Beefcake For Equality

What the hell happened to football? It used to be the sport of the roughest and the toughest. Grrrr. Men being men. Grrrrr. Smash. Tackle. Clip. Throw. Grrrr. Now, football is, well, it's coming out for marriage equality. No, really. There are two football players are speaking out against discrimination.

First we had Baltimore Ravens Brendon Ayanbadejo who wrote an article for the Huffington Post supporting marriage equality, saying: "I think we will look back in 10, 20, 30 years and be amazed that gays and lesbians did not have the same rights as every one else. How did this ever happen in the land of the free and the home of the brave?"

Land of the free, indeed. And Brendan is quite brave, considering his chosen profession, to come out for equality.

And now we have defensive captain of the New Orleans Saints, Scott Fujita, who says: "People could look at this issue without blinders on...the blinders imposed by their church, their parents, their friends or, in our case, their coaches and locker rooms. I wish they would realize that it's not a religion issue. It's not a government issue. It's not even a gay/straight issue or a question of your manhood. It's a human issue. And until more people see that, we're stuck arguing with people who don't have an argument."

So, again I ask, what the hell happened to football? Used to be a sport of brawn over brains; used to be a sport of tackling and hitting and, well, this one sounds a bit gay, sacking. Now, it's a sport where two successful players, still playing the game, are speaking out on a subject that was previously thought to be taboo in the world of sports.

Thanks, from me, to Brendan and Scott. I may just have to start watching the games. Tight uniform's, bulging arms, beefy thighs. And compassion.

Still Less Than.....According To The Courts

The last family photo.

Lisa Pond [l], with Janice Lengbehn [r]

and their children, Katie, David, and Danielle.

Do you remember the story of Janice Langbehn and Lisa Pond, the Lesbian couple from Seattle who were ready to board a cruise in Miami when Lisa was hospitalized? I first posted about it HERE back in April.

Now, there's more to the story.

Here's the gist: Lisa suffered an aneurysm and Jackson Memorial Hospital in Miami refused to allow Janice Langbehn access to her partner, even after Langbehn showed proof she had power of attorney over Pond in medical matters. Lisa Pond died, and Janice Langbehn was only allowed to see her as the priest was delivering last rites.

Bad enough; or so I thought. Just this week the US District Court for the Southern District of Florida rejected Lambda Legal's lawsuit, filed on behalf of Langbehn, the Estate of Lisa Pond and their three adopted children, saying:

"Today’s ruling comes after the Public Health Trust of the Miami Dade County, the governing body of Jackson Memorial Hospital, filed a motion to dismiss the case. The court ruled that the hospital has neither an obligation to allow their patients’ visitors nor any obligation whatsoever to provide their patients’ families, healthcare surrogates, or visitors with access to patients in their trauma unit. The court has given the Langbehn-Pond family until October 16 to review the ruling and consider all legal options."

Jackson Memorial Hospital released their own statement:

"We have always believed and known that the staff at Jackson treats everyone equally, and that their main concern is the well-being of the patients in their care. …Jackson will continue to work with the gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender community to ensure that everyone knows they are welcome at all of our facilities, where they will receive the highest quality of medical care."

Nice words. Too bad they weren't put into action as Lisa Pond was dying and her partner was trying to see her. It certainly doesn't lend much creedance to that one line: 'everyone knows they are welcome at all our facilities.'

So, again, as I said in that earlier post on this issue, when people ask why marriage equality is so important, remember Janice and Lisa and their children. Remember that, simply because of their sexual orientation and the fact that they could not legally marry, they were denied the same rights available to any other heterosexual couple.

We don't have the right to marry.

We don't have the right to hold our partner's hand as they lay dying.

Remember that.

The Jews Rape Boys, Too.....And So Do Protestants

This is rich.

The Vatican has issued a statement saying that other religions are worse than Catholics when it comes to pedophile priests and at least their pedophile priests don't like their boys really young.

Seriously.

The Holy See said the majority of Catholic clergy who committed such acts were not actual pedophiles, but homosexuals who are attracted to sex with adolescent males. I guess the fact that these priests are having sex with underage boys makes them pedophiles skipped the church's notice.

The statement, delivered by Archbishop Silvano Tomasi, defended the Catholic church's record by claiming that "available research" showed that only 1.5%-5% of Catholic clergy were involved in child sex abuse.

But he forgot to mention how many, of that 1.5%-5%, were shuttled around from parish to parish by the Catholic church so they could continue to molest young boys and the church could save face. Where are those percentages Archbishop Tomasi?

Then he claimed that, according to statistics in the Christian Scientist Monitor, most of the US churches being hit by child sex abuse allegations were Protestant and that sexual abuse within Jewish communities was common. So, the Catholics want you to know that they are not the worst child rapers on the planet; there are others.

Archbishop Asshat then went on to say that, in the case of the Catholic church, it isn't so much pedophilia as something called ephebophilia, a homosexual attraction to adolescent males. See, they don't want to blame their straight priests, because straight is good; they lay all the ills of the Catholic church sex abuse scandal at the feet of the LGBT community.

Fine example they're setting.

Of course, it cannot go without notice that the Catholic church has paid out over Two Billion Dollars in molestation settlements. But, remember, there are worse cases than that.

