All of these presents and I don’t even have my tree yet.

Kwannukahmas time is here.

Time for Christmas trees, Unity and awesome menorahs.

AWESOME!

The tree in Rockefeller Center is looking fantastic and my prune-dried soul is filling with Seasonal Feelings of goodwill.

I dedicate this tree to a certain Mr. Charles Brown

After-all, it is the time of giving.

And boy, has the Universe provided.

Yesterday, OOMFPAWWIHFOAMFOY, told me about Glenn Beck’s Christmas Sweater.  The “Glen Beck Experience” in which how he recounts how he was an ungrateful, hateful little asshat of a boy and crushed his poor mother’s heart (on Christmas no less) and then she died.  Now he’s telling his story to illustrate his redemption and his faith and to show us, the great man that he’s become.

This story…

Created this man…

Seems about right.

Last night though, my girlfriend, Rachel Maddow, Ph.D. (Doctor Maddow to you), gave me the best gift of the season.  [Wow, that sounds kind of dirty when you re-read it.  Go ahead, re-read it.  I will wait.]

Anyhoods, there was dancing with shades and a disco ball.  There was insightful news making and there was the sheer and utter delight that is Rachel Maddow.  The whole episode is genius.  But what really brought it home for me was the “I guess I’m racist” ad.

Thank you anti-health reform wingnuts for building this beautiful new toy in your workshops of terror.

You should watch Doctor Maddow’s clip for some very incisive commentary from (my other girlfriend who’s not Ana Marie Cox) Professor Melissa Harris-Lacewell.  [Another gift.]

The whole add for your chortling pleasure.

Here’s the thing.  If I was watching the television, as I am want to do, and I looked up and saw a majority of white faces¹ telling me that they were racist, I’d say, “Of course you are.  Now how do I get back to that other channel, I need to see if the Cowboys are going to win this game?”  “Or.  Okay, I hope you’re not interrupting my Fringe with this mess.  Because if you’re interfering in my deep and meaningful relationship with Olivia Dunham we are going to have words.”

What I mean is that I wouldn’t be surprised.  I’d be annoyed that you were using your white-privilege to disturb my sacred TV time to tell me, but… you’re a racist, you obviously don’t care about the wants and desires of little ol’ X-Files missing me.

In words of my very astute friends: If someone tells you about themselves, believe them.
I believe  you racists.

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¹And seriously, two black dudes and dude of Asian Pacific Islander decent.  I know it’s hard finding work as an actor and all, but… did you know what you were signing up for?  I mean, we’ve done our share of bad shows/movies/plays what have you.  But seriously?  We have all done things that are going to get us kicked out of our respective clubs.

I’m just saying… Black Dudes… be on the look out for operatives from SCAN.

NOprah

I have three major influences in my life.

My mother, the obsessive compulsive, super-smelling, freakishly-strong for her size, shoe loving, potato-chip eating marvel of genetic design that she is, Barbra Streisand (I know, surprisesurprise) and Oprah Winfrey.

Strong Black Women

Since her first show in 1986 I have been an Oprah fan.  I was six and she was Oprah.  She was the best thing to hit my afternoon TV since Reva Shayne on The Guiding Light.  Sure, I stopped watching her show when I got to high school and it began to interfere with my busy life of show choir [I still, 10 years and two sweatshirts later, am a little bit foggy on what exactly “Expressions in Motion” means but that might just be because when I was motion my expression was singular: pained.] and shadowing Windsor HS’ stage-manger extraordinaire in drama club rehearsals.  But with Oprah the adage “absence makes the heart grow fonder” was true.  The less I watched her show, the more terrific her personality loomed in my mind.

Some people believed in Jiminy Cricket.  I believed in Oprah.

When you wish upon a star, chose either Oprah or Barbra.

When people were running around with those silly WWJD bracelets (Answer: He’d slap you for wearing those stupid bracelets.) I would scoff at them and secretly think, “WWOWD.”  I even wore my hair like Oprah. (Somewhere there is the photographic evidence of this.  Let’s you and I both hope that they are not in electronic form.)  Oprah was everything I wanted to be: respected, successful and powerful.

So while I understand that after 25 years Oprah is ready to move on to other things, I’m really floored.  I feel like she just told Harpo to beat me.
I honestly thought that the Oprah Winfrey show would outlive me.  I thought that Oprah Winfrey would discover the cure for aging past 60 and would just go on forever.  I know that she’s striking out on her OWN but it won’t be the same.  I won’t be the same.  And now you know that awful Tyra is going to want her own channel too, though ANTM does pretty much own the CW which I guess sort of counts as half a network.  That just sent shivers down my spine.

