August 01, 2004

Reality Dwarfs Fiction!

It's 6:04 am on Sunday. I'm dining in a posh, 24 hour, Chelsea diner and the Mexican waiter refuses to serve me a martini. I threatened to have his job. He threatened to kill me, and that was that. The brute.

Apologies for my crankiness, I had a rough night.

I don't remember where I went or who I met last night. My subconscious activates a protective memory function once the clock ticks past 3 am. I awoke on the sidewalk with no wallet and no shoes. It must have been an absolutely wonderful evening. Come Tuesday, I'll be in a fetal position weeping as the events flood back to me, but for now, ignorance is definitely bliss.

The kind waiter has made me what I coined a fake-tini: tonic water and an olive. It's dreadful to sip, but it keeps up appearances.

Keeping up appearances? Remember when media presented the gay community as skinny, AIDS ridden, leather men sporting Freddy Mercury moustaches, their ACT-UP fists perpetually pumping the air? In the eighties, you'd see club kids on Geraldo, decked out in stilettos and dressed as animals or robots or vampires, high on cocaine and shocking suburban housewives with their crazy antics. And no comedy night was complete without a prerequisite suit jacketed, stand-up lesbian comedienne?

Where have our cliches gone? Have we kept up appearances for so long that we've forgotten we're called queer because we are queer? Have we forgotten what queer means?


Like zombies to a mall, thousands of gay and lesbian couples run to 'activist' courthouses to get a paper tangling them in the dreadful miasma that is heterosexual marriage. I support gay marriage, but I refuse to traipse down the aisle locked in a heterosexist mold.

I'd rather meet a man in a sex club. I'd propose and we'd marry the very next day. I'd wear a goat costume and have my fiancee dress as a farmer if only to stir the flames of the Bible Belt. I'd kiss the news reporter on the mouth and tell Straight America, "My husband is taking me home to sodomize me! We're married!!!"

You never see the photos of two men in bridal dresses reciting their nuptials. No, the politically incorrect crazies have been hidden in the basement now that the gays are moving in across the street.

"Honey, look. Gays are moving in across the street. Oh wow, there are three of them. They must be in a consensual polyamorous relationship. That's quite progressive."

"It certainly is. Why look at the boxes of dildos! That one is as a big as a fire plug."

"I can't wait til they have all night, drug fueled, sex orgies. I love the sound of booming music at 4 am on a Tuesday."

"Me too sweetie. Oh and look at that. Turns out they're nudists. Things have certainly gotten spicier in our neighborhood!"

Even fucking reality television will only portray gays who are chiseled and good looking and seeking love and commitment. In a field of shows like, 'Marry a Retarded Person' or 'Eat Shit for Money' or 'Who'll Win a Midget' we still aren't allowed to see the real crazies in our midst.

I want to be in a show simply called 'Gay People are Crazy.' You fill a SoHo loft with twelve gay men and they eliminate each other week after week. At the end, the last bitch standing wins the loft. Then you'd see the ugly face of gay culture. But we aren't allowed to wear that mask in public, only among ourselves.

Why? Because doing so would give the Right the ammo it needs to convince America that we aren't normal. Well you know what? America's a pretty fucked up place regardless!

Gays just know how to keep up appearances better.

Waiter, another fake-tini please!

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