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But wished I had. If I had learned to play guitar, this is what I would have looked and sounded like. More than likely. If things had gone according to plan. Now you are probably wishing I’d learned how to play guitar too. And know how I feel. Fortunately , Carlos Santana, unlike me, did learn. At least we can all be grateful for that. And, I might add, I did learn to play air guitar to several Carlos Santana songs. Which is a consolation. To me, at least.
Like any woman in show biz, I’ve had a long history of crushes on gay men. There was the cute scene partner in acting class, the fellow waiter who won my heart by knowing who Ella Fitzgerald was, and the incredibly talented sax player who had me fooled for awhile since musicians tend to be not just straight, but straight with a vengeance. And there was the awkward-but-sweet college buddy with whom I reconnected after he’d come out to (and in) San Francisco and transformed himself into a buff, bronzed hunk, but with the same sweetness and intelligence. We spent so much time commiserating about our bad luck with men that we half-seriously began to think we should just marry each other. (My mother heard about this and objected, “But Lauren, you know there would be a problem marrying him – he’s not Jewish!” When I told her that perhaps being gay might be a bigger obstacle, her response was “Oh, that’s no big deal, they can fix that.”) (In case she reads this column I should explain, that was over 20 years ago and she’s MUCH better informed now.) Having a crush on a gay friend can be really frustrating, knowing that he’d be perfect for you except for the sex thing. (My college friend and I did try to date a little, but it just didn’t work, for obvious reasons. He told me that if it wouldn’t work with me, he knew it could never work with a woman, which I hope was a lovely compliment instead of evidence that I turned men gay . . . ) But having a crush on a gay celebrity is stress-free – you know there’s no chance of anything happening, it’s just a fun fantasy. And it’s not as illogical as it seems; these guys are never going out with me regardless of their sexuality, so why not have fun? Plus when a celebrity comes out as gay, he simply adds to his attractiveness by his honesty and bravery. My list of celebrity crushes has included Ricky Martin, Nathan Lane, Victor Garber, Neil Patrick Harris, David Hyde Pierce, Nate Silver (he’s the political statistician who writes the NYTimes ‘538’ column and accurately predicted the outcome of every state in the presidential election – smart is almost as much of a turn-on as funny!) I’ve never really followed sports, other than knowing my husband will be in a foul mood if ‘his’ team loses (which makes no sense to me, he doesn’t actually know any players on the SF Giants or the Warriers or Sharks, so why does he care?) (In case he reads this column, I realize that on the other hand, he doesn’t understand my crush on Nathan Lane, et al., and since he doesn’t tease me about it, I won’t give him any grief about the team thing). But I am now following the sports scene, thanks to Jason Collins coming out as gay. Collins didn’t just come out, he expressed himself beautifully, he handled criticism with grace and dignity, and he comes across as smart, articulate, and thoughtful – but I almost can’t keep my mind on all those wonderful qualities, I keep getting distracted by his gorgeous physique, his rippling muscles, and that matinee-idol smile. And I don’t think the depth of my crush is at all impaired by the fact that before his announcement, not only had I never heard of Mr. Collins, but I’d also never heard of half of the teams listed in his bio. (Memphis Grizzlies? Minnesota Timberwolves?) So while I still admire all my previous crushes, and I look forward to more cute-and-funny celebrities coming out, I only write love songs for really special gay men. Nate Silver qualified during the election, but I think even more people will understand why I need to sing about Jason Collins! (In case he reads this column, I would LOVE to meet him and I promise not to drool – at least not too much.) Last week’s speedy Congressional action, giving the FAA more flexibility to deal with sequestration-imposed cuts, was hailed by many as a great example of government functioning at its best. But I’m feeling a little like the little kid who insists the Emperor has no clothes – wasn’t the pain of those cuts supposed to be the point? I thought the idea was that if the impact were felt across the board, constituents would complain and Congress would act to find a less Dickensian way of resolving the budget disputes. But apparently that doesn’t apply to frustrated business travelers, or Congresspeople who want to get out of DC as quickly as possible. Meanwhile, do a google search on ‘heartless sequester cuts’ and it takes 0.41 seconds to get 5,310,000 results. (I was going to write ‘and you’ll get thousands of results’ but that sounded like an exaggeration so I did the actual google search – yes, the truth can be even more ludicrous than my imagination.) But of course kids in the Head Start program, homeless people, elderly cancer patients, furloughed federal clerical workers, etc., don’t have the political pull to get the pain of their cuts alleviated. Don’t get me wrong – I travel frequently and I have spent many frustrated hours in airports coping with flight delays and missed connections, and it’s horrible. It also reminds me of how plane travel has deteriorated – I still remember the first time I went on a plane as a 7-year-old, flying with my family to see grandparents back east. My sister and I had new dresses for the occasion, white patent leather mary-janes, and matching little purses, and it felt so glamorous and chic. (And I’m not advocating going back to that – I still remember how itchy my dress was, and I’d much rather fly in yoga pants and sneakers than in the skirt suit, pumps, and girdle my mom probably had to wear.) (In case you missed last week’s column, or are too lazy to do the math, this was in 1966, not 1956 . . . and yeah, I walked uphill to school both ways, in the snow, in southern California . . . . ) But these days only a few privileged business travelers get anything close to a luxurious experience, and the rest of us shlumps not only have to suffer cramped seats and nonexistent service, but we get our noses rubbed in it because we always have to go through business class on our way back to steerage, adding insult to injury and fostering class resentment. (I’m always thrilled when I see a whiny toddler as I go through business class . . . ) Of