Or so they claim.

One Night In Bangkok, Okay, Smallville

Carlos can sleep through anything.

When we lived in Miami and we're going through Hurricane Katrina, which tore our Chinese Orchid Tree to shreds, ripped down the fence, and took big pieces of our roof off, he slept.

I paced. I stayed in a closet, not because I'm a self-loathing homosexual, but because it seemed like the safest place to be as I listened to bits of tree and fence and roof hit the side of our house.

He slept.

And to make matters worse he can fall asleep almost instantaneously. We go to bed at around the same time each night, and we'll talk just before we doze off. If there's a lull in the conversation longer than thirty seconds, he's out. Way out.

So, last night, we go to sleep. I was a bit tired so I went to bed around 11:15; Carlos stayed up playing Spiders--what he calls Spider Solitaire--and came to bed around 11:45 or so.

At 11:55, it began.

I thought a buzz saw had entered the room, grinding and whirring, and cutting though the cool Smallville night air headed right for me.

I tap the pillow, wondering how long this might go on and whether or not I can fall asleep, and stay asleep. It stops.

But then the pump starts. He expels air like some kind of steam engine :::::pooof poooooof:::: and buzz saws in between. It's like ::::poof pooooof whirrrr grind chortle poof pooooooof::::::: on a continuous loop and I decide it is never going to end.

I nudge him, gently. Charlie? You're snoring.

No I'm not. He says.

No I'm not? WTF does that mean? Is he implying I'm losing my mind, because if this snoring keeps up, I most certainly will.

Yes, you are.

Maybe it's you.

Me? I wake myself up with my own snoring and yet, somehow, continue to snore while awake, readying by Blame Gun to fire on a sleeping prince? Is that what he's telling me?

No, Charlie, you're snoring.

He turns over.

::::poof grind whirrr snizzle pop pop grind poooooof::::::::::::::

Charlie!

He literally does not hear me, and I don't know it he can't because of the noise of the Snore Factory or the fact that he's trying to ignore me, or if he's actually, and I cannot believe it, sleeping through it! Now, I know it's a king-size bed, but I am not calling from a different time zone. I nudge; okay, maybe I shove. He rolls over again.

::::::::::::::poof snizzle grind whirrrrr arrrrgh pooooooof:::::

I move to the guest room. And so do the cats. Yes, his snoring keeps cats awake.

Over breakfast, I open my half-sleeping, bloodshot eyes, and tell him we're getting an alarm clock for the guest room so, if it happens again, he can ::::poof snap crackle pop snizzle whirrrrr grind arrrrrgh poof pooooof::::: to his heart's content.

But Who's Gonna Read It To Her?

Sarah Palin, the Quitter From Up North, has apparently, ahem, coughcough, written a book, albeit with the help of what they're calling a collaborator. Which, I think, is Palin-speak for "she wrote while I stuck needles in my John McCain voodoo doll and cried about how mean people are to me."

For this she quit being governor? This was her "higher purpose," her "calling"?

And to top it off, she's calling the, ahem coughcough, book, Going Rogue: An American Life. Going. Rogue. Didn't ex-Governor Wink-Wink stomp her feet at the liberal media for coining that phrase when she reportedly went off on the McCain campaign? Didn't she say she never "went rogue"?

Further proof that, unless you're a wingnut who lets the likes of Glenn Beck and Rush Limbuagh do your thinking for you, that Sarah Palin says one thing and then does the exact opposite.

Sarah Palin. Governor Quitter. Vice President Failure. And now she writes.

i didn't even know she could read.

It's Cool Because He's Got No Problem With "The Gays"

Rapper Warren G:

"I ain’t against gay people. I’m just against it being promoted to kids...I know people that’s gay. My wife’s got friends that are gay. I got family that’s gay. Cousins and shit. He cool as fuck. He cool as a motherfucker. He’s my homie. I just mean that on some of these TV shows, they got dudes kissing. And kids are watching that shit. We can’t have kids growing up with that...I know it happens, but let’s keep it behind the scenes. Ain’t nothin’ wrong with it if that’s what two dudes wanna do. Cool. But that’s not bring that out into the world, where the kids can see that. We don’t want all the kids doing that. ‘Cause that ain’t how we was originally put here to do. Like I said, I ain’t got no problem with the gays."

Oh Warren, you have all kinds of problems with "the gays." Just like all those folks, back in the day, 'bout fifty years ago or so, who had problems with black people. Those folks who made black people use different drinking fountains, sit in the balcony at the movies, and ride in the back of the bus.

Those kinds of problems lead a lot of ignorant white people into killing black people if they found out a black kid, like say, oh, Emmett Till, had looked at a white woman.

By your idiotic and ignorant statements you are saying it's okay to bash a gay man if you see him being affectionate with his partner; or beat up a lesbian if she doesn't give you the time of day. You're saying it's okay to be gay, as long as no one knows.

You're an idiot, and a hater.

Anyone Else Enjoying The New TV Season?

Glenn Beck Is A Big Fat Idiot....To Paraphrase Al Franken

I saw this over at Sam's Lazy Circles this morning and thought I'd share. Sam is a fellow South Carolinian--feel our pain!
Further proof, as if we needed it, that Glenn Beck talks out of his ass and cannot backup a single one of his "points" with anything other than his dog-and-pony show style behavior.

