Unless You Look Like The Guys In The Tour de France, Please Don’t Wear Their Pants – Don’t Get Me Started!

So there I was, going into the Whole Foods when I noticed a guy getting off of his bike. The guy had to be at least 6’4” and from the back I could see that he had the biker shorts on and the tight spandexey shirt with no sleeves…a matching outfit. Then he turned around. I kid you not when I tell you that his gut was protruding as much as I am tall (so that’s about 5’5”…well, okay really 5’4” but I like to give myself an extra inch every once in a while wherever needed). Unless you look like the guys in the Tour de France, please don’t wear their pants! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Everyone should know at this point that spandex is a privilege not a right. Just because they make it doesn’t mean that you can wear it and please don’t tell me that I’m being judgmental when I’m just making sense. It’s unfair to make the public look at your junk all pushed to one side in the front of your shorts while in the back your cottage cheese can be seen underneath the fabric worn thin and shiny from your thighs rubbing together. Honestly, do you really think you look good or are you just mentally insane? I would like to start giving out fashion decency citations to these people who insist on showing us more of themselves than the law should allow. And please remember spandex inclined folk, that spandex clings so it’s basically like not wearing anything at all.

As I went through the store I wondered how I would look at food when the image in my head was 6’4” of retina burning, stomach wrenching spandex wearing gut. As someone who is in the battle of the bulge at the moment myself (with their fattitude attacking them), the last thing you want to see is someone else who is losing the battle and flaunting it for all to see.

When I got to the checkout stand, lucky me, I ended up right behind him. There he was and I could get a really good look at him. No wonder he wasn’t wearing a helmet, his hair was done into a hairdon’t  from the “dry look” days of hair and frosted more than if he was a Kellogg’s Frosted Flake! And as I took the whole picture in I could see that there was way too much going on here for a layman and that instead of a citation he probably needed to see a therapist for his delusions of spandex wearing capability. He was overly tan (and not from riding the bike but from riding a tanning bed), and he had one of those hoop earrings in the top part of his ear. As I looked at his fake blue contacted eyes I noticed the crow’s feet and even with the non-moving botoxed forehead the guy had to be at least in his mid-fifties. Next up was the “tribal” tattoo on the upper right arm. It was stretched almost as much as the spandex around his gut as the sleeveless holes of spandex strained to decide whether to suck the fat under the armpit of the shirt fabric or just let it fall outside like an additional breast under his arm (sort of like not knowing whether Santa sleeps with his beard under or over the covers – the fabric had no idea what to do). From there I saw the HUGE sterling silver ring on the hand and the big silver cuff bracelet. As his limp wrist handed the cashier a twenty for his small box of salad I thought to myself, “Oh my God, this is the attack of the 60 foot Faggot! Run for your lives everyone before he colors your hair, throws out your throw pillows replacing them with scarves over bunting or tries to start moving your furniture. Run everyone, save yourselves, run dammit…we’re under attack!!!”

Here’s the deal about clothing people, if you’re smart you’ll wear the things that look (as they used to say back in the day) smart on you. If you’re carrying that extra thousand pounds then you want to allow the spandex to go to the back of your drawer creating a sort of cushy buffer for the clothes you SHOULD be wearing toward the front of the drawer. Just because the spandex is black doesn’t mean that we can’t tell if you’re circumcised or not thanks to the tightness of the fabric and your lack of understanding undergarments. (And if God granted you a big dick this is the last fabric you want to wear out in public where there are children and non-gays lurking about. Save that for Fire Island or your next gay cruise when you’re cruising.) Do yourself and the world around you a favor, before you leave your home go to that full length mirror that rarely gets used. It’s like when you were in driving class in school, I want you to look right, look left, look behind you and proceed with caution when it’s safe. If it makes you cringe imagine what it will do to the rest of us who don’t know you and have no reason to be polite to you? Wear things that flatter and not make you look fatter. And know this simple rule boys, unless you look like the guys in the Tour de France, please don’t wear their pants! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Why It IS The Heat And Not The Humidity – Don’t Get Me Started!

I live in Las Vegas. I grew up in Arizona so I know more than a little something about heat. I also lived in Delaware for eleven years so I know something about humidity as well. The old cliché that it’s not the heat it’s the humidity is a load of crap, especially when it’s 110 degrees outside. So while some people may subscribe to the humidity argument, I do not. Why it IS the heat and not the humidity – Don’t Get Me Started!

I just love it when people say, “Yeah but it’s a dry heat there in the desert, not like we have here on the east coast.” You’re absolutely right. It IS a dry heat but do me a favor and turn your oven up to about 100 degrees and wait for the buzzer to go off to let you know that it’s reached the correct temperature. Next, I want you to stick your head in said oven. As your hair and eyebrows singe off I want you to remember that this is a dry heat too. Then tell me about how a dry heat isn’t so bad. (Disclaimer: placing your head in anything including an oven is stupid. Don’t do it because I said so, if I told you to jump off a bridge would you do that too?)

I’ll admit that I have a very low tolerance for humidity myself. I have no idea for example how people live in places like Florida. I know that there are Jews and every other ethnic group that swear by it but to me you constantly feel as though you’re sitting on a damp washcloth the entire time you’re there, your body feels so bloated that you wish for a “squeezing room” like the one they sent the girl blueberry to in Willy Wonka and forget doing business or having to hold onto a piece of paper because every piece of paper is as slimy as if it came out of someone’s sweaty butt crack. I remember the first time I was in Florida on business and I had to use two hands to hold up two corners of the fax because the paper was falling limp within my grasp.

On the other end of the spectrum is the heat that you experience in Arizona and Nevada. I remember growing up as a kid that you would wait every year until the newspaper carried the story that someone had actually been able to fry an egg on the sidewalk. (Incidentally they never told you if anyone ever ate the fried egg but I guess that wasn’t an important part of the story.) Back in my early childhood the cars didn’t have fancy “clickers” that would allow you to lock or unlock a car from a distance. No, you had to put the key in to unlock the car and then put your hand on the car door and open the door. This was a metal handle that would get so hot in the summer that people actually would tie pot holders to their door handles so as to be able to open them without third degree burns. And while a kid might think it funny to see a car driving down the road with pot holders flapping in the breeze, adults knew it was better for your car to look a little ridiculous than to have your skin as a detail on the handle of the car.

I don’t know if it’s because my mother and her mother used Aqua Net, completely depleting the ozone layer for the sake of their beehive hairdos or if it’s simply a matter of my age but I can’t take the heat anymore be it humid or dry. It’s sort of like when I figured out that smoking pot just made me really sleepy. No real high, just a need to find a couch somewhere so that I could fall asleep with the overturned Pringles can over my mouth and the crumbs falling where they may. Heat makes me really tired. I don’t get excited about getting a “healthy glow” or tan, I just feel as though I need to find somewhere inside to crash and have myself hooked up to an IV for hydration. This past weekend was crazy hot and when a friend asked me what I did my response was more than they had bargained for, “I lived the life of my cats today. I didn’t go outside, I didn’t even open the drapes, I just slept, ate and shit. That was about it.”  So you see, it’s not always about the humidity, sometimes it’s about the heat. Why it IS the heat and not the humidity – Don’t Get Me Started!

Why Don’t The People Who Have Been Going To My Gym All Along Look Any Better? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I truly do not understand this one. I understand that I myself have gotten fat due to my lack of desire to even drive past the gym, let alone go in and workout but I recently made the vow to myself that I was going to at least try to do something about the almost thirty pounds that I am now packing that I shouldn’t be and so I have been diligently watching what I eat, working out on my Wii Fit and yesterday I finally returned to the gym. What amazed me was not the fact that most of the people there were the people that were there almost a year ago working out at the same time but that they looked exactly the same. No bulging muscles, no lack of gut, they were for all purposes just looking exactly the same and as I ellipticalled myself into a frenzy I couldn’t help but get a little depressed. Why don’t the people who have been going to my gym all along look any better? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Of course I’ve looked at this from every angle. Maybe these people haven’t been diligently working out three days a week or what have you and they themselves just recently returned to the gym too. Sure that’s plausible but I really don’t think that’s the case. I think these people have been working out and instead of making major changes they’re just maintaining. Isn’t that an awful word, “maintaining?” It’s such a stuck in a rut or something kind of word. I hate that word. I don’t want to just maintain, I want to see results. And I’m sure that these people do too. However if I’m honest, I know that the latest five pounds I gained came on when I stopped going to the gym so perhaps even though I thought I was too fat then, all I was doing was maintaining. Argh.

My guy (who may have had a weight problem when he was seven but is in great physical shape and has been for most of his life) always says to me, “You didn’t put it on overnight so it’s not going to drop off overnight.” But these kinds of phrases just make me want to puke in someone’s running shoe. Sure I know he’s right but who wants to hear what’s right? Not me, I would like to spend every day of my life being lied to because I’ve spent most of my life lying to myself so that’s where I feel comfortable.

