Screw You Trick Or Treaters! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Even though I was thrown out of the Boy Scouts I’ve always tried to be prepared. I’m the organizer who makes a list and executes to perfection but every year I get stumped when it comes to Halloween. Two years ago we had, I don’t know maybe ten or twelve Trick or Treaters and then last year I bought all the candy in the world and had no one. So this year I’ve thought and thought about it and do you know what? Screw you trick or treaters! – Don’t Get Me Started!

As I’ve said before, I’m in danger of being thrown out of the homosexual society but I don’t dress up for Halloween. In fact, I can’t really remember the last time that I dressed up on Halloween. Maybe it was that year in high school when I dressed up like Corey Hart. To be honest, all I really did was wear my parachute pants, a ripped t-shirt, my sunglasses at night and I carried around the 45 of “I Wear My Sunglasses At Night” that had his picture on the front of it so that people would get what I was doing. Funny isn’t it? I mean back in the 80’s there was a whole song about wearing sunglasses at night because it was so unusual and now thanks to rappers and celebrities who don’t want you to see their tweaked out eyes, everyone’s wearing sunglasses everywhere at any time of day or night to try to look “hot.”  Come on, do they really need their sunglasses on at award shows? I think not.

I don’t really have an opinion one way or the other about people dressing up. I know that people love it, it gives them a chance to live out their fantasies for a night but maybe because I spent so many years of my life wearing costumes doing theatre I think I’ve had enough Halloweens doing eight shows a week for years so basically I’m covered until my life ends as far as dressing up.

This morning as I went into Starbucks I noticed a mom with her six year old in front of me. I knew instantly what he was dressed up as, it was unmistakable and yet the woman behind the counter looked down at him and said, “Are you a ninja?” Looking more than a little over her, he said, “I’m Sta Was, hear my ligh saver” He looked over to me and I smiled and said, “You’re Anakin Skywalker.” Well, that was it, he told me about Billy who was going as Boba Fett and someone else was going as something else and couldn’t leave without pointing out his braid in the back of his hair that was black even though his hair color was red and Anakin’s in the movie was sort of a dishwater blonde/brown. First I was a little embarrassed that I knew so much about Star Wars but he seemed delighted that I got it and his mother only seemed a little afraid that I was speaking to her son. (And isn’t that weird that we can’t even talk to a child we don’t know in front of their parents without them thinking there’s danger afoot. I know I run the risk of sounding like the oldest man in the world but we grew up in much simpler times and I liked it better…much better.)

Through the years I’ve gone the route of buying the candy that I don’t like so that I won’t eat it before the “treaters” get to my door. It never worked. I would just eat it and either discover that I in fact DID like that candy or I’d eat it with complete self-loathing thinking to myself, “Why in God’s name am I eating this candy that I can’t stand?” And although I’ve never run out of candy on the famous All Hallows Eve the possibility always makes me feel uneasy. So this year I decided to buy one very large bag of full sized Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups. A classic and a true treat as it’s not one of those “fun sized” or “bite sized” candy treats that are gone almost before you can taste them. Now in years past I didn’t open the bag until the actual night of Halloween well this year, not so much. The bag got opened on Monday and I’ve been consuming them at a rate of about two to four a night. So needless to say, I’m in trouble if the “treaters” come my way. Well, maybe I’d better stop writing this and go out and get some more candy just in case. Damn you and your outstretched arms with plastic pumpkins craving candy! Screw you trick or treaters! – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I’m On A Voter’s High! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know, I’m with you, if I hear any more about the elections I’ll just spit. It’s all been months and months of insanity and who can listen to one more speech or worse, another pundit who we’ve never heard of before who has an opinion? Not I. So as I was driving home from work last night I decided that although I had heard more than I cared to about all the horrendous lines I would bite the bullet and early vote. Little did I know what would happen? Little did I know what a crazy rush would occur. I’m on a voter’s high – Don’t Get Me Started!

For me it started last weekend. Equipped with my workbook that came in the mail, I got on the Internet and started doing all the research I could. Unfortunately for me (and I’m sure many more voters out there) besides the presidential bunch it’s really tough to find out any info on all the judges and others that you’re going to be voting for in the election. All I ever want when election time comes around is for a website or something that will tell you exactly how these candidates feel about all the major issues and/or have voted on them but let me just tell you that all you find are a bunch of people like yourself who are giving opinions on their blog or on someone else’s blog and you really have to wonder just how accurate this information is at all. So in my frustration I began looking around at sites like HRC (Human Rights Campaign) to see if they might be able to help me. Well, they could to a point but once again, not about the judges. Finally I found a site from a local gay magazine that had “their picks” and although I was grateful for finding it and the opinions they gave there was at least one race between two judges where they simply threw both their hands in the air and we’re like, “We don’t know, we don’t like either of these guys.” And although the Internet and television is filled with negative ads I did my best to retain my sunny disposition for after all, I HAD filled out my workbook and now all I needed was an early voting place.

What they show you on the news are all the people waiting for hours and hours on line to get to vote so when I was leaving work and pulling up to the grocery store where they have the early voting, I looked at my watch and saw that it was about 5:37pm and the voting was only open until 6pm. Would I make it? I saw a line but it didn’t look too bad. So I parked and stood on the line. It’s kind of funny when you look around on line waiting to vote. You can’t help but wonder who everyone else is voting for, right? The black woman with the word “Juicy” barely still visible on her ass from a sweat suit that was bought (and fashionable) more years ago than any of us like to remember would surely be voting Obama (not because she was black but because she seemed in my estimation like a lot of us, used to be wearing the latest, hottest clothing but had to let her fashion sense ride a little with the recent economy – she looked like she needed change…at least a change in clothing). The man behind me was white and in his seventies with a flannel shirt and a trucker hat on. Was it wrong of me to assume that he would be voting for McCain? Maybe, but I suspect that he would cast his vote that way. And then there was the chubby white college aged looking girl right in front of me. Who would she be voting for? I couldn’t tell she was an enigma!

Finally Senior Citizen Number 1 waved me over to the six foot sign in table. (What would the elections do without senior citizen’s to man the polls? I love it and them…hope we continue to increase our awareness of just how much we don’t take care of the elderly in the US – but I digress). I handed my workbook over to the woman at the table and she scanned it, asking me to sign on line 5. I did a quick signature and then she looked at me with disdain. She said, “That won’t do, you’ll have to try again.” And with this she spun her monitor around to show me that much like my brown (which is now gray, brown and a few other colors that I have no idea how they got there) hair and gut, my signature had gotten sloppy. I didn’t know that if you had your book they didn’t look at your ID that they did a signature match. But clearly I hadn’t done a good job and I was embarrassed at my inability to have the nice penmanship I had four years ago or whenever it was that they got this signature. As she handed me my plastic card to vote the panic set in. What was I supposed to do with this? What if I didn’t remember how to vote? What if I screwed it up so badly that they expelled me from voting all together? I mean, between my bad signature and now not knowing what to do with the card…that’s when Senior Citizen Number 3 waved me over to Senior Citizen Number 4, who directed me to a voting machine.

Clutching my workbook a little too hard and starting to sweat I stepped up to my terminal to vote. I put the card in but it popped right back out (like bad sex). Then I pushed it in harder and it stayed. I have to say that if you’ve filled out your workbook and you have these machines, the whole voting thing is a total breeze. I went through like Santa and checked my list twice, hit the button, the card came out, I walked over to Senior Citizen Number 5 who took the card and gave me my “I Voted” sticker.

As I walked out into the grocery store (it was sort of like a ride at Disneyland that “let’s you out” at the gift shop) I felt something strange. Was that my back that was a little straighter? Was that my head held higher than I had held it in months? Was that my chest that was out a little further? Why yes, all of those were true. I had voted and there was a rush that came over me that suddenly wanted hot dogs, apple pie and to buy a new thimble for Betsy Ross. I cared that the Phillies would win the World Series (OMG, the voting made me butch or at least care that the team that is from my birthplace should win the Series) Though I sometimes hate to admit it, I’m pretty cynical on the whole but not today, not now that I cast my vote. And as I walked out of the grocery store I felt like a true American (especially when I saw someone had let a shopping cart run into my car and had just left it there so I took it out on the cart by practically throwing it into the area where carts were collected) But even this injustice couldn’t force my shoulders to hunch forward and turn me back into a negative Nelly. No, I’m on a voter’s high – Don’t Get Me Started!

 
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Bitchy Queens Are A Lot Like Ice Cream… - Don’t Get Me Started!

