When you can take someone the size of Tom Thumb and make him look like a buff giant monster (yes, Sylvester Stallone, I’m talking to you) and make them seem indestructible why not try to achieve it by any means in real life and athletic life? So should we just accept the fact that it’s he with the best drugs who wins? Should we go ahead and let the Olympians with their oversized foreheads and rage be on the front of the Wheaties and Whey box and be done with it?

I want to believe in fairies (not just because I am one) but how many times can we be disappointed as our heroes come down with steroid related illnesses or a conscience and tell us what they’ve done to achieve what we thought was impossible was achieved through doping themselves up? Maybe the impossible should just be left impossible and we should lower our expectations a bit so that we can increase our hopes, beliefs and dreams again? Just a thought. Why I’m excited about the Olympics and dubious all at the same time – Don’t Get Me Started!

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For eight years we’ve had to look at that troll of a man showing his stupidity at every turn so I guess I can understand why people would be afraid of someone who is actually attractive and brings people into his message as opposed to Bush who has repelled us all better than “Off” bug repellent spray. Let’s face it we all love to have a common enemy and we hate change. Whether it’s Bush or Howard K. Stern trying to keep Anna Nicole’s baby, we all love hating someone when everyone else is hating them too. I know it’s ugly but it’s just the mob mentality that is our society (definitely fueled by the media). So I get all the reasons that there are people looking at McCain and his mud flinging (even if it is on some subconscious level) they’re thinking that McCain feels familiar, like what they know…an old white man doing the same type of politicking that gave us George W. for eight years. But people, come on – wake up we desperately need a change and McCain isn’t going to do that for us.

Put the politics aside for a moment and let’s get back to this whole celebrity thing. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a President that foreign countries actually admire, respect and want to meet with instead of the white guy who laughs like Mugsy from the Wacky Racers cartoons? When looking up the word, “celebrity” I found this definition - A celebrity is a widely-recognized or famous person who commands a high degree of public and media attention. – Isn’t this exactly what we need? A widely-recognized person who commands a high degree of public and media attention? And just imagine if that was actually “good” media attention instead of the leader of the free world’s latest gaffe?

I know that Obama’s campaign is fighting the “celebrity” ads but I really wish they would embrace them instead. We need a celebrity in that position to make us feel good about America again and to look good to the world around us. While I admit that we can be enticed by a good marketing campaign, I also think that it’s time to get a little more glamour and envy around the world about the people we have in the White House. (I don’t think anyone ever cared what Laura Bush had to say or what she wore but perhaps with a highly educated woman by the side of the President like Michelle Obama, we just might care what the First Lady has to say again.) So while some may think Paris Hilton and Britney Spears when they think “celebrity” I think of Elizabeth Taylor and Cary Grant. And let’s face it, who doesn’t love Cary Obama, I mean, Barack Grant…I mean if if Barack is a celebrity, sign me up for the fan club – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Texting While Driving? I Can’t Even Text And Walk At The Same Time – Don’t Get Me Started!

I admit it, I’m one of those people who feel as though the ground will crumble beneath me and life will end as we know it if I don’t answer my phone while driving (and that also includes texting). I don’t know when I decided for me that the world needed immediate and constant access to me but somewhere along the line it happened. I think it probably has quite a bit to do with ego if I’m completely honest with myself. That’s right I think that everyone NEEDS me every minute of every day I suppose. The point is that like everyone else I have gone beyond the denial that it does not affect my driving to be talking on the phone and driving. I admit that I’m a lousy driver when I get on the phone (some would say I’m pretty bad even without the phone) but recently I discovered that texting while I’m driving? I can’t even text and walk at the same time – Don’t Get Me Started!

