Dirty Politics and the Gays who Love Them

One of the most fascinating aspects of the human condition is how we respond when something threatens people or things that are close to us. I once got into a heated argument with a six year old boy who pushed my niece off of a teeter totter during a play date at the park. It was more of a one-sided argument, starring me as the crazy uncle who shouted "YOU APOLOGIZE! YOU APOLOGIZE!" while chasing a frightened little boy who (for reasons beyond my comprehension) chooses not to play at the park anymore.

The same protectiveness instinct came about when my boyfriend, who I will now refer to as "the BF," told me about his experience running for a position in the Valpo Law Student Bar Association. The BF's sexual orientation is common knowledge on campus, primarily because he's possibly one of the only openly gay students there. This was made clear during the Barrister's Ball when practically everyone told us that the BF was possibly the only openly gay students there.

Apparently, various members of the Valpo Law SBA have been scrutinizing the BF's movements and surreptitiously striking down any attempt to have a successful campaign:

• He was approached by a member of the SBA, informing him that he could not hand out leaflets... even though other favored candidates were handing out leaflets in the same area. They did tell him that he was free to put leaflets in all of the lockers. But here's the kicker: All of the lockers were removed at the beginning of the semester!

• The current SBA held a forum so that candidates could give speeches, but the BF got half as much time to speak as the girl he was running against.

• The BF's opponent put up a poster with her picture on it and at had the phrase "Giving it to you STRAIGHT" at the bottom.

It's times like this when I feel like ripping my shirt off like the incredible hulk, stampeding over to where the cunt lives, shaking her senseless, and screaming "WHAT THE FUCK, YOU FUCKING HOMOPHOBE? WHY'D YOU PUT UP THAT POSTER? GAAAAAH!" Then while she's cowering in the corner, I'd redecorate her apartment, make a pomegranate martini, flirt with her boyfriend, and leave.

I read some of the minutes of Valpo SBA meetings and the parts that didn't put me to sleep indicated that the primary function of the SBA is to organize and plan social events. The last sentence in the "about us" section of the Valpo SBA homepage reads:

SBA committees are responsible for many activities at Valparaiso, and SBA members help in planning annual events such as the orientation program kickoff picnic, graduation activities, and VUSL's famed annual softball tournament, the Cardozo Cup. Each year the SBA plans the events for Law Week in February, which include an Honors Luncheon, Bar-A-Thon, and the Barrister's Ball.

If half of the things you do in the year involve parties and other social gatherings, why WOULDN'T you want a gay person on your team? Are they afraid that the gay person will have enough sense to not have the chocolate fountain at the Barrister's Ball? Why would the BF want to be a part of such a disorganized group anyway? It's like wanting to place first in an Ann Coulter lookalike contest.

Perhaps it's silly of me to be so concerned about something over which I have no control. It's just that when the BF told me about his problems (especially the obvious dig about his homosexuality), I had a feeling similar to that of when the little boy pushed my niece in the park. We all want what's best for the ones we care about, but there's nothing wrong with entertaining a bit of radical gay pride in these situations.

In all fairness to the Valpo Law SBA, they do discuss other important issues such as the noise coming from the library stairs.

I could have danced all night

I attended the Valparaiso School of Law Barrister's Ball with my boyfriend a few weeks ago. It's a black tie event where law students can mingle and schmooze with their peers as well as get their names and faces noticed.

At first I was excited because I hardly ever get to wear a tuxedo, and the last black tie event I attended was an Eyes Wide Shut themed gay orgy at a fancy hotel suite.

Excitement soon turned to horror when I saw that 90% of the attendees were dressed like they were going to a New Jersey high school prom. I hadn't seen so many women with acrylic shoes since my uncle took me to a strip club on the military base.

Here are some of the highlights of the evening:

• There was an open bar - and by an open bar, I mean AN open bar. With about 2000 grad students in attendance, you can imagine how long the bar line was. This caused a lot of people to not tip and to triple fist, both of which are extremely high-class... if you live in Arkansas.

• The much-touted sit-down meal consisted of roasted chicken, mashed potatoes, broccoli, and baked ziti. Mashed potatoes and baked ziti shouldn't be served in the same meal, much less at a black tie event. The organizers did make sure that there was plenty of coffee to drink during the meal. I had to hunt down a member of the wait staff to get my water glass refilled, but I never feared for lack of coffee!

