I'm Blogging!

Ok, after threatening for what seems like years, well probably because it has been years, I'm finally writing a blog. this will be a crude start (in more ways than one wacca wacca) but it's high time I capture the genius of my thoughts. it's like I've been pouring a bottle of 1928 Krug on the floor while Waterford champagne flutes are right next me. And as the NAACP (you never thought I'd quote them!) says, a mind is a terrible thing to waste.

I'm not going to try to nail down a mission statement or have a laser focus with this just yet. I'm going to let it evolve organically. you can be pretty sure it'll be gay. really. gay. seriously folks we're talkin' Elton John getting spit-roasted by George Michael and Liberace on a rhinestone grand piano while Rip Taylor throws confetti on them-gay. My daughter Linda has a blog called New Every Day or NED that has a genius format. she does something everyday that she's never done before and blogs about it. I kinda want to mop it! there will definitely an element of that in this blog. I will probably be a little political, a lot philosophical, and hopefully funny.

OK... phew! this is nerve racking! it's the blank white canvas staring me in face sayin' "you ain't got the goods" well I'm posting this regardless. it's my something NED. Moving on, I woke up this morning and checked facebook. Ok, I checked grindr THEN facebook. There I discovered there will be free buses from NY to DC for the National Equality March. I teared up a little. Fall is like 3 months of PMS for me folks. Don't judge. So that got me thinking about how there may be a Trannyshack bus going. I love the idea of busted drunk trannies on the road but... is this appropriate?

that's not rhetorical. I really don't know. On the one hand, there's the whole "drag queens threw the 1st brick at Stonewall" thing but that was a reaction to a police bust. they didn't get dressed up to go to a protest. Yet I think it also sort of defeats the purpose of sending a message of freedom and equality when there's a gay gestapo trying to enforce a dress code. The people that bug me are the ones that use civil disobedience to push through a noble and just cause as a selfish platform for their "look at me!" addiction.

at one of the marriage equality marches here there were 2 particularly flamboyant queens (not drag just homos) that I had seen around. Now don't get me wrong, on any given day, you could see they were gay from space but they usually still wore men's clothes even if they were in shades of lilac and fuchsia. On this day, however, they had chosen to wear tiaras and feather boas, pleather hip huggers, and all sorts of conflama straight from central casting. as if that weren't enough, they jumped on fire hydrants, blew whistles, rattled street signs, made up their own chats. I felt a rage bubbling up. Then I felt some shame and guilt. Was I being one those "straight-acting-I-hate-fem-gays" gays?!? Was I feeling contempt because I saw in them the things I try to hide in myself? it sent my brain into a spiral of questioning that happens a lot to me. I need a name for it because this phenomenon is at the heart of needing to write.

after a going through a very quick mental checklist to make sure I was being a self-actualizing personality I realized: I don't loathe them for being effeminate, I loathe them for hi-jacking this march to make it about themselves.

What's the solution? Well I'm certainly not going to tell anyone how they can dress and what is appropriate (and if you saw some of my looks you'd know why) I guess the best I can come up with is a suggestion. If you're going to the march, be yourself. not the self that's on stage or going to Mardi Gras. And it doesn't have to be the self that puts on a suit for work. be the self that's at home with close friends. if you'd put on eyeliner to have your sister over to watch Glee, then wear it to the march! you don't have to dye your pink hair back to its natural color but if you work on Wall St. please forgo the trip to Pat Fields before the march. It just looks forced.