There I was walking down the street when I decided that yet another text message had to be sent immediately. I whipped out the new iphone and began lightly touching the touch screen. (Quick tip – for those of us who had been used to Blackberries and Smart Phones with hard keys that we would push with our thumbs or fingernails, the iphone insists that you use the padded part of your finger to make the magic happen.) And so I was walking down the street trying to gingerly type in a message to someone when I tripped. Not a big one where there is scraping of knees or blood loss, no just enough of a bobble to make you look like an ass (if anyone was really looking) and although I caught myself before a full-fledged fall occurred, I still managed to feel like an ass. For most folk, this would cause them to think, “Geez, I can’t walk and text” but not for this brave little soldier, oh no. I went right back to texting and walking. “BAM!” I ran right into someone without even realizing it until the impact occurred. A quick apology from me and a lot of head shaking from the victim and I was off again. Now I was trying to gently choose the correct “keys” (if I’m honest, it was more about the back space key and wondering why after I had typed in most of the word, “tomorrow” the iphone was trying to tell me that I meant the word “Timor” for some reason – and is that even a word?) as I walked, gently typed, looked for discrepancies in the sidewalk and passer-bys I found that the stress level got so high I wished that I had a Xanax.  

And so it finally occurred to me that much like driving, perhaps no one really needed to get in touch with me at that particular moment, nor did I need to be looking down at my palm when there was life happening all around me. I locked the phone and defiantly put it into my pocket. And do you know what? No one died, I didn’t disappoint anyone for not texting them immediately and most importantly, although I’ve never been one to care that much for nature, I actually did have time to stop and smell the roses. Maybe this is what that saying was all about, maybe whoever wrote it foresaw into our future where we would be the most impatient and self-obsessed (with the aid of technology) people in the world where we would get to the point of not even being able to look up at the world around us as we walked through our daily lives. For those who feel I’ve taken this to a major extreme, you obviously haven’t read my previous blogs. I live life in the extremes from “crazy highs” to “crappy lows” there is no “in between because I’m afraid if I’m in the middle I’ll lose all feeling and meaning to my life.

I can’t say that I won’t talk on the phone while driving – after all, driving home from work is when the daily call with my mother happens. (If you don’t think I’m brave for talking to my mother and driving at the same time, you’re not Jewish) But I can guarantee that I’ll think about how bad it is and have some good old Jewish guilt over it. I will however try not to drive or walk and text at the same time. How does that sound? To me it sounds as though I’m at the start of therapy for my iphone addiction and that I’ve just admitted my problem as the first step in a 1200 step process for getting “better” or healthy as it may be. But at the root of it all I can’t help just being a little disappointed that in actuality what hurt the most was the discovery (or admission if you will) that I’m not as coordinated as I thought I was to be able to walk and text at the same time. (Quick test to see if I can still pat my head and rub my stomach at the same time – passed, I can do that at least). Texting while I’m driving? I can’t even text and walk at the same time – Don’t Get Me Started!

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So My Ears Are Going To Continue To Grow? I’m Worried – Don’t Get Me Started!

Okay, I admit it, I’m a gay Jewish man in his forties so all I really know how to do is be persecuted and worry. Sometimes I even worry about being persecuted. But this morning as I put on my baseball cap (the New York Yankees one that I bought purely for the fab “NY” logo on it and some old man starts a conversation with me last week in the grocery store as to what I thought the Yankees’ chances were, etc. Thank God I’m good – I was able to turn the whole conversation around by doing the whole, “More importantly what do you think?” This was followed up with me shaking my head in agreement and trying to look as if I was manly enough to be one of those guys that spit on the street.) But I digress (as always) the thing is, as I put my baseball cap on this morning I became acutely aware that it appeared as if my ears were exceptionally large. That’s when I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that apparently our noses, ears and teeth continue to grow throughout our lives. So my ears are going to continue to grow? I’m worried – Don’t Get Me Started!

There are lots of things to worry about in our world but come on, isn’t the fact that our ears are continuing to grow the most important? Well, it is to me – at least for this moment. You see, I am one of those people who when I look at my baby pictures I have to wonder what happened to those facial features? I don’t know that anyone could look at those and find me in a crowd today in my present state. My brother and I have certainly had our noses do a lot of growing since our childhood (and I’m not talking Pinocchio growing because if my nose grew from lying, it would be piercing your computer screen as we speak). No, in childhood my brother and I had the cutest noses you ever saw and my guy has more than once asked me where those noses went. The response is that I have no idea.

