It's Time for You to Lose Your Excitement

This Larry Craig folderol has me asking the question: Are straight people ever going to get their shit together when it comes to sex? I''m being serious here. Straights may be the dominant culture, but it's obvious that--when it comes to the Big Nasty--they are as clueless as children.

It was nothing short of embarrassing watching the smirking, giggling newsreaders on cable try to get their arms around the reality that a man could marry a woman and still have sex with men. I mean, they seriously didn't know this happened? Has happened for all of history? Is happening? Sheesh.

I've personally known many married men who also fuck around with guys, and each of their situations was different. Some were cheating from deep inside the closet. Some claimed to be straight. Some were gay, but married because they wanted a "normal" public life. Some had arrangements with their wives. And while I certainly have opinions about their choices, I never made fun of them or even judge them harshly. Why? Because their lives, like my own, were messy and real.

And how about the serious--or at least professed--puzzlement about a fetishes such as anonymous sex or tearoom trade? I find it hard to believe that people in show buisness are more square and more naive than I. Seriously, the only thing that outpaced the ignorance was the squeamishness.

Embarrassing. Unbelievable.

To be clear, I have nothing but disdain for Larry Craig the politician and the immoral, hateful, and unrealistic policies that he and his party supports. But Larry Craig the man gets my sympathy. The snickering jackdaws that have made his life a living hell over the last few weeks have done nothing to illuminate the situation.

And no one has asked the most obvious question: Why are we behaving like immature assholes? Answer that, and you may know why a 60-somethinig Midwestern politician had to go into a men's room to get a blow job.

All my life, people have asked me if I'd ever wanted to be straight. My answer has always and emphatically been "no." There are many reasons. The last two weeks has highlighted one: Gay men understand sex. We know how it fits into life. We get that it's simultaneously important and frivolous. We embrace--however reluctantly--its messiness, its complications, its contradictions.

We are adults about it.

Finally, before you call me a bigot, I realize I'm making some generalizations. I mean, some of my best friends are straight.

Tucker Carlson: Blowhard or Gay Basher?

Let me rephrase that as "and Gay Basher," since Tucker's been blowing hard for decades. If you've missed this ongoing story, here goes.

In an MSNBC Live interview, Tucker, in a lame-assed attempt to demonstrate his manliness, claimed to have "bashed" a gay man in a men's room for coming on to him. Transcript below.

ABRAMS: Tucker, what did you do, by the way? What did you do when he did
that? We got to know.
CARLSON: I went back with someone I knew and grabbed the guy by the -- you
know, and grabbed him, and -- and --
ABRAMS: And did what?
CARLSON: Hit him against the stall with his head, actually!
[laughter]
CARLSON: And then the cops came and arrested him. But let me say that I'm
the least anti-gay right-winger you'll ever meet --

Note the laughter--not just from Tucker, but from Dan Abrams and Joe Scarborough, as well.

Verdict: Tucker's either 1) laying it on thick to increase his frat boy credentials; or 2) a criminal. Just to be safe, I'd go with 3) an asshat without a shred of credibility.

And if you want to see another conservative go down in flames, here's the video:

Beer + Rugby = Something Totally NSFW

Here are some clips from a documentary on British ruggers getting drunk, stripping in pubs, and clearly defining the term homoerotic.

While the action itself is quite nice and nothing I'd complain about, the truly amazing part of the video is the end, where the young men--now sober--watch a tape of themselves, um, performing. They seem to be neither embarrassed nor ashamed. If anything, they seem happy about it. Even celebratory.

Makes me want to play a little ball, myself.

Hat tip: Daily Dish.

The Social Network Tango

I'm not much of joiner. I don't belong to any clubs. I don't do organized volunteering. I've only rarely been involved in any kind of professionial organization. I never even liked the chatrooms when I subscribed to AOL. So this social networking gig is like pulling hair.