• The DJ was a joke because he just stood there the whole time with his arms crossed and his CD collection (a CD collection that spanned 20 years) set to "random." We were only able to dance to three of the songs that the DJ played in his three hours of DJing. You just can't dance to Sean Kingston's Beautiful Girls because it uses the beat from Stand By Me and it's hard to get jiggy when you're thinking of Gordy pointing a gun at Keifer Sutherland.

• There was a chocolate fountain, because nothing says classy like a chocolate fountain! Not only is the chocolate extremely unhealthy due to the added oil or cocoa butter used to make the chocolate viscous, but you can also count on the fact that half of the people have stuck their dirty fingers in the fountain to taste it.

The actual highlight of the evening was being able to dance with my boyfriend. We were there together, he introduced me to all of his friends, and nobody called me a faggot to my face. I may be a tad over-critical about the evening, but the fact is that he went of his way to make sure that I was comfortable and that all my needs were met.

Sometimes you have to ignore little things like parts of the centerpiece falling into your food or the police coming inside the ballroom to ask people if they knew the gentlemen who'd passed out in the parking lot because he drank too much in the first twenty minutes of the ball. It's all about the big picture!

There is a reason why I'm blogging about this event that happened weeks ago. It's not just a random rant and tomorrow's entry will delve deeper into this subject.

Anything you can do, I can do better

One of my favorite recurring skits on Saturday Night Live features Penelope, a thirty something woman who always one-ups whatever anyone says. After one of the guests mentions meeting the hosts at a Lamaze class six months prior, Penelope responds:

I've known them for, like, seven years. So, just a little bit longer. I've just known them for a really long time, so... longer, just better friends. So... longer than you guys. So...

We all know someone like Penelope, nd I have the distinct pleasure of being in the employ of one such individual. No matter what I say, my boss always seems to have done something slightly better. I once told him that I saw an ex boyfriend at a bar and I flirted with the guy he was with. My boss then said that he saw two of his boyfriends at a bar and their boyfriends ended up making out with him in the bathroom.

I once mentioned that I hurt my knee in yoga class and he had to outdo me by saying that he broke his leg in three places when he lost his balance doing Tai Chi, which he says is more relaxing than yoga.

Today my boss was telling one of his clients that he was published in a book.

His old apartment was featured in Spectacular Homes of Chicago, one of the books in the Spectacular Homes series published by Panache Partners. It's basically a yuppie version of MTV Cribs in book form that ultimately ends up collecting dust on some cocktail table of an angry divorcee who lives in Lincoln Park and doesn't let anyone wear shoes in her house because it'll scuff up the floors.

My boss went on about how "if you haven't been in a book, then you're just one of the little people." Refusing to let this fauxhawked, pants-too-tight-for-his-age-group version of Penelope outshine me for the thousandth time, I casually mentioned that I was also mentioned in a book:

"Um, my writing has been quoted in a book. It's written by a notable psychologist who specializes in adolescent cognitive potential."

I'd rehearsed that line a hundred times for cases such as this.

The Human Odyssey: Navigating the Twelve Stages of Life is an interesting book about human development, written by Dr. Thomas Armstrong. It explores life in stages, from pre-birth to death. If you read the section that deals with the transition from adolescence to early adulthood, you'll find a direct reference to my humble little blog where I discuss my own fears of moving away from my family in Houston to the seemingly scary city of Chicago.

The look on his face was priceless. It was as if we were both competing in the Junior Miss pageant and I follow his modern ballet routine with a double fire baton spectacular.

I am prepared for a rebuttal if he tries to criticize Dr. Armstrong's book. It's currently ranked #37,264 on Amazon.com's bestseller list, while Specacular Homes is ranked #437,710.

I try to toot my own horn about this particular citing, mostly because I'm just one of many references in Dr. Armstrong's book, but there are times when you just have to stand up, flip your imaginary hair, and put a stop to a one-upsman.

So here's the story from A to Z...

Picture it: overpriced clothes for sale, underage girls wearing clothes that leave nothing to the imagination, and young virginal gay boys who will eventually run away to Hollywood where they will be forced to star in several low-budget porn films shot with a camera purchased at Circuit City. No, I'm not describing a typical evening on the Sunset Strip. I'm describing the atmosphere of last Friday's Spice Girls concert at the United Center.

