UPDATE: You did it! Michael & Co. surpassed their fundraising goal with hours to spare. Give yourselves a hand(job).

I’ll make this quick: Michael Stabile is putting together a documentary on Chuck Holmes, an important figure in the gay rights movement — not to mention gay porn. Michael’s running a Kickstarter campaign to fund the project, and he’s got four days to raise the final $5,000.

If you have a few extra bucks lying around — $5, $10, whatever — why not make a pledge to support the film? Think of it like a very sexy, politically savvy Christmas/Hanukkah/Kwanzaa present to yourself. And really, who doesn’t like getting presents? (Or in this case, packages. Bow-chicka-wow-wow.)

Added bonus: the documentary is called Seed Money. Best. Title. Ever.

In case you haven’t read the Salvation Army’s position statements, here’s a taste of what lies within:

Scripture forbids sexual intimacy between members of the same sex. The Salvation Army believes, therefore, that Christians whose sexual orientation is primarily or exclusively same-sex are called upon to embrace celibacy as a way of life. There is no scriptural support for same-sex unions as equal to, or as an alternative to, heterosexual marriage.

Now, supporting charities is great — in fact, I highly recommend you do so frequently throughout the year, not just during the holidays. But the Salvation Army ain’t the only nonprofit in town. There are plenty of worthy charities to choose from, each with a very special mission. Continue reading

Woo-hoo! Ted Mahne gave us a great review in the Times-Picayune. (Even Jonno got a mention: “MYSTERIOUS”.)

I hope those of y’all who are in New Orleans can come out and enjoy the show. Get your tickets right over here!

Note: I wrote the bulk of this article for Gaywheels earlier today, but since most of you probably don’t keep up with that site, maybe it’ll be new.

Scientists first became aware of AIDS 30 years ago. At the time, I was too young to fully understand what was going on, but as a kid who knew he was attracted to other boys, it was a terrifying development. There was so much uncertainty surrounding the disease, so much finger-pointing, so much name-calling and blame and moral outrage that it was impossible to see the facts.

Thankfully, we’re in a different place now. Scientists have a much better understanding of the disease, and today’s medicines have dramatically increased life expectancies for people living with HIV —  as much as 53 years (or more) from the time of infection. Advances in technology also mean that many researchers are once again talking about a cure for HIV — something they haven’t done in decades. The battle isn’t over, but slowly, HIV is becoming a chronic condition rather than a fatal disease. And yet, there’s still a huge stigma surrounding HIV-positive people. That has to change.

I bring this up because today, like every December 1, is World AIDS Day. It’s an opportunity to remind people about how far humankind has come in its fight against HIV and AIDS and how far we still have to go. It’s also a time for many of us to remember friends and family who’ve died from AIDS and to think about the many, many HIV-positive folks in our circles who are living happy, healthy, normal lives.

Take a few minutes out of your day and to contribute to the cause — financially or in other ways. Here are five things you can do to make a difference.

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My sister has never been a slouch. In the ten years I’ve known her, Tiff has managed to juggle half a dozen careers, creating her own music, designing custom animations, editing videos, DJing, and on and on and on.

Now, she’s added another job to the mix: housewares designer. And she’s done it while completely reinventing herself, musically speaking.

A couple of weeks ago, I mentioned that Tiff had killed off her “Crazy Girl” alter-ego (with a traditional New Orleans jazz funeral, naturally), and been reborn as Grande Dame. As part of that transformation, she created a line of accessories for the mature, fashion-forward home, which are available at her Etsy shop.

I’m digging all the new goodies — especially the dinner plates called “Adam and Steve” and “Madam and Eve” —  but my favorite favorite favorite is the brightly colored leather daddy. Ordinarily, I’d call it quirky, fun, and effortlessly chic, but you’d probably accuse me of watching too much reality television. (Guilty.)

And of course, in the middle of all this, Tiff has released her first single as Grande Dame called “Black Leather”, which is available as a snazzy, limited-edition seven-inch single. Her new sound is a little rockabilly, a little psychobilly, and just the tiniest bit trashy — great road music as you’re driving over the river and through the woods this holiday season, IMHO. Check out the video below, which may not be safe-for-work (depending on, you know, where you work):

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Members of the LGBT community usually get a pass when they discuss the problems associated with coming out. For example, when Scott Thompson talked about how tough high school can be for gay teens, he encouraged them to “grow a pair”. Few in the LGBT media batted an eye.

Straight people, however, don’t get that luxury. Take, for example, Kathleen McKinley’s recent article in the Houston Chronicle, which chastises parents and friends of LGBT teens for not warning them of the dangers of coming out.

Admittedly, I’m offended by McKinley’s assertion that high school clubs like GLSEN are about “flaunting” sexuality. And her claim that exploring sexual identity has no place in teens’ lives is ludicrous: the teenage years are EXACTLY the time that people are focused on their sexuality, largely because their bodies are changing to accommodate sexual activity.

But the gist of the two pieces aren’t too far off: at heart, both Thompson and McKinley acknowledge that coming out is more complicated than shows like Glee would have viewers believe, and they encourage a bit of caution.

For starters, there are parents and other family members to consider when coming out. McKinkley says that if any of her kids were gay, she would love them just the same. But we know that many parents aren’t so open-minded. Nor are brothers, sisters, aunts, uncles, or grandparents.

