The March On Washington - October 11, 2009

I was wrong. I said it was a bad idea. Being a dinosaur from the disco era, I thought people would turn it into a party, a PR nightmare with leather pigs in full harness begging for the strap in front of network cameras.

But it was well organized. The crowd was neat and tidy. The rainbow signs were so tasteful, and obviously approved by committee. The speeches were strictly coordinated. No one repeated what anyone else had said, and the points, nicely understated, were made briefly, forcefully, and sometimes quite charmingly. It was also smart to have it in DC instead of Salt Lake. That made it easy for the New York set to make an appearance. All in all, a job well done.

Now I would never stoop to bitchy queeny hatchet jobs, or to criticizing everyt detail, down to Michael Huffington's loud tie. No. Absolutely not. I won't do it.

That said, Applebaum is dreaming if he thinks his coming out was an act of courage. Honey, people knew already. The neatly ironed overalls weren't fooling anyone. Also, Staceyann, dear, we loved the words. But you're a tad strident. Tone it down a few thousand decibels. And Huffington showed the usual republican bad taste. 'An historical?' How pretentious. It's pronounced 'a historical.' 'H' is a consonant. Consonants are preceded by an 'a.' And please. That right wing dodge of pretending to be bisexual is getting so tired. He's probably a screaming bottom begging for the strap. Doesn't he know that conservatives don't care if he slipped it to a woman sometime in the eighties? They're grossed out that he sucks c—k. Still, I do wonder if the two kids he mentioned are Arianna's.

It was a coup to have Julian Bond, the Prez of NAACP. He's such an educated guy. And it's wonderful that they put him in charge instead of a dingbat Southern preacher. What an elegant man he truely is. His telling the crowd they were the best looking he'd ever seen was a good-natured pander. Knowing that queens are vain, he just teased them about it. He also brought a preacher's touch, saying that good things come not to those who wait but those who agitate. Sweet. He recognized that our guy, Bayard Rustin, organized the first march on Washington back in the day. And he didn't just admit that homophobia is coming from black churches. Quoting the Reverend Doctor Martin Luther King Jr. himself, he called his own community stupid and ignorant on the issue. You could have knocked me down with a feather. If only we could be as honest with our community, and stop making excuses for our self destructiveness and internalized homophobia.

Kate Clinton was there, the fabulous comedian. And the one liners were nonstop. These days, her stuff is good enough to be aphorisms. She's like a modern day Oscar Wild. It's nice to see a lesbian carry on a gay male tradition.

Kate introduced her partner, Urvasi Vaid. I always enjoy it when two smart and kind people have the sex thing going on. They remind me of those other do gooders, Jimmy and Rosalyn Carter, except Kate probably knows her way around a strap on. Urvashi is my very favorite gay activist in the Universe. For her I would shave my chest and wear stone washed jeans. The girl is phenomenal. She may not speak in pop clichés like other celebrities. But her vision is so fair and clear and precise, it takes your breath right away. She wants the queer agenda to include issues like healthcare and labor rights and the environment. I could not agree more.

There was a guy named Tanner without much to say, but with a deep, forceful man voice. And who wouldn't spare a few minutes for a deep, forceful man voice?

The guy who wrote the Milk screenplay was there, telling us to free ourselves from shame and self doubt. The point is well taken, although he should have called internalized homophobia by its proper name. That places the blame where it belongs, on the bitch homophobes who crushed us as children. It also puts the responsibility on us for healing ourselves. Really though. The message was good, and the screenplay was not too shabby. I cried most of the way through, mostly because I was in town during the entire history. But where does this bare backer get the nerve to tell the world his love is beautiful and true? Like most celebrities, he's probably surrounded by ass kissers and thinks he can say anything without being called out. Even after thirty years, the queer community has not faced up to their sexual irresponsibility.

A guy named Bruce was there. He's the executive who dumped a hundred thou on the march, which he just happened to mention his first three seconds at the mike. Big whoop. He wants us to face down the homophobes at work. He probably has millions and doesn't need to worry about getting fired or loosing his healthcare. It's the same nut job, unrealistic approach that queer activists have been pushing for thirty years.

And speaking of activists, the march organizer Cleve Jones said a few words. After taking a moment to promote his organization, he told the country that we're done waiting and won't compromise another inch. We demand the full package right now. Cleve also took a minute for another swipe at Bill Clinton for DADT. After fifteen years, he still hasn't figured out that the political environment then was a tad unfriendly.