I admit it. Ten years later, I'm still a huge Spice Girls fan. As the queer kid in high school, I jammed out to "Wannabe" during marching band road trips. In college, I mourned the departure of Ginger Spice and danced to Melanie C's "I Turn to You" while doing ecstasy at several gay clubs in Houston. I was there through all of their pregnancies, and last year I even voted for Melanie B on "Dancing With the Stars." Now I'm 28 and I'm one of the oldest people sitting in section 209 of the Spice Girls reunion tour, but I didn't care.

They put on an amazing show. Nine high-resolution jumbo monitors, an enormous stage with moving parts that juts out into the audience like a fashion show runway, a ton of glitter that fell upon the audience, Melanie B's S&M machine, and an all-male dance group with not an ounce of jiggle on them were just a few things that we had the pleasure of witnessing last Friday. Geri also treated us to her rendition of the gay national anthem "It's Raining Men."

Some of the best entertainment that evening wasn't on the stage. The girls who attended the concert provided quite a bit of fodder for return trip conversation as well as material for blog entries. A lot of girls wore outfits that did not complement their bodies. Some also wore stiletto heels and had a hell of a time trying to keep their ankles from wiggling. I know it's a fun event and that you want to look good, but who are you going to impress by wearing that stuff at a Spice Girls concert? The only men who are going to look their way are gay men and it's only because they either want to know why the girls didn't wear a foundation that is closer to their actual skin tone or to make sure that they're not hallucinating when they see them walking in the freezing weather with no coat.

Mike and Israel, who invited me to attend with them (a million thank-yous), made an interesting comment after observing the hullabaloo that was the Chicago Spice Girls fan base. They said that a lot of the girls and gay boys who went to the show had to have been either four or five years old when the Spice Girls first made it onto the scene. At first I thought they were Johnny-come-lately fans, but the big girl in the row in front of me proved me wrong. She wore a tiny top and low rise jeans that tried their darnedest to hide that crack of hers, but she belted out every word of every song and danced every move to go with it like she was prepared to go on in the unfortunate event that Posh would collapse from low blood sugar. Bless her heart!

A lot of people in America are quick to scoff at the Spice Girls because they're not great singers and they're really flashy or hokey, but there are a lot of successful entertainers out there who can't sing anyway. I'm more attracted to the whole package, not the minor details like being able to sing without lip syncing. Each of the girls has a unique style and personality (like a lot of the queens you know), which is probably why they're so popular with the gays. Another reason could be that Roberto Cavalli designed the outfits for the show, but let's pretend for a second that all of the gays aren't into fashion.

I'll Cover You

I usually argue the old adage "you can't judge a book by its cover" because you really can judge a book by its cover. Whenever you're buying a book in a book store, don't you always want the one that's in the best shape? You take the one from the back of the stack because it's usually very crisp and doesn't have a lot of wear because it's been touched by hundreds of men. I could just be thinking of boys and not books, but aren't they interchangeable?

Speaking of covers, the cover of this week's issue of the Gay Chicago features two shirtless men against a computer-rendered background of red hearts and it's titled "Happy Valentine's Day." After reading the magazine, I must admit that it left me with a bad taste in my mouth... and not in the usual way.

I rely on the Gay Chicago for a lot of my entertainment, gay news, and social planning. The issue was great, including the reviews and the pictures from the weekend. I love seeing if any of my inebriated friends make it into the picture section so I can laminate it and put it on my refrigerator. A large part of why I enjoyed it this week was the wonderful interview with Olympia Dukakis. I think she's an absolute gem and I've been a fan since I saw her in Moonstruck (and "Look Who's Talking," I admit it). I also have to mention that any cast member from the movie "Steel Magnolias" gets an automatic VIP in the gay community.

My problem with the cover was that it wasn't relevant to what was inside the issue. The title of the cover was "Happy Valentine's Day, yet there were no Valentine's Day themed articles in it.

I asked the people at Gay Chicago why Olympia wasn't featured more prominently on the cover, but I still haven't heard back from them. The title of the interview was "Olympia Dukakis: The Interview" which suggests that it's sort of a big deal, so why not put her face on the front? It couldn't be because they couldn't get a picture. One of the recent covers had a screen capture of Jake Gyllenhaal doing the monologue of Saturday Night Live, it's not like there was a shortage of Olympia Dukakis material floating around.

