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Friday, January 3, 2014

Keep Your Resolutions To Yourself So That When You Blow It We Donít Both Have To Be Embarrassed!


With the invention of Facebook and other social media, it seems as though everyone thinks we want to know everything that is going on in their so-called life (that they’re creating for public consumption). From what people are eating, to their philosophy on everything from parenthood to wearing hoods, people want to be heard, seen and let’s face it, validated. Well, this guy doesn’t have a stamp to validate your parking or your life. So please keep your resolutions to yourself so that when you blow it we don’t both have to be embarrassed! – Don’t Get Me Started!

As you can tell, I’m not a resolution maker. I’ve disappointed myself time and time again telling myself I’m only going to eat one cookie instead of the whole box of Girl Scout Thin Mints. How the hell am I supposed to resolve to do something important and keep to it? The difference is that I’m not posting a photo with me eating one cookie telling you I’m only eating one and how good it feels. I’m quietly shoving cookie after cookie in my gullet, finally resorting to picking the crumbs off of my sweats covered belly and feeling awful about myself right where I should, in my own private life.  May I suggest you do the same?

Look, I get that we could all use some support but that’s what real friends are for, to share brunch and whatever bunch of crazy you’re currently serving up. Or via a little thing Mr. Alexander Graham Bell created, called the phone (and whoever invented texting for when you don’t really want to talk but want to lend your semi-support). It doesn’t need to be in a public forum with your not so closest 500 or more “friends.” If you need that kind of support go find some group therapy. As someone who spent 20 minutes in group therapy, I can tell you this is the exact place for it. You meet people who listen to you ramble on about how your life is beyond crazy and then when they talk, they make you feel more sane than anyone else in the room. It’s fabulous and I’m sure many a group are sharing resolutions as we speak. Look into it.

Truly, I want you to be successful in all you want for yourself. (Like you’re mother always told you that she only wants you to be happy but can’t help but tell you every time she talks to you that you have no idea how to run your life but she knows what would make you happy.) But allow me to be Mr. Reality for a moment. Before you post that you’ve decided to only eat organic foods and make your own soap on Facebook, stop yourself for your sake (and mine). At some point you’re going to find yourself in need of some good old fashioned crappy food and you will find yourself smuggling home Irish Spring because the neighbor you never talk to you friended at one point and you just know even though you don’t speak that she’ll have “one up on you” by knowing you caved and bought soap. Some things are meant to be kept to yourself and resolutions are one of them. Keep your resolutions to yourself so that when you blow it we don’t both have to be embarrassed! – Don’t Get Me Started! 

Fri, January 3, 2014 | link          Comments

Monday, July 22, 2013

Sharing Isn't Always Caring!

Sharing Isn’t Always Caring – Don’t Get Me Started!

I get it, thanks to Facebook and Wordpress, everyone is a writer without the rejection notice that no one wants to publish your work. I’ve been there, I am there, welcome to my world. But a recent scroll on my phone through friends (and let’s face it, mostly acquaintances I haven’t seen since I was ten) on my Facebook app made me start to think, sharing isn’t always caring – Don’t Get Me Started!

Everyone writes for a reason. Some of us write to get noticed, to feel creative and most of us think we have one good book in us. Like Jews making fun of Jews, we can because we are of it, what we joke about it. It helps us even the playing field to laugh at life’s injustices or even for some of us, lets the world know that while you’re worrying about what Jesus would do, we’re worrying our mothers won’t approve of anything we do. The most invaluable lesson my parents ever taught me was to laugh at myself.

So as a blogger I feel I have the right to say that while you’re writing on Facebook about a life you’re wishing you’re leading, your life is waiting for you to get off Facebook and actually have that life. I started life as an actor (and I’ll die as an unemployed one like many others) so I know about making up a life. Authors give actors a chance to embody flawed to fabulous characters and in a way, maybe that’s what many do on Facebook. The difference is that for actors, there’s an audience and then there’s home. Facebook has blurred the lines. Authors are actors and audiences are in their homes reading the performance. “I had the best turkey sandwich today.” “I’ve taken a good hard look at myself and have decided there is someone there I’d like to be friends with so tomorrow I will be a better friend to myself.” (If I was crafting this it would read, “I had a good hard look at myself and have determined I’m hard to look at!”) ARGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

I like seeing pictures of friend’s babies. I like seeing a post that makes me smile or stop to think. But I have to ask you, for those of you with the screwed up lives that think you’re suddenly Oprah with your light bulb moment, giving us advice and sharing your “journey” just stop for a moment before you hit “send” for all of our sakes.

The life you’re creating on Facebook, the one you want us so badly to see as yours, could be yours if you only took the energy to create that instead of “meaningful” posts about it. I get it, maybe you’re visualizing it into reality but maybe just maybe what you’re really doing is creating a character for a stage that doesn’t exist (and for good reason).

I wrote and posted a lot of days as a creative outlet but I never felt I was imparting wisdom as much as I thought I was providing a new frame to see an old picture in. I don’t think I got it right (Jewish guilt is the gift that lets you know you’re always getting it wrong) and I don’t want to convince you I’m having a fabulous time. I want to have a fabulous time.  I have been blessed with good friends who pick up their phone when I call, to parents who never let me go a day without knowing I was loved and a man that still makes my heart race faster at the sound of his voice after lo these many years (shockingly it will be 25 years this year). I don’t need to convince you how to live your life or that I know how to live mine. My wish for all of us is that we just go out and start living, posting a little less and understand that sharing isn’t always caring! 

Mon, July 22, 2013 | link          Comments

Sunday, November 25, 2012

If This Is The Best I Can Do With Cats, Thank God We Never Had Children!

If This Is The Best I Can Do With Cats, Thank God We Never Had Children! – Don’t Get Me Started!



 I’m the first one to admit that when we took in two stray cats almost ten years ago now, I had no idea what I was doing but through the years I’ve prided myself on knowing at least what my cats are all about and what’s best for them. That was until recent events when I discovered that if this is the best I can do with cats, thank God we never had children! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I guess I need to explain that we only had one pet when I was growing up, a small dog that acted more like a human than a dog. He sat at the table, took his place on his side of the monopoly board when we played, you get the idea. My spouse however is like Dr. Freaking Doolittle and had several pets growing up. So while I’ll admit I didn’t bring a lot of practical experience to the table, I’ve got common sense for days and an ability to look things up online so fast that Mr. Google no doubt envies me.