And Joy Behar offers her own take on Beck's antics.

Welcome!

To Stan, from underSTANding Stan.

And To Mauro from Observing Reality And Its Impact On People, From Porto Alegre RS, Brazil.

Give 'em a looksee.

Happy Birthday Mom

Today is my Mother's birthday. She would have been 72 if...........

I remember many things about my Mom.

The Mom who baked things for school.

The Mom who made the best Clam Chowder on rainy winter days.

The Mom who painted.

The Mom who laughed.

The Mom who loved you no matter what.

The Mom who, as soon as Carlos and I moved in together, would introduce him as her son-in-law.

The Mom who was married to my Dad for over 50 years.

The Mom who was a Nurse.

The Mom who loved to travel.

The Mom who taught me to love books.

I love my Mom.

I miss my Mom.

I Should Be Laughing: Emma

When the rains came, as they always did, late in the day, torrents of water would surge down from the hilltops, from the stand of native pines at the crest, and surround the insignificant house on three sides. The rains would then disappear, as fast as they came, leaving muddy reminders in the yard, a clean smell in the air, and wisps of steam rising up from the blacktopped surface of Painter Road.
Waiting for the rains, Emma stood on the back stoop of her tiny, rented house. The stoop, which Beam repaired after one particularly vicious winter, sagged in the middle and leaned to one side. It left Emma feeling off-balance, that stoop, but then Emma felt out of kilter most everywhere these days. Still, she stood on that small back porch whenever she had the chance. Whenever Beam was out of the house and Lyle was down for his nap.
It was cold that morning, unseasonably cold, though it was springtime and well past noon. And while the fog had lifted midmorning, the sun had yet to scare away the clouds and warm the house. With her arms crossed, frantic to keep the heat from her body close, Emma stood quivering in bare feet, icy feet, wriggling her toes in the chill of the wormy wood. Her hair, which she tied back with one of Beam’s bandannas, now hung in loose strips of straw around her face. When she was a girl, blue-eyed and truly blond, not from a bottle, Emmaline Fraser was beautiful; these days, these last years, she had become hard and angry, lonely. As a young girl, she seemed kissed by the sun. Tan. Laughing. Alive. Nowadays the sun was afraid to shine down on her; warming Emma Seaton was too much work.
She could trace a path back through the years to the day, to the exact moment, when her life had veered out of control. It was her eighth birthday, the last time anyone threw a party for Emma Fraser. She had long since stopped acknowledging the passing of the years, though not for the sake of vanity. Birthday parties and cakes were reminders; even the cards her father sent she declined to open. There are memories too painful to numb, no matter how many years or miles pass by, so Emma put away party dresses and gifts and bows, and it had worked out fairly well. Beam never remembered her birthday; no cards or cakes or flowers; not even a hug. It’s probably why I chose him, Emma thought, and why I stay. He doesn’t remind me of that day.
Her father, on the other hand, is a constant reminder. Every phone call and letter, every time she thinks of him, she imagines how he looked that day. How she loved that man…once; and how things had changed. Father and daughter had been so happy before her eighth birthday. These days she could barely bring herself to say his name.
Walt Fraser would pick Emmaline up after school every Friday and, together, they would roam around Fort Bragg, looking in windows, browsing through the toy store on Pacheco, eating ice cream on a wooden bench in front of Swensens. Walt would even climb to the top of the jungle gym in the park and sit with his daughter. Side-by-side they would stare over the rooftops of town and gaze at the sea, a sequined pane of glass ready to swallow up the sun.
Emmaline used to dream of what was out there, on the far side of the ocean. Who was over there in China? Was anybody in Africa thinking about a little girl in California when she was wondering about him or her? Emmaline Fraser spent too much time thinking about other people and places. Up the hill and downtown. Paris, France. On the beaches halfway around the world. Rio de Janeiro. Up north, back east. Alaska. What was out there, and could she have some?
These days Emma Seaton still stares and wonders. Mostly she peers into the trees at the top of the hill behind her little house, and she wonders what waits on the other side of those trees. Whenever Beam is away and Lyle is napping, Emma is wondering and staring; tapping her foot in the spongy wood of her back porch and chain-smoking.
Plucking the cigarette from her lips, Emma flicked it at the ground, into the dirt that would change to mud when the rains came later in the day. Her eyes flew to the top of the hill, narrowing as she gazed at the woods. The muscles along her jaw tensed and twitched leaving her face almost bird-like, the sharp crease to her nose, the slight point to her chin, the rapid eye movement. Her eyes darted from tree to tree, looking for the right path that would take her away, then dropping to her feet and staring at the cigarette dying in the dirt.
Back on that day, when she was seven, about to be eight, Emma’s father had come for her after school. Walt Fraser’s orders were to keep her away from home until at least five o’clock, so he took his beautiful laughing blond baby into town so she could pick out the doll she wanted. Suzie Q; a doll, Emma told him, that she could actually feed; a doll who wet herself and had real hair, and eyes that closed when she slept. Emmaline Fraser wanted a baby she could call her own.