I then saw that Olympia's picture really was on there, but it was a tiny little picture in the upper right hand corner that is dwarfed by the two shirtless men. Maybe that's how people perceive the homosexual's attention span. Well not all of us get mesmerized by hot men, so there. If you want to mesmerize me, then put a picture of someone cleaning my house on the cover of a magazine.

Lucky Little Queer Kids

The gay children in this generation don't know how great they have it. I don't make this claim because I'm jealous of the fact that they'll one day have the ease to do things without fear of social nonacceptance such as marry, donate blood, and choose the genetic qualities of their future children. I'm referring to the fact that there are a lot of cute and hot people who appear in the television shows they watch.

How many cute or hot people taught you not to play with matches or to count to ten? It sounds silly, I know, but think back to all of the programs that you watched as a kid. The hotness of any children's television personality from 1980 to 1990 only registered a faint blip on our Gaydar, with the exception of Miguel from 3-2-1 Contact. He was a cute Hispanic boy who wore tight jeans and knew everything there is to know about centrifugal force. Other than that, we had NO ONE! Well, there was Mister Rogers, but I didn't become interested in older men until high school. Hey, how many men can dress comfortably AND use their imagination these days?

Here are a few examples of what our future friends of Dorothy are tuning in to watch when they wake up from their naps:

Steve Burns (Blue's Clues) - Most of the boyfriends I've had in my life were ones who yell, dominate the conversation, and lazily sit around the house. Steve is one of those guys who would make a great boyfriend because was never like that. He was very soft-spoken, he always wanted to know what was on your mind, and he loved getting the mail.

Steve isn't on the show anymore, but I find him cuter than his replacement.


Anthony Field (The Wiggles) - As the blue wiggle, he brings joy to millions of kids. But I defy you to look at him and not try to imagine this salt and pepper haired daddy wearing a harness and clanking the chains of a dungeon sling as he orders you to lick his boots. I don't think it can be done.








Simon Thomas and Matt Baker (Blue Peter) - Blue Peter is a children's television show in the UK and it also happens to be the longest running children's television show in history. A few years ago, they had a couple of smokin' hot hunky presenters named Matt Baker and Simon Thomas.

This is what they look like with their shirts on.


This is what they look like with their shirts off.



I guess it's okay that I'm not a gay kid at the moment because I wouldn't have a chance with any of these men as a spanky little seven year old who plays with Barbie dolls. But that's cold comfort, seeing as how I kind of don't have a chance with them as a twenty eight year old gay man because none of them are gay anyway.

Queen, you're no Jack Kennedy!

Last week I attended a party full of gay men and was accused of being part of the reason why this country is so messed up. That is a very serious accusation that caught me completely off guard, partly because I've always thought of myself as a positive contributer to our society. I'm a registered organ/tissue/marrow donor, I pay my taxes, and I always hiss and make hooting noises at the television whenever I see Nancy Grace talking. What more do you want from me?

It all started when one of the conversations turned political. I wondered out loud how the gay men of the world would fare in a country led by some of the presidential hopefuls, which prompted one of the outspoken queens to flip his imaginary hair and ask me, point blank, who I'd vote for on Tuesday.

I responded with my usual response:

"I'll vote for whoever can hold their own in various American Gladiators events. How great would it be to know that the leader of the free world can scale a giant padded pyramid in less than sixty seconds? If I were a terrorist, I'd be scared of that."

The actual phrasing varies in every situation, but the basic idea is there.

This prompted the outspoken queen to take off his imaginary earrings and imaginary Lee press-on nails so he could lay into me, and that's when he accused me of being part of the reason why this country was so messed up. According to him, people my age should be more aware of the issues that affect the country and that making jokes about something so important probably means that I won't care about voting.

I didn't get a chance to respond to that because the player piano started to play "Oops! I Did it Again!" and everyone got a big laugh out of it, which provided enough laughter to draw the outspoken and obviously drunk queen's attention away from me.

I don't like to talk about politics because EVERYONE has their own opinion about it and they all think that theirs is the right opinion, which makes EVERYONE want to respond to everyone else's views. All of a sudden, we're in Wolf Blitzer's "Situation Room" instead of a fun party where I should be enjoying myself.

I don't ever discuss who I'm going to vote for because it's nobody's business. Just because my television screen doesn't have the CNN logo burned into it from having it on twenty four hours a day doesn't mean that I'm messing up the country.