As I was watching my Tivo’d Top Design episode from this past week (“Light It Up”) I was getting angrier and angrier as I watched the bitchy queens on the show. There are three (you’ll excuse the expression) male designers left. All gay, gay, gayer than gay but as if that wasn’t enough, instead of Kelly Wearstler (who is normally so out there she seems more like she’s going to Studio 54 in the 70’s completely coked out with her crazy looks that change from week to week. I can see her hanging on the infamous moon with the coke spoon sculpture without any difficulty.) So instead of Crazy Kelly, this week it was gay, gay, gayer than gay designer, potter, gay judge’s husband, Barney’s Creative Director, Simon Doonan as the guest judge. Just how many gays does it take to screw in a light bulb? Seven – 1 to sigh and roll his eyes, 3 to clutch their imaginary pearls at the thought of having to do manual labor, 1 to say the word “Screw” with so much “S” sound that the others think a snake is about to bite them so they all scream like little girls and forget all about the light bulb all together. And suddenly it hit me, I scream, you scream but bitchy queens are a lot like ice cream… - Don’t Get Me Started!

The reason that bitchy queens are a lot like ice cream is because in small doses it’s delicious but get too much of it and all you end up with is way too much phlegm (an annoying drip down the back of your throat that makes you want to gag). In the case of the television show Top Design out of the three remaining male designers, two are so gooey that I could easily throw up. You have Nathan who has that locked jaw way of talking usually only reserved for community theatre actresses playing the role of “Gloria Upson” in a bad production of Auntie Mame.

Then you have Eddie who works for Martha Stewart and works my last nerve as every third word out of his mouth is “Martha” and this week it was Martha overload when he rolled his eyes and was explaining how important he was because he had flown in Martha’s plane. Pardon me while I roll my own eyes. Nathan and Eddie go out of their way to fawn all over one another but do whatever it takes to exclude Preston, the third gay wheel  (to them) and the only gay worth his bulging biceps in designing in this gay’s book.

Preston is tall, attractive and as if that wasn’t enough to not like him for the other two gays, Preston’s designs are quiet and at the same time winning. And here’s where I’m going to let you in a on a little secret that gays don’t want you to know, bitchy queens are so jealous of pretty people that they will do everything in their power to destroy the pretty even if it means getting uglier and uglier. (Thus the reason so many bitchy queens at one time or another have gone as Snow White’s evil Stepmother on Halloween)

So along with all the bitchiness that was going on with the queenie boys when the judges came out and we discover the two men who if I’m not mistaken are in the Wikipedia for what the gayest Manhattan couple of the universe look like (not really but if someone wanted to create that entry I’m sure no one would mind), Jonathan Adler and his husband, Simon Doonan. Watching the two of them I can’t help but think that they are so gay that they’ve become boring. Another thing the gays don’t want you to know, when the gays get so impressed with themselves doing their best, “Dear, can you believe she wore that blouse with those earrings? She’ll never be invited anywhere again) they become less and less interesting. The more “over it” they become the more “over them” everyone else is but as with any society, when the queens rise to such a social standing as these two, no one wants to tell them how boring they are to be around. No small boy stands watching saying, “The Emperor (or in this case the Queens) have no clothes (or in this case, sense enough to wear socks with their dress pants and dress shoes…are you listening Mrs. Jonathan Doonan-Adler?)

Don’t get me wrong, I like a good ol’ gay stereotype as much as the next gay. I could watch Paul Lynde in a center square or shaking his head at Samantha Stephens from Bewitched any day. But what the queens of today seem to have forgotten is that this stereotype is best reserved for guest starring roles and not the lead. I mean, put a drink in my hand (and back in the day a Benson and Hedges Menthol Deluxe Ultra-Lights cigarette) and I would queen it up enough to be the life of the party. The difference is that I wasn’t a one note gay I had more versions of myself than just bitchy queen. And let’s face it no one ever really wants to go home with the bitchy queen. Oh sure, they love him flouncing about at the party and being vicious but no one wants to wake up next to it or worse still, admit they took it home in the first place.

So for my money, there definitely is a place and time for everything and bitchy queens are no exception. I guess I just prefer my bitchy queens in small doses, you know…like ice cream.

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I Came, I Saw, I Had Eye Crust – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m someone who showers every day and that includes the whole washing of the hair, every nook and cranny of my body, shaving (except occasionally on weekends when I go for the scruffy look) so on the whole I’m all about getting it right from the neck up each morning. As I’ve said before, when I’ve got extra weight on me (as I do now) I never look below the neck, could be completely gangrene below my neck and would never know it. So imagine my surprise this morning when I finally got to work after stopping to run a few errands and visit my Starbucks to discover as I went to rub my eye that it was loaded with that crusty stuff from God knows where. I came, I saw, I had eye crust – Don’t Get Me Started!

Immediately I began retracing my steps. Who had I seen? Who had seen me? And most importantly had anyone noticed the eye crust? I think on the whole we’re not all that observant as people so I doubt that anyone really saw it and/or if that they did that they would care however when you’re always five minutes away from paranoia, this feeds right in. Did the cashier at Wal-Mart where I picked up sodas and water for the office look at me funny? I can’t remember, in fact I can barely remember her. Did the woman who always waits on me at the Starbucks near my office notice? She didn’t seem to give off any clues although I have to say on the whole she always looks as if she just rolled out of bed so what in the hell am I doing worrying about that one?

The thing is to me a crusty eye is a dirty eye. It’s sort of like when parents let their kids walk around with crusty noses and dirty faces. To me this signifies bad parenting. I know, I know, very judgmental of me but by admitting that I’m judgmental, doesn’t that make me a better person because I’m aware that I’m judgmental? Whatever. My point is that you tell me what YOU are thinking when you see a crusty nosed kid with the snot pouring down and dirty snot smeared across their face? I don’t care that the mother is six feet away with her Coach purse dangling from her arm with her Prada sunglasses appropriately affixed to her face she’s a bad parent in my book. Pull a good old fashion Kleenex (or no name tissue) out of that Coach bag and wipe your kid’s face for Chrissakes.

For those of us who weren’t born pretty or handsome we have to work mighty hard each day to put on our “game face” to face the world. Years ago in LA when I was trying to break into “the show business” I had a manager tell me that I would make a good “best friend” “kooky neighbor” or “kid dying from a disease” in other words, I was never going to be Scott Baio or Kevin Bacon, I was going to be much more “Duckie Dale” from Pretty In Pink as opposed to “Bugsy Malone.” When I was little, going on auditions for commercials and whatnot and didn’t get the job (which was a lot) my mother would say, “Ah, ugly is in again. See all those kids with the red hair and freckles? That’s what’s selling right now. You’re too good looking.” Yeah, right. But my point is this; that those of us who weren’t blessed with a clef chin and looks of a Cary Grant work awfully hard to make ourselves look the best that we possibly can each day when we enter the world so even the smallest glitch can cause us to start rethinking our daily self-esteem. Eye crust is definitely a deal killer. I came, I saw, I had eye crust – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Why I Think They SHOULD Be Spending All That Money On Palin’s Wardrobe! – Don’t Get Me Started!

So according to some website, the GOP has spent around $150,000.00 on Sarah Palin (and her family’s) wardrobe since the campaign began. I truly think that this is a ridiculous thing to bring up at this point. Who really cares? What does it show? It doesn’t show what some are suggesting that while the GOP is trying to appeal to Joe the plumber types who have had to cut back their own spending that they’ll be bitter at the VP candidate spending cash on clothes, well at least not in my opinion. Let’s face it, like it or not, clothes make the man (and the woman). Why I think they SHOULD be spending all that money on Sarah Palin’s wardrobe! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Like it or not, for the most part we are a very visual society. We like to look at things that are neatly wrapped and certainly our political candidates are included in this as well. Regardless of what some may have you think or try to make you think, what your mother said lo those many years ago is true. You only get one chance to make a first impression and first impressions count. What do you really want to see, Sarah Palin in some off the rack suit that you might see a junior loan officer wearing? Absolutely not, like it or not we as Americans love glamour and our affair with fashion goes back far longer than when all the rappers turned clothing designers.

And honestly, do you really think that the amount that she spends on her clothes should even be a consideration? I mean, they raise millions upon millions of dollars for these campaigns and in my opinion since it’s all about image (and in the case of the GOP, trying to destroy Obama’s image with all the ridiculous terrorist talk) shouldn’t the campaign spend their money to make her look great? They absolutely should and you’ll forgive me for once again taking a line out of the musical Evita, “I came from the people, they need to adore me, so Christian Dior me from my head to my toes…” Rather than thinking the public will be upset with the expenditure what I think you’ll see are women who support the McCain/Palin ticket dressing a little better, which means shopping, which means improving the economy in their own small way. (And if I may add, will benefit everyone because as a nation we pretty much dress like slobs)

Now, having said all that I do wonder exactly why they spent money not only on Palin but her entire family. Oh wait, I’ve seen some coverage of the people of Alaska and let’s just say that we now know it isn’t exactly the fashion capital of the world. Although if that’s the case you think they could have done a little better when it came to dressing those kids, what are their names? Tic, Tac, Willow and Why as well as new recruit Levi, the “boy who would be married off to Bristol.”

