Let’s do the Time Warp again.

Last week it seemed like it was 2001 (and we all know what a banner year that was for America) now it seems like it might be 1998.

Why?

Because Lilith Fair is back. I know that I’m the last to know (I am not on the email list), but it’s breaking news to me.  And secretly the young, I’m not quite sure if I’m a lesbian but I like it here because all of these ladies are super friendly to me and I do enjoy a compliment, BPD is pleased as punch because well, all of the ladies at Lilith Fair were super friendly to me and I do enjoy a compliment.

But still, one of my favourite people at work who I haven’t figured out a moniker for yet (and frankly doesn’t OOMFPAWWIHFOAMFOY seems a bit long? Awesome, but long.) and I were talking about how we just can’t get all of the way behind it.

Because I mean, the late nineties were all about ladies doing their best Joni Mitchell impressions what with their guitars and their scarves and their sing-songwriter with a little dash of now let’s all sleep with each other thrown in. Oh those Halcyon days, when all a girl needed was a sweet pair of overalls and a beaded necklace.

But we’re in the two-thousandsies (Dr. Rachel Maddow says it and so can I!) now and things have changed. I mean, sure, ladies are still super friendly to me and I do enjoy a compliment but the music landscape is totally different. I haven’t seen my overalls in a while now and I always give RHS the stink-eye when she ties on a scarf. Also, who’s going to play?

Miley Cyrus
Beyonce
Katy Perry
Lady Gaga

I mean, they’re nice girls and all, but I just don’t get the Lilith vibe from them, you know, and the former headliners are, well, former.

I mean, Sarah McLachlan hasn’t had a job in ages. Those ASPCA promos just don’t pay the bills.

The Indigo Girls have faded to just plain old blue. Emily went and got her heart broke and Amy Ray went and got… uhm, younger women?

Tori Amos has made it clear that she’s not into the Lilith Fair (Isn’t she just our favourite little megalomaniac outside of Barbra?) so we can count her out – again.

Who’s left?

Joan Osborn – haven’t heard from her in ages so I’m thinking that she got mugged by one of those strangers on the bus.

Shawn Colvin?
I’ve got no jokes about Shawn Colvin. Sunny plays with fire.

So you can see the dilemma.

Who’s currently happening in the industry that fits within the Lilith milieu? And does anybody still want to pay to sit on a lawn among the scarfed and questionably washed (friendly though they may be) to see them?

These are the tough questions facing the Lilith Fair promoters. And I know that there are lists all over the interwebs with dream line-ups and they’re alright and all, but I have one that beats them all.

Lilith Fucking Fair Bitches!

Patti Labelle
Not only did LaBelle release a new album a year ago but Pattie Labelle is prepared to sing herself into a diabetic coma. That is some showmanship. Ain’t no acoustic guitar toting girl (even you, Ani) can beat that.

Heart
How do we get them alone?

Karen Oh
Oh yes!

Meshell Ndegeocello
Who is she and what is she to me? One badass sexy lady. Who plays bass. And is badass and sexy. Why are there even questions about this?

Tina Turner
Her Buddhism will add the den mother factor. Also, she owns a white and a silver leather jumpsuit. That totally beats the scarves any day.

Barbra Streisand
Barbra Steisand is a colossus astride the earth (and with her don’t rain on my parade policy you are guaranteed great weather).

Liza Minnelli
You are guaranteed Quaaludes, mascara and an amazing wig-off with Tina Turner.

Crazy with a Z

Whitney Houston
Whitney needs a gig ya’ll. And frankly, you’re going to need someone who knows exactly how to revive you when you’ve had taken too many of Liza’s happy pills and had too many crack (oh, I’m sorry cocaine) laced pot-brownies.

Elton John
Bitch loves a party. And costumes. Win.

You know you’d rather see this line up than anything Sarah McMopelan can throw together.

Don’t front.

Déjà BOOO

It looks like it’s 2001 all over again.