You can read my original tale of the cats here on my very old blogspot accounthttp://dontstartscott.blogspot.com/2006/05/it-has-happened-ive-become-one-of.html

Through the years, my spouse and I have fallen into our roles when it comes to the cats. While he does all the brushing and feeding, I’m responsible for mani/pedis and cleaning the cat litter box. Now I guess I should tell you that our cats are more than a little spoiled. At the risk of being the greatest gay cliché in the world, we named them after musical theatre characters and the minute that we took them in they were equipped not only with fabulous collars but two (what we considered) cat essentials. The electric water fountain and the Litter Maid cat litter box that automatically scoops everything into a neat container for you.

While the fountain has had to be replaced several times through the years, the Litter Maid box has remained doing its job since we got it…until recently. (And yes, I’m using the name of Litter Maid in hopes that they’ll want to put us in a commercial and/or send us free product– come on Litter Maid, if you’re not appealing to the gays with your product, someone in marketing needs to be fired!) Much to my chagrin, the Litter Maid has taken over one of our walk-in closets in the bedroom due to the cat litter dust (which I’m sure is fatal), it’s become more of a storage closet and my clothes must reside in the guest bedroom.

When I walked in to find the Litter Maid cord caught in the raking mechanism that scoops the poop, I did my best to fix it. I had no idea it was supposed to be retracting until it didn’t and then the next time it went on, I watched the rake snap the cord and I just knew it was all over. While I found sites that show you how to fix it, I am man enough to admit that I’m not a handy man. (While my brother made a Mazda engine model that ran when we were kids, I couldn’t get a Snap-tite model together to save my life.)

At first I thought, “Hey, with this economy they can just tough it out like less fortunate cats.” I figured I would just scoop like the rest of the world and it would all be fine. Now, while our larger male cat seems to have poop that is manageable in the smell department, his little sister has crap that is absolutely toxic. That said I figured that they would cover their poop like any other cat so the smell wouldn’t be that bad. But then I smelled it. I didn’t need to be a Hardy Boy to realize that Elphaba had taken a crap and thanks to the broken cat litter box, I decided to investigate. That’s when I saw it, turds almost as big as she was just laying there on the top of the cat litter. And then it dawned on me, they’ve never had to cover their crap in their lives and thanks to my “catenting” (“cat” and “parenting” put together) they were not about to start now.

I thought about “teaching” her how to cover her crap but then I realized just how insane that was (he said chuckling to himself realizing that this whole thing is insane) and so I went to the store and bought the only Litter Maid box I could find in four stores. It’s smaller than the other one and although they seem more interested in the box it came in, I have high hopes that there’ll be crap in the bucket by tomorrow morning and the smell won’t be horrible. I’m a big believer in knowing who you are and this was just another lesson to me that if this is the best I can do with cats; thank God we never had children! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Sun, November 25, 2012 | link          Comments

Friday, September 28, 2012

To Anyone But MY Julia!

Note: I wrote this in stages, much like the one my friend performed her daily life on. And now I see it in “acts” – acts of kindness, friendship and theatrical acts.


I’m not quite sure why but my family has always been excellent hospital sitters. While some may get squeamish, I go to a place of complete calm even in the most dire of hospital situations. I just know what to do at a hospital, what nurses to cajole to get what I want/need and I guess it’s when my family or friends are at their most vulnerable in a hospital that I can feel my caretaker instincts take over, this is me at my truest self. I guess this is the point where I tell you that I’ve never had to be hospitalized for any reason. No broken bones, no high fevers, no anything that required me to be in a hospital. I don’t know how I’ll be (as I’m sure at some point I’ll need to be hospitalized) but until that time comes, a recent turn of events has left me feeling more paralyzed than if I were laying in a hospital bed myself.

Jodie, my best friend of over 30 years went through hell when her husband was dying of cancer. She didn’t even know I was in the same state when I walked into the ICU on what would become her husband’s last day of life. I was there for her, her children (lucky that work had taken me to her state and that I could actually work from there on and off as needed to be with her for the week or so after he died). I remember asking her what she thought when she saw me walk into the ICU and she said, “I just knew it was time, you were here.”

I have been blessed to have strong women in my life, strong women who taught me that I could be gay and still be a man. They taught me about my own worth when I couldn’t see any in myself. No one taught me these lessons more than Julia whom I met one summer as an assistant choreographer. We were both in our thirties. She was this gorgeous model-type, fabulous dancer but even more fabulous in spirit. We became fast friends and I also became close with her husband and their two girls. This family transformed me. I remember the girls being pre-teens, us sitting down to dinner discussing anything and everything. They were the first children that I had known who knew I was gay at such a young age and due to the amazing home they lived in, they not only embraced it but they wanted me to play Mystery Date with them! I had never been around anything like them. The entire family is golden to me. My dear Julia became a Licensed Clinical Social Worker and in a few years she was running several hospitals’ programs. No surprise (she was always an overachiever from the moment I met her) even though she loved to make everyone think she was the loafer in the crowd (anything but, she was the Podesua pump, that pumped you up, never a loafer, too flat!).

We never lived in the same state but due to a job I had for years I was there all the time, spending weekends at their house, going to family events, even a  holiday party once where when being introduced to the hostess (who had no idea I was coming with the family) asked, “And you are?” And without a moment’s hesitation I said, “Nanny Scott, I’ve raised the girls since they were small.” It stuck. I’ve been known as Nanny Scott to them ever since.

When he told me of her original diagnosis I remember thinking it wasn’t good but okay, we can get through it. No problem. I fought my gut instincts, this would all be okay I said to myself. And when a few weeks later I was actually able to talk with her on the phone (he allowed us ten minutes to chat, strictly prohibited by medical professionals) she greeted me as always with her signature; “Hi darlin’” and she sounded like she always sounded so I felt better and told my gut to, “cool it.” For the life of me I can’t remember what we talked about. I know we laughed.