Finally what cracked me up the most was that the campaign has fought back by saying that they have intended to take the duds accumulated from stores like Saks and Neiman Marcus and give them to charity after the campaign. What?!? This is the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. Do you really think you’re going to pry those tailored suits out of the hands of a woman who holds on to a shotgun with such deft precision she could get Levi to married her knocked up daughter or shoot wolves from a plane? I don’t think so. Honestly, all they have to do is sell one suit on Ebay and give the money to charity and Palin can keep the rest of her fancy duds.

Frankly I don’t understand the fascination of anyone even wanting any of the Palin suits. I mean, pardon me for being gay for a moment but it isn’t as if they are Dorothy’s ruby slippers or Johnny Weisemuller’s loin cloth from when he played “Tarzan.”

I think in this case the media is trying to make a hemline into a headline and I think most of America is smart enough to know the difference. (Now whether or not they know what length that hemline should be for each season is another matter entirely.) Why I think they SHOULD be spending all that money on Sarah Palin’s wardrobe! – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Where The Barista Boys Are – Don’t Get Me Started!

There’s an old movie that stars Connie Francis and it’s all about some college girls heading down to the beach to find boys to fall in love with – no surprise that they all do just that and then some. However recently I’ve been wondering more and more, where the barista boys are? – Don’t Get Me Started!

When I first started going to Starbucks…gee, I can’t really remember my first step into that coffee/opium den with the green awnings but whenever it was let’s just say that I’ve been Starbucks in at least seven or eight states (including the original Starbucks store in Seattle – I mention that a lot with great pride which is either really pathetic or just plain silly) so I’ve been in my fair share of the Starbucks and I’m pretty good at seeing the cast of characters that work there. While there were always the cute girls (a lot of who are Asian for some reason) there were definitely the Pre-Emo (no, I didn’t mean Pre-Elmo) boys. You know the type, dyed black hair, seeming a little too sensitive for anyone’s patience and at the same time very friendly, in short The Barista Boys – why there was never a calendar I’m sure that I don’t know.

There was a barista boy at the Starbucks by my house who was the perfect Barista Boy version 2.0. He didn’t have the dark dyed hair, instead his head was almost shaved but in more of a “I’m young and losing my hair so I’ve shaved it down” instead of “I’m a skinhead and I shaved my head like the Nazi’s shaved your ancestors heads!” way. His name was Jack. Jack was this easy going (at least from what I could see from our five minute interactions) with tattoos that were barely visible from his barista drag and seemed always happy to see you. We laughed when they had the stuffed bears that were supposed to be the Bearista Bear – it was supposed to be a guy bear with his jaunty cap and his messenger bag. He joked about how meterosexual the bear was and while we never discussed it, I think that Jack was a bit of a metrosexual himself. You see, he was one of those guys that could talk to anyone – he flirted with life. I watched him as he made me feel good about myself as well as the mother of three trying to get something into her kids and caffeine in herself as she stopped on the way taking them to school. He was a man among men that women and men alike liked, a lot. He wasn’t some big handsome guy but he had something more important, the gift of gab. One day Jack disappeared and what took his place took me aback to say the least.

In Jack’s (and in many other stores) what took their place are the soccer moms. I don’t know how else to describe them although I have to say that quite a lot of them seem more like the never married, wannabe soccer moms. No more the young college girls and boys working their way through school pushing coffee, suddenly it’s the land of middle aged coffee addicts and who wants to see that? If I want to see that I’ll look in the mirror. No more do you hear the “kids” talking about being hung over from going out on a Wednesday night or talking about their philosophy class, now you just have middle aged women who make sure everything is clean. Sure clean is important but come on.

In fact at the Starbucks near my office the manager is certainly not the manager of a few years ago. Once upon a time the managers consisted of us “gays” and young women. The manager at the one near my office now is a man who has to be in his forties. He’s straight – do you want to know why I know he’s straight? Because three times last week his graying black hair was so fucked up in the back and not in a just fucked way but more like when you don’t wash and style your hair everyday but you use some product to make the front lay down but meanwhile the back of your hair is waving in the wind as if you just rubbed a balloon on it to stick it to a wall. No self-respecting gay would ever walk around like that, I can tell you that to be a fact.

So as Starbucks closes many of its stores that seem to be every five feet in some places I have a favor to ask…bring back the real Barista Boys!! Where the barista boys are? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Madonna’s Coming Home To New York? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m not someone who goes in for every detail of every celebrity’s life. Let’s face it, more than half of the crap is most likely made up and most of the time it’s by the celebrity’s own camp so really is there any point to reading any of the trash magazines or going to tmz.com every six minutes for a page six type update? For some I know they love and thrill at every moment of it but me, not so much. However, the news that Madonna and Guy Richie are divorcing and now sources stating that most likely Madonna will want to raise the kids in New York has me thinking. Madonna coming home to New York? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’ve always liked Madonna and while I do applaud her for constantly updating herself and striking out to create new ways to reinvent herself (although I have to say that from my perspective some were more successful than some others) but God love, Madonna. I mean, who else is Madonna? No one, that’s who. She has managed to dazzle us for more years than even I care to remember.

I like that she’ll be back in the states for a number of reasons but I think mainly I’m excited because perhaps she’ll be able to shake off that British-ish accent she decided to adopt when going over there. You see, I can’t use a Madonna that’s prim, proper and British. I have no time for her children’s books about tea parties. The only tea parties I want Madonna at are the gay ones, thank you very much. And with her possibly coming home to the states I dare say us gays just might get a chance to see her at one sooner than we ever expected.

So much is written about Madonna (including that supposedly nasty book by her brother, “Madonna Dearest” or whatever the hell it was called. Should have been called “Desperately Seeking Fame As A Celebrity Sibling” but that’s a lot of “S” sounds even for a straight man of which Madonna’s brother is not) and whether or not you believe what you read is up to you but it’ll just be good to have her closer to home where we can get the made-up news faster.

The one thing that I really hope Madonna doesn’t try to do once she’s back on her native soil is to act. I don’t know about you but I think that she has time and time again shown that while she has a great act, acting is not part of it nor should it be. My mother always says, “Do what you know.” And in this case I would say the same to Madonna. And for all you gays and lovers of Madonna out there please don’t go on and on about Evita because in my opinion she was just fair in that effort, the score had to be lowered for her so it doesn’t sound as dynamic and that additional song she had added was just stupid (in my humble opinion). True when you compare it to her other legendary flops that one looks mighty good but come on kids, let’s be realistic here, shall we?

Still, all in all I’m pretty excited about having Madonna possibly home. Well, well, Hello Madonna. Well Hello Madonna, it’s so nice to have you back where you belong. Madonna coming home to New York? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Yes, Lipton Onion Dip With Sour Cream But Low Fat
Chips – What?!? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Contrary to what a lot of people may think, this gay doesn’t go to a lot of parties. I hate to break it to you but my life is much more pedestrian than my gay counterparts on television would lead you to believe. And when I do go to a party I’ve reached an age where they mostly serve Ahi Tuna appetizers instead of the classic Lipton’s Onion Soup dip mix or the classic homemade Chex mix (much to my disappointment). So every once in awhile I find myself craving some of that classic party crappy food and this past weekend was one of those times. So yes, Lipton onion dip with sour cream but low fat chips – what?!? – Don’t Get Me Started!

First of all, what was I thinking? I was the only one in the house this weekend and with no self control for portion sizes whatsoever this could only go badly. And so it did. I made the dip about 1:30am Friday night (no, this was not a munchies thing based on drug use) and by 2:15am I had consumed at least a third of it even though according to the side of the box you’re supposed to let it chill for a period of time. There was no time for chilling when it’s 1:30am and you’re craving something.

But let’s go back a step for a moment. Let’s go back to the moment when I was standing in the grocery store at 1:00am with only the people stocking the shelves. These people who stock the shelves late at night seem to be part of a society all on their own. They’re really friendly and they are the elves who make the shelves look so lovely for the morning and day shoppers. They’re a silent breed that seems like silent giants, rolling large palates of boxes of stuff and filling the shelves. Here’s a shout out to all of them and what they do for us. As I’ve always been worried about what everyone thinks of me I found the need to pick up more than just the makings of the dip and chips. Let’s be honest, they don’t care but in my mind I didn’t want to seem like some junkie trying to fill the “munchies” need. I picked up some chicken breasts and some other stuff but when I came to the chip aisle I was stuck wondering what chip to get. Should I get the rippled chips because they were sturdy and would hold the dip? Should I get something that was all ready seasoned in some way to create even more of a junk fest in my body? And then I saw these chips that were not baked (those hideous cardboard tasting things that have more in common with Styrofoam then chips) but because of the way the chips were fried they were supposedly less fattening and better for you. They didn’t use any hydrogenated oils and that seemed to be a good thing. So even though they were more expensive and I didn’t really know how exactly much less fat they were these were the chips that I ended up getting.