1. New Jersey and Virginia have Republican Governors¹ 
2. Mike Bloomberg has used-car salesmanned himself into the NYC Mayor’s seat²
3. Maine has second-class citizens³

 

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Same you can believe in.

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¹In 2001 Donald DiFrancesco succeeded Christine Todd Whitman as governor of New Jersey.  In 2001 Jim Gilmore was the governor of Virginia.

²In 2001 Mike Bloomberg switched his registration from Democrat to Republican before switching his registration to Independent in 2007 and then hoodwinking NYC citizens so that he could be eligible for a third term.

³In 2001 Maine’s partnered gay citizens were not afforded the same rights under the law as their married heterosexual counterparts.  For a brief shining moment this year that wrong was righted.  Last night citizens and neighbors in Maine voted to disenfranchise and relegate second class status to other citizens and neighbors in Maine.  Those voters chose to protect marriage at the cost of their dignity and integrity. 
That seems like too heavy a price to pay to me.

Oh Joe he didn’t!

I’ve been sitting here, dithering, if you will, for the past couple of days trying to think of a clever play on Joe Lieberman’s name.

So far I’ve come up with:

Joe Blows
Joe Diddly
Say it ain’t Joe
Not Joe Senator
Joe Shit
Joe-berwokky
No way Joe-se
Sloppy Joe

My favourite, however, is Cock Block.  It’s not a play on words so much as an accurate description of Joe Lieberman’s time in Senate.
He’s the “friend” telling the hot girl that you’ve just gotten to talk to you about that weird infection you had last week.

In this case the hot girl that’s just deigned to grace you with her witty repartee is health care reform with an anemic public option and the Republican filibuster power is the infection that we thought we’d finally rid ourselves of when we finally got Al Franken his seat.

Joe Lieberman is the fucker that finagles it so that all three of you to go home alone and then get all offended when you shoot him a dirty look and a dirty finger when he’s all, “Dude.  Couldn’t close that deal, huh?  Sucks.  She was alright, though.”

But don’t take my word for.  Dr. Rachel Maddow has had her blazers in a bunch over it for the past two nights.  And I don’t blame her.  In the whole history of the Senate no one (NO ONE) has voted with the opposition to prevent cloture for the party they caucus with.  I understand wanting to make a name for yourself, but Benedict Arnold doesn’t seem like the wisest of choices.

In real life, such masterful cock-blockery often results in a five-finger salute to face.  I’m not advocating violence, but I am advocating a swift and decisive response to such disregard for the leadership of the party with which you caucus.  I am advocating that the Democratic party strip him of his leadership, run someone against him and censure him and then call that pretty girl up, beg her pardon and see if you can get her to talk to you again now that your douche-y “friend” is gone.

Democrats, don’t let her get away.

I was blind but now I see.

I am not a movie person.

The actor part of me gets really frustrated when I watch them because they are so clearly the director’s and the cinematographer’s medium.
I am neither.

But I do see a movie now and then.  And when I saw Where the Wild Things Are I paid close attention to the trailers while I was waiting for RHS to come back from the bathroom so that I could guilt her into buying me concession.
Trailers can be teaching moments.

What I learned when I watched the trailer for The Blind Side, the new Sandra Bullock vehicle was very eye-opening.

1. White people are so good and trusting and kind.
2. Black people are so big and dumb and slow and poor.
3. White people have beautiful homes.
4. Black people don’t have homes.
5. White people are stable.
6. Black people are unpredictable.
7. White people coach football.
8. Black people play football.
9. White people are the best thing to ever happen to black people.
10. Black people are the best pets white people can have.

That trailer has been all over the place lately… teaching.
And when you’ve received the lesson, it’s not that hard to make the leap from black people to people of color in general.

And seems that there are certain boys and girls who are eager to lead the class.  Larry Whitten gets a gold star this week for learning the lesson so well.
Forbidding your employees to speak Spanish in your presence – not, mind you, when they’re dealing with customers, but when they are in the same room as you talking to their co-workers – because you don’t trust them.  A+
[Let’s not get it twisted, the fact that Whitten thought they might be talking about him - and who doesn’t talk about their boss? - directly implies that he doesn’t trust that they’re not.  And he doesn’t trust what they are saying about him.  He doesn’t trust them if he can’t understand them.]