Some emails back and forth with her husband, Tom and then the news, it wasn’t good, worse than we had thought, worse than even the doctors had known. When he called to bring me up to date on the latest news he said, “It’s not good news, but she’s not dead either, she’s sitting here talking to me so we’ll move forward.” He knew I would be there in a second, he told me not to come. She couldn’t see anyone, talk to anyone so he told me to wait and then, when she was “on her feet” I would come and spend a weekend at the house. I love this man, I love his wife, I love their children. I knew he was right and yet here I was, two hundred fifty miles away with no uncomfortable hospital chair to doze in by her bed as I so desperately wanted to with every fiber of my being. I’ve never felt so helpless. I’ve never felt so angry. I’ve never felt so selfish. And as I waited, checking my phone several times a day for any type of word I couldn’t help but think, “To anyone but not MY Julia.”


Update – The call came, she made it through the surgery and now the real process begins. Whatever it is, there is still anger and helplessness inside me but there’s also hopefulness. Not so strange, this was a lesson this family taught me years ago and continues to teach me.

Due to the nature of the beast, phone calls were not an option. I sent cards. We knew one another before computers were commonplace and I remember writing her letters. Here I was again, sending letters and cards. I started sending musical cards. I guess somewhere in my head I thought that it would make her smile to open a card and hear music. I wrote about everything but the disease she was battling. I restrained myself from writing what I really wanted to write to her. I wanted her to guide me through this as she had done with so many difficult situations in my life. I wanted her to tell me she was feeling better. I wanted to call her everyday but I didn’t, I knew Tom had enough on his plate. And I knew he knew what was best and would call me when there was an update or something I could do.

I’m a selfish person. I wanted her to make me feel better when she was the one going through all of this crap. I sent her a t-shirt for her birthday from a store we loved. It was selfish, I wanted her to see it and think of me, the way that I thought of her every day. I kept wondering if the call would come with good news that she was ready for me to come for a weekend and I shoved to the back of my skull any thought of bad news coming in. 


I knew she was scheduled to go into the hospital for some tests so when the phone rang and I saw that it was Tom I allowed myself for a brief second to think that some miracle had happened in the hospital and she was now going to be able to speak to me. That moment didn’t last long, with his first word I heard something in his voice that made me feel like grabbing a piece of furniture to brace myself. “She coded” he said, “we were with her and then it just happened, she coded and then all hell broke loose and they have her in ICU now.” I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. I just kept lying to myself that this was something she could survive as I raced to the computer searching for any site by anyone who would tell me that she could survive this episode.

I watched the clock, I paced, I kept looking at my phone. Finally I couldn’t take it anymore, I texted Tom and when my phone rang I still held out hope that it was bad, a coma maybe but survivable. That wasn’t the news I got and as he told me she was gone I started to cry but somewhere in my head I heard Julia, always the practical one, telling me Tom needed me now, I stopped crying, I listened mostly because I didn’t know what to say. I asked about the girls, how they were doing, (at least I think I did) and when I hung up the phone I just sat by myself and cried for my loss, Tom’s, the girls and the thought of never hearing, “Hi darlin’” on the other end of the phone again.

I pulled out photo albums looking for pictures of her. I wanted to, needed to see her. I scoured the Internet in case there was a photo I didn’t know about (try Googling Julia Child and see what you come up with, not my Julia). I checked her maiden name, I checked her married name and finally after finding very little I realized that it didn’t matter what you found when you Googled her, she was more than what anyone could write or a photo. She changed my life, the way any good friend does. My life changed the day I met her and it has changed again now that I’ll never see her again. But I have Tom. I have the girls, I have the amazing man the eldest of the girls married and I have more responsibilities. The eldest is pregnant with her first child, a boy. And as she wrote me, it’s time for me to be Granny Scott! That would make Julia giggle. I’m glad I can still hear that sound in my head.
Fri, September 28, 2012 | link          Comments

Tuesday, August 21, 2012

Every Time I Try To Stay Out Of Politics They Pull Me Back In!
Every Time I Try To Stay Out Of Politics They Pull Me Back In! – Don’t Get Me Started! 

suffragettes.jpgLong have I tried to stay out of talking politics with anyone and for all the reasons that they say (plus a few of my own). Just like no Jehovah’s Witness or Mormon is going to convert me at my door, I feel the same way about politics. And if by chance you are someone susceptible to changing your mind about things because someone you’ve never met tells you that you should then please stop reading this and start donating to the Church of Scott, we worship things like witty people with great bodies and a really good bloody Mary (both the cocktail and the character from the musical, South Pacific) on Sundays and we need your support to do both so give generously and we’ll make sure when you die something spectacular happens to you! Every time I try to stay out of politics they pull me back in! – Don’t Get Me Started! 

I know oh too well that I won’t change anyone’s mind when it comes to who they’re voting for or who they think should be running the country. And I don’t want to be one of those people who quote polls and surveys, giving a bunch of numbers in trillions to scare you. I just need to vent, thus the reason for this blog I’ve been writing for years. 

Here’s the thing. I don’t understand women and contrary to the popular belief that all gay men want to be women (or talk like stereotypical black ones, calling everyone, “Girrrrrrrrrrl”) I feel compelled to do my job as a gay man, to be a best pal to you gals. Here are some facts that most everyone agrees on – you mature faster than men, you live longer and thus there are more of you on the planet. Can one of you then explain to me why or how you can allow straight white men to continue to push you around when it comes to your rights and pursuit of happiness? Why aren’t you already running the country? I don’t get it. 

Perhaps you’re all just thinking too small. Instead of thinking about how you’re going to get that business man at the end of the bar to buy you a drink or pay for your hair extensions, you should be making him pay for the years he didn’t allow you to have the vote and most recently telling you you’re not smart enough to make decisions about your own body and that if you’re really raped, your body will automatically know what to do so you don’t have a baby.  