As I ate my chips and dip I couldn’t help but wonder who I was kidding with the whole “less fat” chips? Seriously, I’ve always been one of those people who mock the people who load up plates at a buffet or get everything “super sized” at a fast food place and then order a Diet Coke. Who are they kidding I think? Who was I kidding now? In both cases, no one is being fooled, not even your body. I desperately want to be one of those people who can “eat anything” or be one of those people who “eat like the French” (small portions and savoring every bite – saw it on Oprah) but neither of these are me and I don’t think that they ever will be me.

And because of all the watching of Oprah shows and reading diet sites I know that the reason that I got the “less fat” chips was that I thought that the whole experience could be made “less bad” if I tried to cut down the fat somewhere. It didn’t make it any better or worse. My body rejected it like the poison that it was and the weekend became yet another “Lost Weekend” but somewhere in my head and heart I know I’ll do it again. I can’t help myself. Yes, Lipton onion dip with sour cream but low fat chips – what?!? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Project Runway Season 5 Finale – Don’t Get Me Started!

Okay, I admit that I’m probably more than a little jaded when it comes to Project Runway. After being voted the Ultimate Fan Blogger for Season 3 (See those blogs here… http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikerunway.html) and having my blog appear each week on bravotv.com, then being asked to lend my services again for Season 4 only to be told after three weeks (and not seeing any blogs) that I had been fired before I guess I was actually hired (Read that blog here… http://www.somelikeitscott.com/somelikerunway4.html) let’s just say that much like people who “hate the sin but not the sinner” I only hate the website/editors/marketing team of the show and have remained a loyal fan of the show. Project Runway Season 5 – Don’t Get Me Started!

This season started off with a yawn and never really raised above it all that much. It seems as though instead of attracting new, young, hungry designers that once again the field is mucked up with a bunch of people who all ready think they know everything but just want publicity. So it was no surprise that when the contestants were narrowed down that once again a “bitch” began emerging. Since the first Project Runway, the judges (or producers to make good TV, not sure which) took a bitch into the finale. Season 1 was Wendy and this season it’s Kenley! Disrespectful to Tim and Heidi in a single swoop, this Betty Page wannabe filled the bill nicely.

Going into the finale, Girl Power or is that Cat Power (as they all seem to have found their claws when criticizing one another behind each other’s backs during the finale) at least from the look of the collections we were in for some new stuff that we hadn’t seen before. (Except for Kenley who as Tim Gunn reprimanded, needs to get some fashion history behind her)

Kenley was a favorite of mine from early on. Who cares that she seemed to be only interested in harkening back an era of the past with her own fashion sense, hair and make-up; I really liked the stuff she turned out. That is until things like the making Leeanne into a Hip Hop diva challenge where she defended her way off base look and got mad at Leeanne when the only person she should have been mad at was herself. I also didn’t care for her lack of respect for Tim or anyone else on the show. As a continual “rule follower” in my own life, this always makes me uncomfortable. I don’t find it to be rebellious, just find it to be…well, rude. When her show started the first thought I had was that it looked very 80’s to me. More than just looking 80’s, it specifically looked a little like what the girls in the Nagel lithos that were popular on many an apartment wall in the 80’s might have been wearing. There were a few modern great moments like the short ivory dress with the hand painting, the bride’s maid dress she had made in the final challenge and the wedding dress, which I thought was adorable (and in hindsight is probably what Bjork had wished her designer had created for her) and although when I saw all the looks come down the runway I could see a cohesive collection, it just wasn’t a “winning” collection to me.

Next up was Korto. I have liked her throughout the show but became increasingly worried that she had become the “crier” of the show. If there’s one thing I hate it’s a crier (remember Andrae from Season 2? UGH!). I liked her design esthetic but toward the end of the season she seemed to be falling apart little by little. The one thing I knew from Tim’s visit to her studio where she was working on her collection was that she was going to bring more color to the finale than any other designer had ever brought (from a bold perspective). When her models came down the runway there was no denying Korto’s talent…talent for a pleat. I get that she was going for Africa meets America but those pleats on every piece tended to get boring to me. Of course those who feel she should have won have yelled at me continuously that it was her style choice for this collection and that I don’t know anything. I loved the color, the fans and did feel as though her collection was cohesive and very pretty.

Throughout the season I’ve felt that Leeanne was sort of one of those nerdy girls from high school who seems afraid of her shadow as she sits for hours and hours not ever being asked out but making her sewing machine her boyfriend. There were very few “WOWs” from Leeanne but she did seem to have a new perspective during the season with her architectural sense about fashion that always managed to keep her “in.” When her fashion show began in “the tents” hers was the only one that from the first look rounding the corner had me doing that semi-gay intake of breath that only exhales with the word, “pretty.” Although I felt (like the judges) that if I saw one more “petal” I was going to scream, the fact of the matter was that she was the only one who showed a little bit of everything, dresses, blouses, pants, shorts, basically anything that could have a petal put on it.

So the finale was not the nail biter that they have been in the past but Project Runway continues to deliver the same finale result. If you’re the designer who is a bit off or seems as though you’re bringing something that makes a regular person say, “What the hell is that?” then it’s deemed fashion of the highest order and awarded the big prize. Such was the case once more when Leeanne for her petal pushing designs took the top prize. True to form, there was no screaming, just a well up but not overflow of tears, just the girl left home on prom night feeling vindicated.

I’ll continue to love me some Project Runway and I’ll continue to watch every season they make it, my hope is just that they find some designers for next season who have the energy and television appeal of the Austin Scarlett’s of seasons past because although it’s about fashion, it’s always good to have a little drama to keep us glued (or sewed as the case may be) to our televisions week after week.

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Thirty-Seven Hispanic Women And One Jewish Gay Man In A Zumba Class – Don’t Get Me Started!

It started out like a really good idea. A pal of mine recently discovered a new exercise program named, “Zumba” it supposedly mixes cardio (cardio is the new aerobics) with those crazy Latin moves of Cha Cha, Samba and so on. The idea is that you’re supposed to be so into your own Dancing With The Stars moment that you forget that you’re exercising. When I saw that my gym offered free classes on one evening a week I decided to go to my first Zumba class to Zumba my way to fitness. So there I was, thirty-seven Hispanic women and one Jewish gay man in a Zumba class – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m not a “joiner” per se, never have been so the fact that I even went at all is more of a shock to me than anyone. But there I was, rushing home from work, throwing off my clothes to change into some sweatpants and a “t” and away I went to the gym. I got there about ten minutes early (which is late in my be a half an hour early for everything in your life standard) so I decided to just get on an elliptical machine for the ten minutes. Now I’m used to going to the gym around 5:30 in the morning so basically it’s a bunch of old people and me. But let me just tell you that the gym at night is sort of like that cafeteria in high school they magically transformed into the prom – a different story entirely. First of all, it was wall to wall people. I don’t even know that you could see the weights or machines for all the people. There was more grunting and sweating going on that at the world’s largest orgy (or so I’ve heard – wink, wink). There were the guys checking out the girls, the girls checking out the guys, the guys following other guys to the shower and last but not least, the lesbians…the only ones there who really seemed to be there to work out. It was odd to be in a place I know so well but not know it at all.

As I was on the elliptical machine I could still see into the classroom where the Zumba would be taught. I could see that there was a Yoga class going on at the moment. As I continued on the treadmill of life, I noticed that all of these women started appearing. There they were in their workout outfits (complete with headbands that would have made Olivia-Newton John proud) they stood quietly staring at the Yoga people but as the minutes ticked away, so did their pleasant demeanor. The crowd that had formed seemed to becoming a mob. They looked at one another, throwing their hands in the air and then pointing to the watches that they weren’t wearing on their wrists. Then there would be a collective chuckle that seemed to have an undertone of, “The next time those Yogaites go into a down dog, let’s shove their face into their rubber mats.” I looked away for only a moment but when I looked back I saw that there they were…the ladies who Zumba, entering the room before the Yoga people could utter a Namaste.