Little Emma’s hands stretched as far as they could go, her fingers splayed over the counter of the Toy Place, trying to grab hold of her baby girl, Suzie Q. Emma laughed that laugh as the shopkeeper drew the box down off the shelf and held it just beyond her grasp.

........

Emma was sick of waiting and watching. She stomped her bare foot down on the still lit cigarette lying in the dirt, stirring up clouds of dust that would mingle in the mud later in the day when the rains came. Emma, on the other hand, would be high and dry by then. Her mind made up that today was the day; she decided to ask Bessie Daggett to sit with Lyle until Beam got back from Missus Seaton’s. Most likely, he wouldn’t return until evening, having spent the day shoveling for her, groveling to her; five hours would give her a decent head start. By the time Beam realized she wasn’t home, and never would be again, she would be in a different place; another time, another time zone.
Rounding the corner of the house, headed downhill in the gullies caused by the rain that always came, Emma first saw him. Beam; running uphill; literally running. Where the hell is the car? If he trashed that thing, I’ll…Emma’s bird eyes honed in on her husband as though he were prey. Running! Beam hadn’t run since…he never ran; unless it was to the refrigerator for a beer, or away from a job. Yet, he was running today, tearing up the road as fast as he could.
His hair was soaking wet, glued to his scalp and curling around his neck, so damp it looked almost black. Inky ringlets plastered his forehead and Beam resembled some long-forgotten comic book character…the hamburger guy from Popeye, Emma thought. Wimpy! He looked Wimpy, running erratically up Painter Road. The plaid shirt he always wore was unbuttoned and trailing behind him; flames of blue and gray and green chasing him home. His undershirt, drenched with sweat, formed a second layer of skin as pasty white and flabby as the first.
Emma Fraser Seaton watched her husband claw up the hill to the house that was tacked onto a sharp curve in the road. She wanted to laugh when he tripped and fell to the gravel, but it wasn’t funny, nothing was funny anymore. When Beam stood up, quickly, and took off running the cackle stuck in her throat, becoming a cough. Wearing the face of a child in trouble, he wiped his hands on his jeans as he ran, and Emma wondered what he had done…this time. Sweat and tears flew from his face in enormous drops and a cry escaped his lips. Watching him scramble home in such terror, Emma knew she wouldn’t be able to leave; not today.
“Beam?” Emma stepped into the front yard the exact moment the rains came. As they always did.

My Two Cents On PR6, EP6

This is not a recap. This is me spewing my own warped opinion because I have an incredibly high opinion of myself.
Seriously.
High.
For the recap of all recaps, check out DavidDust.
Let's go, shall we?
The challenge? Create a look inspired by a movie genre--can no one pronounce this word the same way--and create a character to go with it.
Let's go:

Sharin
Genre: Western
Character: Saloon girl; that's a short story there, Sharin. Saloon girl.
My opinion: Well, to be honest, I was doing this look in my Mom's bedroom when I was ten, with a negligee, a shower curtain and a pen with a feather on it. And, to be more honest, I did it better.

Epperson
Genre: Western
Character: Her husband's gone off to war and she's left to run the ranch and protect the family.
My opinion: This is fabulous. Fits his story so well, from the shredded denim to the leather and the boots. I love it. And, really, it's updated from what a western look might be, but it works.

Christopher
Genre: Period piece
Character: Vampire bride about to marry a mortal; does she marry him and make him a vampire, or leave him at the altar to save his life?
My opinion: This is a killer, pardon the pun, outfit. Christopher, for being the one with the least experience, makes beautiful clothes, and this one utterly fits his story. And he gave us all this for $150. I spend more than that on wine just to get the inspiration to create a movie genre character costume.

Gordana
Genre: period Piece
Character: 20's flapper; another short story with no substance.
My opinion: It looks too safe; too, Oh yeah, 20s flapper, I get it. It's a yawn. It's too long. It's too heavy. It's too little and too :::::yawn:::::: huh?

Nicholas
Genre: SciFi/Fantasy
Character: One of three queens of the universe banned to an ice cave by her sisters.
My opinion: I don't like Nicholas. His hair bugs me--I know, I'm shallow like that. But, this is an intriguing outfit, and I liked his story, although it looks a little Doily-glued-to-sheets really and I saw something like in Lord Of The Rings. But the judges likee and Nicky is the winner.

Ra'mon
Genre: SciFi/Fantasy
Character: It was a mess. A lizard queen who comes to Earth and ends up a hot model, or something like that.
My opinion: I love Ra'mon, but this was a D-I-saster. He started one design, tossed it, and went with this. It looks like something i could do with a few scraps of green vinyl, a glue gun, and a dream. The judges really no likee even though they all agree that Ra'mon is very talented, and so he packed his knives and....I mean, the tribe has spoken....I mean, he was the weakest link....Look, he got the boot, all right. I'll miss his apostrophe.

Carol Hannah
Genre: Action Adventure
Character: Did she say? I think it's a character in an action adventure movie genre, but I could be wrong.
My opinion: It looks a little Charlize Theron in Aeon Flux with a little Halle Berry Catwoman tossed in; good, but safe.

Logan
Genre: Action Adventure
Character: See Carol Hannah
My opinion: See Carol Hannah.
Except for the fact that one was shiny and one was not, I didn't see too much that was different. For next week I suggest Tim Gunn move Logan's desk away from Carol Hannah's to avoid wandering eyes and, well, outright copying of your neighbor's work.