They have used you for years, making you believe you weren’t thin or pretty enough when the fact is that you’re smarter and should know better. What about this whole concept is so difficult for you to understand? It’s time for you to all go Amazon on these scared, white straightee boys, become the power in this country and fix things. Don’t worry ladies, us gays and every other minority that the white men who want to focus more on seeing Janet Jackson’s tit for a split second on television than balancing the budget will help you. We’re not afraid of compromise as much as the white men are because we’ve been compromised by them for so long we know their days need to be numbered. You already outnumber them, all you gotta do is organize yourselves and if you can’t do it, you must know a gay who can help you. Okay, okay, I’m ready to help, geez! Every time I try to stay out of politics they pull me back in! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Tue, August 21, 2012 | link          Comments

Thursday, August 16, 2012

Looking Back Through My Revo Sunglasses
Looking Back Through My Revo Sunglasses – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t remember exactly when I bought them but I remember thinking it was a big deal. Long before the Sunglass Hut was on every corner, I ventured into one sometime in the early 90’s was it? Who can remember, I just know it was a while ago and at the time I must have tried on every pair in the store until I settled on my ultra-lightweight carbon framed, blue mirrored, most expensive pair of sunglasses to date. They were $100 and I remember going back a few times for the person behind the counter to “soften” the ear rests to fit exactly to my head. Recently I decided to dig them out and try them on again, looking back through my Revo sunglasses – Don’t Get Me Started!

Although I’ve oft been called, “jaded beyond my years” (okay, was called this when I was much younger) I like the fact that when I put my old Revo sunglasses on for a split second I wondered if I would see what I saw so many years ago. Maybe I would be able to see better when driving (I’ve become a little near sighted in my old age and wear glasses to drive at night) or maybe I would feel the way I felt about the world twenty years prior when I first put them on. None of these things happened but I did wonder if it had happened, what it would be like and I liked that the thought of the possibility entered my mind. 

Lest you think this some sort of waning for a time gone by fueled by mid-life crisis, I can assure you it wasn’t. It was much more H.G. Wells Time Machine in feeling. Could I be the one person in the world with magical glasses that allowed me to look at the past from my current state? To feel what I felt then and also feel what I feel now? Come on, you can’t tell me that wouldn’t be really cool.  

But much like a pair of pants or t-shirt you’ve kept too long, the sunglasses (still pristine from being stored in their case with the additional cleaning cloth I’d purchased at the urging of the salesgay behind the counter sometime in the 90’s) it wasn’t so much my head getting fatter that didn’t make them fit but it was that I wasn’t that guy anymore and let’s face it, once I couldn’t magically look into the past I quickly lost interest. I wore them for a few days and then I decided it was probably best to go back to my Tom Ford, $400 sunglasses. I remember buying these too. Someone had given me a gift card for Barney’s for $500. I didn’t want to buy something that would go out of style the next season or become too tight when my gym regimen lapsed so I bought the sunglasses the haughty woman behind the counter told me looked good on me and then used the remainder of the gift card to buy something for my spouse.  

I have to admit that it felt strange wearing the $400 Tom Ford sunglasses during the time I was unemployed. Even now as I try to dig my way back it seems a bit extravagant but then again, I’m pretty extravagant, thinking I could see into the past with Revos or see better into the future with Tom Fords. Sometimes I think it’s best if I just squint so that I can remember what it feels like when there’s too much light and clarity for me to take.  That’s usually when I put my sunglasses back on and move on.
Thu, August 16, 2012 | link          Comments

Monday, August 6, 2012

How I Became The Starbucks Customer Of The Month!
Read ALL about how I became The Customer Of The Month at my Starbucks on HubPages:

Mon, August 6, 2012 | link          Comments

Monday, July 2, 2012

Who Makes Spam? And I Donít Mean The Stuff Made By Hormel!
Who Makes Spam? And I Don’t Mean The Stuff Made By Hormel! – Don’t Get Me Started! 

Now that I’ve been writing online for as long as I have, I’ve encountered just about everything. There are the people who love me (sometimes a little too much and it scares me), there are the people who hate me (okay, to be fair some just hate the “sin” that I’m gay but there are still plenty of people who read my blogs and aren’t all that thrilled with me) but the most annoying of them all are the people who post what we now all universally call, “Spam” on my posts. Who makes Spam? And I don’t mean the stuff made by Hormel! – Don’t Get Me Started! 

First let me state that the fact that they decided to call people posting crap infected viruses on websites and everywhere else, “spam” is no doubt a little offensive to the gang at Hormel (and my spouse who happens to love some Spam from time to time). No doubt someone somewhere has done the research and earned their Master’s Degree pontificating about the origin of the naming of this annoying crap online but I don’t have the time or inclination to go around looking for it. I’ll leave that to the scholars. I, after all, am simply commenting of the annoyance of it all, not the origin of it. 

While I have droned on and on in previous entries about the fact that we as a nation seem to care less and less about our kids getting into good schools to get a good education and more worried about where the next audition is for America’s Got Reality Television Fifteen Minutes Of Fame Top Model Idol so that we can pimp them out and use their money like Gary Coleman’s parents, I wonder if the people who are posting the spam set out to be spammers? I can’t really see the counselor at school saying, “You seem to have a great proclivity for writing nonsense and at the same time creating hyperlinks that can do serious damage to all those stupid enough to click on them. Here are the top 500 companies that produce spam, put some samples together and I’ll get you an interview immediately!” 

I’d like to think that the people who create spam are sitting in some darkened dank warehouse typing away on old computers that have the actual letters worn off the keyboards as they drink Red Bull and create the latest strain of infection that will no doubt cause someone to spend hours and money to get their computers restored to their somewhat former state (let’s face it, anyone who has been through this knows it’s like having your house robbed, things just never feel quite the same again, they’re a bit tainted). But I think probably more likely than not, the spam kings are sitting in their houses in Malibu (the houses that spam built) typing into their computers that create the spam (I’m assuming that at this point the need to get Kathy Lee’s kids to type in the spam is no longer needed and that some geeky mastermind found a way to have computers actually generate and post spam on their own at this point). 