But I'm forcing myself to do it, both as research for work and, frankly, because it's not healthy to be a hermit. I've signed up for Facebook already. This weekend, I joined Linked In. I hope to find a few others to jump into--such as Change.org.

Already I've noticed a few interesting things about these spaces. The relationships these sites foster really are different. Specifically, they spend enormous energy to support, encourage, maintain, and grow very tenuous connections. These are the "friends of my mom's boss" kind of connections.

In the old days, we'd relegated those people to our contacts file or Christmas card list. Now they can be right in front of your face, all the time, any time. Just like real friends. Only this is a new kind of friendship. Perhaps a better description would be "deep acquaintances" or "close contacts."

I'm not the first to notice this. But it's new to me. And like new boots, it's gonna take some time to get use to it before I can kick ass.

Interestingly enough, when I search for old friends or school friends on these networks, I find none. Birds of a feather, guess...

This Never Gets Old

If Microsoft designed the iPod. Be sure the sound is turned on, for full snark.

Tuesday Time Capsule: Russ Meyers

The first image I ever saw from Russ Meyers was a life-sized cardboard cutout of Up star Raven De La Croix--the so-called "Margot the Magnificent Superchick." Even at that early age, I knew I was as queer as a backwards duck. But something about that very, very larger than life woman fascinated me.

Years later, after I discovered the Sontagian definition of camp, I watched Faster Pussycat! Kill! Kill! Certainly, Meyers's pneumatic "superwomen" and drag performers seemed to share the same DNA. But even that explanation failed to completely satisfy my curiosity.

Later still, I began to watch the Meyers's films with an older and more experienced eye. I discovered that what fascinated me wasn't the just obvious over-the-top details of his women, but their contradictions; Strong, feminine, crazy, loyal, sexual, violent, victimized, victimizer. Ambivalent. Contradictory. Hyper real. And completely fake. They were, as a friend once said about something completely different, "a parody and celebration at the same time." Indeed.

What's not to be fascinated by?

Pride 2007

This last weekend was Pride. And I was out in the streets, as always. I missed the parade for the first time in years. Volunteered at my job's booth on Sunday, ate a crab cake, and watched the men walk around. Delicious, all the way 'round.

A few observations:

The death of gay culture! There are always average looking gay folk at Pride, and have been for the 25 years I've attended. But this year was exceptional. The gym bunnies, club kids, and body fascists must be hibernating.

The death of gay culture? Freedom plaza was packed. Every year, Pride seems to get bigger and bigger. While the proliferation of mainstream corporate booths told the assimilation story, the fact that we still feel the need congregate in celebration adds the footnote.

The death of gay culture :( I only saw two drag queens and two leather men. Sad. I'm all for assimilation, but bitches and buttless chaps are nice, too. Just saying.

If Frank Black Were Hot

Yesterday at lunch the lovely and charming Daphne had an interesting, seemingly random hypothesis: Everything would be different if only Frank Black were hot.

Hmmm. Took me a few seconds to mull that one over, but I think she's absolutely right.

The Pixies' music was catchy and abrasive. Brilliant. Highly influential. What if everyone had listened to them, or at the very least knew of them. Sure, Mr. Black isn't some hideous bridge troll, but he's certainly no Tiger Beat cover boy either. But what if he had been? Would the Pixies have taken over the world?

The answer, I think, is yes. Think: Nirvana.

The Best SF of the Last 25 Years?

Entertainment Weekly has posted one of their interminable lists. This time: The Sci-Fi 25.

Of course, they get a lot of it wrong. There's no Max Headroom. No The Fly. And no Repo Man. No Primer. Even a sure thing like Robocop is missing. You know something's wrong when Quatum Leap fills in for Robocop. I'm just saying.

What's surprising is what they got right. Futurama, for instance. Or Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind. And while it may be a scientific fact that Blade Runner is the most important piece of visual SF art in the last 25 years, not too many fanboys are going to argue with The Matrix at #1.

Still, no Lost Room, or Babylon 5, or....