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You can’t talk about Romeo without mentioning Juliet, too. In our house — or in our heads, at least –Kika was Juliet to Gaston’s Romeo. She passed away last week.

Gaston arrived first. My ex-boyfriend, Kyan, found him wandering around Frenchmen Street and insisted I adopt him. Because I was smitten with both of them, I did as I was told.

Things went well for a few days until one morning I left for work, and Gaston began to wail. According to my neighbors, it went on for hours. I thought he’d eventually get used to the situation, but I was very, very wrong.

Time passed, Kyan moved on, Gaston and I stayed put. Eventually, Jonno entered the picture. We decided to get another dog to keep Gaston company, so we drove to the old SPCA on Japonica Street.

If you’ve ever been to a dog shelter, you know what loud, chaotic places they are. And yet, there was Kika, calmly sitting at the front of her cage, looking up at us. She wasn’t playful, she wasn’t frightened, she wasn’t sad, but something in her eyes pleaded: “Please take me home. Please. I don’t belong here.” She was irresistible. Continue reading

Last week, there was a news story about an uppity little closet case in Texas named Dakota Ary who, according to initial reports, had the audacity to pick a verbal fight with his teacher in the middle of class. Though Ary and the instructor, Kristopher Franks, have differing versions of what went down, it’s pretty clear that Ary was calling out Franks for being gay.

I don’t know Mr. Franks, but if I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about the incident — specifically, the things I might’ve said to defuse Ary’s comments. In the 18th century, the French coined a term for this: “l’esprit d’escalier”, or “the wit of the staircase”.* Basically, it refers to the barbs you could’ve used to counter-attack someone who’d offended you at a party, if only you’d thought of them before you were walking away, down the front stairs.

And so, a brief dialogue for Mr. Franks, should the occasion ever arise again:

FRANKS: …and that is why Germans read the bible in German, not English.

ARY: Gays can’t be Christians. Homosexuality is wrong.

FRANKS: Uh-huh. I see. Interesting. Unfortunately, that’s not what we’re discussing at the moment. But since you brought it up, can I let you in on a little secret — I’m sorry, what’s your name again?

ARY: Dakota.

FRANKS: Dakota. Dakota. I’ll try to remember that. I’m sorry, some students just don’t make much of an impression. Anyway, can I let you in on a little secret, Dakota? You see, getting older is a great thing. Here in high school, you’re pretty worthless: you’re gawky and gangly and unsure of yourself. The only opinions you have are the ones handed to you by your friends, parents, or other people who intimidate you. But as you get older and make your own way in the world, you start to realize that some of the things you once accepted as fact simply aren’t true.

The only downside is that, as you mature, you’ll look back on some of the beliefs you used to espouse and wonder, “Boy, was I stupid! Why didn’t anyone tell me that I was making a total jackass of myself?” And the answer is simple: they were being kind. They knew you were wrapped up in the idiocy of adolescence, and they ignored you. In fact, by the time you’re my age, most of your high school friends will have completely forgotten you: you’ll try to friend them on Facebook, and they’ll be all, like, “Whoa, I don’t remember this guy at all. Ignore.”

But I suppose the really bad part is that as an adult, you’ll remember certain incidents from your teenage life, certain moronic things you said or did, and you will wince. Literally, your eyes will get all squinty and you’ll tilt your head a little to the side as if to say, “Ouch!” It’ll happen at the oddest times, and every so often, someone in the grocery store will see you do it and ask if you’re okay.

Congratulations, Dakota: this is one of those moments. I hope you enjoy thinking about it for the next 80 years.

Okay, so that’s not exactly “wit of the staircase”, it’s more of a monologue from a late-era John Hughes film. But you get the point.

And Mr. Franks, if you’re reading this: I’m sorry that this has turned into such a fiasco for you. (Though in fairness, Ary probably shouldn’t have been suspended.) You’re welcome to use any of the lines above should the occasion arise again, but my best advice is to do the truly cruel thing and ignore the little fucker.

* The French were obsessed with categorizing humor for the better part of the 17th and 18th century. At the bottom of the humor hierarchy was the lowly pun, since it was facile and often coarse. At the top was wit — in part because it relied on a degree of intelligence, but also because it allowed listeners to smile without laughing. Laughing was a terrible thing, since it showed off one’s teeth, which were, given French hygiene at the time, black and rotten. (Sorry, this is the sort of thing I spent my grad school years learning.)

Willow Smith, “Whip My Hair” single + b-side (2010) Continue reading

In high school, I couldn’t go to a forensics competition without hearing someone perform a Dramatic Interp of Marsha Norman’s play called ‘night Mother.

It was an easy trick, like shooting fish in a sappy barrel: contemporary dialogue, only two characters, a mother and daughter, neither of whom is crazy. Plus, there’s a movie with Sissy Spacek and Anne Bancroft to watch for inspiration. It’s a far cry from Equus (my go-to piece at the time).

Today, Marsha Norman turns 64, and as a birthday present, I would like to offer her my own version of ‘night Mother, reimagined as a sitcom starring Reese Witherspoon and Delta Burke. It’s shorter than the original, which is probably an improvement. And at least it’s better than Norman’s The Red Shoes, which was the early-90s equivalent of Spiderman: Turn Off the Dark.

The scene: nighttime in a suburban kitchen. MAMA is reading a magazine while JESSIE clears the plates from the dining table… 

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