The Yoga instructor was a perky blonde that looked as though she could have done infomercials in the late 90’s. Not really Yogaesque at all but who knows, maybe she was good. As the Granola Gang wound up their mats, the floor became full of Hispanic women with the thinnest eyebrows in the world painted on their foreheads that would be gone ten minutes into the class and of course I was there. As Suzy Yoga who became Suzy Zumba without missing a beat asked if it was anyone’s first time Zumbaing I shot up my hand (something I’ve never done in my life…again a surprise to myself). As all eyes went to me I can’t say that anyone there was really surprised, they all seemed to know one another (and no, I don’t mean that in a racial way like when someone finds out I’m Jewish and asks if I know someone they met once who was Jewish). About this time a large Hispanic man came into the class and stood next to me. He looked like a block of cheese (no doubt Monterey Jack and a little con queso dip thrown in for good measure) he looked like he was in his early fifties and had been either a police officer or fireman (boys, put the fantasy back and we’re back to my story). As Suzy explained that in Zumba you’re not “cued” what to do next but to not let that worry me and to just keep moving and do whatever I want because as long as I was moving I was Zumbaing according to her. Now having taken a lot of dance classes and taught a lot of dance classes, while I could understand the not “cueing” the whole just do whatever the hell you want idea seemed more than a little bit odd to me.

The music started and we were off, doing a little Cha Cha, Samba and a lot of jumping around. I can’t imagine what these women with their large breasts were doing as the jumping continued at a maddening pace but I know one thing and that was that I just kept reminding myself to breathe. After the first number (which lasted about ten minutes) Mr. Block O’ Cheese looked over to me with a smile and asked, “Are you okay?” A lovely gesture and let’s face it, this wasn’t his first time out at the Zumba rodeo, he knew the steps and for looking like a block of cheese he certainly was breathing easier than me at the moment.

In between numbers Suzy would give everyone little breaks and then on to the next number where she would run around amongst all of us asking us to scream real loud. (It was a little like being on Pee Wee’s Playhouse and someone saying the secret word). So there we were, Sambaing, sweating, Cha Chaing, sweating, swinging our towels over our heads and sweating some more. All in all it was a pretty fun hour though when I told my pal about it she assured me that there was an actual method to the madness and she vowed to get me a “real” Zumba teacher at some point.

I’ll go back to Zumba class and I’ll sweat to the Latin rhythms while the meat market goes on beyond the clear glass walls of the classroom/studio. Just me and my gals and Mr. Block O’ Cheese, what a team we make. Let’s just hope I don’t get an urge to shave my eyebrows and paint them on with one of my cats’ whiskers! Thirty-seven Hispanic women and one Jewish gay man in a Zumba class – Don’t Get Me Started!

Watch Zumba here...
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NZVIv5Wmlts

(P.S. I’ve now watched some Zumba videos on YouTube and it looks nothing like what anyone was doing in my class…but I’m going back, like Carmen Miranda sang, “We’re going and we’re gonna have a happy time!”)

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A Picture Is Worth A Thousand Insults – Don’t Get Me Started!

Let’s face it, I know I’m heavier than I’ve ever been, everyone who knows me knows I’m heavier than I’ve ever been but thank God the people I know have the good taste to just talk about it behind my back. I’m not a go out and party kind of gay, in fact I haven’t been a go out and party kind of gay since the late 80’s but last weekend I was asked to go out with some chums and decided to go. To say I’m out of the loop is one of the largest understatements ever but I guess with all the MySpace and Facebook out there I should have known that an evening out in this day and age is all about the pictures. (It’s like going out with Japanese tourists for Chrissakes!) And what I discovered was that a picture is worth a thousand insults – Don’t Get Me Started!

I did what I could in a last minutey kind of way by not overdoing it in the eating department for the four days prior. The day of the “going out” I even carefully chose what I would and wouldn’t eat. Why I’m sure I don’t know as there was no way I was going to lose the twenty pounds I needed to by the evening. But at the very least I could eat in a way that wouldn’t make me feel as bloated as I looked. So when I put on my little Garanimals outfit I convinced myself that I looked pretty good. The jeans had been worn just enough times so that they were a little loose but not so loose that it looked as though I bought them six sizes larger just to say, “Gee, these pants are falling off me. I need to get some new pants.” So all in all, from the waist up I was more than a little presentable.

I knew that everyone would be wearing their “club blackwear” so I decided to use my “dare to be different attitude” and do the whole Harry Potter seen through colorful glasses fashion statement. The jeans, a dark blue – the shirt, lavender with French cuffs - the sweater vest, blue – the tie, red and blue classic stripe. When I got it all together I allowed the shirt tail to show just a touch from below the sweater and I was quite pleased with myself. (See picture)

So imagine my surprise when today I was forwarded pictures from the event and discovered that my waist looks so large that I look pregnant. Somewhere along the way during the evening apparently the lavender shirt was no longer “peeking out” from the bottom of the sweater to help break up the fattitude. I don’t know if because it had gotten cold here it had curled up to stay warm or if it was just a matter of my gargantuan stomach eating up all the fabric of the shirt. Whatever happened, it was (as my family would put it) “not good” and I am mortified. (See picture 2)

I come from a long line of pot bellied man. My grandfather had one, my father has one, my brother has one so why I thought I would be the only one to NOT have one I’m sure I don’t know. If truth be told, I’ve always had one no matter how thin or fat I was at any given point in my life. But now it’s simply gotten out of control. Oooh, control top underwear…maybe that’s what I need to do. I’ve seen it in the International Male catalog’s underwear catalog called, “Undergear.” I mean, I have to do something until I can “AB Lounger” my way out of this situation don’t I? The one thing I do know is that no more pictures below the sternum! (I’ve always had a lovely sternum – does anyone use the word, “sternum” anymore?)

I’ve started back at the gym and I’m going to do whatever it takes to get rid of my forty-something forty pounds overweight but if you’re like me and you haven’t really looked at your abdomen in awhile I encourage you to put that digital camera of yours on self-timer and just go for it. Take a full length picture of yourself because no matter how much you convince yourself that you look “good enough” until you truly see yourself the way the camera sees you, you may never know…what I didn’t know. A picture is worth a thousand insults – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Introspection – Don’t Get Me Started!

Some may think that Yom Kippur is all about the atoning and fasting. Sure I did plenty of both of those but besides leaving technology behind for the day (it wasn’t easy not sneaking a peek at the iphone today) the most difficult thing was all the thinking about my life and myself. Introspection – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know there are people out there who meditate everyday and that there are people like my cousin who went to a retreat where they spent the first three days not speaking, sitting cross legged and just feeling their breath fall over their upper lip but for most of us, how much time do you really spend thinking about you? Not about how much you weigh, how much you hate your hair or whether or not you should be eating the entire pint of Ben and Jerry’s in one sitting. No, I’m talking about who you are, how you conduct yourself on a regular basis and believe it or not, even though it sounds like when you were a little kid, what you want to be when you grow up. Well, this Yom Kippur I did a whole lot of that and I can tell you something, it was exhausting.

I suddenly know why we all fill our days looking at emails, playing with our phones and ipods and racing our kids to every known activity to man. The reason is that you don’t have to think about you. How convenient, right? We’re all so busy being ourselves that how much time do we really spend just with ourselves in silence letting the thoughts that are usually reserved for late at night when we can’t sleep creep into our actual consciousness? Well, I let it all in.

I kept coming back to a central theme. I wanted to call it, “My Trip To Ordinary” because you see from the first moment I can remember I wanted to be a star. Not just in show business but I mean a part of it in such a way that you could only get if you were Liza Minnelli and your parents were Judy Garland and Vincent Minnelli. I wanted everyone to know my name, to want to be me and more importantly I wanted to do it all just by being me. Well, if you’ve read any of my other blog entries you know that I call myself the “greatest never was been there ever was” and while it’s fun to laugh at, it’s truer than any of you might know. So starting out wanting to be a legend in “the show business” and ending up as an Executive Assistant with two cats and the same man in my life for twenty years I would say I’m as normal as normal can be. No glitter, no press releases, just me so in a lot of ways I feel as though I went from being on stage at an early age to finding myself where I never thought that I’d be…among the normal folk. And I don’t know that I’m very happy with it at all.

True, I began this blog and have had some success with it but it’s not Scott Baio success and that’s what I was after but after I got through the first hour or so of thinking about how I wasn’t in “the show business” anymore I began to really think about me and who I’ve become. I’m a caring person who has never been fired from a job, always made things better when I left than when I started a project whether it was something corporate or a musical and I’m loved and I know it. You see, the hard part is that last part, knowing that you’re loved. It’s taken me a long time, always subscribing to the Groucho Marx theory – “I would never want to be a member of a club that would have me as a member” – for a very long time I couldn’t fathom why anyone would like or dare I say it, love me outside my parents who are Jewish co-dependents of the highest order and loving me is not an option for them, it exudes out of every pore.

