This may be the best thing I have seen in the long history of EVER.

[via DangerousMinds]

While traveling in Mexico, two Vatican prelates have criticized Mexico City’s new gay marriage law.

The marriages of gay and lesbian couples are an imitation, the bishops said, Mexico’s El Universal reported.

“A gay relationship is like decaffeinated coffee, you do not wake up,” Father Gonzalo Miranda, a bioethics professor at Regina Apostolorum University, a pontifical university, said.

[OnTop via Towleroad]

Miranda’s statement was made from the balcony of the hotel room he shared with Confirmed Bachelor #2, Monsignor Elio Sgreccia. Both seemed a little groggy.

I should be out on the streets, enjoying Southern Decadence and getting my fill of eye candy. (With all the fur, it’s very fuzzy candy, but lollipops are lollipops*.)

Anyway, I should be doing all that, but I can’t stop watching this. OMG, I can’t stop watching this.

* Speaking of: the word “lollipop” has some very curious origins. FYI and all.

You know, I’ve tried. Crunches, knee-lifts, that stupid bicycle thing my mom always did on the dining room floor. (Maybe she wanted to make it feel used, since we didn’t ever eat in there.) I’ve tried them all. None of them worked.

Push-ups, preacher’s curls, squats? Fine. Love ’em. They offer some results. But sit-ups? Go fuck yourself, sit-ups. You’ve been nothing but a disappointment and a pain in my gut since Mrs. Himmelstein* sang your praises in elementary school. And that goes double for all your ab-defining friends. When things get too bad, I’ll get kiss-assy finding some local Mr. Liposuction in Melbourne. Adieu.

* The Himmelsteins were the only Jewish family in Laurel at the time, and possibly the last Jewish family the town has seen. They lasted about three years. No one burned crosses on their front lawn or anything, but between all the revivals and BBQ, they probably felt a little left out.

It’s an ugly irony that while our friends on the East Coast are having to deal with Hurricane Earl this weekend, New Orleans is prepping for a beautiful Southern Decadence. Then again, given the fact that two of the last five celebrations have been canceled — thanks to Katrina (2005) and Gustav (2008) — it’ll be nice for everyone to relax and enjoy the festivities without obsessively checking WeatherUnderground. Who knows? I might even leave the house and mosey through the throngs of half-naked menses for a change.

Of course, I won’t be half-naked myself. I’m not Mr. Prim von Properstein, but I can be painfully shy and self-conscious and weird like that when I want to be. I don’t think I’ve even danced shirtless at a club.  Issues.

Also not roaming the streets stripped down (so far as I know)? Tom Hardy. Which is a shame, because he would be a treat for the eyeballs:

Related question: why does watching personal trainers in action make me cringe? All that earnest “Do it, do it, it’s all you man, do it” crap? (Not so much here, but it’s just a matter of degree.) It’s like watching Peep Show or The Comeback: I’m not sure whether to laugh or vomit.

Frankly, I’m waiting for the Crowlter (Sheryl Crow/Ann Coulter) follow-up, but for now:

http://player.ordienetworks.com/flash/fodplayer.swf

When I posted that clip yesterday — the one from A-List — I knew that the show was going to run on Logo. I saw the Logo logo, I saw the copy at the end announcing its October 4 launch. Still, the trailer looks so much like every reality show on Bravo, that that’s what stuck in my head: this piece of crap is running on Bravo.

That says a lot about Logo’s derivative, mostly forgettable programming. It says even more about Andy Cohen and his Magical Elves pals, because, hey, they’ve laid claim to an entire goddamn genre.

It also raises some interesting questions, knowing that this is targeted so specifically to The Gays. Like:

• Are we meant to emulate these highfalutin’ queens?

• Surely not, right?

• In which case: are we supposed to hate them?

• Doesn’t hating people seem like a mean premise for a show? (Not to mention unsustainable. Viewers need someone to identify with.) For my own sanity and for the sake of the show’s narrative arc, I have to assume that at least one of the faggotinis will be a likable, down-to-earth guy.