I remember that when I was a kid I would put my index fingers behind my ears, push them forward and run around the house screaming, “Dumbo” – could I have created my own manifest ear destiny? It’s not like I did it all day every day but I do recall doing it quite a bit. So perhaps I brought this all upon myself. I don’t know.

As I was in Starbucks this morning I looked at this woman who appeared to be in her fifties or so. She was blonde (by bottle) and had a sort of pixie-like presence in her facial features. As I got closer to her I realized that she had been what I loving call, “pulled” within an inch of her life. She had definitely had some surgery or surgeries done to look the way that she did today. I wondered if it made her feel better about herself but honestly as I looked at her, all I could see was someone who looked as if they had their ears pulled back to meet behind their head and it was causing her eyes to become diagonal slits on her face that made it seem as if she was after the “Dark Crystal” or something. I have been kidding for years with a  pal of mine that when we turn 45 we’re going to get a surgeon and do our own “Extreme Makeover” but I must tell you, when I see the “pulled people” it makes me think twice.

I don’t know what I can do with the present ear situation, in fact I’m quite sure there is absolutely nothing I can do about it but it won’t stop me from worrying about it. You see, some people live to see the sunrise each morning, I on the other hand know the day has begun when I awake and find the first thing to worry about - today’s mission – accomplished! So my ears are going to continue to grow? I’m worried – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I Think It’s ME Who Is The Bad Driver – Don’t Get Me Started!

A recent driving adventure began me thinking. As I sit in my car racing to and fro I find myself constantly yelling obscenities at my fellow drivers (of course with my windows firmly up so as to not cause my own death by the people having road rage with the gun attachment). And while I usually drive around noting everything that everyone else is doing wrong, knowing in my heart of hearts that I’m not only obeying most of the driving laws while doing my fair share of letting people in, etc. thinking I’ve got this whole driving thing dialed in, it suddenly dawned on me the other day, I think it’s ME who is the bad driver – Don’t Get Me Started!

I first thing I do is that I follow too closely. Does this make me seem needy? That I have to cling to the car in front of me? Or does it make me seem smart that by somehow using the wind current from the car in front of me to save gas and emissions while propelling my Mini Cooper forward almost hitting the car in front of me at times? More than once I’ve had people pull over to the side of the road. I always thought that they were perhaps looking at a map or trying to get the Tic Tac that went under the seat but invariably when I pass them I look in my rear view mirror to see them pulling back onto the road but keeping their distance from me. Sort of like when I used to go to New York a lot and my friends and I would be in bad neighborhoods, we decided that if we acted crazy no one would bother us. We would yell, “Assume the position” and we would just grab our crotches and start talking to ourselves. Noone ever dared come near us when this was going on. And so it is with the drivers who reluctantly take a driving position behind me after pulling alongside the road to let me pass, they don’t get too close. To prove this point, I was driving behind someone the other day and when I moved over to the right lane and came alongside of them the passenger leaned out of their highly raised truck and yelled something at me that I could not recognize as the English language.

The other thing that I do is cut corners when I’m making a left hand turn pretty tight. I say “pretty tight” because I’m trying to make it not sound so bad however every time my guy is the car with me and I make a left hand turn he grabs the inside of the door and chastises me that “someday someone is going to be there and you’re going to hit them head on.” I don’t really admit to this one but as he’s told me more than a thousand times during our life together, I guess I have to go ahead and admit this one too.