Althea

Genre: Film Noir

Character: A woman in a pencil skirt walking down a dark runway. I imagine.

My opinion: Althea's good; this is not. It look like something I could pick up at Macy's; film noir is slightly dark and dangerous. This is high class hooker in a low class motel. It's a little too Sandra Bullock as The Hooker With A Heart Of Gold.

Irina

Genre: Film Noir.

Character: Woman in negligee who wraps a drapery panel around her as she looks through the house on the cliff above the sea for the detective she hired to find her husband but who fell in love with her went insane and now wants her dead. I think.

My opinion: What's with the sheer drapes these ladies are wearing. Scarlett O'Hara did the window dressing as dress far better than this. But I like the nightie; I want the nightie.

Louise

Genre: Film Noir

Character: A 40s actress going to a Hollywood party where she has to wear a costume from the 20s. And, no, I didn't make that up; she said it on the runway.

My opinion: Her two-decade mash-up was a single moment mess-up. Louise in real life dresses more film noir than this and she really blew it. I thought she should have gone home over the Apostrophe Man, but, well, I'm no Michael Kors. I'm actually more Nina Garcia.

That's all.

Clorox! Who Knew!?!

For the fourth time, Clorox has received a 100% rating in workplace equality from the Human Rights Campaign.

Don Knauss, the CEO and Chairman of Clorox:

“At Clorox, we believe it doesn’t matter if you’re black or white, gay or straight, tall or short. What matters is the kind of human being you are, your character. Sexual orientation, gender identity, expression or characteristics are not differences that should matter except for the richness and diversity of thought and experience they bring to our company. If people are disenfranchised for these reasons, or any other, it limits the genius of an organization. That’s why Clorox actively promotes an environment that celebrates diversity, that makes it comfortable and safe for each person to bring his or her whole self to work every day. We’re pleased our rating on the Corporate Equality Index reflects this commitment.”

Larry Kramer Wants You To Fight Back

"We get what we fight for. And we are not fighting. Every single one of us is not fighting. They fight better than we do. There is a concerted and never ending vein of hate in this country and in this world dedicated to keeping us in our place. It is evil to force people to be what we are not -- free. We are not free.

I love being gay. I love gay people. How can I say this without offending everyone else, I think we're better than other people. I think we are smarter. I think we are more talented. I think we are more aware. I think we make better friends. I think we make better lovers. I think we're more tuned in to what's happening, tuned into the moment, tuned into our emotions, and other people's emotions.

Yes, I think that gay people are better than other people. I think the only thing we are not so good at is fighting back. I hear talk of the new generation of gays and the old generation of gays, and how different we are. That is not true. We are all one generation. We are all related. We are all each other's brothers and sisters. We are all one family, the gay family. And I passionately and desperately want all my brothers and sisters to stay alive and well and on this earth, with total equality with every straight person. Being gay is the most important thing in my life. I love being gay. I hope you do, too."

Larry Kramer

Tidbits

So. Top Chef. Quick Fire. All the chatter is on Robin. How she shouldn't be there and how pissed everyone is that she hasn't packed her knives and gone.

So, I said to myself, Robin's gonna win something.

And she did. She won the Angel/Devil Quick Fire and all the other chefs, well, mostly Mike Isabella [when is he going home....arrogant asshat] and Jenny Carroll, bitched and moaned about her win. But the worst offender of all was one Eli Kirshtein, who actually made light of the fact that Robin is a cancer survivor.

Eli said he'd play the "Cancer Card" from now on so he would win.

I used to like you, Eli.

Now, you're an asshat.

I am a Glee-k. A big old boa-wearing-show-tune-singing-lip-synching-Matthew-Morrison-loving geek.

Chris Colfer as the Gay Kid is wonderful.

Jane Lynch can do no wrong.

Dianna Agron is the perfect slutty cheerleader.

Last night's episode was brazilliant and if you don't watch Glee. Shame.On.You.

Witty. Clever writing. Fun. And, oh so gay.

Watch it. Dammit!

Last night, just before bed, I'm checking my mail as usual. Carlos is futzing around the house, doing all his nightly business. And, as I check my mail, I notice a card on the desk with a stamp on it. It's one of those cards you send back when you buy a tire, so you can register the purchase in case there are any recalls or such.

It's from WalMart.

Now, we bought a tire at WalMart a few years or so ago, for the car Carlos had before the car he has now, and I thought, Man, he is the procrastinator to end all procrastinators.

When he comes into the room, I ask why he's mailing this registry card in now.

And he says, I got a flat tire yesterday and had to replace it. I told you.

Um, no, you didn't.

Yes, I told you that was why I came so late last night.

Um, no, you didn't. Do you think you could tell me that you got home late because you had a flat tire and had to go to WalMart and have it replaced and I wouldn't say a word? Me? Not say a word?

Oh......I thought I told you.

Cut to ten minutes later. Carlos in bed, reading. I come into the room and head towards the bathroom. I say, over my shoulder, Oh, I forgot to tell you., Two days ago I accidentally shot the neighbor's dog. I thought I'd mentioned it.