I have to say that everything they say about working out is true. If you do it in the morning it really gets your day off to a good start. (Although I have to say if you sweat like me, once you start it takes hours to stop so I showered and was still sweating all through the shower and getting dressed for work – it’s an old dancer habit. I once had a dance teacher tell me that I didn’t sweat enough. From that moment on, all someone has to do is look at me and I start sweating. Of course it could be that my body is dying to get the weight off too so it’s trying to throw the weight out of every pore. I like that imagery best.) It’s the getting to the gym that gets me (and almost everyone I know) in trouble. I once had a chiropractor tell me to just go to the gym and not worry about how long I’m there. He said that the important thing was to create the habit and get your body used to going. That was more important than anything. Sure you need to do some sort of physical activity when you get there but it’s the not getting there at all, the making excuses, the changing the alarm from “snooze” to an hour from now that causes you to wake up thirty pounds overweight and causes you to almost pass out from simply bending over to tie your shoes.

So while I can easily get wrapped up into the seeming failure of the people who have continued to work out in my absence from the gym, what I realize I’m really doing is deflecting my attention so that I don’t have to see how overweight or out of shape I am. Hey, they have their own lives, their own problems and I’m assuming their own names since I know none of them well enough to do more than the head nod acknowledgement. So as my father used to advise, “Let them worry about them and you worry about you.” And believe me, I’m plenty worried about me and my current physical condition. Still I can’t help but wonder a little, why don’t the people who have been going to my gym all along look any better? – Don’t Get Me Started!

Sometimes Nice Doesn’t Pay – Don’t Get Me Started!

It’s a little subtle but you’ll notice it if you look hard enough. Now I’m not saying that you should spend your life waiting for others to screw up or screw you but let’s face it, sometimes nice doesn’t pay – Don’t Get Me Started!

If you’re unsure about what’s nice and what’s not nice you’ve come to the wrong place. I find myself constantly having an internal monologue with myself regarding whether or not I can say what I’m really thinking. I’m constantly trying to hold back the thoughts in my head from exiting (usually quite loudly) from my lips in any given circumstance. And it’s a battle, let me tell you. “No, you cannot wear the socks with the sandals, idiot.” “No, not the Juicy Couture sweat suit from seventeen years ago with the word ‘Juicy’ so worn on your ass it looks like your crack is eating the letters at this point.” And so it goes.

But there are times my friends when nice doesn’t pay so you either give the glare of death or you say something. Allow me to break down some of the recent nice things I did that did not pay.

·         I opened the door for some woman at Starbucks (who had on way too much jewelry and perfume) and then she just sauntered in with no “thank you,” she got in line in front of me and then had a list of six difficult drinks which she had written on a piece of crumpled paper that she took out of her fake Fendi pocketbook. Nice didn’t pay.

·         I helped someone move once…once. Nice doesn’t pay.

·         I finally found someone at my bank who was a human, who I could make laugh and she would do stuff for me without the usual standard “We’re a bank we’re better than you” attitude – she’s leaving the bank and I’m back to square one. Nice doesn’t pay.

·         I asked someone how their day was and they actually told me (for an hour and a half). Nice doesn’t pay.

·         I “friended” someone on Facebook who is really not a friend but I felt kind of sorry for them because they didn’t have a lot of friends (on Facebook or in life). Now they are constantly “throwing snowballs” “sending me drinks” and “poking me” Nice did not pay.

·         I let someone in during rush hour only to discover that they didn’t want to get in front of me in my lane, oh no, they wanted to be in the complete left hand lane so they basically just parked with half their car in front of me while waiting for the traffic to subside and I sat there watching three green, yellow, red light cycles go. Nice didn’t pay.

Now I’m not saying we should all go out and do evil deeds and I also understand the blah, blah, blah about doing nice things for the sake of doing nice things is reward unto itself but I gotta tell you that in the day to day that is my life I can’t help but get aggravated, un-amused or pissed off when these things happen. The only good news is that it gave me an idea for the blog today. Look at me looking the proverbial gift horses in the mouth. (And I assure you the woman at Starbucks was as horsey as they come without having a saddle on!) Sometimes nice doesn’t pay – Don’t Get Me Started!

At Least Ten Reasons Why I Don’t Want To Hear About Your Vacation – Don’t Get Me Started!

There was a time (I’m told, I think it was in the 1950’s and 1960’s) when couples would invite you over after they had returned from a vacation to hold you sort of hostage in their house. They would feed you first (usually using a fondue pot they got for an engagement gift and had never used so there was great trial and error as you dipped food into hot oil and it tasted like licking raw meat that had been in the Maxwell House can that your mother would pour grease into after making burgers or whatnot. Then they would ply you with alcohol and before the last bite of the Sara Lee cheesecake could be consumed, your hosts for the evening would gently motion you into their living room (living rooms that were never used for living back in the day, they were only used for “special” occasions and more often than not looked like an exhibit in a museum sans the red velvet rope in front of it, permitting you to look in but certainly not touch or sit on any of the furniture.) With a screech louder than a sixteen car pileup, the host would do his magic trick of taking a screen out of a long cylindrical tube and ratcheting it up to a metal hook above. Voila, instant movie theatre (but trust me when I say there would be no cartoon, previews or candy dancing enticing you to go to the candy counter) as the Kodak slide carousel was taken out of its orange colored box, all you could do was hope that there was only one carousel and not many. For as the loud projector motor roared and the dust mingled in the light emanating from the illuminated lens, you knew you were trapped. That’s right, the next several hours would be spent seeing slides that were taken in Bora Bora or the less than exotic Baltimore but no matter what the location, your hosts would feel the need to go into great detail about each and everything you were seeing. “See that tree, whoa, this is a funny story, well Bob actually said that there wouldn’t be any trees in Baltimore and the minute we got out of the cab there it was a tree, so we took a picture of it. The amazing thing is that if you look close I think you can see Jesus in the bark. We’re thinking of sending the picture in to some magazine for a contest. What do you all think?” So here it is, at least ten reasons why I don’t want to hear about your vacation – Don’t Get Me Started!

1.       I cannot for the life of me remember the last time that I was on a vacation. Sure I’ve taken off to attend things such as weddings, funerals, a bris here or there but some exotic location with umbrellas in the drinks, doesn’t ring a bell so don’t tell me what a great time you had in great detail when I’ve been working and see nothing other than working in my future. The correct response when I ask how your vacation was is, “Really great.” Anything more than that and I will begin the decent into hating you more than the five extra pounds around my middle.

2.       No sending me e-photo albums. When I’m on the computer I’m working (at the job for which I get paid) or for my blog (which is another job but no cash involved yet I’m sorry to say) so if you think I’m going to spend an hour looking at your photos trying to figure out if you’re wearing a really stupid hat or a monkey from the island adventure cruise you went on, you’re mistaken.

3.       Don’t make me look at scenery photos. When I was young my father always told us not to waste film on scenery shots (Yes, back in the day there was film and it cost money to get it developed). My father’s motto was that if there wasn’t a person (that we knew) in the picture, don’t take it. For some reason that has always stuck with me so I’m extremely bored when you try to show me pictures of Mount Whatever and all I can think of is, “What a waste of film. Doesn’t this person know they’re not supposed to take pictures without people I know in them?”

4.       Don’t show me the jewelry you paid too much for and then give me a long explanation about it as if you’re knowledgeable and not the sucker you are. “It‘s made by this Inca tribe that doesn’t use any modern day instruments so they fashion these crude pieces of jewelry to survive. They only make two a year and none of them are alike so that’s why they cost $1,500.” My response? “Oh, I was just going to ask about that driftwood around your neck on that piece of twine and ask  if your kid made it for you.”

5.       Please don’t be someone who has to tell me every minute of every day that you were away. “The first morning we got up and we were shocked because we didn’t know that they had a free breakfast at the hotel but they did and I have to say it was yummy. Next we were off to take a drive up the coast. You probably haven’t ever driven up the coast so let me explain everything to you (as if you’re a complete imbecile and have never seen a road by water before). Of course we had to stop and take pictures of the wildflowers. I mean, can you imagine flowers like this growing right by the side of the road?” You get the idea. There are those who think I need to relive every moment from their trip again and again as they tell the story. Well you’re not Aesop and this is no fable I want to hear because I know half of the shit you’re just making up anyway.

6.       Nothing in real life could remind you of something that happened on your trip. This is just a ploy so that you can talk about your vacation again. “Oh, that pot holder you’re using? Well the third day of our trip we stopped at an Indian village and they had all sorts of handmade crafts and can you believe that there was a rug there that had been woven by one of the elders and it almost had that same shade as your pot holder running through it? You probably don’t know this but the way that they create these is very indigenous to the area they’re from and they’re really beautiful but I could tell that some were better than others.”

