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Oh Rose Nylund, as you well know, you and your other three roommates rock my 20% off-lesbian-chic-wool-hiking socks. And now you’ve won a Lifetime Achievement Award and I couldn’t be more proud. (If only Cher had presented it to you!) You are always oh so funny, original, beautiful, and on your game. Quite simply, you are fabulous.
Rock on, Golden Girl, and congratulations.
(click here to watch her FABULOUS and HILARIOUS acceptance speech)
I love this blog. It is a wonderful outlet for me to say and do whatever I want to, yes, and I like writing here, which is a necessary ingredient for blogging, and that is what started my writing here (that and Sinclair’s nudging.) But it’s not really writing here that makes this space interesting to me anymore. I mean, interesting things happen to me now and then and I do like to share them, but more than anything it’s all of the amazing random connections that could not have ever been made in any other way in all of the world and in all of my lifetime that HAVE been made because of this space. THAT is what makes me continue to show up here. THAT is what I love about this little blogo’mine.
When I got emails from folks saying, “jesse! Did you hear about Blanche (or Dorothy or Sophia)?!? I’m so sorry!” I mean WOW! No, I hadn’t heard yet and oh my lord, thanks for thinking of me and for taking the time to let me know. Or when folks ask for updates on Marcus or Fraidy or Violet or the Seal. Or all of the wonderful emails and comments about my visiting the new GSA club at my old haunted high school posts, one email about how you are going to write one of your high school teachers and thank them for supporting your little closeted lesbian self after all these years. Or a heads up that Cher is in a new movie or video or that she brushed her teeth this morning. Or how if I didn’t hear from Blazer in some tweet or comment form for more than a few days I would start to worry. Or how someone wrote, “I’m not your gay googler, but I might as well have been a few years back. Where was that hot line then?” Or how one of my very favorite new friends, greg, will put me on email-chatting-hold so to finish her newest, fabulous post. Or that I am so lucky to have met a slew of amazing bloggers last fall with plans to meet a few more this weekend. Or how Jen leaves a comment, “this has nothing to do with your post or whatever it is that you are writing about but Kathy Griffin spent her birthday with CHER and I thought of you!” And I am a better, happier person to know this, let me tell you.
And on and on it goes. And really, is this not all just totally amazing? And with all of the ways that this let’s me reach back and is teaching me, daring me, challenging me to brave reaching out more, a little bit at a time, past where I sit so comfortably (and anonymously) behind this screen, and push myself in what I chose to write, in how revealing I am, in how much of me, what about me I’ll set free and hand over, well, it all just blows my mind a little.
On that same long-winded-as-usual note, Melissa, someone I have never met before, tweeted this video to me and damn if she didn’t find something Cher that I had never seen before. And to that I say, well done and thanks for reaching out.
Happy Friday eve, everyone! Happy Cherday.
Some of my favorite bloggers do this now and then and I always like it. They post a photo of themselves right in the moment they are in. So, this is me, or more accurately, where I’m standing, right this very second.
A few days ago I got a fabulously flattering email from the teacher that watches over my sweet little GSA kiddos at my old high school in Smallmindednowhereville. And by popular gay demand, the kiddos asked this teacher to ask me if I would attend another meeting, specifically their next meeting …it is a bit of late notice, but is this Tuesday an option?
I must have waited over an entire hour to respond, you know, so not to look desperate or anything and emailed, “Yes. Yes. Yes. I will be there! See you then. Thanks!”
So, tomorrow morning, I will hit the road, cross state lines and once again show up to a haunted old high school to spend an hour with some of the most remarkable folks under the age of 18 that I have ever been so lucky to meet. The topic of their meeting this week? “Coming out.” Right. Simple. Easy. Shouldn’t take more than an hour.
I will keep you posted, of course, like I do.
I have spent this week more offline than usual, which honestly, isn’t so offline, but more so than usual and hence, a real lack of posting. The weather has been wonderful and in the middle of January this is not something you ignore. So Violet, the Seal and I have been outside taking long morning strolls, the Seal and I have spent some time with the 5 little fish out back, and yesterday we went to the beach where I threw a stick, the Seal ran, jumped in the water, got the stick, brought the stick back to me, where I would then pick up the stick and throw it again. We did this for a long time. It is her favorite game and somehow, watching her run back to me at full speed, like, “Don’t worry, jesse! I haaaaave theeeeee stiiiiiiick!” never gets old and always makes me nearly as excited as she seems to be.
