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Here’s the sad truth: Jonno and I are slobs. Not like pizza-under-the-bed slobs, but still slovenly. As it is, I’ve gotta leave work early today so I can straighten up the house for certain Halloween houseguests. We simply have to work on our cleaning skills. Or find a cute boy willing to strap on a latex French maid’s uniform every once in a while. (I prefer the latter option, of course.)

P.S. Chris, I hope you’re not allergic to cats or dogs or cigarette smoke. If you are, I guess I’ll be dosing your coffee with Robitussin. Which can be fun, if consumed in large amounts….

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Okay, so I’ve been trying to write an article for my pal Ben (another Amy Lowell fan) and I’ve been trying to polish off another massive grant application (Begging: The Musical!) and I’ve had to teach myself how to make an animated ad banner on a really clumsy shareware program (I don’t have Photoshop or anything on my work computer) and what I’d really like is a good game of kickball or dodgeball or even softball to clear my head. Barring that, however, catching up on the last couple of months of Fan Mail has provided some small relief….

Oh, yeah: did I mention that the darling of New Queer Cinema and one of my own personal darlings both have new webpages? I thought not….

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It’s hardly noon, and I’m already full of rage. Sad isn’t it?

Things I Hate

  • Postal employees (with very few exceptions)
  • People who wear cologne (no exceptions)
  • People who set their cell phones to play Fur Elise and the William Tell Overture
  • Amazon.com’s customer service department (don’t get me started)
  • Idiots (including those not mentioned above)

Things I Don’t Hate

  • Long lunches
  • Red beans and chicken livers at said lunches
  • Coffee, coffee, coffee
  • Our hounds and our cat
  • A kiss from someone I love (hint, hint)
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Another posting to the Miscellaneous section. This time it’s an essay on the homo fascination with Halloween–timely, no? I wrote it for a magazine, so technically they own the copyright, but I doubt they’ll care if I post it here. Enjoy, if you must.

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I can’t help but cringe when I hear the words “gay lifestyle.” The term “lifestyle” implies a sort of trendy social movement comprised of individuals blessed with a significant degree of free will: Californians living the surfing lifestyle, for example, choose to surf morning, noon, and night, but many grow out of it as they get older. Same goes for hippies, junkies, and even Presbyterians.

It’s a little offensive to hear cocksucking described in this manner–like it’s a trend or a phase. I mean, despite all the hoopla surrounding ex-gay movements, I’ve never met a fudgepacker who’s just gradually stopped, er, packing fudge.

Of course, I’m still not sure exactly what “gay lifestyle” implies, but if I let my imagination run wild, the phrase does bring to mind several frightening images: a completely gay shopping mall, where the background Musak is nothing but Madonna, Mariah, and show tunes; a special pride issue of Martha Stewart Living, featuring Pottery Barn porch swings festooned with rainbow-colored ribbons; and a man-made island about the size of Nantucket located 15 miles off the northern coast of Morocco with an all-gay government, a booming haircare industry, and an annual island-wide holiday commemorating Joan Crawford’s birthday.

Interestingly enough, however, I’m much less resistant to the idea of an Internet lifestyle. Pass the DSL, please…

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Well, Tim, maybe he’s from New Orleans. When it comes to accents, there’s not a hell of a lot of difference between ours and the one you’d hear in the Outer Boroughs:

A few words on New Orleansese: in a city whose very name is pronounced in nearly 100 different ways by its citizens, all the way from the filigreed, nearly five-syllable “Nyoo Ahhlyins” to the monosyllabic grunt of “Nawln'”, it takes a very sensitive ear, not to mention years of practice, to pinpoint the incredible binds the native speaker encounters, those specific words where the slow tongue gives up and makes a leap of faith. For those who have never heard it, you must begin by imagining Brooklynese on Quaaludes.

–via Chuck

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[Ed. note: I hope you had your coffee this morning…]

Like my boyfriend, I also logged quite a few grad school hours trying to pin down queer sensibility. Obviously, it can’t just be defined by sexual preference or even sexual activity: football players slapping one another on the butt and gay-for-pay porn stars fucking around on screen have very little to do with queerness (although they do represent interesting fissures in the binary hetero/homo system). Likewise, on the erstwhile Ellen, even after Ellen came out on-screen and off, I wouldn’t say the show had a particularly strong queer sensibility….

Were I ever to write another 30-page seminar paper on the subject (and let’s hope I don’t), here’s the way I’d argue it. Homosexuality (e.g. a love of kissing boys) is innate and learned; it is both genetic and a result of socialization. Queer sensibility (e.g. an appreciation of Dame Edna), however, is something we develop over time. In my case, it began when I accepted the fact that I was different from the other guys. For years I tried hopelessly to fit in, to no avail. Then I discovered John Waters (on USA Night Flight) and saw how hip it was to like him and the lights finally came on: why bother feigning interest in stockcar racing any longer? I dropped the beer/pussy/football routine like a wheel of hot brie.

To my mind, my appreciation of Waters and Divine and Pee Wee’s Playhouse and beehive hairdos and Christopher Durang put me intellectually and culturally head-and-shoulders above the straight boys: I got the jokes they didn’t get, I saw beauty and humor where they saw only strangeness. I laughed, they could only shake their heads. Ultimately, it’s that sort of mental/aesthetic one-upsmanship that most typifies queer sensibility to me.

Lo and behold, Sontag agrees. In “Notes on Camp,” she argues that the queer sensibility is key to the wide(er)spread acceptance of homosexuality. Just as Jewish intellectualism (grounded in a strong history of Talmudic study) has provided Jews entree into mainstream culture, so “Homosexuals have pinned their integration into society on promoting the aesthetic sense.” In that article, of course, she’s focused on camp, but her statements obviously apply to more than just that. In fashion and the arts, we’re always one step ahead of the pack, our inside jokes are the very source of hipness. It’s this state of being “in the know” aesthetes that’s at the root of our queer sensibility. It’s our secret language. (In pre-Stonewall Britain, polari was a very literal manifestation of this phenomenon.)

Now, it could be argued that all minorities use a sort of secret aesthetic language–in black literature or Latino art, for example. I’d argue, though, that the queer lexicon is the most highly developed of these, if for no other reason than that most of us can pass; I mean, just to look at me, a stranger might not know I liked to kiss boys (well, unless he saw me sucking cock). In fact for most of us, until we came out, passing was a way of life. So in response to our typically hostile environments, we’ve developed a litany of hidden meanings that allows us to communicate with one another without blowing our cover. For me, learning this secret language–watching Miss Yvonne do her schtick and recognizing a humor in that performance that my parents and siblings couldn’t see–kept me sane.

Summary: Ability for homos to pass in mainstream cultcha –> the development of secret lingo and hidden meanings (which feed into the queer desire to be different/aesthetically superior to hets) –> memorization of every line Joan Crawford and Mink Stole have ever uttered.

Does any of that make sense? That’s as articulate as I can be this early in the morning….

P.S. Little or none of this applies to lesbians. That’s an entirely different ball o’ wax.