But I guess once you’ve beaten the meat industry and picked a President there’s not much left.

Oh-prah.

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.

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.

Team America, Fuck Yeah!

Suck it, Brazil.

Earlier this week I was feeling all down about the fact that America lost its bid for the 2016 Olympics but I must say this news this morning of President Barack Obama winning the Nobel Peace Prize – after three of our scientists taking the Nobel Prize in Medicine – really eases the pain.

After all, Brazil may have won the Olympics, but they didn’t win any Nobel Prizes.  Maybe we can loan them one of our 318.¹ 

Now I am sure that some outlets on the Right are really working hard today to paint the fact that our sitting President winning a Nobel Peace Prize is a super bad thing.  I’m sure that someone will even have the gall to throw in a little Affirmative Action into the mix to which I say: It sure as hell is an Affirmative Action pick.  Barack Obama winning the Nobel Peace prize AFFIRMS that his ACTIONS are in line with the aims of the global community and AFFIRMS that America’s ACTIONS are being well received by that community.  Which is awesome for Team America.

If the certain outlets on the Right want to believe that this is bad then, well, that’s on them.  Some people just like to be miserable.  Maybe the flags that they’ve wrapped themselves in have gotten too tight and have decreased the flow of oxygen to their brains.  Maybe they’ve been smothered by their tea bags.

Course, I would like to remind them, that you can’t be a right proper jingoist, if you’re going to be all Team America, Fuck No about this.

And also, in Team America news… we fucking shot the moon.  And it’s as awesome as it sounds.  I’m going to wait until to post Dr. Rachel Maddow’s take on it tonight.  Which should be totally nerdalicious.  Fuck Yeah!

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¹Which makes me kind of sad for Brazil.  Seriously, maybe we can give them one of ours.  Not Barack’s, but someone’s. 
Brazil is awesome – my friends have the pictures on Facebook to prove it.  The Olympics are going to be a rocking good time because, I firmly believe, Brazil knows how to party.  And sport.

Cold-blooded!

What did the Democratic Congressman say to the Republican obfuscation and obstruction about health care reform?

Slap!

My bad…  I totally thought that I was watching the Chappelle Show for a minute.
I mean, it is easy to confuse the brass pairs on this fellow…

… with the brass pairs on this fellow.¹

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¹I agree that “holocaust” was not the right word and that surely he could have used something else to give his rhetoric some sting, but I do appreciate that there are still some Democrats willing to scrap (Rep. Weiner, Sen. Schumer and Nancy Pelosi can’t do this on their own [I'm looking at you Max]).  I appreciate that he conceded to his poor word choice on Dr. Maddow’s show this evening.  Hopefully he’ll be a bit more thoughtful with his scrappiness in the future.

Interwebs lift us up where we belong…

Last week was a hard week.
I was totally stressed out at work.
I was audited by the IRS and had the first of my installment payments due and had to figure out what I wouldn’t be paying in order to give the government its due  (fingers crossed this gets me the Public Option I want).
I’ve been a bit worried about something coming up in my offline life that’s been keeping me distracted and I found a line on my face.  The worst part is that the line on my face is probably caused by the frequent and painful multiple day-long headaches that I have (which are probably migraines).
Also, I found out the the Phelps clan would be in my fair borough to picket outside of synagogues on Yom Kippur because they’re classy-McClassersons who are still protected by Free Speech. And though I am not Jewish and I didn’t spend the day fasting (I did spent the day tidying and meditating on things that I might need to atone for [like calling my sister "stupid" a lot when I was younger]) this kind of… just nastiness by the Westboro klan really floored me.

There were some bright spots.

RHS booked an Off-Broadway gig (which pays) and is now finally able to turn Equity.  This makes us a two Equity-card household.
Oprah Winfrey kicked off her 24th Season with interviews with Whitney Houston, and in a double whammy Jay-Z and, the light of my life, Barbra Streisand.

But the brightest spots were found on the interwebs.
I was browsing my favourite blogs and discovered Wordle.net (beautiful world cloud maker) at CKHB’s blog.  Here’s the wordle from last week’s entries.

Every silver lining has a word cloud.

I found out where the limited edition Barbra Streisand Barbie doll can be purchased.  (Wink, wink.  Hint, hint.)  And I found videos of the Vanguard performance (that I, sadly, did not win tickets to).

Hello, dolly.

Some smartasses after my own heart found a way to counter the non-housebroken-ness of the Phelps clan.

Amen, dude.

And finally… Oprah gets surprised.

Thank you interwebs.

Will Ferrell has something important to tell you.

One question: Where is my girlfriend, Tina Fey?