Talk about nut job approaches. Issuing orders to the American people is laughable. It'll roll off the body politic like water off a duck. This is why many gay activists so get on my nerves. They alternate between a self righteous dream world and a victim complex funk. Our political success would actually upset their emotional life, so they give us an endless stream of failed strategy.

News flash. The public are on our side on a few issues. And they would probably like us a lot more if we stopped shooting ourselves in the foots every ten minutes. But they're busy just now. They're worried out the ass about loosing their jobs and mortgages. And they probably don't have thousands to spend on pressuring Washington on gay rights. Politicians, meanwhile, are trying to put through healthcare, and create millions of new jobs. They don't have time to write finely worded laws granting us perfect rights starting the day before yesterday.

So yeah. The march was nicely done. The speeches were inspiring. And hearing Let The Sun Shine In by the cast of Hair totally kicked ass. I cried. But it probably won't do much good. Our enemies aren't going to roll over just because Lady Gaga said a few words. Nobody cares about her pledge not to allow homophobia in her next mind numbingly shallow hit.

Just as before, we'll have to struggle over every issue. Building coalitions over common issues like healthcare probably wouldn't hurt. We also could rethink stupid fights over marriage in rube California, and a thousand dollar a head walk in the park with rainbow flags and lectures. We might glance at the polls and adjust accordingly. Some easy wins on domestic partnership in the States would get the public used to the idea, giving us momentum so that full marraige rights would follow like Rosanne behind a pastry truck.

But any of that would need a mature outlook. And the queer majority are still twenty year olds who've transformed homophobia into their own brands of bigotry. They don't choose freinds with character or leaders with brains. They want freinds with muscles, no matter how heartless and ignorant. They make endless excuses for the bare backers. And their leaders are emotionally challenged dingbats chosen for their looks, or because they're members of various subcultures, or because their parents were in the business, or because they knew Harvey. Please. Until the mainstream grows up, we'll be loosing battles like Rosanne at the Oscars.

The Best Guitarists

Unconcerned as usual with the queer perspective, Rolling Stone has a list of the top one hundred guitarists. And their picks are not so bad. But really, one hundred guitarists? That’s more than I could do in a week. And exactly what would be the criteria for separating seventy three from seventy four? The list definitely needs work, if not a facial reconstruction with boob job. Here’s a taste:

Rolling Stone

1 Jimi Hendrix
2 Duane Allman of the Allman Brothers Band
3 B.B. King
4 Eric Clapton
5 Robert Johnson
6 Chuck Berry
7 Stevie Ray Vaughan
8 Ry Cooder
9 Jimmy Page of Led Zepplin
10 Keith Richards of the Rolling Stones
11 Kirk Hammett of Metallica
12 Kurt Cobain of Nirvana
13 Gerry Garcia of the Greatful Dead
14 Jeff Beck

First off, do we really need to be told who Duane Allman, Gerry Garcia, Jimmy Page, and Keith Richards are? It’s like explaining chocolate cake to Rosanne. Believe you me, she knows what that is, as the carpet gouges between her TV room and kitchen attest.

And who died and made Jimi Hendrix King? Oh yeah. He did. Sorry about that.

But really, Ry Cooder? And Kurt Cobain? Please. That was an obvious suck up to the slacker generation, who should try something less formulaic. One might also ask where Carlos is. It goes to show. Don’t send a marketing committee with delusions of grandeur to do a queer with unresolved adolescent issues' job. Here then is the proper list.

1 Buddy Guy
2 Carlos Santana
3 Duane Allman
4 Johnny Winter
5 B.B. King
6 Johnny Ramone
7 Robin Trower
8 Eric Clapton
9 Son Seals
10 Jimmy Hendrix
11 Brian May
12 Peter Green
13 Angus Young
14 Steve Hunter
14 Warren Haynes
15 Buck Dharma
16 Steve Howe
17 Eddie Van Halen
18 Dickie Betts

Carlos, Duane, and B.B. need no explanation, except to say that they’ve made the most beautiful tones in all the history of the world of sounds. Hearing a single note from any of the three is enough to know exactly who is playing. And what poor Duane did with a slide guitar was nothing short of poetry mixed with a healthy dose of lazy Springtime lounging under a tree while the leaves flutter and colored birdies dart and sing.