Not Exactly California Dreamin'

Mackenzie Phillips on NOprah. What a mess; a train wreck, from which I could not look away. Drugs. Sex. Rock'n'roll. Incest. it was all a bit too much. Apparently, under the influence of drugs, a lot of drugs, Mackenzie Phillips and her father, John Phillips, began a ten-year consensual sexual relationship.

Ick. I'll get that out of the way early on.

The "relationship" ended when Mackenzie became pregnant and didn't know if the father was her boyfriend or her father.

Now, I don't use drugs. Never have. So I can only imagine what mass quantities of heroin and coke and, well, god knows what else, will do to you, and allow you to have done to you.

Is Mackenzie lying about the incest to make some coin on a book? Only she knows.

And that goes for the incest as well. Only she knows.

A couple of her father's ex-wives have come forward to speak up for John Phillips, who passed away a few years back. They stand up for him by calling him a drug addict and a degenerate, but state quite firmly that he never had sex with his daughter.

How do they know? This isn't something you speak about over dinner. it isn't "Pass the peas and, oh, by the way, I'm schtupping my daughter." It isn't like that at all.

So the ex-wives should keep quiet and speak only to what they know.

I'm not saying Mackenzie Phillips is telling the truth, or even that she's lying to sell a couple of books. I'm saying the only people who know whether or not this happened are Mackenzie Phillips and her father.

Sadly, he isn't here to dispute anything.

Oh Steve, You're A Complete Moron

Congressman Steve King, Asshat from Iowa, believes that gay marriage will lay the cornerstone for socialism in this country. Seriously.

Between this idiot and Sally Kern, the LGBT community is responsible for everything from global warming and the economic crisis to the death of Michael Jackson and The Fashion Show.

Okay, so maybe we had a hand in The Fashion Show but we aren't taking full credit for that mess. I blame Kelly Rowland.

Steve King:

"If there's a push for a socialist society where the foundations of individual rights and liberties are undermined and everybody is thrown together living collectively off one pot of resources earned by everyone, this is one of the goals they have to go to, same sex marriage, because it has to plow through marriage in order to get to their goal. They want public affirmation, they want access to public funds and resources."

King wants to remind us all that he said if Iowa began allowing gay marriage, it would become a gay mecca. A gay mecca? Iowa? Doesn't Steve King know that most gay meccas include clothing optional beaches, boy bars, All-You-Can-Drink Cosmos and Home Depots? As far as I know, Iowa doesn't have the first one, maybe only a few of the second and third, and the fourth, well, they're everywhere.

But King doesn't stop his asshatitude--love it, I coined a new one--there. He goes on to say the Rick Santorum, the King of the Wingnuts, was also right when he said allowing gay marriage would lead to polygamy and bestiality; or a combination thereof, in which case, men and women would enter into multiple marriages with animals. I think.

Seriously, Iowa. Do you need this kind of representation? Do you need anyone who is so narrow minded and shortsighted and, well, I'll just say it, ignorant of the world today. I saw that poll. You know the one I'm talking about. The one where over 90% of Iowans don't feel anything has changed since Marriage Equality came to town.

Ninety-percent.

Howsabout the 90% of you who understand that the LGBT isn't the root cause of every single problem facing the world today, head to your voting booth the next election and send Steve King home?

The gays will take the blame for that, too.

But it's okay. We're used to it.

More Hot, Smart, and Compassionate

I saw this at Maybe It's Just Me... yesterday and it's worth sharing. And sharing.

Baltimore Ravens linebacker, Brendon Ayanbadejo:

“If Britney Spears can party it up in Vegas with one of her boys and go get married on a whim and annul her marriage the next day, why can’t a loving same-sex couple tie the knot? How could our society grant more rights to a heterosexual one-night-stand wedding in Vegas than a gay couple that has been together for three, five, 10 years of true love? The divorce rate in America is currently 50 percent. I am willing to bet that same-sex marriages have a higher success rate than heterosexual marriages.”

Come Out Come Out Wherever You Are

I find this report shocking and sad, well, mostly sad.

It seems that most--and it's estimated at 51%--LGBT people are not out at work. And while in many places in this country it may not be safe for gay men and women to come out, they have been major advancements in non-discriminatory policies and acceptance of LGBT people.

One of the most interesting aspects of this report--the “Degrees of Equality: A National Study Examining Workplace Climate for LGBT Employees”--is that many of those workers who aren't out on the job are young gay men and women. I find this shocking, and sad. This is the generation that can make change, can vote and campaign and sponsor and donate toward causes and candidates that will make certain that the LGBT community finally achieves equality in all aspects of life. But, according to the report, only five-percent of LGBT employees from 18 to 24 are out.

Shocking. And sad.

And I know it isn't easy coming out at work. I struggled with it for a time until I decided to stop lying, and hiding. I wanted to tell people about my weekend without having to edit the conversation so that secrets stay secret. I wanted to say "My boyfriend and I went to see...." or "My partner and I had friends over for dinner." I was tired of "I went to the movies with a friend."

Friend. When it is so much more.