7.       Just because you visited somewhere for five days doesn’t make you a local. “On the fourth night we went to this restaurant in the town. It wasn’t one of those touristy places, you could just look around and tell that there were only locals there. So Biff and I fit right in at the restaurant just as if we were from that part of Africa too!”  

8.       Airline stories are just about the worst. As if hearing the adventures of your trip to some all inclusive resort on an island isn’t bad enough, why do you think the details of how your luggage got marked up, lost or opened up on its own at the airport or what the pilot said as you flew over the Grand Canyon would be of any interest to me?

9.       I don’t care if I watched your dog, gave your mother-in-law a kidney in your absence or started your cars every day for you please do not bring me back the ten dollar tchotchke as a token of your esteem. I don’t need an almost real puka shell necklace or a glass in the shape of a tiki god that goes from smiley to sad when you put liquid in it. Save your money, a simple “thank you” will do.

10.   Don’t constantly remind me that I need to go where you went when I finally do get a vacation. “Oh, I saw on the calendar that you’re taking a long weekend next weekend. Are you going to the Sandals resort where Bob and I went? Oh that’s the only place you should go. I can tell you that Brandon was our guide for the mountain tour and he was awesome. You have to ask for him. And no doubt Rodolfo at the piano bar will remember us because if we paid him to play “Feelings” so that we could sing with him once, we did it a thousand times and of course everyone loved it. What? You’re going to a wedding in South Carolina? Oh, well next time I’ll tell you exactly what you need to do, you need to go where we went and do everything we did because we had the perfect vacation.”

And those are at least ten reasons why I don’t want to hear about your vacation – Don’t Get Me Started!

Should We Feel Sorry For Celebrities? – Don’t Get Me Started!

With all the continued information and coverage about Michael Jackson I find that a lot of his strangeness seems to be getting washed clean in death. You know, like the male politicians and religious leaders who get caught cheating (sometimes with male prostitutes) and then through asking God’s forgiveness publicly they suddenly are good to go. Like a nice day at the spa or getting your car’s engine steam cleaned they are healed and revived. And yet, it can’t be easy to be in the public eye, right? So my question to all of you is should we feel sorry for celebrities? – Don’t Get Me Started!

My initial feeling is that we should have no more sympathy for a celebrity than for anyone else we don’t know. It always fascinates me how wrapped up people get in the celebrities whom they don’t even know. In the case of the Michael Jackson death I have friends who have admitted watching every single show and tribute that has been on every channel (Tivoing the shows that overlap another Jackson show they’re watching so they don’t miss anything). And while I understand that his music is to many (myself included) the soundtrack of their lives, still I never had lunch with the man and really didn’t know him so while I’m sad a talented artist is gone, I will not fill up my Tivo with everything Jackson. I wouldn’t be human if I didn’t feel badly that his father used to beat him when he didn’t perform up to his father’s expectations but there are millions of people who have been abused and have had difficult relationships to maneuver through with their family, right? One friend chastised me for my opinion by saying, “Can you even imagine being in the public eye from the time you were four? How would you like it?” Well the truth is I would have loved it and in fact I used to practice all of this in my room so that I was ready for the fame (which we of course all know, never came) just in case I did get famous. So sure I may listen to the Off The Wall album that has been sitting on my iPod for months un-played a little more often but on the whole, there will be no taking days off of work due to my grief, I will not create a sequined glove to wear and I will not even post a comment on the many blogs that have come online since the Jackson death. No, I think I’ll just sit this dance out and watch everyone else as they focus on someone they don’t know to the point of missing out on their own lives and/or paying attention to the people in their lives.

But what I’m really talking about are celebrities who are still alive. Should we feel badly that Jessica Simpson got dumped? How many women out there are getting dumped every day? (And men for that matter) To me, the celebrities aren’t more important, they just get more attention. And while we’re on the subject of attention, isn’t that what they became celebrities for, to get attention? I don’t know of one of these people who didn’t at some point want and/or crave to be famous. The fact that the fame didn’t come with everything they thought that it would is the same as some of us thinking we were going to grow up to have a spouse and family and when we got all of that we heard the old Peggy Lee song, “Is that all there is?” playing over and over again in our heads. Whatever the fantasy we’ve created in our own heads, most likely no matter what comes our way it will fall short of our expectations (sometimes a little and sometimes a lot) in some way or another.

Now I need to go on record that I think it’s strange and awful when celebrities are hounded so much by paparazzi that they can’t even walk down the street but once again they wanted fame and as my grandmother used to say, “You asked for it, you got it, Toyota!” So whether you’re John and Kate (with or without your eight) or you’re Paris Hilton, please don’t tell me how awful your fame is because there are parts of it that annoy you but you get a lot of advantages too. I own cats and it annoys me that I have to take them to the vet but no one is going to allow me to be hospitalized for “complete exhaustion” because I took on a responsibility and now there are certain aspects of it that are less than a ball of fun for me.

Fame, just like any other job comes with perks and responsibilities so accept it all knowing you’re not going to like all of it that all of it isn’t going to be easy but hopefully you will (like most people) have more good times than bad times. But please don’t ask me to feel sorry for you because you still have it pretty good. You can get that table at that restaurant that an average Joe can’t, you can lavish your family and friends with gifts, fly them to a specialist if they’re ill and a lot of doors are opened for you that aren’t opened for the rest of us. So the next time you want to feel sorry for Michael Jackson I ask that instead you feel sorry for all the artists who didn’t get the breaks of Michael Jackson who were geniuses too but we never heard their music because they didn’t have a pushy father or a record label deal or any of the other things he had at a very early age. Artists who may have worked at a job they hated every day just to survive because the right people didn’t get a chance to discover them and make them famous. Artists who died without a gold coffin or a star studded tribute show on a major network. Should we feel sorry for celebrities? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The Night I Realized I Was The Gay Erma Bombeck – Don’t Get Me Started!

For as long as I can remember, everyone in my family has had a great sense of humor. When all else failed in our home, humor was the savior (not Jesus, after all, we’re Jews). My parents always had a healthy balance between showing us what was right and wrong and telling us not to take ourselves or life too seriously. So I remember at an early age watching the Flip Wilson show with my father who laughed heartily as Flip Wilson in complete “Geraldine” garb, would say, “What you see is what you get, sucker.” And I remember my mother having books by an author who happened to live in our same city, Erma Bombeck. I think the first one I ever read was, “The Grass Is Always Greener Over The Septic Tank.” I had no idea what a septic tank was at the time but I thought the book was very funny. So the other day I was looking through the “guide” that tells me what television shows are going to be on and I saw a documentary coming on about Erma Bombeck. I hadn’t heard the name (or I’m sorry to say) thought of her in years. I Tivo’d the show and it was wonderful. Her husband and kids talking about her as well as other people and as I was watching it, it dawned on me, all this time I’ve thought I might grow up and be the Jewish David Sedaris but in actuality that’s the night I realized I was the gay Erma Bombeck – Don’t Get Me Started!

For those of you who have never read a column or book of Erma Bombeck’s I encourage you to do so immediately. She really was the pioneer of telling the secrets of motherhood and life in suburbia. What secrets you ask? The ones that no one talks about but everyone knows like you can dislike your kids at times, the neighbors can get on your nerves and in the way she wrote about these truths we were able to laugh for the first time at motherhood and life that we hadn’t been able to prior. Erma Bombeck wasn’t afraid to tell you that no one was actually wearing a strand of pearls and a spotless apron while making seventeen hundred cupcakes for her kids’ bake sale, nor were they enjoying the endeavor as they hummed a Disney tune. And while some may have resisted her take on life at first, she became a bestselling author, had a column published in a bazillion papers and did speaking engagements to beat the band before her untimely death from cancer.

You see, while I’m sure there have been other gays to tell some secrets of the “gay lifestyle,” in looking back at the blogging I’ve done (for what is quickly becoming over three years now) I realized that I was telling the tales with a style of humor that I think resembles more of a Ms. Bombeck than an expose journalist or novelist. They used to call them, “humorists” and I think that’s what I just might be (if I’m lucky). It’s not “making fun of” when you’re living it yourself as some may say but then again, I think making “fun of” someone or something is not as disgraceful as some would have us believe regardless if you’re in the “group” of which you’re making fun of or not. When I’m talking about never being gay thin or explaining that while everyone thinks that locker rooms are “hot” to gays when most of the time the only person sweaty and naked in the locker room is the oldest fattest person in the gym and he’s got one leg hiked up on the bench getting red in the face while he clips his toenails and his junk is lying on the bench for all to see and neither the straights nor the gays want to see it. Hopefully what I’m doing is painting a picture in your head, shading and coloring it the way that I see it when I’m looking at it based on my own sense of humor and points of life reference. Sometimes I may embellish, sometimes I may only tell you a part of the story (the part that I find humorous) but in all cases I think it can be traced back to my parents and the sense of humor they instilled (or is that installed) in me.