Making  your employees change their names for “the satisfaction of [your] guests because people calling from all over America don’t know the Spanish accents or the Spanish culture or Spanish anything.”  A++
I mean, except for the fact that nearly everyone in the Taos knows something of the OUTLANDISHLY FOREIGN Spanish accents, culture and language.  Also, except for the fact that Martin is pronounced exactly in Spanish as it is in French and the American pronunciation of Martin is a nasty-garish derivative.
Asking someone to whiten up their name while simultaneously belittling their language and culture and ignoring the millions of people in America who are a part of that language an culture earns you this nice, pretty dunce cap Mr. Whitten.

Firing your employees because they didn’t kowtow to your white superiority.  Well that just takes the cape.  You get to graduate Grand Dragon Class Valedictorian.

Bravo.
I hope that you thank Sandra Bullock, Warner Bros. Pictures and Alcon Entertainment in your acceptance speech.

He ain’t Dick Cheney. He’s my brother.

I never thought that I’d say this but, you guys, I’m worried about Dick Cheney.

And not worried in your run of the mill, Holy Mantights Batman, that VeePee Vermin has Struck Again! sort of way.

I’m talking worried like, Sweet Rollerskating Jeebus it’s Friday Night and my Budget Will Only Allow for Beer or Pizza- Not Both.  You know, seriously worried.

At first, I thought that he had a case of the George “It’s not a lie if you believe it” Constanza-s.  But after seeing the footage on Dr. Maddow’s show last night I’m becoming a bit alarmed.

My brother is unwell.  He presents with symptoms concurrent with schizophrenia.  His illness manifests itself in paranoid delusions, anti-social behavior and disordered thoughts.  He has accused me of working in collusion with Them while being part of a vast gay conspiracy to imprison him.  He once told me that he had to stop using the internet because the computer was talking to him and watching him.

He refuses to seek treatment because he believes he is the only okay one in the world.

Listening to the voracity with which Dick Cheney defends and praises the use of torture is like listening to my brother defend and praise his “camouflaging” and admonish me and the rest of my family for suggesting that he might not need to camouflage if he would seek professional help.
When Dick Cheney talks about giving comfort to the enemy, I imagine one of my conversations with my brother when he accuses me and my sister and my cousins of being snitches who are out to get him.
Thinking about the fact that Dick Cheney spent most of the 8 years of the Bush Administration in an undisclosed bunker that could not be imaged on Google satellites reminds me of the fact that not once in the past 6 years has my brother told his address or kept the same phone number for more than six months.
The unwavering sureness of Dick Cheney’s convictions, despite fact, history and public opinion to the contrary is indicative to me of deep and chronic delusion, paranoid in nature.
I think he’s crazy.  And not just racist and mean-spirited crazy like Pat Buchanan, Bill O’Reilly and Glenn Beck.
Really crazy.

You know, when he was in charge I was scared for us.  Now, despite my best intentions, I’m scared for him, as I am scared for my brother.

It’s all fun and games until someone gets married.

So it occurred to RHS and I on Sunday as we were shoveling awesome breakfasty goodness  into our mouths having a nice Brunch Date to belatedly celebrate our 5 years of being a Team [That’s how we think of ourselves, as a Team. We even have a team name and a secret handshake.  That’s okay.  Take a moment.  It will still be true when you re-read it.] that we were less than a year away from our big come and celebrate the permanence of our relationship and bring us presents¹ party.

So yeah, we’re wedding² planning.

I know that this will be a surprise, but… I have not been planning my wedding since I was a little girl.  I’ve been planning it, seriously planning it, since Sunday.

RHS and I made lists and talked about options and made more lists and suddenly it occurred to me that I might end up with one of those god-awful wedding binders and began to panic a little bit, but then I calmed myself down by telling myself that if I had to have a wedding binder then I’d have to buy a new wedding messenger bag to carry the binder and that and the Bloody Mary made me feel a lot better.  That, and the thought that a god-awful wedding binder is kind of a tiny cost to pay to get hitched to RHS.