So, I chose, and choose, not to lie. I don't wear the I'm Not Gay But My boyfriend Is T-shirt, or have a Rainbow flag lapel pin, but I have always talked about Carlos by name. By name. It seems such a simple thing. Carlos and I went to the movies: Carlos and I worked in the yard. Yet it isn't so easy, when you get "the look," when you get the vibe that people have stepped back just a little in case it's contagious.

It isn't. But we're still made to feel that it might be.So, I understand the fear of coming out at work. Fear of advancement, fear of getting fired, fear of verbal abuse, fear of physical abuse. I know the world isn't as open as it can be; I know there are people using their own fear and ignorance to keep those people who are different down, and, well, not out, but in.

But I also believe that if we're all out, the idea that you're gay loses it's shock value. It won't cause stares or silences, it won't make people back up a little. People will realize it isn't something new or different , it just is.

I am what I am.

Another WTF Moment

After months of Mark Sanford hiking the Appalachian mistress and using state funds to do so, then lying and crying about it, followed by Jim Asshat DeMint's comments about breaking the president, and Joe You Lie Wilson's Tourette-like outburst, I began to agree with Jon Stewart, who said South Carolina has usurped Florida as the most effed-up state in the union.

So, imagine my surprise when Lindsey Graham, yes, of South Carolina, actually said something that borders on common sense.

Lindsey Graham: “If you asked me if the president of the United States is a socialist, I would say no. I think he’s an American liberal, that’s what I think he is. You know, Ted Kennedy was an American liberal, but we found ways to work together....I am not going to give into sentiments that I think degrade the office of the president and that degrade the debate and the culture of our country. So if you come up to me calling the president a socialist, a Muslim, you’re talking to the wrong guy.”

WTF? Common sense from South Carolina! Who knew?

Archbishop Timothy Dolan Is Still A Moron

"If you have been gay your whole life and feel that that’s the way God made you, God bless you. But I would still say that that doesn’t mean you should act on that.

I would happen to say, for instance, that God made me with a pretty short temper. Now, I still think God loves me, but I can’t act on that.

I would think that God made me with a particular soft spot in my heart for a martini. Now, I’d better be careful about that."--Archbishop Timothy Dolan, comparing homosexuality to having a bad temper and to, of all things, alcoholism.

But, Timmy, you forgot one thing: God made you stupid, and you act on that.

Post No Posts

I need some Bick Boppa Rue and my blanky.
Be back tomorrow.

Jan Brewer: Asshat Of The Week

I guess the people, or at least the majority of people, in Arizona don't count for much in the eyes of their governor, Asshat Jan Brewer.

See, Ms. Brewer doesn't feel that she was elected by the people of Arizona, but that “God has placed me in this powerful position as Arizona’s governor.” You read it right. God appointed her governor. God. Who apparently can't be bothered with homelessness or war or starvation, can take the time to play a little politics. At least that's what He does in Jan Brewer's mind.

In fact, she is so indebted to God for giving her the job, that she actually uses prayer during her staff meetings, oftentimes stopping the meeting to actually hold a prayer service.

And one of her last prayers the governor and her staff apparently prayed about domestic partnership benefits for same-sex partners of state employees. At that prayer service, Jan Brewer believes God told her to redefine "a ‘dependent,’ canceling the rule change made by [former] Governor Janet Napolitano that allowed domestic partners to receive benefits. Also eliminated are children of domestic partners, full-time students ages 23-24 and disabled adult dependents."

God answered Brewer's prayers and told her to ignore the rights of same-sex couples, the children of domestic partners, whether the partners are gay or straight, and disabled adults. God, in Brewer's world, believes in discrimination. But God has no place in Brewer's world, as an elected official. God does not belong in staff meetings where policy is shaped; God does not belong in politics. That's what we have built our country upon, the idea that on one person's religious beliefs shall trample on the rights of others.

Too bad Jan Brewer's "god" didn't know that.

To Steal A Quote....

...from my new best galpal, Wendy Williams, these two boys are "friends in my head." I'd love love love to have them drop by Smallville for a Pomegranate Margarita and some good fun chats.

NPH and his partner David Burtka.

So cute!

The Re-Emmys

The Emmys were on last night and I have just two words: Bo. Ring. I've never watched an awards show before where, when someone was introduced, or won, or walked the red carpet, my first thought was Who?

There was a lot of Who? last night; and a lot of hooey, too.

I could scarcely watch the E Red Carpet Show because of, well, let's face it, Ryan Seacrest pretending to be straight, Giuliana Rancic pretending to be smart, Jay Manuel pretending she's interesting, and Nene, of the Real Housewives Of Atlanta, pretending she's, well, just pretending. Plus, i am sick to death of Who are you wearing? The whole red carpet arrivals interview has turned into Plug This Designer! Buy These Shoes Here! I Am Dripping With Expensive Jewels And I Borrowed Them From fill in the blank.

On with the show.

NPH, Neil Patrick Harris, or as I call him, National Public Homo, is adorkable, and as a far as I'm concerned, can do no wrong. His opening song was cute, especially when he sang about some actress on Mad Men who could make a "gay man turn straight, except there's Jon Hamm." Jon Hamm. He could turn a straight man gay, or a gay man into a quivering mess.