Seriously I don’t understand the people who invented nor the people who continue to make spam. In a country where so many are unemployed it would seem to me that people would have better things to do but apparently such is not the case. I post on a site called, HubPages and only this morning I discovered there were about seven posts to my various 900 blog entries that went on and on about Ann Curry leaving Today and then links to God only knows what that would cause God only knows what. Really people? Maybe we can’t put everyone back to work; maybe we can’t all be superstars but let’s strive for one small thing, shall we? Let’s strive to put the spammers out of business and back in the Hormel can, shall we?
Mon, July 2, 2012 | link          Comments

Sunday, June 17, 2012

Yes, Itís Summer And Hereís 5 Things You Should Know About What Youíre Wearing!

Yes, It’s Summer And Here’s 5 Things You Should Know About What You’re Wearing! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I don’t know where you live but I live in Vegas and it hit 108 degrees today, summer is here. Although here in Vegas we do get colder weather in the winter (though you wouldn’t know it from the morons who think shorts and flip flops are a year round adventure here) now that summer has really hit I’m more than ever grossed out by what I see out there. Yes, it’s summer and here’s 5 things you should know about what you’re wearing – Don’t Get Me Started!


  1. Those clothes you stored all winter when you were burrowing in, eating every burrito you could get your hands on may not fit anymore. Do not try to wear them. This goes for you, girl I saw running on the street the other day with jeans that were way too tight and as she ran and her crop top revealed not only her ample stomach jutting out the front but her tramp stamp tattoo on her lower back I thought that she must have gotten really mad and pulled “An Incredible Hulk” or just didn’t get that these clothes don’t fit her anymore and she shouldn’t oughta be wearing them!
  2. There is no such thing as a “summer scarf” – I saw this advertised on a website recently and wanted to choke the person who came up with this idea. It’s 108 degrees here people. The only scarf you should be wearing is one that goes over your head to protect you from the Sahara Desert which unbeknownst to any of us has been transplanted to Las Vegas. If you wear a scarf around your neck when it’s this hot, you’re just seen as someone who is trying way too hard and has been sold a bill of goods by the fashion industry. Save the scarves for winter.
  3. Although the old Nair commercials from the 70’s would have you thinking otherwise, not every girl needs to wear short shorts. This goes for you girls who are now painting them on making the world your gynecologist and you girls with so much cottage cheese on your thighs. We don’t all have nice legs, those of us who are nice know if we do or not and know what to hide and what to accentuate. Figure it out.
  4. Now that summer is here, apparently the fashion gays have decided that “boys” need to wear cut off jeans again. Oh but not jeans cutoffs like we all knew back in the day. No, now it’s take those skinny jeans you’ve been wearing all winter, cut them off just at the knee or lower and you’re supposedly in fashion. Or you’ve just created a look that makes you look like a Tim Burton character, congratulations! Shorts are called, “shorts” for a reason. And I don’t care how straight “acting” or you actually are boys, no one, hear my plea; no one can pull off Capri length pants without an ascot and a Charles Nelson Riley snarky laugh.
  5. Finally, so you want to have your “crusty dusties” out (your feet) with your sandals and flip flops. Do us all a favor (especially when taking those naked bad boys into grocery stores and where people eat) go ahead and loofah those cracked heels that look like the desert floor, use some moisturizer and whatever you do, for God Sakes people, trim those toenails. What are you growing talons for your protection? I’m convinced that some people only wear flip flops because they can’t get their long toenails into socks and /or regular shoes. 


Sun, June 17, 2012 | link          Comments

Monday, June 11, 2012

Less Neil Patrick Harris And More Tonys Please!
Less Neil Patrick Harris And More Tonys Please! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I know, you’re all sitting at home clutching your imaginary pearls at the thought of a gay man saying enough with Neil Patrick Harris on the Tonys (or anywhere else for that matter) but I’ve always called ‘em like I see ‘em and the broadcast of the Tonys this year has me saying, “Less Neil Patrick Harris and More Tonys Please!” – Don’t Get Me Started! 

I’ll admit it, I’m the one gay man on the planet who does not think Neil Patrick Harris is the most talented and adorable thing in the world. I always find him very “acty” and while I think he’s a talented singer, I wouldn’t pay to see it. I get that he’s a gay among gays with his spouse and children, television success, coming out, Broadway belt, etc. but for me he’s never been drool worthy. That said, I get that he’s liked and loved by a lot of people and there was no way I was going to miss a broadcast of the Tonys just because he was hosting. Just one thing, Mr. Harris, we all get that you’re gay, we get that there’s a stereotype about theatre being a breeding ground for gays but enough already with these jokes, they’re tired and belong back in 1982.  

From the start of the show I found myself wondering why there were so many ads for the Royal Caribbean cruise line. This all revealed itself mid-way through the show when Harvey Firestein entered wearing a floatie and his pants rolled up to take us via satellite to a production of Hairspray on a cruise ship somewhere out in the ocean. Yes, it’s true, we all know that Broadway went corporate years ago but this was more than I could stomach. Never mind that the cruise ship performer playing the lead role wasn’t even chubby or seemingly right for the role (perhaps because she doubles as “Roxie Hart” when they do the show, Chicago on the other nights of the cruise) but can someone explain to me how this gets put on the Tonys just because Actors’ Equity cut another deal to make money by putting union shows on boats? 

Let me back up, the awards that were “given out earlier” and scrolled by as the show went to commercials on the side of the television screen were awards like, Best Costume, Best Choreography, a special award for Bernadette Peters, and many more that I would truly have liked to see the person who was awarded speak. But no, three Patrick Harris numbers, an opening number from Book of Mormon (which was up and won the Tony last year) and a cruise ship performance were more important than celebrating the Regional Theatre that won a Tony this year (for those who don’t know, Regional Theatres are the birthing ground for many a Broadway show nowadays).  