So yeah… wedding planning.

This means that every now and then there will be a post about the planning stages.  Posts like, Why can’t we just throw your ethics out of the window so that I can have that nice diamond ring, hunny?  Or the inevitable: People need mini-cheeseburgers more than they need crudites.  It’s a fact.

I hope that you (and RHS) can bear with me.

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¹Go look at the loading graphics of KitchenAid.com.  Those are kind of dirty, right?

²Maine has a big vote on Question 1 coming up.  Get out the word to your friends in Maine to show up and vote NO on Question 1 on November 3rd.

It’s hard to mourn when the red and whites are flashing.

Across the street from the Pioneer grocery store where they only started stocking fresh vegetables when the hipsters moved in to the neighborhood, a mother’s son was shot and killed last week.

Every night when I walk home I see the NYPD RV and the candles and flowers that have been left to mark the sidewalk where he slipped through the cracks.

I guess the police finally arrived to protect us from our grief.

Wild Rumpus

RHS and I saw There the Wild Things Are last night.

We laughed, we cried, we told each other which Wild Thing we thought we were and then we went home…

…and the soup was still hot.

I think my search for a theme song may be over.

When work starts to get to me I channel my inner Barbra.  Specifically this Barbra.

It totally works.  You should try it sometime.

Oh, and by the way… you’re welcome.

Sang a song about it. Like to hear it? Here it go.

So, I’ve been sitting here on my couch watching American football (arguably one of the best things about Fall – except for the foliage, of course), ironing my clothes for the week (It’s a weird, nerdy total time-saver and is super-helpful when you’re between laundry runs), making dinner, being domestic with RHS and recovering from our 4-mile run today.

I totally forgot that it was National Coming Out Day.

Over at Pam’s House Blend they’ve got a lovely compilation of videos from the March on DC that seems appropriate for the day.

I tend to think that everyday is a coming out day.  Not that I run around New York City, stopping random passersby and tourists to let them know that I am gay (I let my tie and my loafers do the talking for me) but every single day I live my life as openly as possible.

When I came out to my mother in 2003 over the phone…

BPD: Guess what Mommy, I’m in a play!
BPD’s Mommy: That’s wonderful sweetie, what role do you play?
BPD: I play a lesbian and that’s really easy because I am one in real life.
BPD’s Mommy: How wonderful, you’re in a play.
BPD & BPD’s Mommy: (awkward silence)
BPD’s Mommy: So you’re a lesbian in real life?
BPD: Yeah.
BPD’s Mommy: Well you’ll draw on experience then.
BPD: Yeah.
BPD’s Mommy: Well, thanks for telling your mother.
BPD: About the play?
BPD’s Mommy: About everything.  Thanks for feeling like you can tell your mother anything.  I appreciate that.
BPD: You’re welcome.
BPD’s Mommy: I love you.  Break a leg in your play.

… my biggest worry was that she’d hang right up on me and that’d be it.

Her biggest concern was (and, I would wager, still is) that life would be difficult for me.  I was (and, I would wager, still am) her BabyGirl and the last thing that she wants is for my life to be difficult.  And over the years I’ve tried to make her understand that being closeted made my life difficult.  That as awful as it sometimes is, having to endure hateful tirades and having to keep constant vigilance about my safety when I am about in the world is still loads easier than those years I spent closeted.

So every day that I am out in the world living my life just as I see fit is a victory. Every day that I don’t have to live a closeted life is a triumph.  I come out every morning when I roll over and see RHS’ sleeping head, every pay-day when I look at my check and see that we are covered by my health-insurance, every Sunday when we go on our runs through Prospect Park and talk about our plans for the future, every time someone stops me at work to ask me about my ties and every time my sister wants to talk to RHS on the phone so that they can commiserate about me.

I congratulate all that have made today (yesterday and tomorrow) National Coming Out Day.

Especially you, Diana.