So, to keep on with my offlineness this might well be a record short post from yours truly. Happy Friday to all.
As of late, nothing seems more terrible and pressing as the devastation in Haiti. Nothing. (You’ve donated right?) But when a reader sent me an email with an article informing me that my dearest, sweetest, golden girl, Blanche Devereaux (Rue McClanahan), had had a stroke my heart dropped.
It is totally impossible to claim one of the girls as my favorite but I will say, Blanche has my favorite lines and gets the biggest laughs from me. And like Cher and a few other notably fabulous women, Rue’s character Blanche has always had a huge fag following. She once asked a gay man why this is and he responded, “Isn’t it obvious? We want to be you.”
So, while we wait for her full recovery, here are a few of my favorite Blanche facts along with some of my favorite one-liners:
“Like the blossom of the ginsum weed, I entice with my fragrance but can provide no succor”
Rue’s characters full name on the Golden Girls was Blanche Elizabeth Devereaux, making her initials B.E.D.
“Don’t you ever get a nose bleed from takin’ the high road all of the time?”
Rue was originally asked to play the role of Rose and Betty White was asked to play Blanche. As soon as Rue went in for her audition the writers asked if she would play the role of Blanche. Obviously, she said yes.
“I haven’t had to disappoint so many men since daddy tore down the tree house.”
And now, for your viewing pleasure, a clip of a Golden Girls episode that makes me laugh so hard I cry. every. single. time. This clip is where Blanche and Dorothy agree to go live on a show as “women who live together” as a favor to Rose. Only Rose got the concept wrong. The show was actually about “women who sleep together.” Enjoy:
Dear Rue, you and the other 3 girls have gotten me through more than you could know. So, thank you, you know, for being a friend (I had to say it!). I wish you a speedy recovery and all the best.
jesse james
Violet’s mom is in town. I adore Violet’s mom and lucky for me the feeling seems to be mutual. We have been having a nice time despite one minor, yet quite awkward, road bump.
Last night the three of us went out for dinner. After eating way too much fabulous Thai food at (yes, I am about to plug a restaurant) Sea Thai in Wallingford (I have been there 2,387 times and it is ALWAYS delicious), we decided to get a movie and have a cozy, early night. The movie we wanted, “Guess Who’s Coming to Dinner” was checked out so we had to come up with a plan B. And I don’t know about you, but for me, renting a movie is like going to the grocery store in that there are tons of things I want but if I don’t make a list before I go, as soon as I step foot in the store, all of a sudden I can’t think of anything specific, in the whole wide world, that I have any interest in at that moment. This happened to all three of us and when the movie we wanted wasn’t there we all ended up staring blankly at a wall covered in dvd’s. Eventually, a woman that worked at the store asked us if we needed help. Clearly we did.
I asked the nice woman exactly this, “Ya actually. My mother in-law and I (Violet was off looking at subtitled documentaries) are looking for a comedy, but not slapstick, you know, something with smart dialog. ” The movie-rental-lady scratched her head and said, “Let me think a minute.” Fine. Violet’s mom and I continued staring at the wall. The movie rental lady pops back, hands me a dvd and says, “Here. This one didn’t get enough attention as far as I’m concerned. It’s from the 90′s. I bet you all will like it. Funny, smart, coming of age. Great dialog.” The movie title was “Slums of Beverly Hills.” Ok, well, it has Marissa Tomei. The plot didn’t seem particularly good but also not bad so it seemed fine. We were all at a loss for other options, so, this was perfect.
We got home, changed into our pajamas and the four of us (the fourth being the Seal, of course) cuddled up on the couch and pushed play.
First scene starts: And BAM! BOOBS. I’m not kidding, no credits, no song, nothing but boobs. The whole tv screen was covered in a close up of some teenaged girl’s breasts. There is a close-up of her trying on bras while her dad is in the background talking about how “she is stacked.” Awkward. Very awkward start. None of us say anything. “It’s just the first scene” my brain is whispering to me, “it’ll get better.”