So if in fact I am the gay Erma Bombeck (and it’s possible I’m the only one who knows this or thinks this is true) where is my column in the paper, my books or my speaking engagements? If you answered, “non-existent” you would be correct. And so I find myself asking myself why I don’t have any of those things to my current credit? I think some of it has to do with the way the publishing world has changed. Anyone can have a website or blog so instead of everyone getting 15 minutes of fame as Andy Warhol had suggested we’re all getting about 2kb of fame. Of course I’m not negating the fact that some of it is laziness too. When I started the website I expected by publishing myself out onto the web that some celebrity or publisher would find me in the first month (it’s bee n over three years now and not so much). So while I may not have been “discovered” yet by a publisher I’m thankful I was discovered by you and I hope I made you smile (if not with this blog then the over 600 others that I’ve published). Meanwhile, if you know a publisher – forward any and all of my blogs…and could you do that immediately? The night I realized I was the gay Erma Bombeck – Don’t Get Me Started!

Shop The Intervention Store? Are They Serious? – Don’t Get Me Started!

I don’t know that it’s “Arts” or “Entertainment” but have you ever watched the show “Intervention” on the A&E channel? I don’t know that I’ve ever made it through an entire episode because it feels so damn intrusive into other people’s lives and you know me, I’d rather stand on the sidelines of someone’s life and just make snarky comments. So recently I was flipping channels and my television rested on the show Intervention and as I was watching the real life drama unfold, I saw in the bottom right hand corner one of those overlays they put on the screen to advertise something. You know, those annoying borders that started to become popular after CNN started with the damn ticker across the bottom of their screen. I’m always amazed that sometimes when they have nothing to put across the bottom of the screen to distract you from the show you’re watching on their network, some networks have resorted to telling you what you’re watching by putting things on the screen like, “Now: Intervention” perhaps they do this for the people who continually change channels but for those of us really watching the program, you’re little crap you overlay on the screen is really annoying. So there I was watching this man being confronted by his family and two small children when on the lower right hand corner I see, “Shop the Intervention Store!” Are they serious? – Don’t Get Me Started!

First let me say that I did not go on the A&E website to see what was actually in the Intervention “store” as I think it’s much more fun to make shit up. But come on, what could they possibly have to buy? I can barely get through one episode (sometimes having to change channels and come back just in time to see the white words appear on the black background telling me whether or not the person is still sober) so I can hardly imagine buying a boxed set of an entire season of these shows to watch over and over again. I mean, would anyone be interested in that other than the people on the episode? I’m sure there must be t-shirts in the store, you know, either the ones that just say the name of the show or maybe they say, “My family did an Intervention and all I got was this lousy t-shirt!” I also imagine things like the Intervention home game. It’s a game where you deal out all the cards and someone gets the “addict” card. They have to continue to play the game as the type of addict listed on the card which would offer tips to the addict actor (alcoholic – slur your words, cocaine addict – be really hyper, crack addict – get really thin and stare into space a lot be careful not to seem like a Methadone freak, etc.). The rest of the players would need to identify the addict sort of like the old board game Clue, “I suspect it’s Scott who is the addict, he has a heroin problem and he’s just stolen money out of my purse.” That would only be the start of the game, the rest of the game would be staging the intervention complete with new cards to be given out giving everyone their assignment of who they are in the intervention (doctor, wife, child, drug addicted partner, mother, father, brother, you get the idea). Other than the above list I can only wonder if the rest of the Intervention “store” is filled with self-help books (Or maybe books like, “Being a crackhead for dummies”) or audio tapes of the doctor who is on the episodes with that annoying what seems like a Philly accent. I mean, can you think of anything else? Maybe a keychain with a chamber to hide whatever you’re addicted to but if it had the big Intervention logo on the side I think someone would catch on pretty quickly to that one.

I guess anything deserves a marketing campaign and a line of goods but don’t you think some things should just not have a “store” or a website? (Stop immediately thinking, “Um, and Scott why do YOU have a website and should you?”) Look I’m all for showing these interventions on television and I hope that it works for all the people on the show and helps millions more who watch it but if there’s one thing I’ve learned about human nature it’s that we’re a stubborn lot. I think on the whole, no addict ever became an ex-addict until they decided they had had enough. Does the Intervention help get them closer to making that realization? Obviously it does or so many people wouldn’t be doing it right? But then I hear my mother’s voice in the back of my head saying, “I suppose if he jumped off a bridge you’d do that too?” In other words, just because “everyone else is doing it” doesn’t always make it right. And just because there’s no doubt a “Cops” and “Cheaters” store doesn’t necessarily mean there needs to be an “Intervention” store. Shop the Intervention Store! Are they serious? – Don’t Get Me Started!

The “What If He Was Gay” Argument – Don’t Get Me Started!

I love me the gays (no doubt because I am one myself) but that doesn’t stop the gay community from getting on my nerves from time to time. Let’s face it, we all belong to groups that we couldn’t possibly agree with everything they all say all of the time because if we did it would be called Scientology, right? (Just kidding, I meant Mormonology) Well one of the things that really gets on my nerves is when a story in the press has absolutely no ties or anything to us gays and yet some gay somewhere has to ask the question, “What if he was gay” – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although some gays may steal all of my boxer brief underwear for writing this while trying to throw me out of the “club”, there are certain things that have nothing to do with homosexuality. For example the recent events regarding the ex-football player Steve McNair, killed by his mistress who then killed herself. No one’s really talking about the wife who may or may not have known there was a Ms. X but the fact of the matter is this murder-suicide has nothing to do with us gays. And yet, I recently read this on a gay website, “What if McNair had been gay?” I must confess that I didn’t even bother to read any further. Why should I? This has nothing to do with anything. He wasn’t gay, it wasn’t a gay crime and I doubt that there’s anyone related to the case who is gay except maybe the people who own the company that comes to clean up after a homicide (after all, we gays can be very tidy). Seriously though, what sense does it make to take a tragedy and then try to wonder what would have happened if the person had been gay? Would that have made it more of a tragedy than the all ready obvious tragedy of two people losing their lives and their families’ lives being changed forever? In my mind this is a lazy writer with a deadline and nothing to write about but that’s just my opinion.

I think that any time someone goes for the “What if…” argument about anything it pushes a mental button in my head that suddenly starts playing the soundtrack of Evita in my head to drown out the stupid theories and to give me some enjoyment. What if they were gay? What if they were a woman? What if it had been a black man? What if’s are just annoying aren’t they? Because what sense does it make to conjure up these thoughts in your head when they are baseless?

Look I have just as good a fantasy as the next guy but making shit up like this is ri-damn-diculous. If I’m going to fantasize it’s going to be about being at Carnegie Hall for the legendary Garland concerts or someone named Carnegie whose dick is so big he could wear it around his body like a garland and fill a hall of gays to watch. It’s not going to be me wondering what would have happened if Charles Manson was gay.

We gays get all indigent when these religious groups blame everything from 9/11 to salmonella on us so let’s not help the nut jobs out by putting more images in their feeble heads, shall we? I feel badly for McNair’s family and friends and I don’t think it would have mattered if he was gay or straight, I’d feel the same way I do about any senseless killing, it’s well, senseless.

As a minority we have a lot to worry about. Hell, as a society we have a lot to worry about so when someone adds more stress into that by wondering “what if” I’m just wondering, “What if this writer had written a real story?” The “What If He Was Gay” Argument – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Don’t Think Of It As A Mid-Life Crisis, It’s More A Mid-Life Review! – Don’t Get Me Started!

In speaking with a pal who is also in his forties and recently had to be out of work for a couple months after having a certain medical procedures that caused him to reflect on his life before, during and after the procedure he determined that if he could do anything in the anything kingdom, he’d be hard pressed to know what that would be. We talked about the friends who were in the same age bracket as us who were losing their jobs or dying on the vine at the job they had for a thousand years and when someone else at the table suggested it was a mid-life crisis my pal rejected this idea immediately stating that to use the word “crisis” makes it seem like you’re running around out of control and weak when in fact you’re just doing a lot or introspection to figure out where you want to be next in your life. So after thinking about it for mere seconds, I decided that it really wasn’t a “crisis” it was more of what you have every year at your job, a “review.” Don’t think of it as a mid-life crisis, it’s more a mid-life review! – Don’t Get Me Started!

