Foolish Thing Desire For gay men, the intersection of sex and race brings out the worst in a small number of people, who then make headaches for everyone else.
Deserve American Reducing citizenship to where you're born diminishes what it means to be an American for everyone.
This Land Is Your Land Journalist Jose Antonio Vargas came out as undocumented and challenged the nation on what it means to be American.
Daniel's Choice Faced with a decision between living with integrity or living a lie, West Point graduate and Iraq War veteran Lt. Daniel Choi chose honesty
Cross Cultural Cooking my first Thanksgiving dinner for my in-laws last year, things were going perfectly up until the point when I sliced off the tip of my finger.
I’m the co-publisher of Metro Weekly, Washington, DC’s biggest and best gay and lesbian publication. Over the course of my 40-something years, I've been a good little golden boy, a sub-Ivy-League college grad, an annoying activist, a very active party boy, a humorist and a journalist -- if those last two have any distinction. In addition to the magazine, I’m a freelance writer, car reviewer, book addict, gamer, amateur tennis player and reasonably successful husband. I have my hands full.
The Game Show Network has a new game show. It's going to make you a better person. It's very progressive. And based on the preview, it looks to be the most skin-crawlingest, didactic, politically correct train wreck on television this summer.
Sometimes I think the overarching theme of my blog should be why I haven't gotten around to blogging. In this case, I plead Pride. For professional homosexuals -- pro homos, if you will -- Pride is akin to retailers and Christmas. It's the time of year you have to get out and show your stuff. Although, I must admit, after seven years of it, it can get a little hard to muster enthusiasm. Luckily, once I get on the festival grounds and start talking to people, my mood changes. One of the more satisfying aspects of my job is hearing from people what they think of the magazine. Given that people rarely hesitate to complain about publications that disappoint or anger them in some way -- I've gotten my share of earfuls over the years -- getting out on the street for Pride is still a surprisingly positive experience for me as a writer and editor. I got zero complaints this year, and a lot of compliments, most of which are really generated by the work done by the Metro Weeklystaff.
So, anyway, Pride was a good thing, though I'm so unbelievably glad that it's once again over. After packing up from the festival, driving home and flopping on the couch to watch the French Open, I slowly got back into paying attention to the outside world that had nothing to do with Pride, Metro Weekly or my getting hitched.
All of which just reminded me that I should avoid watching television news.
Really, are these people on the payroll of the Office of National Drug Control Policy and MADD? I remember catching about 30 seconds of Katie Couric a couple of months ago, reporting on a big DEA drug bust on an international cocaine shipment that she launched into with: "Score one for the good guys!" Really, Katie? Thanks for reminding me why I don't watch the evening news anymore.
Local news is even worse -- yet another militarized police raid that turns out to be on the wrong apartment, but no one bothers to point out just how common these are, how many people are wrongly killed, and how the "war on drugs" has fueled out-of-control SWAT team raids that endanger police and citizens alike (for that you have to go to people like Radley Balko at Hit and Run -- when you see a catalog of what goes on under the guise of the drug war, it's enough to make you cry if you actually give a shit about civil liberties and the Constitution).
Then there was the demonization of the Virginia mother who dared to provide beer to her teenage son and some friends for a party in her own home, with the idea of keeping the kids off the roads. She took their keys, a fact I didn't get from Channel 9, but from a newspaper story -- and people wonder why I have a print-snob complex sometimes. Allowing kids that weren't her own to drink might not be the wisest thing to do, but to spend two years of her life in jail, away from her sons, for having a party that resulted in not one of the attendees drinking and driving? That's just nuts. And it's so good for the children. MADD, which has gone from a valuable organization that highlighted a serious problem to a neo-prohibitionist bunch of Carrie Nations, thinks it's fabu. Not surprising, given that we're a country that asks 18 year olds to vote, to die in wars and to take legal responsibility for their actions, fair or foul, yet not be able to make basic, adult decisions.
Look, if you're old enough to get your legs blown off in Iraq as part of Bush's misadventure and then undergo substandard medical treatment at Walter Reed, then you're old enough to have a fucking beer. The reason drinking is the so-called "right of passage" that neo-prohibitionists lament is because of the very rules against it.
Do I sound pissy? I kind of feel pissy.