course, you could claim that travel delays are the big equalizer, since even a first class ticket can’t help you if the flight is cancelled. But if the point of the sequester was to make the cuts so painful that everyone would suffer and we’d have to find alternatives, this latest Congressional move seems completely wrong-headed. Although it does at least show us that Congress IS capable of quick, decisive action – and fortunately it’s great fodder for comedians. (Granted, making fun of Congress is as easy as making fun of the Kardashians . . . and I’m not above either!) Sure, California has lots of advantages – fabulous weather, beautiful scenery, and being on the cutting edge of everything from computer innovation to right-turn-on-red. But there are plenty of drawbacks, besides the obvious (cost-of-living and housing prices are insane, New Yorkers like my father-in-law refer to our home as ‘the land of fruits and nuts’). And one of the biggest problems here is political. Granted, I’m grateful to live in a state where my kids aren’t taught creationism in science class, or where I don’t worry that a personhood amendment is going to make my birth control pills illegal. But when lunacy happens on the federal level, there’s often not much I can do. For example, many people were horrified by last week’s Senate vote, blocking watered-down background checks on gun purchases (that were supported by 80-90% of all voters – one of the rare occasions where WTF? is a totally appropriate reaction). All the left-leaning organizations tell us we’re supposed to contact our senators and representatives and give them hell. But what do I do when my legislators are all very liberal women? I mean, am I supposed to call Dianne Feinstein and complain that the assault weapons ban, which SHE sponsored, hasn’t gotten further? That’s like the old borscht belt joke about the Jewish mother at a Catskills resort, complaining that the food was “just awful, I couldn’t eat a bite, and besides, the portions were so small!” And while I am grateful to California innovators for all the advances in computers and internet connectivity, now I can’t pretend to be from another state. I get emails saying “Let Senator so-and-so know you’re angry about the background checks vote” and when I call the number, something in the system figures out what my zip code is and redirects me to Barbara Boxer’s office voicemail. I mean, technology is great, but that feels a little creepy to me, especially when I was getting really good at imitating a southern accent. So to all my friends in red states who envy us in more liberal parts of the country, at least you can make some noise, and possibly some difference, by contacting your legislators. And trust me, I know your pain, I grew up in Orange County, which I like to think of as the red state in the middle of California. I was one of two students in my entire high school trying to drum up support for McGovern . . . . . and before you whip out your calculators, yes, I’m old, but not THAT old, it was my freshman year and I was only 13 and I can’t lie about my age because my teenage sons are good at math and lousy at keeping secrets . . . . oh never mind, here’s a song about being blue in a blue state:
Seeing several privileged white kids at a private school in Louisville trying to look “gansta” made me remember this video. This is as about as tough, fellas, as you coul…d ever hope to look. (Please watch the video.) And you will never look or be as “street” as Vanilla Ice. And that should deter you. It just ain’t happening. Comb you hair. Pull up your pants. Tuck in your shirt. Do your homework. Because not doing your homework is about as “bad” as you are ever going to be. Embrace it. Be grateful. Be who you are. Parents of teenagers are used to over-reactions – if someone doesn’t laugh at their Facebook post, they’re despondent, or a bad hair day leads to “I’m too hideous to go to school today,” or my personal favorite, teens who stare at a completely full refrigerator and moan, “There’s nothing to eat!” This could be a valuable skill in politics – in fact, I used to hypothesize that moms of toddlers could solve even the toughest diplomatic crises (“Israel and Palestinian settlers, if you can’t agree on how to play nicely with the occupied territories, I’ll put you both in time out!”) But these days, I think the additional skills gained by dealing with teenagers could help even more. Because our political system has become so virulently partisan, even the slightest policy proposal creates shock and horror – both sides are guilty of over-reaction on occasion, but lately the most flagrant example is this week’s Senate vote on background checks for guns. From the way the NRA and many politicians are reacting, you’d think Senators Manchin & Toomey had proposed banning assault rifles, pistols, shotguns, and any ammunition and were considering banning bows & arrows and fishing poles. Strengthening existing background checks and closing a couple of loopholes is a really mild step, and from all the times Wayne LaPierre has ranted about ‘bad guys with guns,’ it’s hard to understand why he is so opposed to making it slightly harder for a bad guy to get a gun. The whole thing smacks of teenage over-reaction – “Today, background checks, tomorrow, they’ll have to pry my gun out of my cold dead body” is logically identical to “if Jason asks Kendra to prom instead of me, I’ll never have a social life and I’ll die alone.” We already regulate weapons – no one is screaming about the slippery slope caused by the fact that you can’t own a nuclear missile just in case the coyotes out back get feisty. And we already regulate a TON of products and services that haven’t sent us on a never-ending decline into fascism – so far the government isn’t coming after our cars just because they’re registered, and while food vendors do need licenses and health inspections, it hasn’t led to goose-stepping officers shutting down little Susie’s lemonade stand. So get a grip, gun lobby – and to help you stop acting like hysterical teen girls who couldn’t get Justin Bieber tickets, here’s a musical reminder of all the things that have survived being regulated . . . Mr. Manners (My first advice column). I think we need a Mr. Manners. Miss Manners, in my opinion, talks too much and interrupts people in her mind before they can interject something. She doesn’t actually interrupt them, of course. But you can tell she wants to. Which to me is disrespectful. Especially when you are already being lectured by someone about manners. In fact, I think lecturing people about manners is rude. But that’s a different subject altogether.