Look, try as you might to get the Tonys to appeal to the masses, it appeals to the theatre going folk and not the people who are watching side show performers put nails through their noses on America’s Got Talent on the other channel. Why not go ahead and just give us theatre folk what we want? Three hours of showing scenes and numbers from Broadway, people gushing about their spouse, same sex partner and agent and a taste of Broadway? Enough with the “clever” numbers for the host (Neil Patrick or anyone else) give us the real performers, doing the real numbers and a montage of all the costumes nominated among other things. The producers came close this year with dancers on stage doing character movement while clips were shown of the plays that were up but even this wasn’t enough to bail them out from Broadway on the open seas and NPH upstaging the needed speech about who and what the Tonys are all about, hanging upside down as Spiderman. Less Neil Patrick Harris and More Tonys Please! – Don’t Get Me Started! 
Mon, June 11, 2012 | link          Comments

Tuesday, May 29, 2012

The Front Row - A Lesson In Loss

The Front Row – A Lesson In Loss




My father has a large family. Every summer my brother and I would be shipped off to our grandparents in a small town in what we called, “lower, slower Delaware.” My father’s family lived on a farm when he was small. My mother was the city girl from Philadelphia. (My parents are the living, breathing version of the Green Acres couple.) As a child, spending the summers in Delaware were never something I looked forward to and as I now realize what a complete pain in the ass I was as a child I’m sure they weren’t too thrilled about getting me there every summer either. One of my father’s uncles said to me during one of those summer visits, “Your brother is your father’s son and you are your mother’s.” As a child I took that to mean that I wasn’t of them and my brother was that I didn’t belong in Delaware or part of their family. As Sondheim wrote, “careful the things you say, children will listen.”

At the synagogue that my father’s family attended, in the “front row” were my Dad’s parents, aunts and uncles when he was small however the recent first death of his generation (my Dad’s first cousin who was six months younger than him, my father being the oldest of his generation of his family) made us all too aware that our parents have now become the “front row.” The generation of my father’s parents, aunts and uncles are almost all gone with the exception of a couple of aunts in their nineties. My father’s generation is now the “front row” and the recent loss has stirred emotions that were expected and at the same time stirred emotions I didn’t expect at all.


Not so oddly I suppose, I’ve found myself revisiting my youth experiences in that small town during the summers of my childhood in my mind since the passing. I remember the cousin who passed. He was a gentle giant to me as a child. He would imitate Donald Duck and was always the one who would put his arm around me when I was crying or what have you and say, “Son, it’s going to be all right.” The story he loved to tell about me was when my cousins and I were all young and he was driving us somewhere. He said, “Do you kids want to drive over the water?” We all screamed that we indeed wanted to go over the water. He said, “Okay, here we go, pick up your feet so that they don’t get wet.” I was the only one who picked his feet up as he drove us over the bridge that indeed was “over” the water. My parents were fortunate to have seen him about a month ago and he told my father to remind me of that story. He loved that story, I loved him, I still love him.

So as my cousins and I prepare ourselves for the inevitability that our parents are now the “front row” I find myself reaching out to them all with my heart. For those summers in our youth created a bond that time and space just don’t break. We will all be the children of the children who sat behind their parents in the “front row” and someday we will become the “front row” and until that time comes I send this out to all the children, nieces and nephews, cousins who feel the cycle of life and death. And when you find yourself faced with loss, I hope you will be grateful as I am to have had someone so extraordinary in my life who I can continue to carry in my heart. Sure, there is grief i my heart but there is also gratitude.

I don’t want to go back to the days of my youth. I’ve always been someone who was focused on the future (sometimes so much so that  I made it impossible for myself to enjoy what was happening at the moment for me) but for right now I’m going to instead focus on right now. And right now, I’m so thankful to have had this man in my life. There is no doubt that my father has been the strongest influence in my life on what I think a man can and should be but his uncles and cousins over those summers shaped me too, none more so than Terry. And although I’ll never see his face again, I see it when I close my eyes. I feel him in my heart. I feel his arm around me saying, “Son, it’s going to be all right.” And I finally believe him, something I never did as a child.


Tue, May 29, 2012 | link          Comments

Friday, May 11, 2012

Seriously People, Look Behind You Every Once In Awhile For All Our Sakes!

Seriously People, Look Behind You Every Once In Awhile For All Our Sakes! – Don’t Get Me Started!


I know we’re all supposed to not dwell on the past. We’re supposed to learn from the past but always look forward to the horizon, to our future. And while I’m currently in therapy trying to actually deal with the here and now, being “present” I began to think about all of the things that happen behind us that no one seems to consider and so as always I’ve decided to consider and make you aware of what I think y’all should all ready know but apparently you don’t know or know that you should care about. Seriously people, look behind you every once in awhile for all our sakes! – Don’t Get Me Started!


When driving a car people, take some time to use that freaking rear view mirror will you? As you meander from lane to lane looking for your exit or street (usually with no turn signal) remember that you are not the only one on the road. There are others who actually know where the hell they’re going usually stuck behind you and would like to get there if you weren’t in the way. Look behind you.


All of you people who feel the need to wear flip flops everywhere, sandals, clogs or the dreaded Crocs; loofah and moisturize your heels people. The first thing is that I don’t want to have to look at your naked feet to begin with but if you’re insisting on all of us looking at your “crusty dustys” for Chrissakes scrub off the rough spots and moisturize, moisturize, moisturize (and while we’re at it, men would it kill you to clip those talons that have taken the place of your toenails?). Also, if for any reason you actually have a fungus, yellow toe nails or just nasty ass feet, put those potatoes in their sack – in other words, there’s a reason God invented socks…get some. But the heels, the heels seem to be the place no one pays attention. Again, look behind you.


Your ass should be something to be admired but if you’re one of those people who have the dreaded long, flat ass you’re all ready working at a disadvantage so don’t make matters worse. To everyone else, take a brief moment to look in a mirror and see how your ass looks in the pants you have on. For women who wear yoga pants everywhere you seem to have no clue that your ass has eaten most of the fabric that makes up the pants to the point where they look like you’re wearing Capri length pants to the straight boys who walk around with their pants so low that it sort of frames their ass in their underwear attracting gay men more than I’m sure they’d like, how your ass looks is important to all of us. Look behind you.


So while the world is full of things to look at in front of us, I encourage all of you to take a few moments each day to look behind you because those of us who are behind you are getting quite the view. A view frankly that sometimes makes a little queasy. Sure there are times that we’re loving what we’re seeing but take a few minutes to see what we’re seeing and decide if it makes you queasy (then fix it) or if you love it! Look behind you!