Many readers won’t know who the others are. They represent a taste for blues guitar, as well as for hard, fast rock. Dharma of Blue Oyster Cult was the fastest. On Lou Reed’s album, Rock And Roll Animal, Hunter was the cleanest, meaning that every note was distinct and nothing ran together into a blurry mess like third grade finger painting. Montrose was fast. Ramone was very fast, and just happened to invent an entire genre, for which he never got the credit. If there were any justice in this world, Green Day would have mentioned the Ramones at the Grammys. But they did not. Hendrix also invented a wonderful new form, while Trower took it to another level. And the blues greats need no groveling introductions from this unworthy correspondent.

This is only a start, a stop gap measure, if you will, until middle-aged queer commentary is broadcast from every studio in the land, and popular tastes have been raised at least to the level of a Haight Ashbury bar fly. When that day comes, the music industry will shine like a diamond held between the butt cheeks of Christ Novoselic. And it might be sooner than you think. Media reform may not be a top priority now, but wait until Arnold has done his three hundredth action film in a walker and oxygen tent. The halls of ABC will tremble at the approaching mob demanding that Kennedy be retired from MTV and gay punk be featured nightly on public television.

The Fight for Health Care

Now is the time. The town hall meeting on health care is tonight. If ever there was a civic duty, this is it. But it could be slightly dodgey. Hired goons from the industry could be there, and who knows how they'll react to the kind of placards I have. So far, I've got these.
------------------------------------------
Welcome to the 20th Century
Single Payer
------------------------------------------
I was sick and you took care
of me. Matt 25:36.
Single Payer
------------------------------------------
Heartless Profiteers, Stop
Bribing The Congress.
Single Payer
------------------------------------------
Single Payer
Industry Goons Back Off.
------------------------------------------
Excuse me, genetic mutations who
enjoy wathing people suffer.
Single Payer is a moral imperative.
------------------------------------------
That last one could get me into trouble. Maybe I'd better lay off. But I'm bringing the rest. And let the chips fall where they may.
After the ball:
This being Seattle, the crowd could not have been more on track. And there were no goons, except for the dingbats in front with slack jaws and very dumb signs.
The Seattle congressman, what's his name, gave a talk. I had wanted him to retire and make room for someone younger and hotter. But there's a lot to be said for age and experience. There's actually a ton to be said for it. What's his face spoke very well indeed. First he explained why we're making progress now. Seems that business and the doctors have come on board. CEOs know they can't compete internationally with the current system, and doctors are getting screwed by insurance companies. The problem is those fu--k---g insurance companies and drug companies are fighting all out. They know this could be the end for them.
Even worse, he says, there's nothing ordinary people can do to help. But I've thought of something. If the fundys could be convinced, they'd be powerful allies. Of course the queer community would lay an egg at the very idea. But this is too important for grudges.
Bringing fundies on board would be a piece of cake, except they don't know jack about scripture. But I'll figure out a way to flood that quote from Matthew all over the place. It might have no effect, because fundies ignore everything decent. Still I'm gonna.