When I was in theatre we would wait and see what the reviewers had to say about the show. It wasn’t that their opinion was the only opinion that counted but sometimes you need an unbiased person who is merely there to observe and comment. Trust me when I say that I think any actor who tells you they thought it was a great show and were surprised the critics slammed it are lying to you. Even if it’s late at night and they only admit it to themselves, you know when you’re in a stinkeroo. The same can be said for your life at your job, right? I mean, you don’t need your boss to tell you that you need to be better about getting things in on time when your last two projects have been late and yet there are some people who would get defensive and say, “Yeah, well the four projects before that were all on time and the reason the last two were late was because I couldn’t get the numbers I needed from accounting or the marketing people to complete their part of it.” Here’s the deal, first stop lying to yourself and second stop making excuses. Allow yourself to just shut up and take the criticism.

I’m a firm believer that there is no hell when you die. I think the only hell is the one we create for ourselves here on earth. No one else but me could make the choices I’ve made to make myself as miserable as I’ve been and while the reverse is also true, I tend to think that the bad is sometimes easier to see than the good. I also think after talking to this pal of mine that we are a generation that were told we could do anything, be anybody but when you’re in your mid-forties you suddenly start thinking that pitching for the Yankees or even being a boy toy is no longer a possibility. Sure Grandma Moses started painting in her nineties or something but we’re in our forties and if you think I’m waiting until I’m ninety to do something about my life you’re mistaken.

And while you begin to rule certain things out it can sometimes be overwhelming. Once again, using the hell on earth theory, it seems easier to make the list of all the things you can’t do as opposed to the things you can do. I recently looked in the want ads to see what sort of jobs are out there and when I read through all of the jobs I realized that on paper the only one that I might have been qualified for was the one to sell Omaha Steaks. (And I questioned that as I have no idea about the “marbling” and what part of a cow is used to make a filet mignon.) And this my friends is the reason the “life coach” was born. But I say resist these pay for common sense traps and don’t let anyone to tell you to “follow your bliss” or “do what you’re passionate about and the money will come” because while that may work for the woman who created the latest elastic band to make hair creations, for most of us we’re never going to make money sitting on our ass on our couch no matter how much they promise we can make millions from working from home.

I’m not saying that all your dreams have to be dashed and you have to give up the part of yourself that you liked the most, I’m just saying that after living on the planet for a certain amount of years it may not be as easy as it once was to answer the question as to what you want to be when you grow up and I also think the whole mid-life review is something that if we welcomed more than we were afraid of we might be able to realize all the things we’ve done and accomplished. We might be able to see that maybe we’re not a fireman or an astronaut but we’ve lived, loved and created relationships both toxic and terrific. And maybe, just maybe when we looked at what we did that brought us pleasure and what brought us pain we might be able to better see where our feet are headed next. (Emphasis on the words “might be able”) You see life holds no guarantees and while we may not be able to be anything we want, we may be able to be something, something that we’re proud of and makes us feel good about ourselves. So stop beating yourself up, going into crisis mode and start reviewing. Don’t think of it as a mid-life crisis, it’s more a mid-life review! – Don’t Get Me Started!

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If God Didn’t Want Me To Criticize People He Wouldn’t Have Given Me This Great Taste – Don’t Get Me Started!

A couple of nights ago I met some friends who were in town for the weekend for dinner. I met them at one of the major resorts on the Strip here in Vegas. It’s never a fun thing for a local to have to go to the Strip (either every day for work or on a Saturday night to meet people) but alas, as they were taking in one of the many Cirque shows I resigned myself to the fact that I would indeed be on the Strip on a Saturday night. As I stood outside the theatre there was an endless parade of quite the sights. People in clothes that were too tight, clothes that were too shiny, clothes that were too 1987, well, clothes that were too a lot of things. And as I chastised myself in my head for being so critical, it dawned on me. If God didn’t want me to criticize people He wouldn’t have given me this great taste. – Don’t Get Me Started!

People always talk about how the Jesus gets in them and they just have to let everyone know about it. They want to hand me brochures in the airport. They want to send me emails asking me to take Jesus into my heart before I go to hell. They come up with all sorts of reasons that they just can’t contain the Jesus within them. They HAVE to share the Jesus with me. Well, isn’t telling people they’re wearing something that looks awful on them just as important as sharing the Jesus? I mean most people aren’t even going to be meeting the Jesus for quite awhile but they are going to be making asses out of themselves as they wear that hair that originated and had a shelf life date of 1987 today, tomorrow and for many days after until someone tells them it has to go. As I stood there I realized that instead of trying to create self-loathing for being an “awful” person I needed to realize that maybe I was put on this earth to help make it more pretty or at the very least make you more pretty.

Now before you tell me that there are professionals out there all ready doing this (the first two that come to mind are Stacey London and Clinton Kelly on TLC’s What Not To Wear) and there are a lot of stylists out there (but let’s face it, some of these people have no clue either) I think there’s something between an intervention on a television show and just posting some practical advice and I’m electing myself to do the posting.

Rhinestones – unless you’re a mother of the bride or a drag queen you should try to stay away from these. This also includes men who wear the rhinestoned t-shirts as of late (thank you Ed Hardy). You know the ones with the dragons all over them looking all tough but meanwhile they’re “Bedazzled” more than a Miss America evening gown. Tight is not good. If you have a dress that you sort of used to fit into and you can still squeeze yourself into, throw it away. The deal here is this, yes while you can still get the fabric to stretch about you, you’re more interested in the “fitting into it” than realizing the “filling and falling out of it” you’re doing. Again this goes for men, if you have big arms and a big gut to match, don’t wear that tight t-shirt showing off your guns while there’s a cannon ball where your stomach should be. Sure your arms look good as the fabric of your shirt stretches over your bulging biceps but allow your eyes to go further down and when you see that you suddenly look pregnant it’s going to really distract from the masculinity of the bulging arms. You don’t have to be a slave to the latest fashion trends but you do need to know when something is so completely out of style. For example, I saw a man wearing dress pants and a silky mock turtleneck. Never mind that it’s a 106 degrees outside, if you want to do yourself and the world a favor you’ll burn the shirt that was bad in the 90’s and so much worse in the 2000’s.

I know for a lot of people they continue to wear things that are inappropriate because it reminds them of a time when they felt young and/or pretty. But you’d look younger and prettier if you’d leave those looks in the centuries where they belong and go ahead and update your look. And if that’s too big of a leap at least take the small step to just wear clothes that fit you. Too tight or too big are never good. Think of Goldilocks and try to get clothes that fit “just right.” And if you should see me on the street staring at you with my head cocked to one side go ahead and come up to me and ask what you’re doing wrong. I’ll be just as happy to give you my fashion sermon live just like the crazies who stand on corners yelling about the Jesus. Until then I’m going to also learn to accept this gift I’ve been given and refuse to think there’s anything negative about knowing what goes with what, telling people or even making fun of them. If God didn’t want me to criticize people He wouldn’t have given me this great taste. – Don’t Get Me Started!

Gays Should Be Seen To Be Laughed At And Not Heard – Don’t Get Me Started!

Recently yet another horrific act of hate was carried out when a sailor at Camp Pendleton was killed while in the sentry station there and then the area burned to try to hide any evidence. His name was August Provost, he was 29 years old and according to reports, bisexual. His family reported that he had been harassed for quite some time. I don’t think any of the above is a surprise, nor is it a surprise that the Navy is not calling it a hate crime. What does surprise me is how much hate continues to be spewed on blogs and supposed news articles everywhere. Gays should be seen to be laughed at and not heard – Don’t Get Me Started!

One of the more disturbing things I read about this incident was from someone who I have no doubt in my mind thinks they were being a “decent” person. The entry is entitled, “Perfect example of why Homosexuals do not belong in our armed forces.” (I guess the good news is that they capitalized the word, “Homosexuals”) They went on to say, “Had he not been in the Navy; he would still be alive. The Armed Forces is not a place for Homosexuals. It is a tragic thing; but it his own fault. Gay blades do not belong in the Armed Forces; it is just that simple. This is why this person is dead. Most likely he came onto some officer and they did not like it and they killed him. Do I think it was right, that he was killed? No, I do not. But if he had not been in the Navy and most likely not shot his mouth off, he would still be alive.” Nice, right? Yes, that’s the complete quote – complete with my favorite indicator of the intelligence of the writer as they write, “but it his own fault.”