• How many other homos in the Logo demographic are going to switch over to Bravo when this pops on? I see one hand already.

That sounds like the title of a show that CBS forgot to write: Hot Guys Selling Feminine Pads Awkwardly. Or maybe a poem by the late Mr. Ginsberg. Or a painting by Lari Pittman.

Alas, it’s more literal than that. Hot guys are now selling feminine pads, and they’re doing it awkwardly:

[via Copyranter]

Yesterday, the trailer for Bravo’s Logo’s all-new, all-gay reality show, A-List, made the rounds. It was almost universally disparaged. And for good reason:

http://media.mtvnservices.com/mgid:uma:videolist:logotv.com:1646769

For those queens’ sake, I hope that footage was edited to hell and back — like on The Simpsons, when Homer was accused of manhandling the babysitter when in actuality, he just wanted a taste of the gummi Venus de Milo: “Sweet, sweet, candy!” — and that they’ll have some human qualities when the show airs. Because if people that terrible really walk the streets, things could get ugly when TV-watchers catch sight of them in public. People are pretty lousy at distinguishing “reality” from “television”, and when reality television is thrown in the mix, it gets entirely too messy. I envision Frankenstein-style lynchings at 80th and Madison — but then, I’m an optimist.

Defenders of the show will say, “Oh, it’s no worse than that Real Housewives junk”, but the majority of those housewives get to be human now and then, mostly because they have kids, and it’s so much harder to hate on kids (though not unheard of). Even I cut psychowhore Kelly Bensimon a little slack when she’s chilling with her spawn. It is possible that the gays on A-List have children too, but it is more likely that they just have chihuahuas. And while golden retrievers might inspire sympathy, chihuahuas are divisive.

Other people will say, “Oh, A-List is no worse than Sex and the City“, but two things: (a) Sex and the City was a scripted show, and (b) between Justin Theroux and Chris Noth and many other boyfriends of Miss Carrie Bradshaw, there were many naked men to ogle. A-List, on the other hand, may be affected, but it ain’t scripted. And judging by the trailer, seeing those scrappy, scrawny, queenladies get naked would be about as much of a turn-on as watching Jill Zarin sunbathe in a bikini. Which (for gay men) is not very.

Sadly, as much as people hate this show — and they already do — it’s obviously going to generate enough ad revenue to keep its producers in beach homes for the rest of their lives. I mean, if people enjoy watching that wack-ass queen flip houses, surely they’ll go for this crap.

Call me when Nurse Jackie‘s back.

P.S. I also think my averse reaction to the trailer has a lot to do with me being A Gay. Like, watching the Real Housewives crap — when I watch it — is fine because it’s so removed from my sphere. Sure, I know ladies like that, but I can still laugh at the show because I’m doing so from a distance.

Those A-List people, though? I know those queens — or at least their type — and I’ve spent the better part of my life trying to avoid being in the same room with them. Homos have a chance to be truly fabulous creatures: different and apart. To emulate the worst traits of condescending, self-aggrandizing women seems like a lost opportunity.

Finally finally finally this global obsession with all things 80s may be over. Which is great because as much as I love Alison Moyet (May She Live Forever), I could really do without one more Millennial metaphorically digging through my high school closet and shouting, “Omigod, what were they thinking? I must wear it immediately!” They’ve already adopted leggings and Hammer pants*, so it is only a matter of time before Girbaud jeans make a full-on comeback, in which case, may goddess have mercy on our souls.

I say that the end is nigh because I have heard that Jennifer Saunders is writing a musical about the Spice Girls. And if you throw in an internet boom, a lot of heroin, and a housing bubble, that’s pretty much all you need for a time capsule explanation of the 1990s that even aliens from the galaxy of Gaahhrglepleghghx could understand and say, “Oh. Crushed velvet. I get it.”

These are exciting times we (re)live in.

* I can say with all honesty that I never, ever, ever wore Hammer pants.