The thing is that I encourage you whether your Jewish or not, to take a day to isolate yourself from everything but yourself and do some serious thinking. I don’t know if I was able to atone for every sin I managed to create in the last year but I know I came out of that day with a better understanding of myself and a better attitude about me. It didn’t start out that way and there were some tough moments but I feel as though I faced the biggest demon in my life, myself. And I lived to tell the tale in all its sadness, happiness, humor and unexpected glory of discovering there was a lot to love about myself. Introspection – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Why Being A Jew Works For Me – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’ve often said that since I was raised Jewish and it’s all I’ve ever known it’s a little difficult to imagine myself and my family as anything but Jewish. And as the Jewish New Year begins and I find myself reflecting and preparing for Yom Kippur I can’t help but be very thankful that I was born a Jew, am a Jew and so here’s why being a Jew works for me – Don’t Get Me Started!

I think my thoughts went to this topic when last week I had a banter back and forth with a woman who commented on my blog regarding the Vice Presidential candidates speeches about gay marriage. She quoted the bible to me and wrote about my being judged when my life ends, etc. All the typical stuff you can imagine. I began to think about this woman and how sorry she felt for me for being a homosexual and assured me that if I were just to take Jesus into my heart I would be absolved of my sins. The thing is that I <looks right, looks left> don’t need Jesus. I know, I know it will be difficult for many to believe but I don’t need Jesus, there I’ve said it.

I don’t mean that in a nasty way at all. I fully respect the people who carry Jesus in their heart and use the teachings that were written about in the bible to guide their life but it’s not for me. One of the things that I find most amazing about Judaism is that it encourages you to ask questions, to begin a dialogue with yourself as well as your rabbi and your community. Sure there are absolutes in the religion but it still encourages you to ask the questions, to listen to someone else’s interpretation, respecting one another’s opinions and understand that it is just that, an “interpretation” as that person understands it.

At an early age I found myself going to a lot of funerals for members of my family. I don’t know that I fully understood what was going on (even though some of the funerals were when I was in my twenties) but I understood about sitting Shiva. That period of mourning reserved for sitting in a house and reflecting back on the person’s life that had passed. Twice I sat in my father’s parents’ house, first for my grandfather and then for my grandmother. The entire family was together and as we sat there sharing stories, having people stop over to visit we found a way to remember the good times even though we were going through some of the worst times. That’s another thing about Judaism that appeals to me, the sense of balance. The remembering good times during bad times and vice versa. It allows us to stop and take stock in those high and low moments in our life and understand that there is more out there, more than just this moment, more than just us.

Although I wasn’t raised in the most religious household in the world, I was schooled in the Jewish holidays (well, most of them) and I certainly knew when Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur were. You see the Jewish New Year is different than party hats and drunken people in the streets when a ball drops in Times Square. It’s a time of great reflection and introspection, a time for you to take stock of what you’ve done the past year and how you want to move forward for the coming year. I want to be better at a lot of things. I want to be more patient with my parents. I want to have as much an eye for detail when it comes to my partner as I do at my job. I want to be better in a lot of ways. I also want to not be so hard on myself. Whether it’s making sure this blog is updated every day to wondering if anyone is reading it and hoping people “like me, really like me” I want to let go a little.

I know that I tend to “make fun” of religious zealots in my blog but I have great respect for them. I respect that they feel so full of the “glory of God” that they have to share it with everyone (as much as it gets on my nerves) but I’ll never understand their lack of consideration when it comes to people with different views than their own. This intolerance is intolerable to me.

When I was six a couple of brothers that we played with in the neighborhood told my brother and I that they couldn’t play with us anymore because we were “dirty Jews” (according to his father). When I was in high school I was called “fag” every day (sometimes more than once a day, many more times than once a day most of the time). I fell in love with a black man who in his own lifetime experienced not being able to drink from the same water fountain as white people. All this to say that I know a little bit about persecution for my religious beliefs as well as my lifestyle from more than a one or two time experience.

But I also know the joy of never going a day without knowing how loved I am by my entire family (no matter what I was doing or who I was doing it with). I know the joy of finding someone who loves me with all my flaws and my abilities. And so as I take time to reflect on the past year this Yom Kippur I’ll look even further back than this past year at both good and bad times. And I’ll be thankful for all of those times because they have shaped me into who I am today. Can I be a better me? Yes.  Are there things I’ve done wrong? You bet. But in my heart of hearts I realize that I’m a good person who has the good fortune of being loved and been given the ability to see humor in so many things that could have been crushing blows to me. All in all it’s been a good year and it’ll be an even better New Year especially with what I’ve learned and continue to learn about myself. So L’Shana Tova to you all…and to all a good night.  

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Door To Door Politico – Don’t Get Me Started!

It was last Saturday and I was lying on my couch. That’s right, although the sun was shining and the weather was beautiful I was inside lying on my couch watching all the shows that I had Tivo’d from the previous week. A knock came at the door (an unusual thing to be sure) and as I pulled myself from the couch, with no real concern for the fact that I looked like hell, having been laying on one side, the hair with product from the day before all pushed up that gave me that Grandpa Munster look but good, I opened the door and there he was – the door to door politico – Don’t Get Me Started!

He did a really good job of not looking shocked by my appearance (a true test of his acting abilities to be sure considering what I looked like) and immediately asked for my mate by name. He was reading from a list that was on a clipboard. All at once it made me feel a little as though he was the bouncer from a great club and once again I was not on the list. I explained that I was not my mate but that my name was Scott and he seemed a bit disinterested or perhaps I had just thrown him off his game. You know, not what he had expected or something. At any rate, I thought that he would look for me on the list. And even though I’m gay and we’re not married I had hoped that at least on this list that we might have our names appear next to one another. Especially when you consider he was wearing an Obama t-shirt (no doubt he was a Democrat politico) and as we’re both registered Democrats, live in the same place and he had Michael’s name surely he would have mine there somewhere on the list. But once he found out I wasn’t Michael he seemed to not really care who I was – almost as if I would receive the “generic” speech as opposed to the personalized one for Michael. The thought did race through my mind to say, “I’m the short Jew in the couple, Michael is the six foot black man – believe me, you’d know the difference.” But between not being on the list and trying to resist the urge to scratch myself in the crotch I decided to just let it go and hear the guy out.

From the top of his almost natural red hair, the product that was in it, the way he wore his Obama shirt and the large silver ring on his thumb I knew instantly that he was as we say (or as my grandmother used to say) “a gay.” He wasn’t swishy but if being gay for almost forty-four years hasn’t taught me how to spot another gay then I should be thrown off the team.

He immediately asked if I knew who Michael was voting for – this seemed like an odd question due to the fact that I really think that’s a personal type question, isn’t it? And for God sakes, why didn’t he care about who I was voting for for Chrissakes??? If there’s one thing I can’t take, it’s not being popular and at this point I was far from the popular choice when it came to my opinion. To say I got quickly annoyed was an understatement as I looked over my shoulder to make sure that America’s Next Top Model was still paused on the television.

That’s when I decided to do what I do best in life, take the reigns and show this guy the back seat. I said, “Let me make this easier for you. We’re both voting for Obama. How’s that?” He emotionally stumbled a bit and trying to recover started to pull out an early voting card with information on it out of his back pocket. Before he could finish his sentence of, “Here’s some Early Votin…” I jumped in, “I have the brochure that came in the mail. Yes, we’ll be doing the early voting.” An awkward smile was exchanged, I think he thanked me and I closed the door and was able to complete the long awaited scratch of my balls. (No one said gay was pretty all the time).

About three hours later I had showered, shaved and prettied myself when I went to run some errands. As I went to get into my car I noticed an unmistakable redhead (not Ann-Margaret or Lucille Ball) crossing the street to his car. We looked at one another and nodded, you know that head bop you do when you really don’t have anything to say but need to acknowledge the other person. I was surprised that he was still in the neighborhood. I guess there are more Democrats than I knew living around me. I wondered how many conversations he had with people and if they were easy or difficult and I thought it must not be very easy to be a door to door politico. I also wished that I had bothered to at least try to smooth my hair down or make it look better and I was suddenly okay with not being on the list. When the Mormons come to the door they have Jesus but this guy was only armed with a clipboard. Suddenly in my mind I began to sing the Oscar winning (can you believe it) song, It’s Hard Out Here For A Pimp except I changed the word Pimp to Politico. Door to door politico – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Are McCain’s Arms Too Short To Box With God? – Don’t Get Me Started!