“Is it possible to be too polite sometimes?” Yes! It is. A good example of this is Jimi Hendrix and the song “Purple Haze.” Jimi, of course, was a very well-behaved young man who liked to play the guitar and even wrote some songs. In one song, Purple Haze, he opts for the more informal “Excuse me, while I kiss the sky” over the more formal “Pardon me, while I kiss the sky.” Had Jimi gone with the latter approach (which was preferred at the time in Great Britain), it would have been a musical disaster. So never use more formal etiquette when it would cause a musical disaster. Jimi Hendrix was respectful without seeming disingenuously polite –and was still musically appropriate. I think that’s the key. That’s the end of today’s Mr. Manner’s column. Which may not make much sense but compared to Miss Manners, rocks. And “rocks” is preferable to the more for formal “is preferable.” I may be a card-carrying knee-jerk liberal, but I do my best to understand opposing points of view. (Maybe it was all my years as a high school & college debater, where you had to argue convincingly on both sides of any question.) I may not like their reasoning, but I can see why gun enthusiasts worry about any new laws, or why people who view life beginning at conception would try to ban abortion – They have something at stake. However, I have yet to see a single way in which allowing same-sex marriage does anything at all to heterosexual marriage. Divorce rates are down in Massachusetts, kids still play hockey in Canada, and the “it’s not natural” argument has been thoroughly debunked, not just by psychologists but by the volume of evidence about animal homosexuality being perfectly natural. Bonobos do it, birds & bees do it, and probably educated fleas do it. (Apparently there are even bisexual flowers and trees!) The most recent arguments against marriage equality have gotten even more ludicrous. First there was Sue Everhart, the Georgia Chairwoman of the GOP, who claimed that same-sex marriage would encourage fraudulent marriage claims in order to get federal benefits, but neglected to explain why people don’t do that already with straight marriage. Then Ben Carson, the neurosurgeon & new darling of the right, stuck his foot even further in his mouth by using a weird series of fruit analogies (??) to explain that just because he linked gay marriage, pedophilia and bestiality in an argument against gay marriage, he didn’t really mean it. But Dr. Carson is just the most recent marriage equality opponent to bring animals into the discussion. Rick Santorum used the ‘slippery slope’ argument almost 10 years ago, Bill O’Reilly once famously claimed people would want to marry their pet turtles, and recently Texas Representative Louie Gohmert digressed from his opposition to limiting ammunition magazine sizes to opine that we needed some limits or people would start marrying animals. As Jon Stewart ranted last week, “What’s with all the animal f-&#*%ing?” Even Bill O’Reilly has seen the writing on the wall, and recently drew fire from his fellow conservatives by correctly stating that most of the objections to marriage equality involved bible-thumping rather than rational thinking. And as more and more conservatives have children who come out to them, I think we’ll see more conscience-driven switching. Of course, as a humorist, I’m still hoping for one of the more staunch opponents to be caught tickling his interns or playing footsie in an airport men’s room, but in the meantime, might I suggest that anyone who is still against marriage equality start using an argument that doesn’t involve nature or animals. And while they’re trying to come up with one (good luck!), here’s a musical look at the whole animals argument:
In high school I tried to get into the heavy metal music that was popular at the time. I tried and failed. That more I caved to peer pressure and tried to pretend I liked the dense, loud, manic lyrics belted out by AC/DC and Black Sabbath, the more drawn I became to what, I suppose, could be called its opposite: the melodious and soulful harmonizings of a little known singer (at the time) named Al Jarreau. I remember having more Al Jarreau cassettes in my car than any other musician in 1979. But I would never play them when a friend was in the car. But when I was alone, it was Al and me. My first great love affair with music was with this man’s remarkable voice.
I’m thinking a middle-aged guy–forties, maybe even middle or late 40s–who hangs with the group as a sort of really cool and very wise (and physically fit) mentor and buddy. I’m thinking someone from the Midwest or South. Who is street wise but hasn’t completely lost his innocence and maybe has wavy hair, to help him not stand out too much as the oldest member of the boys. Not a lot of scenes for this character the first few seasons but a growing interest in the character to the point that by the final season of the series, people are thinking spin-off. Hey, c’mon. I’m at a point in my life where I need my fantasies to help me come to grips with the harsh realities of, well, there never really being the realistic possibility of a spin-off if I somehow crazily ended up in a series like Entourage at this point in my life. Heck, I’m not crazy….just letting my mind wander a bit with what might have been. |
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