More than anything, I’m just really surprised at the realization that I’m a bad driver. Geez, I don’t want to be a bad driver but what’s a boy to do? And does everyone else think I’m a bad driver? Do other bad drivers know that they’re bad drivers too? Do I need to get a sponsor like AA and recite a poem that states, “God grant me the patience to not follow too closely, to know when the other driver is the asshole and when it’s me?” I can’t be the worst driver in the world but perhaps I am. It’s all so unsettling. And the worst part of it is that I feel as though I can’t criticize anyone anymore for their bad driving if I’m really that bad. Time to get rich enough so that I can be driven around or go back to the bicycle, I was really good on a bicycle, or was I? Arghhhh…I don’t know anything anymore. I think it’s ME who is the bad driver – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Red Hat Ladies Scare Me – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know, I know, it’s a wonderful thing that women of a certain age have found a kinship they can’t find anywhere else. Consider it the Sisterhood of the Traveling Depends Pants or something (okay, just a little joke ladies, don’t get mad, don’t get all menopausal on my ass). The point is that I understand all the reasons this organization is a wonderful thing but when they all get together in a gaggle I can’t help it. Red Hat ladies scare me – Don’t Get Me Started!

As with most of my blogs – yes, this is something that I recently encountered. For the three of you who don’t know who the red hat ladies are, I think it comes from a saying or verse (whatever you want to call it) that says something about “when I am an old woman, I will wear purple and a red hat.” Well someone somewhere decided that instead of allowing it to stay as a Hallmark card or something you would see in the Lillian Vernon catalog made from resin, that they would actually make clubs to I guess wear purple and red hats. This phenomenon spread faster than syphilis and before you knew it there were clubs all over taking day trips and eventually, yes, a whole musical titled, “Hats” (God help us everyone)

I was walking down the street in Lake Tahoe recently looking in store windows, watching the passer-bys (Is people watching not the greatest thing in the world? As I’m writing this in the lobby of the hotel there is a gentleman sitting across from me who is in his late fifties or sixties and is in complete motorcycle leather clothing outfit on the phone ranting about how whatever it was that he needed was FedExed to his home 500 miles away instead of to the hotel. I would normally say that you shouldn’t piss a guy like this off but I must tell that even with the tattoos and doo rag on his head I think I could take him as he looks old and feeble, you know sort of the Rolling Stones are looking lately) when suddenly there they were…Red Hat Ladies! I could tell they were coming not necessarily because of the hats at first but because of all the natural light catching their not so natural rhinestones all over them to the point where if I hadn’t had the Prada sunglasses on I would have surely been blinded or at least ended up looking like Marty Feldman. It sort of looked as if the Quackers clothing brand lady, Jeanne from QVC – don’t ask me how I know about her, I have nothing but useless information in my head – had thrown up on them. They were (as they always seem to me to be) in a group of four or so and all were huddling, chuckling and strutting their stuff for all that it was worth. As they got closer I could see that two of them actually had red hats on but the other two had obviously killed a  feather boa as they both had a small tuft of marabou on their head held on there with what I can only assume was a bejeweled bobby pin. Come on ladies, that’s not a hat, that’s an attempt to look like a bird…well, a bird on the Muppets or something. Anyway, they were there on the street being really loud and just basically hogging the sidewalk when it occurred to me that they really aren’t so much a philanthropic organization as a gang for old ladies. Picture if you will, instead of bandanas of a certain color their “blood colors” are their red hats. That’s right, they have the same mentality of a gang – traveling in packs, taking over the sidewalks and dinner theatres (are there any left) across the country and they think just because they’re old we’re all going to step aside as they roll their purple scooter with the “rdhtldy” license plate over our feet in the grocery store without saying anything. Well, I’m saying something. You’re a bunch of hoodlums and you need to be stopped or at the very least stay away from me because you scare me more than clowns or mimes (and that my friends is saying something).

Okay maybe I’m being a bit harsh but with women outliving men, my fear is that the Red Hat ladies will take over the entire world. If that happens we’re all in trouble – think Kathy Bates in Fried Green Tomatoes with a red hat on. TAWANDA!!!! Is all you’ll hear as you get knocked down by a gaggle of the “Reds” (as they’re sure to become known) so don’t you agree with me now? Red Hat ladies scare me – Don’t Get Me Started!

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