What in the world is going on with John McCain’s short arms? I read somewhere online that he broke both his arms at one point and no doubt that’s why he has the unfortunate quality of having short arms. So sorry but he looks like a baby Tyrannosaurus Rex when he gestures. It made me think of that Broadway show (of course) Your Arms Are Too Short To Box With God but in his case, it’s McCain’s arms that are too short to box with God – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know in the past I’ve thought of John McCain as a hairless cat (he still reminds me of one what with his hair and skin all appearing to be the same color) but in watching a recent speech of his, the arm thing just really got on my nerves. It reminded me of a special once where Bill Melendez, who was the animator for the Peanuts cartoons was talking about the first time Charles M. Schultz approached him to turn the comic strip into a cartoon. Melendez pointed out that the fundamental problem was that Schultz had drawn the arms of the characters too short. So short in fact that when the characters lifted their arms, they wouldn’t even reach above their heads. Hmmm, I’m wondering if McCain’s arms can reach over his head?

This is the part of the election I think I hate the most, when both candidates resort to the name calling, trudging up a picket the other one was at in 1972 and all the rest of the crap. At a time when we more than ever need our candidates to be telling us where they plan to take the country, why are we doomed to listen to just more attacks? Don’t they know that we become immune to it at some point? For me personally, that point has been reached.

But back to short arms McCain. I found this photo of the Peanuts gang and I started to allow my mind to wander a bit. Could Palin be considered the “Lucy” of the campaign? After all, much like Lucy who continually picked up the football right when Charlie Brown was going to kick it, hasn’t Palin stolen McCain’s thunder? And what about “Sally?” I know that in the strip she’s Charlie Brown’s sister but perhaps she best epitomizes Cindy McCain? For Obama I would have to pick Snoopy. Why, because Snoopy is definitely the most lovable of the gang and seems to have the most imagination and sense. Biden is probably Linus, with his years and years in Congress being his blue blanket. I don’t know who really fits the bill for the rest of the political gang but imagining them as Peanuts characters sort of helps. It makes them seem like children who should but don’t know better.

Of course the problem is that we need leaders and not children, right? And what about the God vote? Well, Palin certainly will have the religious right on her side between wanting Roe v Wade overturned and that clip that shows her being “de-witched” at a church somewhere. But what of McCain? From all accounts he’s said enough to piss off the religious right on more than one occasion but like most things, the religious right may just be “stuck with him” just to get their gal pal Palin into the White House. The good news for McCain is that Palin has long, pageant girl arms from waving from floats. So he can count on her even if McCain’s arms are too short to box with God – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Good T-Shirts And Bad T-Shirts? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’m not quite sure when it happened but it happened like most things do, over time and without me realizing it. I was throwing on some clothes to go over to get some coffee on Sunday morning when I put on a t-shirt. That’s right, I had just taken off the t-shirt that I put on when I got out of bed and now I was taking one off and putting a different one on. One that I considered a “good” t-shirt or I guess one that I felt I could “wear out” as opposed to the gym t-shirts, the undershirts for work, the lounging around the house t-shirts. So many t-shirts and so many rules I have about them. Good t-shirts and bad t-shirts? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Now I know that I’m not the only person in the world who does this but it just struck me as ridiculous. I get that there are some t-shirts you buy that cost a bazillion dollars from some designer who put a bunch of wings and Latin writing on them and you’re supposed to be able to wear it to the swankiest club or dinner but come on kids, it’s still just a t-shirt. Cotton, jersey, comfy and a t-shirt. I was thinking about the whole Ed Hardy looking t-shirts and now the ones by Affliction. The Ed Hardy ones that are more “mainstream” now, you know they look as if they’re tattoo art really. They recently opened a club at one of the casinos here in Vegas designed by Ed Hardy artist, Christian Audigier. The night the club opened he was there in person “cutting” t-shirts. I don’t know if you lived through the 80’s but we all cut our shirts then. (Um…can you say, “Flashdance?” What a feelin’) You would cut slits in the back and then pull the t-shirt so that it had a bunch of “holes” in it that looked as if someone scratched the back out of the shirt. Same thing here just that it’s a three hundred dollar shirt and this dude was going to “cut it up” making it I guess more valuable. (More valuable like say a Beanie Baby no doubt – try paying your mortgage by using your limited edition Princess Diana beanie and let me know how far you get). Then there are the new Affliction ones that seem to be the only thing everyone is wearing nowadays. You know these shirts, they’re the ones with all the gothic looking images and Latin writing. Maybe it’s just me but I prefer the “Frankie Says Relax” t-shirts or the ones that say things like, “Trust Me, I’m A Doctor.”

But back to my original point, what is up with all the “good” t-shirts for only special occasions and the ones that can only go out at certain times and places? Let’s face it they’re all really just t-shirts kids. And who decides which ones are good enough to only get coffee and the ones that get to go out to clubs and restaurants? We play this game with ourselves and to what end? I know that I do it and I know you do too but what is really to be accomplished? Are we choosing the least worst of our clothes to be seen in public?

There was a time when I was little that we went to school in our “school clothes” and when we came home from school we would change into our “play clothes” and maybe that’s where this whole thing started. Maybe I’m prioritizing my t-shirts the way that the Garanimals when I was little taught me what shirt matched with what pants. I’m thinking that there are “coffee” shirts and “play” shirts. Who knows?

I do know that I adore the jersey sheets on my bed. Have you put those on your bed yet? They’re made from t-shirt material and they are the yummiest of sheets ever. Funny, I don’t think about whether or not the sheets are proper for all the occasions that happen in my bed. Hmmm…better not go there.

I guess I need to accept that I don’t really have a formal and casual closet. Sure I have some suits for business and some dress shirts, pants, etc. but when it comes to t-shirts I’m thinking that we’ve all sort of created a “class structure” for our shirts that really doesn’t need to exist. Don’t we all have enough to worry about? We have to add what shirt is suitable for markets and which are suitable for human meat markets? Haven’t we just made our lives more complicated? Good t-shirts and bad t-shirts? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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The Real Debate – Marriage Rights For Gays – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t help myself, after listening to the Vice Presidential debate last night I just can’t contain myself. That’s right, the Some Like It Scott soapbox is officially out, I’m standing on it (and I’m thanking God for it because it makes me look a little taller). The real debate – Marriage Rights for Gays – Don’t Get Me Started!

I raced home from work last night (yes, I’m one of the seven of us in this country who still have a job – geez) only to find the debate had started without me. I turned on the debate, fed and kissed the cats, threw off the work clothes and started to listen as I made myself a turkey burger (no bread, please I just started back at the gym and a salad). Well, before I could get my turkey in the pan, I started to hear the real turkeys answering one of the questions I wanted to hear them answer. Here’s the actual transcript of what was said:

IFILL: The next round of -- pardon me, the next round of questions starts with you, Senator Biden. Do you support, as they do in Alaska, granting same-sex benefits to couples?

BIDEN: Absolutely. Do I support granting same-sex benefits? Absolutely positively. Look, in an Obama-Biden administration, there will be absolutely no distinction from a constitutional standpoint or a legal standpoint between a same-sex and a heterosexual couple.

The fact of the matter is that under the Constitution we should be granted -- same-sex couples should be able to have visitation rights in the hospitals, joint ownership of property, life insurance policies, et cetera. That's only fair.

It's what the Constitution calls for. And so we do support it. We do support making sure that committed couples in a same-sex marriage are guaranteed the same constitutional benefits as it relates to their property rights, their rights of visitation, their rights to insurance, their rights of ownership as heterosexual couples do.

IFILL: Governor, would you support expanding that beyond Alaska to the rest of the nation?

PALIN: Well, not if it goes closer and closer towards redefining the traditional definition of marriage between one man and one woman. And unfortunately that's sometimes where those steps lead.

But I also want to clarify, if there's any kind of suggestion at all from my answer that I would be anything but tolerant of adults in America choosing their partners, choosing relationships that they deem best for themselves, you know, I am tolerant and I have a very diverse family and group of friends and even within that group you would see some who may not agree with me on this issue, some very dear friends who don't agree with me on this issue.

But in that tolerance also, no one would ever propose, not in a McCain-Palin administration, to do anything to prohibit, say, visitations in a hospital or contracts being signed, negotiated between parties.

But I will tell Americans straight up that I don't support defining marriage as anything but between one man and one woman, and I think through nuances we can go round and round about what that actually means.

But I'm being as straight up with Americans as I can in my non- support for anything but a traditional definition of marriage.

IFILL: Let's try to avoid nuance, Senator. Do you support gay marriage?

BIDEN: No. Barack Obama nor I support redefining from a civil side what constitutes marriage. We do not support that. That is basically the decision to be able to be able to be left to faiths and people who practice their faiths the determination what you call it.

The bottom line though is, and I'm glad to hear the governor, I take her at her word, obviously, that she think there should be no civil rights distinction, none whatsoever, between a committed gay couple and a committed heterosexual couple. If that's the case, we really don't have a difference.

IFILL: Is that what your said?

PALIN: Your question to him was whether he supported gay marriage and my answer is the same as his and it is that I do not.