I know from my usual rants you’re expecting a witty, fast paced take on the situation but honestly the only thing I feel is great sadness. Am I saying the writer doesn’t have a right to their opinion or to share it? Absolutely not, I am too much of a proponent of free speech but what I am saying is that the people with opinions like these are real ever-loving moronic assholes. (And it’s my right to be able to say that too) Why is it always assumed that “a gay” came onto someone and therefore somehow deserved to be beaten or killed? Why is it that the “gays” are always “shooting their mouths off” and “asking for it?” Did you ever consider for one moment you major shithead that “the gay” did nothing and in fact it was the perpetrator of the crime who was uncomfortable with his own sexuality or had some other mental defect and therefore committed the crime? And why is it always about the sex? Why are straight guys so obsessed with the gay sex? I’ll tell you why, because they’re obsessed with sex in general because the only sex they can get on a regular basis is with their right hand and while we’re supposedly one of the most developed countries in the world we have some of the most backward attitudes about sex anywhere on the planet. Who’s to blame? I blame the fear based religious zealots who seem to run our country. The bad news for them is that the days of the white Christians running things are coming to an end (and not in the way they say that they are because of the gays) No, no burning up of the earth by God’s wrath just a new order of human beings that care more about how people treat one another as opposed to where they put their dick. And to that I say, “Amen!”  (Okay so maybe I have some rant left in me after all.)

I know it may be “uncomfortable” for people to talk about sex (thus all the teenage pregnancy and you certainly can’t blame us gays for that one) but we’ve got to start making the right things our priority. Health care, helping this country get back on its feet, learning how to better budget our money and not worrying so much about the fictitious “Jones” family who has more than us and perhaps the only way we’ll be able to do that is to accept who we are as individuals. I think both gays and straights struggle to accept themselves; their flaws, their limitations, their life decisions. If this weren’t the case there wouldn’t be so many self-help books on the shelves and people in therapy. The trick is to not kill anyone else because you can’t stand yourself. The other trick is to realize that gays aren’t just a limp-wristed joke. We’re human beings like any other human being and as Lily Tomlin tells Dabney Coleman as her “sexist, egotistical, lying, hypocritical, bigot” boss in the classic movie, Nine To Five, “I expect to be treated with a little dignity and a little respect.” Gays should be seen to be laughed at and not heard – Don’t Get Me Started!

Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service From  An Event Planner Perspective – Don’t Get Me Started!

For as long as I can remember I have been fascinated with Hollywood (old Hollywood that is) and I always dreamed that if I was rushed to a hospital it would be Cedars-Sinai and when my time would come I would be laid to rest at Forest Lawn. So in watching the start of the circus that was the Michael Jackson farewell, I couldn’t help but be a little jealous as the ten black Rolls Royce cars, then the ten Land Rovers then the buses (must have been for the great-grandchildren or lesser Jacksons) arrive at Forest Lawn. I don’t think in my fantasy I wanted to be as well known or exploited as Michael Jackson but here he was having my funeral and all I could think was “Shamon, Jackson, give me my funeral back.” Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service From  An Event Planner Perspective – Don’t Get Me Started!

The first ones out of the first Rolls was the mother, Katherine with Michael Jackson’s three children in tow. I guess that’s when it hit me that I’ve been to a lot of funerals but I can’t imagine the grief of losing a child. Katherine Jackson gets my vote for classy and the ultimate matriarch. (Well, at least for 2009) Then there were all these other people milling about that we could really only see what they were wearing from the CNN cameras. Who might that be in the black velvet sports coat (and hadn’t they gotten the memo that it’s summer and you don’t wear black velvet?) Or who was the imbecile who was in the big oversized yellow shirt, baggy white pants and baseball cap? Had to be family or someone close to the family to get into the shindig at the Forest Lawn service but he was a complete ass and obviously hadn’t read the “what to wear to a funeral service” manual that no doubt the event planners gave out to everyone.

That’s when it dawned on me. As someone who has directed grand opening events (complete with pyrotechnics and celebrities – sometimes they seem like the same thing) and also done my fair share of weddings and bar mitzvahs I decided that while this is certainly an amazing event on some event planner’s resume, it also has to be one of the most nightmarish gigs to get. Can you even imagine? I’m sure that there were event planners for each section of the day and that they all just coordinated because it’s too big of a job even for a gay. But even so, even if you were only responsible for the Forest Lawn portion, you had your hands full.

As CNN reported that things were all ready running about half an hour behind schedule I thought, somewhere there’s a caterer and an event planner stuffing their faces with the crepes that will now have to be remade because the half hour schedule adjust will make them inedible by the time the family gets to them. And for those of you who don’t think that there was food served, I can assure you that not only because I’m Jewish but because I know how these events go with no one eating before hand and the event planner having to pre-think everyone’s needs before they have them, there were definitely snacks, meals and even doctors on hand to give out the much needed Xanax at this event.

The memorial (or let’s face it and call it what it is, the show) at the Staples center is no problem. Those people have been putting shows on forever so other than making sure Mariah Carey knows where to stand, there’s stress involved but not like trying to figure out who the hell Rebbie Jackson is (the Jackson daughter you never hear about) so you don’t accidentally have her sitting behind a celebrity who had never met Michael Jackson.

No, from the limos (can you imagine trying to get a limo in LA that day?) to the family to the food to every minute detail of the event, only another event planner would think about the trials and tribulations going on in the event planner’s life at this event and wondering how much vodka and Tucks pads the event planner will need over the next couple of days to recover. Let me just say…a lot of both! (And yes, the Tucks pads are to help reduce the bags under your eyes from not sleeping a wink the evening before as well as for your hemorrhoids from clenching your ass so tightly during the entire event hoping Joe Jackson doesn’t hit one of the kids during the event.)

Well, the good news is that the event was a huge hit. The bad news is that we’ll have to look at it for weeks and weeks to come as the networks replay it, try to sell us a DVD of it and the insipid “reporters” on shows like Entertainment Tonight analyze and over-analyze every minute of it over and over again.

Some final thoughts on the event and moving forward: I think Elizabeth Taylor proved she’s pure class with her tweet on Twitter regarding the event and her absence, “I just don’t believe that Michael would want me to share my grief with millions of others. How I feel is between us. Not a public event.” How can you not love her? And as far as the “concert that never was” they have plenty of rehearsal footage of it that they will no doubt be packaging and selling to us. I heard a rumor somewhere that the producers would like to try and still make the concerts happen so as to not lose all the work (otherwise known as money) they’ve put in. So who should they put into the show? I’ll tell you. The Jacksons themselves with Janet as the headliner. Between all of them, they can each learn one of two numbers quickly and after all, the Jacksons are a show biz family. As a performer, I can tell you that getting on stage in the face of tragedy can be a great solace and healer for the performer. It would be a cathartic experience for the Jacksons and profitable for everyone.  And if they’re looking for someone to help plan some of the lead up events…well, I’m sure they’ll no doubt find me! Michael Jackson’s Memorial Service From  An Event Planner Perspective – Don’t Get Me Started!

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“Z” As In Zebra – Don’t Get Me Started!

I have a “Z” in the middle of my last name. It’s the letter that always gets left out or replaced with an “S” and while most of you think I’m going to break out into my own version of “Liza With A Z”, I can assure you that I won’t (okay mostly because this is my written and not my video blog). No, what this entry is about are the words that we all associate with the letters that are difficult to discern from one another when talking to someone on a phone. My father always spelled our last name and when he got to the “Z” he would say, “Z as in Zebra” and what I noticed was that my brother and I both do the same thing to this day. Now while I realize that there are certain industries and the military that probably have approved words that should be associated with each letter, I recently had to give an airline confirmation number that consisted only of letters and I had to laugh at the words that came to mind. “Z” as in zebra – Don’t Get Me Started!

I guess I shouldn’t give the reservation number exactly but this should give you an idea. Some of the letters were NWIGS – the first words that came into my mind when having to tell this to someone on the phone to make a change in the reservation, no joke, these were the first words that came to my mind and I quickly changed them for obvious reasons. “N” as in Nancy, “W” as in Wig, “I” as in icicle, “G” as in Gay and “S” as in sissy. I don’t know why these awful words came to my mind but they did. And so I began to do what I always do which is to take it to a ridiculous conclusion. I wondered if given these letters if anyone else in the world would come up with the word, “wig” for “W” – I don’t think so. I wondered if there were “butcher” choices like, “N” as in Nagahide, “W” as in Washington, “I” as in “I’s a coming”, “G” as in Gator and “S” as in Saddle. I don’t know why when I went the opposite way I became a cowboy, it just sort of happened and then I started thinking about Brokeback Mountain and realized that the answers were probably not as butch as I thought they would be originally.

The thing is that as we become more and more involved in these social networking sites, texting and chatting on our cell phones we fail to have the real sort of communication there once was by dealing with one another face to face. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, while most feel as though we’re communicating more than ever I think that the means we’ve created to communicate leads to more miscommunication than ever. I don’t care how you capitalize or underline your thoughts in an email, there’s still no getting around it, the person getting the email is open to interpret the email however they choose. What we also fail to realize is that how we interpret these things is based on our own mood, lack of sleep, hunger, etc. at the exact moment we read it. Often times I’ll start to read an email from someone and just think, “I’m in no mood for this.” So I come back to it later. I think more people should do this. I’ll never forget this one time a fellow employee sent an email that said, “I have read your email four times and I waited until I clamed down enough to write this response.” By using the word “clamed” instead of “calmed” it showed me that they had not calmed down at all and indeed the words that disjointedly spewed after that first sentence proved me correct in my assumption. The same can be said for texts or phone calls. People don’t realize that we’re constantly multi-tasking ourselves into an early grave so while I’m texting with you, I’m cooking dinner, feeding the cats and scratching my ass, all the while thinking about what’s going to happen tomorrow. While we’re talking on the phone, I’m writing emails and my next blog entry. You see few people understand the whole “undivided attention” thing because our attentions are demanded by so many people so much of the time.