Fri, May 11, 2012 | link          Comments

Monday, April 16, 2012

Sloppy Americans May Have Taken The Glamour Out Of It And Terrorists May Have Made It A Hassle But I Still Love An Airport!

Sloppy Americans May Have Taken The Glamour Out Of It And Terrorists May Have Made It A Hassle But I Still Love An Airport! – Don’t Get Me Started!


Long have I bemoaned the fact that there is no longer any glamour when traveling via aircraft. I recall being a youth in a tie and sports jacket as my parents boarded us onto a plane to visit relatives in what seemed far off lands (Delaware). We were well versed in such things as how to behave on a plane (believe it or not, people used to teach their kids to shut up and that they weren’t the only beings on the planet) to ask for playing cards and maybe if we were lucky a pair of plastic wings were coming our way if we behaved appropriately. But as I began traveling almost weekly for business I had lost any excitement or happiness when it came to dealing with airports. However that was awhile ago and much to my amazement I haven’t been in an airport for over a year until this past weekend. Sloppy Americans may have taken the glamour out of it and terrorists may have made it a hassle but I still love an airport! – Don’t Get Me Started!


It was hardly a trip to another continent I was making (in reality it was less than an hour in the air) but as I prepared for my weekend getaway I was flush with the excitement of possibilities. The most exciting thing was that I was a gay man who was going to be traveling for a weekend (and going to a brunch on Sunday) and managed to fit everything I needed into one smart leather duffle-type bag. I had my three ounce versions of all of my liquids neatly tucked into their quart sized Ziplock bag and I was more than good to go.


Much to my surprise there were no long lines at security coming or going. (I’m sure this had something to do with my general happy demeanor regarding the trip.) And as I looked around at my fellow travelers I reveled in the fact that airports are still one of the greatest locations in the world to people watch. To see and be seen as it were. I love the business men on their phones trying to seem much more important than they are, I love the girls dressed to the nines who don’t realize they look more like working girls than Kardashians and I love the families with the harried parents trying to hold it all together when what they really want to do is just scream at the top of their lungs.


These people who were put together by random circumstances become a sort of ballet to me. As I plug my ears with my ear buds and change the soundtrack with the touch of my finger, the “dancers” move through their activities never knowing how much enjoyment they’re giving me. The girls with too much makeup on, hair extensions and plumped up lips throw their hair back while my iPod blares in my head, “Toot toot, hey…beep, beep…bad girls, talking bout the sad girls…” then the man with the wedding ring eyeing up the college boy with lust dripping from every pore, “Young man, there’s no need to feel down, I said, young man, pick yourself off the ground…” Yes, it’s all true, sloppy Americans may have taken the glamour out of it and terrorists may have made it a hassle but I still love an airport! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Mon, April 16, 2012 | link          Comments

Sunday, April 8, 2012

Do Me A Favor, Go Ahead And See That Iím Gay And That My Spouse Is Black!

Do Me A Favor, Go Ahead And See That I’m Gay And That My Spouse Is Black! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I can’t listen to one more person say, “I don’t see color.” Unless you’re looking at life on your old black and white television from the 1950’s, you see color and even to infer that you don’t as some big medal of honor makes me sick. Do me a favor, go ahead and see that I’m gay and that my spouse is black! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Yes, we can all agree that racism in America is better than it was in the 1950’s but it’s not gone. Nor for that matter is homophobia, anti-Semitism, and so on and so on. I am a Jewish gay man who has a spouse who was a former altar boy and is black. I like to say, “Yes, we’re the poster children for hate crimes.” But what I really want to say is that as a forty-something gay who grew up knowing few black people, I had no idea what their struggles were, only my own. My own as a young boy being told by a neighbor boy that had played with us for so long knocking on our door saying, “I can’t play with you anymore because my Dad says you’re dirty Jews.” My own experience of being bullied and beat up being called names like, “fag” everyday at school. And when my spouse and I found one another and fell in love, it wasn’t because of these experiences but as we go through our 23rd year together I am more and more aware just how much most people want those of us who have been discriminated against to “get over it” or feel that we should just go silent. But what they don’t realize is that inequality should never be “tolerated” and should always be shown the light of day for what it is. So as long as I can, I will continue to tell people that yes, things have changed but we still have a long way to go.

I’ve always said that I much prefer the people who have a “problem” with me being Jewish or gay or whatever to come out and say it. I take great pride in leaving most of the “you’re going to hell” comments on my blog so that people can see just how much further we all need to go when it comes to equality and fair treatment of all. But the ones that really piss me off are the politically correct people who are so gracious as to “tolerate” gays or “hate the sin but not the sinner.” Those people who think they’re being so nice and loving but really are just white washing their hate with a cheap coat of paint that is going to wear through very quickly.

So do me a favor. Don’t say, “I don’t even see color” go ahead and see the color of someone’s skin. For it’s not in the seeing that makes you a racist, it’s the belief in saying that you don’t see it that diminishes what and who the person is in front of you. By saying you don’t see their color or them being Jewish or gay or whatever you are not seeing the full person that stands in front of you. And I want to be seen…fully. I want you to see all of me, not just some stereotype and certainly not what you think is the politically polite thing to see. I’m not saying that you have to like me, I’m just saying that you have to see me. 

Sun, April 8, 2012 | link          Comments

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Who Creates Corporate Buzzwords? Itís Certainly Not In My Wheelhouse!

Who Creates Corporate Buzzwords? It’s Certainly Not In My Wheelhouse! – Don’t Get Me Started!

It never ceases to amaze me how people can take a bunch of words that you know (or sort of know) and turn them into some magical word or phrase that within minutes everyone seems to be using. This is especially true in the corporate world. Now I’m not talking about “going postal” or taking a noun and making it a verb, I’m talking about the mystical magical corporate buzzwords that as clever as they may seem to an outsider are really just a way of saying nothing at all. Who creates corporate buzzwords? It’s certainly not in my wheelhouse! – Don’t Get Me Started!