IFILL: Wonderful. You agree. On that note, let's move to foreign policy.

What cowards. Come on say what you really want to say. Palin and McCain don’t support “gay marriage” because they’re religious zealots who oppose anything different from what they interpret from their bibles. Biden and Obama can’t support “gay marriage” because in a country that is run by the religious right it would be political suicide. So tell me then, what exactly are these “constitutional” and “legal” rights they want to give us? Do we get the tax break? How about health benefits? I think not.

That’s right they’ll allow us to be “partners” like in a business deal but for God sakes, don’t expect the government to enforce you getting tax breaks and health benefits. We’re just going to continue to legislate the way we hate you but talk about tolerance. Bullshit.

As I’ve said before, I don’t care about the word marriage. I don’t need that word but I demand the respect and rights that married citizens get in this country where every man is supposedly created equal. I received some emailed photos this week of my cousin who married his partner in England this week. Just the two of them signing some papers but I must confess I got a little teary looking at the photos. Tears of joy at seeing my cousin and his mate so happy and some tears of disgust that they can’t get married here (except in a few states) and that we as a nation who are supposedly the leaders of the free world aren’t leading this charge.

And honestly, why not let the gays have marriage? Just like everything else the homosexual community has done from making your hair and living room look better, going into rundown neighborhoods and revitalizing the houses and business by creating a gayborhood, we’ll do the same thing for marriage. ‘Cause we’re used to being told we’ll fail and proving everyone wrong. The real debate – Marriage Rights for Gays – Don’t Get Me Started!

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I Went Back To The Gym Today – Don’t Get Me Started!

I simply couldn’t take the inactivity anymore (Nor my fattitude). I haven’t been to the gym on a regular basis since I started my now not-so-new job (which I started in January 2008). I was always going to but with working late, going in early, there just never seemed to be the time. Or more specifically, the above compiled were what I deemed “good reasons” in my own mind as to why I “couldn’t” go to the gym. So as it’s the Jewish New Year and the start of a month, what better time to take my ass back to a place that might help it get back its proper ass shape? I went back to the gym today – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t completely remember but I think I did make a feeble attempt to go back to the gym once or twice about, gee, I don’t know, two or three months ago? It only lasted one or two days so it’s hardly worth mentioning other than to say that I have been in the building since January 2008.

But what I noticed this morning as I walked in was that not only was there not a huge party for me for returning, everything had remained exactly the same. From the half asleep front desk guy with the tattooed neck to the mostly elderly people who always worked out at this time of day. What was perhaps even more shocking was that none of these people looked any different. What I mean to say is that the fatties didn’t look any thinner and the thinnies didn’t look anymore bulked up than the last time that I saw them. That’s right it was like a time warp (of course the most warped thing about me currently is my stomach region).

I don’t get it. It frightens me. I mean, if I’m not going to see a difference then I’m in trouble (and so are all the clothes in my closet that have been sneering at me, as well as the pants that cry at night when I take them off, curled at the top, buttons sighing). I want to be like all those fit people you see in the gay magazines. I used to tell myself that they were only the young people but now there are plenty forty and fifty-something year olds who look amazing. You could bounce a quarter off of any part of their body and risk taking your eye out from the sheer force of the momentum. But is it too late for me? I mean, of course I can get more fit than I am now (and good for me) but if it doesn’t translate in body parts that I want to pop popping and those I want to lay flat, lay flat then what’s the use? I know, I know, that’s the exact wrong attitude to have in order to effect change.

One of my pals suggested a trainer. This pal has one of those quarter bounceable bodies and is only a couple years younger than me but let’s face it, he’s not from Jewish stock and I think his body has been working for years to get that way and stay that way, I’m joining the whole thing so late in the game. Remember that Grandma Moses sold her first art when she was around eighty, it doesn’t mean she could bench press 180 pounds. Plus I tried the whole trainer thing once and I guess it’s like therapists or designer clothes you have to keep trying them on until you find one that is that perfect fit but the nimrod I had hardly seemed worth the price of admission and that bothered me a lot (insert Jewish stereotype here).

No, I’m going to tough it out and go it on my own. I want to believe that I can look like the Bowflex guys with just thirty minutes a day but let’s face it, they’re actors who are hired because they all ready have those bodies, they didn’t get it from three chin ups and stretching a bungee cord from left to right for five minutes on a machine that can fold up under your bed but in most cases, stays out to dry your wet unmentionable laundry items (never to be used for its intended purpose). I want to believe I can get on something call an “AB Lounger” and while lounging somehow get rock hard abs that would make a child chip a tooth if they ran into my stomach (remember I’m short). And I’m sure that’s exactly what the “home fitness” market depends on. Us thinking that it’s going to be so very easy to be sculpted so very differently if we just buy their product. But I’m a realist.

And so I will once again make going to the gym a regular part of my three to four times a week weekly routine. Because the only other way to do it is to get a job that requires manual labor and let’s face it, the reason we Jews don’t do manual labor now is because we put in our time. We built those pyramids with nothing but straw, water and mud and guess what? They’re still standing. Mission Accomplished!

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OMG, Opinions Really ARE Like Assholes – Don’t Get Me Started!

Let’s face it, with the current financial crisis and an impending election, everyone is fired up right now about just about everything. In a way, it’s great to see that there is still passion in what from what we’re told is a civilization that sits on their ass watching other people try to lose weight from their ass on television and passively feel as though either they’re better than the people they’re watching on television or that somehow by osmosis that they will lose weight too. But I have to say that after listening to people spew their opinions in my general direction lately I have to say that I have learned the cliché is 100% true, OMG opinions really ARE like assholes – Don’t Get Me Started!

That’s right, whether it’s the bailout or the Obama, everyone has something to say about everything and not only do they have something to say they believe every word that they’re saying. I guess that’s what surprises me more than anything. I’ve never been around so many people who know (and don’t mind screaming it at you) exactly what should be done, who should win, what we should do regarding this financial thing and why most importantly why they’re right. So it has to make you wonder how everyone can be right yet not agree one bit.

I am the first to admit that I’m not short on opinions (perhaps everywhere else, but not there). I mean, come on I’ve been bitching on this blog for over two years now. The difference is that I always try to preface things with, “this is just my opinion” or “I could be wrong but…” You see, I’m not one of those people who see the world in absolutes. I think life is pretty much liquid…rolling along sometimes at a dangerous pace but for the most part it can almost shift to get through any nook or cranny when it wants to get through. So it should come as no surprise that I try my best to get as much information as I can about things that matter to me. But getting information in the information age seems to be harder and harder because there is so much information out there and as they say, “Don’t believe everything you read.”

So if there’s all this information out there and the supposed great minds of our day and age can’t figure things out, how in the hell can you? That’s right, YOU! I recently had the experience of driving someone to the airport. If you’ve ever driven someone to the airport, you know that you couldn’t get more “stuck” with someone unless you were Brooke Shields and Christopher Atkins on the Blue Lagoon (or bought a ticket and sat through that movie). It’s especially difficult if it’s someone you don’t know, that you know is important to your business and so you sit there trying to just not have your ears blow off of your head while stuffing your own opinions down.

As I said, I’m okay with people talking about their thoughts or feelings on issues but Christopher Columbus when they are so convinced that the world is flat, how do you keep your round perspective? As you know, I’m not a quiet person so I only have so many nods and smiles in me before I practically explode. The thing is if either of the candidates were as horrible as their opposition is convinced that they are then there really is no future for us as a civilization regardless of who gets in. And if anyone is surprised by the current financial crisis then they obviously don’t know anyone. If I listened to one person tell me how they bought a house they couldn’t afford because they got the loan and were convinced they would flip it and make a fortune then I must not be watching reality television or talking to anyone.

I hate to say it but it all seems as though greed and trying to keep up and get beyond the “Joneses” is what put us in this financial crisis and I wonder if it’s not better at this point to just figure out how to get the hell out of this situation rather than throw blame and watch the CNN screen cut up to try and get fourteen “pundits” on the screen to yell at one another?

As far as the candidates go, I’m going to vote no matter how futile sometimes it feels with the whole Electoral College thing in place. I won’t lie that I have been embarrassed about the way that we’ve isolated ourselves from the world over the last eight years of the Bush administration and it’s no surprise that I’m voting for change and Mr. Obama. What I wish for everyone is that they could at least try to see the other side and value in them. I’ll admit it’s difficult for me in the case of a Sarah Palin but if nothing else she makes great TV! I do find it comical when I hear people talk about how qualified she is for the Vice Presidency. I’m glad we’re all so passionate but just do me a favor and before you spew what you think you know with 100% absolute knowledge that your way is the only way, stop, breathe and remember that there truly are no absolutes in life. OMG opinions really ARE like assholes – Don’t Get Me Started!

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