Speaking of Jon Hamm, he gets to present the first award, Best, or do they say Outstanding, Supporting Actress. And I would prefer that he just stand on the stage and read, giving me a knowing wink every so often. I was taking notes as I watched the show and, this morning, looking them over, I noticed a full page where I'd written over and over again, Mister and Mister Jon Hamm.

And now, a Jon Hamm Moment.




A boy can dream, can't he?


Anyway, Kristen Chenoweth wins, from Pushing Daisies, a show that's been canceled. I liked it, but apparently I was the only one. Kristen is tiny; seriously, the Emmy in her hands was bigger than she. But she's no fool. Since she's unemployed she used her speech to search for work on everything from Mad Men--leave my husband alone--to 24 to 30 Rock. After her speech, Tina Fey slipped Kristen into her purse and offstage they went. She really is that tiny.

Supporting Actor in a comedy went to Jon Cryer. I know. This was the first, and nowhere near the last time, I thought the show was rigged. Jon Cryer? Puh-leeze. In a freakin' sweater vest yet! Oh lord, gay boy needs a little Rachel Zoe action. And then his speech was nothing more than a chance to plant his lips on Charlie Sheen's butt, along with begging for the academy to give Sheen an award because he's, and I quote, "brilliant." I have never thought the words Charlie Sheen and Brilliant should be used in the same sentence, unless it goes something like this: Charlie Sheen's career is over. Brilliant.Yeah, that works.


The Best Actress in a comedy went to Toni Collette for a show I've never heard of; ever. The United States of Tara. It was the first of many WTF moments. I mean, I love Toni, but I didn't know she was on TV and her show sounds like a post-Civil War account of life for Scarlett O'Hara.


Best Actor in a comedy went again to ::::yawn:::: Alec Baldwin. Sure, he's funny; he's really funny, whether on TV or leaving insane messages to his daughter. But really, can we move on from the Alec Baldwin Love now? Can we?


Jeff Probst wins as best Reality Show host because Survivor has been on the air since it was intro'd on a very special episode of Blossom back in the 60s. I mean, wasn't Nixon president when this show first came on? Jeff Probst. Nice dimples, and if you've seen 'The' Photo, nice meat and veg, too. But it was another WTF moment, for me.


The Amazing Race was Best reality show. Again. But I don't care if it wins every year because I think it should. It isn't about alliances and hating people and siding against people. You don't get the boot because no one likes you or thinks you're a threat or whatever lame excuse they have, you get the boot because you ran the race too slow. Yeah. The Amazing Race can win every year. And it does.


Outstanding Supporting Actress went to Shohreh Aghdashloo, for House of Saddam. I know. Who? What? I've never heard of her, but a quick IMdb search of her name reminds me that she was on the Will & Grace episode "Cowboys and Iranians." She should have won for that. I've heard of that. I've seen that.


Supporting Actor goes to Brendan Gleeson, who I know even less than Shohreh. Seriously, I began to wonder if these Emmys are the American TV Emmys or Emmys from some foreign country full of actors and shows I've never heard of before. Luckily when these types win I can make a bathroom break, so they do serve their purpose.


Best Actress. Finally! Jessica Lange! For Grey Gardens! Love.Her! Heard of her! And then Grey gardens wins best Movie and suddenly I feel as if the Emmy stars are aligning once again. I love her; she looks like she can be all kinds of crazy. She'd be fun to hang with.


Best Supporting Actor Drama: Michael Emerson for Lost. Brilliant choice because his character is so infuriatingly good and/or bad, or just plain bad. I loves me some Lost and I loves me some crazy Michael Emerson. He scares me, in a good way.


Best supporting Actress Drama: Cherry Jones for 24. I'm not a 24 fan but I am a fan of Cherry Jones. She is brilliant in everything--think about the five minutes she was in Erin Brockovich-- and she's a big old lesbian, so I gave a big whole gay hoot for Cherry. Plus, the name Cherry Jones sounds like something you'd get at a convenience store on a cross-country road trip. And I like that.


Best Actress in a Drama went to Glenn Close for Damages. I used to watch Damages but it turned from being a good show to being a watch Glenn Win An Emmy and, well, No. No. She wins every year so why don't they tell her to stay home and they'll FedEx the statuette to her. It'd save time on the show, and lord knows they could shave some minutes off the broadcast.


Best Actor. Heart pounds. Pulse races. Jon Hamm is up. Jon. Hamm. And then Bryan Cranston wins. Seriously! No Jon Hamm Goodness for my having to endure three hours of Bo-Ring--not you NPH, but the Who and the WTF Bo-Ring.

Then 30 Rock wins Best Comedy. Are they replaying last year's show, because Mad Men wins Best Drama. It's like deja vu all over again, although I did get one more Jon Hamm fix. For now.
So, that was the Emmys or, as I'll call it, The Re-Emmys. No great drama, no real comedy in a show that honors great drama and real comedy. It was safe and Bo-ring and so much like a retread of years past. But NPH in a white tux, singing and dancing is always a treat.
i loves me a cute dork.

Oh yeah, before I go, two more things:


Gay. Way gay. Come out already.
And:

This woman won for something called Little Doritos, or some such nonsense, but i couldn't even listen to her speak because I kept channeling Heidi Klum.
I wanted The Girls up and in place. I thought she had a couple of loose cats in her gown.

That's all.