Second scene: Marissa Tomay attempting to hitchhike in the dark wearing what appears to be a hospital robe. And as a huge semi truck comes blazing down the street, she stands in front of it, the semi honks it’s loud horn, insinuating “get out of the road lady, I got places to be” when all of a sudden… yep, she flashes her breasts. Once again, all in a matter of 5 minutes, I am sitting next to Violet’s mom on my couch trying to figure out how to exist while my tv screen looks like one big poster of breasts. So. Awkward.
Finally, I say something. I have to, no one else is and clearly this might not be the movie for us. “So, should we all start considering something different to watch?” Both Violet and her mom nod their heads. “Should we just give up now or…?” Violet’s mom says, well, let’s give it a few more minutes but so far this movie does not have my attention.” Which was totally opposite of me. I was so mortified by this movie it was consuming me.
Next scene: The “stacked” teenager is looking inside her family’s new apartment when in walks the neighbor. He is smoking a cigarette, comments on her breasts, which then leads to another close up of her “stackedness”, and then asks her if she would like to buy some weed.
So, wow. Now we have a movie about teenage breasts and drugs. Awesome. Awesome recommendation rental store lady. This movie shouldn’t be so vaguely placed in the “comedy” section. No, this movie should go in the “very smart witty comedy movies to watch with your mother-in-law, grandparents, and young children” section.
Oh, and right before we turned it off, the “stacked” teenager’s little brother pulls a cooked cat out of the oven. I might even ask for my money back.
I was chatting with greg yesterday, and like we do, we went from a to z in all matters that matter to us. One of these matters was my totally disparaging outlook on ever getting a job that I will actually want and that will actually pay me what I think I am worth. Confucius says, “Choose a job that you love and you will never have to work a day in your life.” This is my goal, always has been. It sounds great, easy even.
Well folks, don’t be fooled. This whole economic crisis and high unemployment rate thing is no exaggeration. They are not kidding! I keep finding jobs that look (slightly) interesting, scroll through the requirements, realize that I am indeed qualified, get to the bottom of the page and they then offer some totally unlivable wage… “depending on experience.” Really?!? With some of these rates I could get paid more raking leaves! The 9 year old down the street made more this fall raking leaves! I am not trying to sound pretentious about money, I am quite the opposite really, but I deserve to make enough to make ends meet, right? And with the wages being offered my ends would never see each other, let alone meet.
So, greg and I were chatting about what I should do with my life. We started high on the Forbes top paying jobs list and worked our way down. First on the list: Brain surgeon. I will now quote our chat exactly:
me: Should I just be a brain surgeon?
greg: I hear there’s good money there.
me: I could work 2 hours a week and make more than I use to I bet
greg: Yes, yes.
me: But I would have to work with brains and that is kind of gross.
greg: Squishy.
me: Yes, and squishy. Yuck. Ok, no on that one.
Greg’s next idea: Feet.
greg: How are you with feet?
me: How do you mean?
greg: Can you work with feet somehow??
me: I mean, feet have a high potential for gross too.
greg: But not of the squishy variety.
me: No, but I fear some could actually be more yucky than a squishy brain.
greg: So, no smelly things…
me: Oooh. ok, to answer your question, no feet! No smelly stuff.
greg: No squishy, no smelly… ok.
And then, well, fill in your own blanks on this one:
me: Well, not all squishy is bad.
greg: Right. how are you with silicone?… or is it saline now?
me: Ha!
So, then I admitted that I’m not so into the sciency stuff, which sort of rules out almost everything that we were talking about and anything that is going to make me any money. So, big money is out. Squishy grossness is out. And feet are out.
Next, she asked me, “Well, what is it that you just want to do?”
That was easy to answer.
me: I just want to write a weekly column for some newspaper or magazine about something gay or snarky or political and get paid really well… like Carry Bradshaw
greg: Gay And The City
me: I want to be the dyke-Carry-Bradshaw. YES!
greg: Or Fabulously Gay And The City
me: Will you be one of the girls I have martinis with regularly? I will need two others.
greg: I would. I need to solidify my role though…
me: Fabulously Gay And The City! You got it! Perfect.
greg: Am I stylish?
me: Yes. You can be the stylish one.
greg: Can I be the stylish eccentric one? Or goofy?
me: Yes. Perfect. Well, you can’t be both eccentric and goofy.
greg: Right.
me: That is like trying to be Blanche and Rose…
greg: That’s what I always had trouble with.
me: Would never work…
greg: I’ll work on it… nail it down.
me: Well, now that my life’s career is solved. Whew.
greg: Whew.
me: Feels good.
greg: These chats work.
me: Dont they though.
