Gayish.

Today is National Coming Out Day. For those unfamiliar with the term, a quick explanation might be in order. On National Coming Out Day, gay men and women announce to those around them that they’re gay, be it a family member, a co-worker, the newspaper or the world. It’s a support mechanism of sorts in order to show the world and each other, there are a lot of us, and we’re not alone.

I’ve never had to come out on National Coming Out Day because ever since my first day of college I’ve been pretty much out (and somewhat before then). Well, I take that back. In the early days I didn’t deny that I was gay by any means but I didn’t discuss it if the subject didn’t come up. I now look at that as sort of a cowardly approach. Now I don’t think one should be sitting around the dining room table at a family gathering and declare, “The chicken is delicious, please pass the salt, by the way I’m gay, how about some fudge for dessert?”

While my early approach lasted until 1990 or so with many (I had told a few folks back in the mid 80s)and the mid 90s with a selected few (mostly my family), my commitment to Earl changed my feelings about how out I was going to be. I was in love (still am!) and for the first time in my life, I felt that I had found the love of my life and I wanted the world to know it. I hid from no one. And you know what? It was around that time that I felt I earned the respect of those around me. My family members, my friends and my co-workers truly respected me. I wasn’t hiding anything. I wasn’t in a closet peeking out of the louvers like some weird Hee-Haw skit, here I was, door wide open, take me as I am. And you know what else? If they didn’t like me because I’m gay than I guess we didn’t really have much in common anyway.

Now I don’t believe in standing up and making this huge proclamation that you’re gay. While I occasionally have a flair for the dramatic (I could be the long lost son of Maurice and Endora), I don’t believe in making a big deal about it. It’s not a big deal. I’m gay, so what. If it’s a big deal to you, well, that’s your problem. If you try to restrict my rights or beliefs or disrespect me or my partner because of it, well, then we have a different sort of problem that probably isn’t going to be pretty.

At my last job interview (which was for my current job of two years, by the way), I was able to confirm to my future supervisor and department director about my sexual orientation without having some awkward conversation. I didn’t change or neutralize the pronouns when talking about my personal life, my partner is a “he” and he’ll always be a “he”. And I still got the job. It was one of the biggest breaths of fresh air I ever had in my life simply becuase I was just being honest. I wasn’t worried that I would be looked over for the position just because I’m gay; if that’s the reason they pass me over then I don’t want to be working for them anyway. No hiding, no secrets, I am what I am.

So if you’re gay, peeking around the closet door and wondering what to do today, just take a step out and tell someone, anyone, that you’re gay, even if it means admitting it to yourself by looking at your image in the mirror. You deserve the self-respect and those around deserve the respect of you telling them the truth.

My sister just informed me that I’m a two beer queer. She said it, right there on the telephone. “You’re a two beer queer.” She’s probably right, being the book smart one in the family, but still, a “two beer queer”?

After work tonight Earl and I went to “Saranac Thursdays”, the weekly happy hour gathering in the parking lot at the local brewery. There’s usually a couple of thousand people there. Tonight’s entertainment was the retro band “Square Pegs”. They tried, but um, no. Sigalert: throwing a outlandishly dressed female to the front of the stage to sing Dead Or Alive’s “You Spin Me ‘Round (Like A Record)” is completely unacceptable. I mean, that’s just friggin’ faking it. What’s next, the blasphemous move of going from Pete Burn’s “You Spin Me ‘Round” to arch-rival Boy George’s “Miss Me Blind”? Um, no. The gays do not approve. Stick to the Belinda Carlisle, babe.

Nevertheless, the “Utica Club Lite” was as tasty as always, the eye candy was much appreciated and hanging out with our work buddies was a good time. I had two beers, I pretty much got drunk and Earl ended up driving us home, with a quick detour to a restaurant to get some supper in our stomachs. It didn’t help the drunk condition as I’m still feeling like a “two beer queer”.

Blogger Jimbo has been featuring “70’s Porn Mustaches” this week as his blog theme. I think it can go without saying that I have been enjoying the tribute very much.

Thumbs up to Jimbo!

Lance Bass has come out of the closet. Good for him. I’m glad to see he’s happy.

I’m trying to figure out a way to humorously tie this to the campy cartoon series “Josie and The Pussycats in Outer Space” for some odd reason but I’m falling short. He doesn’t have a skunk stripe in his hair (though many gay men do). He’d probably look good in Alan’s ascot. I wonder if his ears wiggle like Melody’s. I’ll probably blurt out something witty at work and then forget to write it down.

Welcome to the team Lance! Just don’t follow George Michael’s lead – that sort of thing leads to all sorts of trouble.

Over the past couple of years or so, Earl and I have steered our dining habits away from the “big three” fast food restaurants for the most part, opting to hit up local establishments when we are out and about on our travels. There are exceptions to this rule, most noteably when we enter Chick-Fil-A and/or Sonic territory, then we hit up each of these restaurants at least once. That is, until today.

I am big fan of the selection of food at Chick-fil-A. Their yearly calendar, featuring their rather infamous cows in various poses, has graced our kitchen for the past several years. I crave their waffles fries. I love the fact that they offer a “Polynesian Sauce” (instead of the pedestrian Sweet-n-Sour) with their chicken strips. I’ve even pointed out to several Chick-Fil-A cashiers that I live near the town that their cash registers are emblazened with (they’ve never cared) and that I’ve driven at least 150 miles to eat their food (they still didn’t care).