Then there's been the story about the lesbian suing eHarmony because the online dating service won't do matches for homosexuals. Apparently, judging from a lot of the gay news and web sites I read, I'm supposed to be quite exercised by eHarmony's exclusion, a policy born of fundamentalist Christianism. You know, I don't care. If a bunch of heterosexual Christians want to put together a dating business that focuses only on straight couples, fine. Why? Because it's the fucking internet, for god's sake. The whole point of the web is that if there's a site that doesn't want you, there are going to be five others that do. Either grow up, or start advocating for m4m to offer dating services for straight Christians.
Good lord, I could go on, but I need to stop before I get so riled up I can't get to sleep. Suffice it to say that I've learned my lesson. From now on my television is just for watching So You Think You Can Dance -- go Hok!!!! -- and playing Guitar Hero. Unless Christopher Hitchens goes up against Hannity again -- you've likely seen it, but man is it worth watching again -- I am so there for that.
As a little kid during the '70s, Charles Nelson Reilly was one of my first exposures to big, flaming homosexuals (alongside Paul Lynde), thanks to my love of TV game shows. He's gone now, and the world's a little sadder, because they really don't make 'em like they used to.
So, between sudden bouts of allergies, the standard crushing deadlines and increasingly frantic attempts to procure an outdoor wedding tent on eBay, I'm totally behind the curve on the the here!TV hissy fit over not being included for consideration for GLAAD's annual media awards. Apparently, tons of people are shocked -- shocked! -- to discover that this large, corporately financed communications company that targets gay folks with such intellectually illuminating programs as Dante's Cove now finds itself bereft of opportunity at being recognized with a piece of attractively shaped acrylic.
Of course, this has been going on for years, long before the gay mediascape became a stomping ground for the Leviathan known as Viacom. What dinners are to the Human Rights Campaign, awards ceremonies are to GLAAD. GLAAD raises money by hosting awards ceremonies in large, media-centric cities, handing out honors to television shows and movies that are brave and forward-thinking enough to talk about gay issues that the rest of the country moved beyond five years prior. Oh, fine, I'm exaggerating. Three years prior. Back in those long-ago days when the gay media world was made up of a lot of weekly and biweekly newspapers and magazines -- when Out was still a relatively new thing and "the Internet" still meant fighting to get in the queue for AOL's "dcm4m" chat room -- no one seemed to care much that GLAAD focused on recognizing Mr. Man instead of the community itself.
Fair enough. Just don't expect me to get exercised now on behalf of some suits who are surprised they won't be getting some dubious trophies for their corporate display shelves.
Sure, I only watch it because it's one of a handful of shows that look stunning in high def, but that's a flimsy excuse for putting myself through CSI: Miami, which I watched last night because I completely shamelessly wanted to see pretty pictures of Brazil. And, um, Brazilians. Still, didn't this show once follow some sort of narrative structure -- you know, a plot and logical series of actions by protagonists and antagonists that could reasonably be interpreted by the average viewer? Do the show's writers expect people to believe that the first thing a person does when visiting Rio is strike five different David-Caruso poses by the big statue of Jesus? And then go back and do it some more? Or that Brazilian street thugs all look like they just stepped out of an alternate-world, Latin Abercrombie & Fitch catalog, dressed like they're about to break into a number from West Side Story?
Okay, that last one's probably true -- Brazilians are hot! -- but everything else is mindnumbingly awful. Man, I can't wait 'til Battlestar Galactica comes back.
Watching Survivor last night, I followed my usual routine in picking my favorites: the hot, the funny or, at best, both. I don't have any problem defending that process, given that the whole contest appears to be decided by luck and high-school-level social skills. In this racially-charged season, Brad is my early and extremely strong favorite. Given that he's a Los Angeles-based fashion manager/model who volunteers for APLA and watches a lot of Queer Eye and Project Runway, I'm guessing he has a lot in common with my own interests.
Which gives me an idea for a new Survivor challenge, an outing contest. Whichever gay or lesbian contestant comes out first, gets immunity plus a Human Rights Campaign Visibility Award. Can't be any worse than giving one to Lance Bass. Because we all know Lance and Reichen totally deserve to be on a stage next to Billie Jean King and Frank Kameny.
Then there was the demonization of the Virginia mother who dared to provide beer to her teenage son and some friends for a party in her own home, with the idea of keeping the kids off the roads. She took their keys, a fact I didn't get from Channel 9, but from 
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