So the real question is whether or not you’ve ever given any thought to the words that you use when on the phone with someone and trying to understand that you’re saying, “B” instead of “D” or something like that? Do you use the normal words that everyone uses, “C” as in Charlie or do you go more avant garde, more “dare to be different seminar” and use “C” as in Chamois? One thing is for sure, when you have a “Z” in your name, it pays to make sure people spell it correctly. This was never more clear to me than when I had a supporting role in the worst film in recorded history. I was okay that they used another “S” instead of a “Z” on my trailer door and my paycheck because I could still cash the check and I had my own trailer. I was new to the industry and didn’t want to make waves so I just let it go. When the film opened, there I was in the theater and after sitting through the movie (which indeed became the worst film ever filmed) I waited anxiously to see my name roll by on the credits. I counted all the lead people’s names and right after the fourteenth one my name appeared. It appeared misspelled with the “S” and not the “Z” so my fifteen seconds of fame came with a misspelled name. From then on I made sure that on everything and every time I spelled my name for anyone I said, “Z as in zebra.” – Don’t Get Me Started!

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What Freedom Do We Gays Have To Celebrate This Independence Day?  – Don’t Get Me Started!

I started in theatre when I was six years old. When you do theatre (or at least back in the day when you did theatre) you meet the most interesting people (albeit they used to call us “strange” or “outcasts” back then). You have a bunch of people who seem to not exactly be marching to the beat everyone else is and they find this magical outlet to become someone else for a couple of hours and it’s fascinating to watch their transformation during rehearsals and then in performance. If you’ve never been part of a show you won’t understand this phenomenon. You see, there’s just something about rehearsing a show, watching yourself and your fellow actors grow in their roles or with their dance steps and getting right up to the final dress (which usually goes awful) thinking you have no show at all and then suddenly on opening night, the audience fills the theatre and for that time you’re on stage the entire building is filled with a magical shared experience that is live, that will never happen exactly the same way again because the actors will do something a little different or the audience responds in a different way. It’s truly addicting and I miss all aspects of it. But allow me to get to my point. Because I literally grew up in this environment I didn’t really question the fact that I was gay all that much. There were people who were Wiccans doing theatre for chrissakes so what’s an attraction to the same sex? Nothing, just another part of who I was and am. And because I stayed doing artistic endeavors from six until my late thirties, I never had to deal with the world of homophobia (too much). But recent events have brought it all crashing in on me and there’s a real part of me that just wishes I was living the gay sheltered life again. What freedom do we gays have to celebrate this Independence Day?  – Don’t Get Me Started!

For the three religious zealots who found this blog entry and clicked on it so that they could tell me how much they love me but need me to repent immediately and take Jesus into my heart or clicked on it to leave some hateful comments or bible passage, I respectfully ask you to move onto spewing your hate somewhere else. You don’t get it, me and I don’t get you and much to your amazement (if you’re a man) I don’t want you either…even though you’re a man and you think the devil is telling me to sleep with every man on the planet, I can assure you that you are safe because I’ve got some things called taste and standards neither of which you live up to, but I digress (per usual).

I grew up in theatre and dance studios where gay was okay. In fact, gay was not a big deal. So when I recently came against some issues with getting my partner insured (he had been on my insurance from my last job which was a large corporation and his Cobra is running out, meanwhile my semi-new company isn’t large enough for the insurance companies to feel it’s financially profitable for them to offer domestic partner benefits and since insurance companies are private companies, they are allowed to discriminate however they see fit and so they do.) Sure during my life, I have come across snickers behind my back before, I was called “fag” every day in high school but nothing prepared me for the way I was going to feel as all of this unfolded.

I have been with the same man for over twenty years, if that’s not a spouse I don’t know what is. And yet corporations are still allowed to discriminate and generally tell you that you’re “not good enough” or “not worthy” of what your straight counterparts have when it comes to caring for your spouse. Ridiculous right? Maybe the ridiculous part was that I thought that I would be able to do what I’ve done the rest of my life. Confront the people snickering or ignore the loud taunts of “fag” and go about doing what I had to do to achieve my end result. I’ve been very successful at adapting to get what I want. But you see it’s not that easy when it comes to insurance and laws. When laws and companies put in discriminatory policies you have little to no choice. You have to go through their procedures with your head bowed acting completely subservient and at the end of it all, it doesn’t matter that you filled out every piece of the six zillion pieces of information they ask for on their forms, at the end of the day if you’re an individual and/or gay they can stamp it “Declined” with no repercussions to the company and leaving you without the right to even know why or appeal.

I thought I lived in America where there was a separation of church and state. But what a lie that is that we’ve been raised on. The religious right have ruled this country for years like some drunken frat boys who feel they’re invincible. They bought lawmakers and put them in place to push forward their own agendas, basically bankrupted the economy and now when the bill is due to be paid, they’re looking for someone else (the American taxpayers) to pay the bills. All the while writing discrimination into our laws in the name of their God who they assure everyone will be really pissed off if they don’t put us minorities in our place and keep us there…lower than the white Christian man. They get people to do their hypocritical and fear based bidding by acting as if God is their father that’s coming home to find out that they had a party and trashed the place, trying to blame us for the party that we never got invited to in the first place. If there is any justice, when God finally does make his grand appearance, he’ll “ground” those people who have distributed so much hate in His name and while they sit in their own private hell they brought upon themselves, the rest of us will not be going to heaven but to the mall and getting everything we want like the good sibling.

I pay my taxes, I obey traffic laws (only one speeding ticket in the last fifteen years), I try to help my fellow man and yet no one wants to assist me in providing one thing for my spouse, insurance coverage. They tell me I’m supposed to be ecstatic that Nevada passed a law that in October of 2009 my partner and I can register as Domestic Partners with the state. This entitles us to hospital visits and being able to make decisions on one another’s care but what they fail to tell everyone is that in order to get it passed, the insurance companies pressured law makers to take out any wording that would have made companies provide insurance benefits for domestic partners. So really, what did they give us? The opportunity to not be kept out of some county hospital offering the worst possible care because we’re not allowed to have our spouses covered under our insurance and go to a decent hospital? Excuse me for not blowing up any balloons or throwing streamers to celebrate.

I used to love the fourth of July, celebrating our independence but not anymore because there is not independence from the constant struggle I have being a gay Jewish man who has been in a monogamous relationship with a black man for the past twenty years and being treated like a second class citizen by my government. When Lt. Dan Choi doesn’t win his battle to be a part of the armed forces (even when the Obama administration promised they’d weigh each case of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell until they could abolish it) because he chooses to live his life honestly and not lie about being gay, when the religious right continues to keep the right to marry and spousal rights for those Californians and the rest of us across the country from us gays, when a sailor this week at Camp Pendleton can be bullied for over a year for being bisexual and then murdered executioner style and the area burned to try and hide the evidence and the Navy calls it not a hate crime, you find that this country is not the renaissance country our forefathers imagined, where all men are created equal. We have yet to break free of the tyranny of the religious right but we’ll continue to fight and when we finally get our rights maybe I’ll be able to celebrate Independence Day again. What freedom do we gays have to celebrate this Independence Day? – Don’t Get Me Started!

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Would You Really Like To Know Who That Person Is You’re Dating? Get A Hold Of Their Ipod! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I recently took a five hour drive to San Diego from Las Vegas (and another five hours back). Although I’m bummed that my car is not fully equipped with iPod integrated technology, I instead have the adapter that goes in your cigarette lighter and then broadcasts through your radio. A little static at times but then again it just makes me remember when I used to desperately “tune in” radio stations on my transistor radio back in the day. I’m an “album listener” on the whole when it comes to my iPod. I like to go on the journey the artist and/or Broadway show wants to take you on but for this trip I decided to try that old “Shuffle” feature. And let me just tell you, would you really like to know who that person is you’re dating? Get a hold of their iPod! – Don’t Get Me Started!