I remember years ago, everyone in the corporate culture wanted to take everything “offline.” In a big meeting with a bunch of people when confronted with actually having to “show your work” or knowledge of something and have no idea, just say loudly in front of everyone, “I think that’s a discussion we should take offline. Have your assistant set up a meeting for us, will ya?” This serves its purpose on many levels. It’s sort of a corporate “get out of jail free” card for the moment and in one swoop you’ve made the other executive look subservient by having their assistant set up the meeting instead of yours. What you have to do after an encounter like this is either get your shit together so that you’re ready for the meeting or keep avoiding the “offline” conversation by being so busy “online” with other meetings and talking to other people that you can basically forget about the topic being brought up until the next big meeting at which point you’ll have to look for another buzzword that is more current to get you out of talking about it again. Exhausting, right? And people wonder why there aren’t more successful companies in the United States.

The corporate buzzword of the moment seems to be, “wheelhouse.” Now again, I have no idea how it got started, what it really says and so like most people working in the corporate culture, you have to sort of listen to the context clues of the other words in the sentence to make sense of it. The way that I’ve heard it used is like, “We should give that to Tom, it’s in his wheelhouse.” So I think it means an area of expertise or at the very least, the guy that you’re going to shove the work off on. But to me, the whole wheelhouse thing sounds like something that would be in an Amish village or something. I mean, they drive buggies to and fro so wouldn’t it make sense that someone has to make, maintain and put the wheels on the buggies? And wouldn’t they do it in a wheelhouse? When I looked it up online it says something about it being the shelter for the person driving the boat. Hmmm, so it still doesn’t make sense to me that they’d be using it as a corporate buzzword. Maybe because the wheelhouse only shelters the captain and it’s the one guy that they’re going to shove the work off on?

Growing up my parents didn’t spend a lot of time washing our mouths out with soap for saying so-called, “bad” words. To my parents it was more important that we express ourselves, that we be heard. They wanted us to choose our words carefully but if an occasional swear word slipped out, it wasn’t the end of the world and no beatings ensued. I love a good “curse word.” I love how it feels in my mouth, the reaction that it gets and so I am not afraid to let one fly. But at least with curse words, people know what in the hell you’re talking about. These buzzwords always leave you wondering what the person is saying and what you’ve just committed yourself to. So whoever it is that creates the corporate buzzwords, please stop. And you people who call yourselves executives, just say what you mean and you’ll get a lot more respect than if you stay in your wheelhouse. (Was that the right way to use that? Who the hell knows, geez!) Who creates corporate buzzwords? It’s certainly not in my wheelhouse! – Don’t Get Me Started!

Sun, March 11, 2012 | link          Comments

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Don't Get Me Started!

began years ago when I was at dinner with a producer from a dinner theater where I worked for eleven years. (It's what I refer to as My Dazzling Dinner Theater Days)
I was riled up about something and this producer said, "You should have a radio show where people call and get you fired up and you just go off." As I had a reputation for going on a tirade the likes of Dixie Carter on Designing Women (remember this was years ago) and as I was constantly starting my sentences with the phrase above; when I started blogging I decided that this might be a way to get my rants out to the public at large.
I hope you enjoy them as much as I enjoy writing them.

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Since the site began in August of 2006, people have been writing in (okay, mostly my Mother) telling me that I needed to do a video blog (or “vblog”) like Rosie and everyone else in the world. Writing the “Don’t Get Me Started” blog five times a week is daunting enough without adding video production on top of it. Plus, what would be different about the video blog from the written blog? After the huge response from my blog about being a Forty-Something Gay during Pride week, it hit me that my video blog would feature topics for us garden variety Forty-Something Gays! I hope you enjoy them as well as the rest of the Some Like It Scott site!

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That's right, Don't Get Me Started! I have no idea what I was thinking. Well, not true, I thought it looked fabulous. The hair was sufficiently “palmed” out to give it height and that’s not a shadow you see behind my head, it’s the true bi-level cut of the 80’s going on, not a mullet, my friends, an honest to goodness Duran Duran inspired bi-level! I had purchased this Gulden's mustard colored all silk suit at Bloomingdale's with the collarless purple silk shirt and just knew I looked fabulous. (What a difference a decade or so makes, huh?)

Anyway, I was simply overwhelmed by how many people wrote in telling me about their hair and fashion disasters, everything from a "Super Freak" outfit to get into a Rick James concert to a swell guy who wrote about his perm that gave him that “greatest star” Streisand “Star Is Born” look, or so he thought until he reflected back on it “with one more look at you.”

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Click on a title below to read the archived blog!

If You're Gellin', You're A Felon - Don't Get Me Started!

Aquaman Coming To The Big Screen - Don't Get Me Started!

Lance, I Was Wrong - Don't Get Me Started!

Lance Bass Is Gay...And? - Don't Get Me Started!

No Miss America Networks But A Spelling Bee? - Don't Get Me Started!

My Parents Are In Rehab - Don't Get Me Started!

Once Again, My Gay Membership Is In Danger Of Being Revoked - Don't Get Me Started!

It Has Happened, I've Become One Of Those Animal People I Hate - Don't Get Me Started!

Lesbians We All Get It...Take The Rainbow Off Your Car - Don't Get Me Started!

Even The Gays Don't Like To Be Rear-Ended (Always) - Don't Get Me Started!

All Cast Changes Must Be Cleared Through Me! - Don't Get Me Started!

Let Them Have Christmas - Don't Get Me Started!

Don't Blame The Barista, Blame Your Parents, Like Everyone Else! - Don't Get Me Started!

The De-Heterosexualization Of The Heterosexual Man - Don't Get Me Started!

Back That Chevy Nova's Ass Out Bitch! - Don't Get Me Started!

I Detest Cheap Sentiment - Don't Get Me Started!

Trainers Are Prostitutes At The Gym - Don't Get Me Started!

Just How Heavy Could Those Shoes Be? - Don't Get Me Started!

I'm Gay, You're Gay, But It's Not Okay To Kiss Me On The Lips! - Don't Get Me Started!

But My Pants Fit From The Waist Up - Don't Get Me Started!

Homeopathy For This Homosexual? - Don't Get Me Started!

The DMV Is Convinced I'm A Woman - Don't Get Me Started!

Sure I'll Be A Hostage If It Gets Me A Book And Movie Of The Week Deal - Don't Get Me Started!

People With THE FISH On Their Car - Don't Get Me Started!