For those not familiar with the fast food chain, one of their unique features is that every single one of their restaurants is closed on Sunday. I find this to be quaint, harkening back to the good ol’ days when life moved at a slower pace. Whether the store is in a mall or standalone, it’s a guarantee that it’s closed on Sunday.

Chick-Fil-A is quite a charitable organization and supports numerous religious based organizations, including Focus On The Family. Now I believe that anyone and everyone has the right to express their religious or spiritual beliefs in any manner that they see fit. If you get spiritual satisfaction by sitting on a washing machine in spin mode while chanting “Era Era Era”, then I certainly encourage you to practice your beliefs with gusto. On the other hand, some folks make spiritual choices that are downright scary, but that’s their right and they should not be denied the opportunity. That being said, I will no longer spend money with a company that monetarily supports organizations such as Focus On The Family for these two reasons: this group believes that homosexuality, while inherent to a person in that they’re born that way, can be cured through various means (I can’t bring myself to read as to what that involves as I’m afraid it might include electroshock therapy and the thought of that rather freaks me out). The group is also vehemently opposed to gay marriage, because the gay boys and lesbians shouldn’t be getting married, they should be getting “cured” and then marrying a member of the opposite sex.

I think it’s obvious that these beliefs run quite contrary to my own.

Now that I am a little bit more informed on these matters, I can say without hesitation that I will no longer support Chick-Fil-A. In tandem with my beliefs of live and let live, I’m not going to ask anyone reading this to follow suit, but I offer this blog entry as a little piece of information.

Reality television season, and I use the term “reality” loosely, is once again upon us. Looking around on the internet tonight, I came across an old fan site from one of the hottest men ever to grace a reality TV show, Roddy Mancuso from Big Brother 3 back in 2002.

I see he was at one time striving to be a writer but his website domain roddymancuso.com has been parked and is being held ransom I guess. Perhaps he’ll turn up on “Big Brother All Stars” this summer; personally that’s the only reason I’d watch it.

Since he doesn’t have a website, I guess we’ll just have to enjoy his picture.

Today was the big gay pride parade in Boston. Earl and I were hoping to attend this year as we have in the past, but on-call fell on the same weekend and well, work won. It’s kind of disappointing, because I would have loved to meet up with some fellow bloggers in Boston. Oh well.

I’ve been to Boston’s pride parade on several occasions, having lived there for a while in the late 1980s. One year I marched in the gay pride parade, 1989 I believe, as a member of DECplus, or Digital Equipment Corporation People Like US. Working for DEC at the time (obviously), I was fortunate to be part of DECplus and a smaller social group, BGLAD (Bisexual, Gay & Lesbian At Digital), that got together from time to time. Unfortunately, I’ve lost touch with everyone I used to hang out with. I sometimes wonder whatever happened to all those folks.

Gay pride is an interesting experience for those participating and those that are just watching the parade from the sidelines. You see every type of person on the street, the outrageous, the gorgeous, the conservative and the mundane. At the 1990 parade, a woman literally hit me upside the head with a Bible as I we were nearing the end of the march at Boston Common. She told me I was going to hell and then hit my right up side the head with a very worn Bible. I retaliated by spitting in her face. I looked her in the eye and actually spit in her face. She didn’t care, as she apparently had been given the same treatment by others in the parade ahead of me; she just continued to scream at everyone around her.

I was such a rebel back in the day.

The news coverage of gay pride always highlights the Dikes on Bikes, the 300 pound men dressed up like Wonder Woman and the leathermen that forgot to cover their ass cheeks when they put their chaps on that morning. News isn’t news unless it’s outrageous apparently, so the camera skims over 98% of the crowd, never focusing on the families, the couples, the gay firefighters or the lesbian cops. As far as television coverage is concerned it’s all about those wild and zany homosexuals that like to wear pink peacock feathers on a headdress.

So while I’m sitting at home, enjoying a mundane weekend loathing the weather and busying myself with work in comfortable jeans and a plain old t-shirt, I still can say “Happy Pride”.

I just can’t say it on television.

I just love this graphic I found on the Bewitched-related website, Harpies’ Bizarre. June is gay pride month and one of the contributors to that site is making Bewitched themed postcards for the occasion.

And here’s a little bit of trivia: shortly after Dick Sargent’s (Darrin #2) coming out in the early 1990s, he was asked to be grand marshal of the Los Angeles Gay Pride parade. He asked and was joined by America’s favorite television witch, Elizabeth Montgomery. As well as being breathtaking beautiful, “Lizzy” was a wonderful human being.

I thought I’d share a favorite piece of eye candy.

I don’t know what it is about the live-action version of Captain Marvel, but I find both Jackson Bostwick and John Davey (pictured) very handsome. Mr. Davey is my favorite of the two.

Discretion.

Originally uploaded by macwarriorny.

The media is often filled with gay couples crowing about the disadvantages of being a gay couple. No same sex benefits, no legal recognition of being a couple, etc. etc.

There is one advantage that married couples don’t share. We both can agree when we see another man we find very hot.

I know it’s bad to inadvertently hit the “click” button on the cell phone camera when aimed at a man that we think is very attractive. What’s even worse is that he ends up on a blog, right there on the internet. I’ve only done this once before and that was back in ’05 at DisneyWorld. After snapping the picture, the subject snickered and nodded his head in acknowledgement.

This guy grinned and nodded in our direction as well. No names exchanged, not even any words exchanged, but there was enough eavesdropping done to figure out that he’s sitting next to his sister. I have no idea if he’s on the same team as us, but we know a handsome man when we see one.

And only a gay couple could share similar tastes when sizing up the same person. There it is, the gay advantage.