What I discovered (though I’m not going to lie to you, it was not a surprise discovery, just a discovery) is that my iPod says a lot about me and who I am. The musical soundtrack that makes up my life is all stored on that small device that no one even knew existed when I was young. That’s right, in my childhood we were amazed (and I had several of them) with the “Close and Play” record player. It was a molded plastic record player that you could put a record in, close it and carry it around with you and it would play music. (It was the ViewMaster of the record world and I loved it.) I could sing and dance all with the orchestra coming from the plastic box in my tiny grip. Then we went through the Sony Walkman clipped to our belts phase and then holding the portable CD players but never in our wildest dreams could we have imaged our massive record collections (both LP and 45’s) fitting on one small device. Well, I should say that I never imagined it but apparently the guys at Apple did, right?

As I drove and my iPod magically DJ’d for me, I realized that anyone who picked up my iPod and hit the shuffle button could learn an awful lot about me from listening to the music that I have assembled. Sure they would almost immediately find out that I was a Broadway lover but they might also be surprised to hear some classic Doobie Brothers as well. I wondered how many people had Dinah Shore and Dinah Washington on the same iPod. I wondered who might have Opera Babes and TLC on their iPod. The more I listened the more I realized that although someone may have the same tracks on their iPod, they would never have all the same exact music that I have, the music that according to my iPod would take something like fourteen days to listen to all of it if I listened non-stop. My iPod is like my fingerprint, it’s uniquely mine. It contains the things that I want on it, I have complete control over it (like my life) and I feel unashamed at the amount of disco, big band or Barbra Streisand on it that might cause some people embarrassment.

So as each track played and I became more entranced at not so much the diversity but all the great music that was on my iPod (and could name any of the songs in the first two notes and I knew almost every word to every song that came on) I wondered just what some friends, family, celebrities (alive and dead) might have on their iPod. I also came to a realization, I think that in the same way someone could learn a lot about me from listening to my iPod, I think I could learn a lot about someone else the same way. And to take it one step further for those of you who are thinking of trying to find forensic evidence about your lover, friend or whomever, I think you could learn more about a person by listening to their iPod than by talking to them.

If you think your boyfriend might be gay (and you’re not both guys and know you’re both gay) pick up that iPod. Sure there are straight guys who might possibly have a random Village People song on their iPod from some compilation CD they once bought but if you hear Donna Summer talking about “leaving the cake out in the rain” you have a gay on your hands. If you have someone who has a bunch of rap on their iPod, just get out of there as soon as possible. Not because they’re “thugs” but because that music isn’t music at all and how can you have any respect for anyone who listens to it? Judgmental? You bet but that’s what this is all about. It’s finding out that mysterious part of a person that they don’t easily share with anyone. And then of course making the decision as to whether or not you can live with someone who has everything the Allman Brothers ever recorded on their iPod. So save yourself expensive lawyers or private detectives and I say, would you really like to know who that person is you’re dating? Get a hold of their iPod! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Why I Wish Diana Ross Was Getting The Jackson Kids – Don’t Get Me Started!

I couldn’t help myself. When I heard the news that in Michael Jackson’s will he stipulated that should his mother no longer be living at the time of his death that he wanted Diana Ross to be the guardian of his three children I got downright giddy. Now I know that Diana Ross has raised something like six kids or something and probably is a decent enough mother but the catty gay in me couldn’t help but immediately rise to the surface as I stomped my foot, put my right hand up to Jesus and wished that she was getting the kids. Why you ask would that make me so happy? Because I imagine that the only thing better than having Michael Jackson dress you up in veils is to have Diana Ross putting a fabulous boa around you! Why I wish Diana Ross was getting the Jackson kids – Don’t Get Me Started!

In the words of a Michael Jackson song, “You wanna be starting something?” then Katherine Jackson needs to bow out and give the kids to The Boss, Ms. Diana Ross herself. Can you imagine THAT reality show? Within ten minutes of it being on the air people would wonder who the Kar-trashians were or the kids from The Hills.

I imagine lavish dinner parties with Bob Mackie in attendance (and attending to everyone’s wardrobe) while everyone tries to hug Diana Ross without getting entangled in her hair (or getting any of that ridiculous weave in their drink). Imagine the celebs who would drop by…I’m telling you that just thinking about it has me more excited than I have been in months. Each episode would open with a sort of homage to the old Doris Day show but instead of “Que Sara Sara”, it would start with either “I’m Coming Out” with Diana Ross greeting everyone at the front door or her classic “The Boss” with her pointing while the kids polish her gold and platinum albums. She could even do the “rhinestone glove” test in a sort of Mommie Dearest meets Michael from 80’s as she wears his famous glove to check their rooms for dust. Maybe one episode would see Mary Wilson drop by or Berry Gordy for a kind of Motown “remember when” episode where they would tell stories about their father and show old home movies of the Jacksons as kids. She could rehearse the kids endlessly and the next thing you know you have Prince Michael and Paris doing the re-make of Endless Love all the while “Blanket” can be seen sneaking around in the background trying on all Diana Ross’ wardrobe she no doubt stole from the Mahogany set. She could teach the kids how to talk like she and her father talked, with that breathy, baby voice. And sometimes they would be visited by their relatives. Those would be the real cliff hangers, Joe Jackson trying to take control of the Jackson 3 and put their images on everything from lunchboxes to Saturday morning television as a cartoon. The whole idea is so deliciously fabulous I don’t know why everyone in the world doesn’t think this is the right thing to do when it comes to these children.

I mean come on, there’s no way they can have a normal life because they’ve never had a normal life so at the very least they could provide entertainment for us and at the same time try to pay off some of their father’s debts for the llamas and Lladro statues he just couldn’t seem to live without. I ask you, am I so wrong to be thinking like this? Is it wrong of me to not only have all of season one outlined in my head but also season three when they go into high school and we suddenly have the newest franchise of High School Musical with the Jackson kids walking, singing and grabbing their crotches down the halls of their school? Look, truth be told those kids look nothing like Michael Jackson and while I’d love to get them all on Maury to hear him read the results, “He is NOT the father” the realistic approach is that born to him or bought by him, those kids are Jacksons and they need to be exploited as such. Why I wish Diana Ross was getting the Jackson kids – Don’t Get Me Started!

Comedians Want To Be Actors, Actors Want To Be Singers And Singers Want To Be Clothing Designers – Don’t Get Me Started!

I’ve never understood why when people find some fame doing one thing they seem to want to do something else. It sort of reminds me of the old Marilyn Monroe song from There’s No Business Like Show Business, “After you get what you want you don’t want it.” What people fail to realize is that while they may think they’re talented in more than one area they should never forget Michael Jordan’s baseball career. (I know, what a straight sports reference from me, right?) Comedians want to be actors, actors want to be singers and singers want to be clothing designers – Don’t Get Me Started!

I remember the first time I heard them introduce someone on the MTV music awards as a “triple threat” now having grown up in theatre a triple threat has always meant someone who could sing, act and dance. Imagine my disgust and surprise when I found out that a “triple threat” in the world of MTV is a Singer, Actor and Clothing Designer. Well, here’s the deal, I know that there are some out there who will disagree with me but come on, do you really think any of the mock-lebrities are really doing any designing? Sure they may pick out a fabric or say, “I don’t like that” but actually designing? I don’t think so.

I almost fell on the floor when I heard that Ryan Seacrest was designing t-shirts. Wow, how does he do it? It’s got to be hard to have such an overexposed career as the dullest celebrity in recorded history and then have to decide what to put on a t-shirt – that is if you’re four and in an art class learning the classic and oh so difficult art form of tie dye. Justin Timberlake has a clothing line too that he designs with his best friend from childhood. Another eye roll. And let’s not forget Beyonce, cause her mother did so well dressing her and the other two when they were Destiny’s Child, right?

But perhaps the worst are the new triple threats like Jamie Foxx. Look, I liked him on In Living Color, thought he did a really good impersonation of Ray Charles in “Ray” (impersonation, not an Academy Award winning acting performance) and was not good at all in Dreamgirls but now with him trying to get his music career going with the recent performance on the BET awards we may have just found the biggest winner in the loser celebrity cross over career Olympics. With the evening dedicated to Michael Jackson, I think we all learned a really valuable lesson. That lesson is that the Michael Jacksons of the world were real talent. At the risk of sounding like an eighty year old, these performers who were on this show just showed exactly how unique real talent is and that they don’t have much. You see there’s a reason why people shy away from singing a Barbara Streisand song and we now know why people should stay away from Michael Jackson songs. I’m not interested in you “making it your own” like they tell the kids on American Idol, certain songs should just be sung the way they’re supposed to be sung, period.

My mother used to say to me, “Do what you know.” And for the most part I have the same advice to these mock-lebrities and them thinking they’re something more than what they are, this is exactly what turned child actors to drugs and some of us from even pausing on certain television stations we used to watch like MTV anymore. And by the way, does MTV even play music anymore? Or is it just filling it’s programming with bad reality shows? Could it be possible they have the same disease? That they’re a music network that wants to be a network of television shows? Comedians want to be actors, actors want to be singers and singers want to be clothing designers – Don’t Get Me Started!