The Gay Agenda

Contrary to fundamentalist nightmares, the gay agenda is a tired affair. Gay priorities are set by the in-crowd and are hopelessly déclassé. Mainstream queers carry a ton of baggage from having grown up in a homophobic society. And they've called the shots for twenty eight slow years.
The victim complex people steer us into every kind of defeat in order to feel sorry for themselves. There's also the self righteous set for whom nothing is ever good enough and who attack even our best friends as if they were demons from hell come to swipe our last appletini.
The Community don't bother with strategy or prioritizing. In the Self Righteous Ville, political realities always take second place to a good tantrum. They're too busy to look at a poll, except with a man attached. They foamed at the mouth when the Clintons had to back off military rights, ignored the polls showing public selfishness on marriage, and went ballistic when Bill was forced to sign DOMA. They were still foaming when Hillary needed help on healthcare, even though medical care is a hundred times more important for us than gay f--k-ing marriage. Years later, they ignored the polls showing massive support for domestic partnership, which is a huge concession by the the straight world. We should be dancing in the street. instead, they threw away an easy victory and picked a fight for marriage in rube California that we had no chance of winning. Now they're flipping out because Obama has a few things on his plate besides bouquet tossing. He also could be trying to work for the best political environment before moving on our issues.
But none of that matters a smidge. The community has always prefered shooting themselves in the foots, getting frothy over minor issues, and living in a self righteous dream world where politicians are either saints or leather pigs who follow orders in full harness. Any delay on our least issue is a savage betrayal of the Uncompromising Quest Of Perfect Equality and shall be met with an endless blast of outrage. Leaders who dodge and weave and actually get things done, like Obama and the Clintons, are fiends in polyester and golf shoes.
The evidence is conclusive. Mainstream queers are stuffed to the gills with self hatred and internalized homophobia. That's been obvious since the early eighties, when the adults among us begged The Community to rethink the F--k Everything That Moves Strategy. It wasn't, of course, and thousands suffered. We cried, argued, and generally made more noise than Pavarotti's orgasm. All to no effect. The mainstream responded with insults, false accusations, and bizarre rationalizations from low gay culture. They called Larry Kramer every name in the book. I was yelled out of discussion groups from Stanford to UC Berkeley to San Francisco State. And thousands more suffered.
Not one thing has changed. The big gay blogs are chock full of the same nonsense The Community used to avoid taking responsibility for AIDS. A favorite stance is to blame our problems on others: religion, the government, you name it. This crowd still don't see the difference between liberal christianity and fundamentalism. They trash our friends, from Obama to the Clintons, Barney, Elton, and anyone else who can't solve our problems over brunch.
After 30 years of this, it's obvious that internalized homophobia won't be cured by talk alone. The oppression started in childhood. By the time most queens were adults, the bad wiring had been cemented into place. It won't budge, not with pliers, dynamite, a blow torch, and Sigmund Frued with a crow bar and bucket of lube. Nothing we did or said then had the least effect. And now educated queens have stopped even trying to reason with the mainstream.
That doesn't mean I can't have my own gay agenda. It's a queer wish list, if you will, every item of which would delivered by a thirty something valet, buffed and rippling (my favorite adjectives), with Château Le Fleur and a stroll in the park with friends after a late brunch.
First priority: fix the parade, or Pride as it's known today. Seattle Pride in particular is a snooze fest of gigantic proportions. First come the earnest crowd, inluding Second Cousins of Tranny Friendly Part Time Bank Tellers and Computer Techno Queers in slacks and white socks. The horror. Then there's the naked brigade, which is great PR and now at an age when they should really keep it covered. Leather Daddies are also just the image we want in a global broadcast. Finally there's the rally, where the speakers' naiveté is enough to give knowledgeable queers a raging hernia.
The crowds are massive, which would be great except they spill over into the clubs and make tea dance impossible. Try stepping to the beat in the middle of a thousand half drunk, stumbling gym bunnies, buffed and rippling, but also plastered together with sweat, barbeque sauce, vodka, and dry lube. At my age, it's really too sticky.
And there's something famously missing. Disco floats. In the golden age, in SF and NY, the parade was juicy with disco floats. They were so very extremely, covered with crepe and streamers, the latest tune-age pounding from gigmondo speakers, and with go go boys pulsating deliciously.
Now I have to ask. What happened to the disco float? It was the only reason even to show up. The disco float is one our very best inventions, as good as logic, democracy, and Cher all rolled into one. It should not just be brought back with a vengeance. The disco float, in my opinion, is ready to break into hetero culture. How much tastier would the Macy's Parade be with a few disco floats? What could be better PR for the movement? After one glance, the public would sign off on our issues faster than a greased gerbil through Camille Paglia's empty skull.
Come back, come back, my sweet disco float.
But there's no hope for a well done parade, just as my political agenda has a drag queen's chance in Tehran of passing.
Still, if I had my way, we'd go after domestic partnership. Starting in the liberal States, it'd be a quick victory. And full marriage rights at the national level would roll in like Rosanne lubed and naked on a gurney. A frightening image.
That brings us to my real priority: AIDS. In my own private Idaho, the community would crank up the peer group pressure. Leather queens would redirect their aggression into policing everyone. Violators would be severely disciplined on the rack and given a fire hydrant enema, or both. The spokescreep's attacks on workable strategy would be shut down. We'd have monogamy with testing and condoms, serial monogamy with testing and condoms, free love with testing and condoms, positive people volunarily staying away from negative people because of their deep affection for the community, negative people making damn sure they only go with negative people, everyone throwing attitude at people who misbehave, and everyone taking care of AIDS people with grocery shopping, house cleaning, and the paying of the bills. Oh wait. We're already doing that. Bottom line: there would not be a new AIDS case on the scene for the next eighty umpteen years.
Next would be ENDA, a fully inclusive Employment Non Discrimination Act.
Then I'd mobilize to help Obama pass national healthcare. It's important for infected people, and olde folk, and people without jobs. It may fly in the face of queer ageism. But in my fantasies, I always shoot for the stars.
Next I'd ask for beefed up police protection in our communities. We should get something for the dough we've kicked in for public schools and hetero marriage benefits. And it would be good PR by showing we can't go for coffee without a wheel barrow full of mace, whistles, pepper spray, and Arnold in full body armor and a respirator.
Next repeal don't ask don't tell.
Then start rethinking gay culture itself. I'd wave the 'wand' and presto. Queers would value character as much as looks, kindness and respect over cattiness, knowledge over brainless youth, and responsibility and community over a weekend discount on Ecstasy.
What's that you say? It'll never happen? Says you, nelly bitch whore. Now don't bother me. Keannu is at the door with flowers, chardonnay, and a gallon of lube.

