Things To Do This Summer:

1. Do everyone who looks like a Glen Hanson illustration (right), and everybody who doesn’t. Get out there and spread the joy, boy!

2. Catch Project Runway from its first show, Wednesday, July 12, and never miss an episode. Can there ever be enough dizzy male designers breaking into showtunes as they cut along the bias and compete for the top spot? Exactly how obnoxious is the humorless Heidi Klum, the mistress of ceremonies whose pregnancy was forced on us last season in supposedly “edgy” maternity-wear? (No, gals, pregnant women are not all beautiful, no matter what you try to tell yourself.) And of course, Tim Gunn, who is always so earnest and prissy as he gives the budding designers his professional opinion before each competition. We love Tim. How could anyone not love him? How could anyone not want him as their personal ‘mo coach? (more…)

1. The “Marriage” Amendment is Not About Marriage

The so-called “Marriage Amendment is not about “marriage,” “the family,” or “children.” The Marriage Amendment is about you!

It makes no difference that you may have no intention to ever marry, adopt children, or make children.

It makes no difference that this is (for now) a largely symbolic gesture. Symbolic, not because it would have no effect on your life — it would, should you ever wish to be covered by your partner’s health benefits, or file a joint tax return, or have immediate-family status in a medical emergency: the amendment forbids not merely same-sex marriages but all “the legal incidents thereof,” like civil unions.

This is an empty, rhetorical gesture because the amendment has no hope of passing. Even if the House and Senate managed to get the necessary two-thirds majority, 38 states would still have to ratify the change.

2. The “Marriage” Amendment is About You!

What the Marriage Amendment is really about is bringing shame back into the public square — your shame. Its most hardcore supporters imagine they can slam the closet door shut again. To them homosexuality is not a naturally occurring state, but a contrived one — a choice, and a sinful one. (more…)

Gay sex still manages to titilate the yahoos, especially when they write for the New York Post, Rupert Murdock’s right-wing tabloid. Take the case of James McGreevey, former governor of New Jersey who is about to publish a tell-all memoir, The Confession..

You may remember McGreevey from a widely televised press conference where, flanked by his wife and appointees, he announced, “I am a gay American.”

He was resigning the governorship because he preferred to come out rather than be blackmailed by a disgruntled boyfriend. McGreevey made no apologies for his homosexuality, didn’t pretend he was really having a drinking problem or would soon seek counsel from his minister. No, McGreevey came out and did so without equivocation.

“I begin my own new journey as an American who just happens to be gay and proud.” he said as the flashbulbs went off around him.

The announcement was both praised and condemned — though some savvy politicos saw the gay admission as a skillful smoke-screen intended to eclipse — as indeed, it did — the underlying corruption and cronyism of New Jersey’s business-as-usual politics. (more…)

The odds on Vito Spatafore surviving are running 6 to 1 — against. That’s the buzz over at the Pinaccle Sports website, where bets are placed each week on which Sopranos character will be whacked next

Ever since the tubby Mafioso was discovered at a gay bar in leather regalia and ass-out chaps by two thugs, who happed to be there to pick up a kickback, the death clock has started ticking on the Sopranos hitman.

That was a month ago. Since then Vito has disappeared himself to New Hampshire and — straining belief as Vito is weighing in there at a waddling 260 pounds — snagged himself a humpy bi-curious volunteer fireman (below). And this fireman is a piece of work, in the Hells Angels Daddy-o mode, complete with Harley and zippery leather jacket. (UPDATE: But see the discussion of chubbies and chubby chasers in the comment area, below) (more…)

For a snapshot of the gay psyche, you couldn’t do better than the online, all-gay forum DataLounge.

A 26-year-old was wondering what to expect if he hired an escort. “There’s 2 in Las Vegas I’m considering — both around my age. I’d be grateful for some serious advice!”

Instead of advice, he was sideswiped with moral judgments: “Why would a 26 y/o need to hire an escort? Just how ugly are you? “; “Sounds like something Kelly Clarkson would do”; “Bring your crack pipe.”

The prize bit of nonsense was this ode of self-congratulation:

“I’m so glad that I’m 37 and never had to even think about hiring an escort. I want guys to like me for me, and that means more to me than some whore who has fucked the whole city… I’m not necessarily into younger guys, but I take amazing care of myself and look really great. Maybe you should do the same and stop living some crazy vapid existence.” (more…)

“That’s Hattie McDaniel,” the Indian woman working the counter at the Post Office told me when she showed me my choice of stamps. “George Clooney mentioned her last night at the Oscars. She was the first black woman to …”

Yes, I knew — to get the Oscar. And I knew also what Clooney hadn’t mentioned:

When McDaniel picked up her award for Best Supporting Actress, she was the first black woman to ever set foot in the Coconut Grove who wasn’t behind a serving tray and that even in progressive, Jewish-humanitarian Hollywood, Hattie had to make her long walk to stage from the darkest, farthest, most removed part of the restaurant, the very back, practically the coat-check room. (more…)

Nancy Grace hasn’t been this cheesed off since Michael Jackson beat the rap last year for child molestation.

When the lab report came back with no DNA matches for the Duke University lacrosse players, accused of raping a woman during a party, steam began pouring out of Nancy’s ears.

All week long, she had been worrying the case from every angle. There was the race aspect: “I understand they specifically asked for a black stripper!” she said, eyes narrowing with the sort of flinty indignation that would send a young boy’s ball-sack right back into his pelvis.

There was the white privilege slant: Southern college, lacrosse as an expensive sport peopled by privileged white jocks from leafy suburbs. Most of all, there was the WOMAN RAPED hysteria, which dovetailed neatly with Nancy’s recounting of slavery days when master imposed himself on hapless black servant girls, a scenario that borrowed heavily from the blackspoitation tradition of Mandingo. (more…)

The great and powerful Oz, as we all know, doesn’t read newspapers (or apparently Top Secret Intelligence Briefings either). Perhaps he’s bored by so much text with no pictures to color.

This Easter Sunday, on the White House lawn, our Colossus of Crawford will get a little visual aid, approximately 600 of them — men, women and children in rainbow leis who will be comprising the estimated 200 gay families set to attend the White House Easter Egg Hunt — en mass. (more…)