Gayish.

Well, Duh.

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.

Fast Food Causes.

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.

Real Summer.

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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.

Pride.

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.

Tinka Tinka Tink.

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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 ) 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.

Marvelous Eye Candy.

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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.

The Gay Advantage.




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.

Video Success.

Taylor Dayne


Taylor Dayne’s “Tell It To My Heart” video

Once I get my mind set on something, I need to bring it to resolution or I’ll just obsess and obsess about it until I drive myself and everyone else around me stark raving mad.

Earlier today, I rattled off a bunch of songs that I was going to listen to on the way back to work in an effort to improve my mood. It worked, especially when I listened to Taylor Dayne’s “Tell It To My Heart” from 1986. I hadn’t seen the video since 1990 or so, but I found a really crappy copy of it on YouTube.

The little hottie I was lusting after back in the day is to Taylor’s right, complete with bleach spilled jeans, leather gloves with no fingers and innocent looks. His short hair (somewhat of a rarity back in ’87) certainly helped matters. While watching the video tonight he kicked off my gaydar a bit too.

Of course Taylor Dayne rocks and now I’m going to go out and buy the DVD with all her videos. The eye candy in her first video won’t hurt matters much, either.

SHAZAM.

I was surfing around aimlessly on the internet and came across an old crush from my childhood days. Always a huge superhero fan, I had a crush on John Davey as Captain Marvel, from the live action Shazam! Saturday morning show from the mid 1970s.

Here he is pictured with another favorite superhero, Isis.

There were two different Captain Marvels in the three season live action series. Captain Marvel was first played by Jackson Bostwick, who left halfway through the second season and was replaced by John Davey. I never really had a thing for Mr. Bostwick as a kid but I always found Mr. Davey quite “dreamy”. I always admired his firm jaw and hint of 5 o’clock shadow. He was built like a normal guy, not a body builder. When he handed out his pearls of wisdom he seemed comforting.

A little Googling turned up little on what John Davey is up to these days, whereas Jackson Bostwick has his own website. Maybe I need to switch search engines.

Domestic Intimacy.

This could be a “too much information” entry for the squeamish. If you press BACK on your browser you’ll be ejected from your seat immediately. Thank you.

As I just typed the title of this blog entry I realized that it could be a really good porn video title. Picture it, two men have hired a domestic; a houseboy from Oklahoma who’s never been in the big city before. He cleans only in his skivvies or better yet, completely nude. Well, he can still wear his cowboy hat. He is innocently dusting off a steam radiator, which happens to be leaking steam, bringing beads sweat to his broad, muscular, hairy chest, when we, I mean the guys in the video, happen to spot him bending over to pick up something that has fallen on the floor…

O.k., I better stop now.

Anyways, I sometimes wonder how couples manage to get initmate during the holidays. I really don’t understand how straight couples manage it at all with families to juggle and all that. Kids running around, banging on the door, demanding one last glass of water or a reprive from the boogie man in the closet, where does one find the time?

I’m often chattering in my blog that I’m not a morning person. I’m not. Except when it comes to lovemaking. I love to wake up in the mid-morning, roll over and tap the bear lying in the bed (hopefully it’s Earl!) next to me with a hopeful, aggressive, yet innocent look on my face. Bat, bat, bat go the eyes. That most of the time. Sometimes I like to roll over, shake the bear next to me awake (hopefully it’s Earl!) and say, “I want to ^@*#$ right now!”. You can use your imagination for the verb of that last sentence.

This morning I did the coy routine when I awoke. At least I was about to when some crazy neighbor lady started banging on the door (and he deflates) shrieking about the cat she has in her house. She wants to know if it belongs to us. Earl pads down stairs in his barefeet and informs her that we have our own cat and he happens to be in the house. “Where did he come from? What does he look like?” So Earl shows Tom to the neighbor who proclaims, “Oh, that’s not him.” From there the conversation got really murky. So Earl kind of shooed her off. She is now officially the “crazy cat lady”. She’s the same one that rings a cowbell out on her back porch around 11:30 at night during the summer. We now know she’s beckoning cats.

Anyways, since Earl was now motivated to get going, he threw a load of laundry in the washer and brought up the clothes from the dryer that have been there for two days. That’s why irons were invented, in case you’re wondering. As we start to fold the clothes together, I said to him, “we need to hurry.”

“Why, are we going out for breakfast?”

“No, but yes.”

“What?”

“Hurry up!”

“Why?”

“I wanna !@#&*!” You can fill in your own verb.

Once we got the used Bounce sheet out of the way, we were good to go.