F U

We have technology and industry. We can feed, clothe, and house every soul on the planet. We can offer easy access to birth control. We have the know how to provide clean energy and transport, and to replant the great forests to help reverse global warming.
We have clear orders from scripture to care for the creation and treat the oppressed with fairness and kindness. Though fundamentalists have always ignored the basics, rich people hoard every cent, and the masses do the same, causing untold squalor and misery, decent folk have stood up to them throughout history. If everyone had, there would be no poverty or pollution. Instead, rubes sit on their lazy asses while bullies run amok. Liars, thieves, pharisees and robber barons get away with everything.
This should be heaven on earth. It isn't simply because of all you heartless fu-k--g b-tches. If a fraction of you had taken up your civic duties, it would have been paradise decades ago. You didn't, of course. You still don't. And there's no sign that you cold hearted monsters ever will. So f--k you all.

Coming Out

'Come out,' the activists say. If everyone comes out, the straight world will see... that everyone is out.
But so what? It doesn't matter who's out because people usually know who is and who isn't. And if the out and proud set are shallow, heartless, and bigotted, they're not the best pr for us anyway.
Instead, how about we all lead responsible lives? Just for kicks, what if we valued character over looks, knowledge over youth, kindness over objectification and dehumanizing sexualization, and our civil responsibilities at least as much as disco. Wouldn't that be slightly better pr?
But I forgot. Responsible living is work. It takes learning and effort and compassion and integrity. And it would mean taking a hard look at the cruelty and ignorance of mainstream gay culture.
But why bother? We're already an oppressed minority. Grade A Certified. Millions despise us. And any criticism of us is by definition unfair. Being a self righteous minority definitely has its up side. We can ignore all criticism, no matter how true. And we can treat one another almost as badly as the bigots have treated us: with looksism, ageism, cruelty, and cattiness. We can turn straight homophobia into our own brand of bigotry.

Gay Cabinet Positions

Now that a genuine liberal is taking over the Presidency, it's time that queers get something from the deal. I'm not talking marraige rights or fair employment. Please. They are so ten minutes ago.
Gay people have made a good share of contributions in this backwater hole, and we deserve some reward. It’s common knowledge, for example, that queers invented logic, the marbel nude, and brunch. So it’s high time they got credit, and maybe some perks on the side. That doesn’t mean recovering the Table of Elements in silk brocade, or giving the entire government over to lesbian rule. But please. Throw us a bone, preferably with a man attached.
For starters, Elton should be made court composer. Rue Paul or k.d. would be First Lady in perpetuity. At the very least, gay people deserve seats on the President’s cabinet. The following positions are only a start. It will be easy to add seats as issues arise.

The Queer Cabinet (Cherry or Mahogany Only)

Secretary of the Interior Design
Minister of Brunch
Secretary of (Rough) Trade
Special Assistant for the Rethinking of a Blazer with Jeans and Sneakers
Minister of Credit (Where Credit is Due)
Secretary of Commerce (Mall Division)