So! There you have it. All problems solved and on to the details of the matter. And once I get contracted for a fabulously popular column and this weekly article is so totally famous that they want to make a show about me, starring me, it is going to be called Fabulously Gay And The City. As you just read, greg will be one of my three good girlfriends that I will frequently go out with, all dolled up and ready to drink over-priced foofy martinis in untouchable, hip bars, restaurants and clubs in and around New York City (I am willing to relocate for this.) I will hold a casting call for the other two, just as soon as I get this contract!
Having this all figured out is a huge relief, let me tell you. The only hole to fill is the actual contract deal for the writing gig. But that is no biggie, right? All I need now is for some highly connected person to run into this post, contact me and offer me a job with some newspaper, magazine, online zine, or some sort of popular public media source that could use an edgy, witty, informed, original, versatile columnist for a weekly write up… that pays a livable wage. I could totally learn how to be all of those things. This just doesn’t seem so impossible, does it?
Well, I will keep you posted on the prospects and other random happenings in all of the mean time, of course, like I do.
Every once in a while the ridiculous, unforgiving, moronic attempts at legalizing discrimination and hate get to me. But for some reason, this last deal in New Jersey just felt like, “Eh, 20 dummies to 14 reasonable humans. At least the gap is narrowing.”
And really, at this point, the resistance against giving us queers an equal shot at life through the eyes of the law is like a bunch of beefy dudes standing on the side of a mountain, all sorts of pumped up and ready to try and stop an avalanche. Go for it I say, but don’t look too surprised when an unexpected sudden rush of equality snowballs your self righteous ass. Because as dumb and as mean as too many people are, history shows over and over again, that regardless of the resistance, at some point a collective conscious gets its shit together just enough and real progress towards not being so dumb and mean wins out… eventually. Yes, most of the time it is two steps forward and one to three steps back (hi, California, you are still the king of SuckItVille), but there is progress regardless.
So, yes, there are still a bunch of homo-hating-meanies out there, and poo on all of them. No, seriously, may a very large gastrointestinally-challenged bird poop on each and every one of your bigoted heads on your very best hair day right before some very important event. But like my godmother, Ruth, would advise, I need to hold tighter to the positive, which is that there are also a ton of wonderful, smart, kind, caring, informed, reasonable folks out there, and I know this for a fact. Four of my favorites being, you know, Dorothy, Blanche, Rose and Sophia. And really, thank gawd for the Golden Girls of the world! And to all of you who get it, thank you very much for not sucking and may bird poop never touch your fabulous, equality-loving heads.
(This clip is only a minute and 21 seconds, even you attention span deprived folks can handle that. Just watch it!)
My lack of posting has been bugging me. Mostly I have felt like I should do some sort of recap of this last holiday break with both Violet’s family and my family (they live in the same area, randomly enough.) But this holiday was hard for me. Hard in very personal ways, which are the hardest ways for me to write about. Hard enough to induce a couple of meltdowns or breakdowns, whatever you want to call them. And the way I choose to write this blog comes with a particular filter that makes it even harder to write about this kind of stuff. Like, in this case, feeling hurt and disappointed the way I do, with my family.
The story here is tricky, because I love my family, immeasurably, and I understand them in ways and know them with layers and layers of time and connection. So by recounting snippets of moments where my grandma was remarkably rude to Violet then goes out to a world where my grandma has no reasonable and warranted back up- all of the millions of beautiful and loving things about her, you know? The fear I often have writing here, is the fear of delivering a two dimensional, one sided, flat, imbalanced reality. When what I want to do, what I try to do, is simply paint pictures, tell stories.
So, to continue annoying myself with resistant writing, the best I can do for this one is to say that Violet and I have known each others family exactly the same amount of time but the level of inclusion into each others family felt so imbalanced over the holiday it broke my heart a few different times and it kept me up at night. My family being the folks invalidating my relationship by repeatedly reinforcing, sometimes with ignorance, sometimes with intention, that Violet is not their family.
It broke my heart to watch Violet try to stay strong and kind and loving when my family would make Violet an outsider. I have never had my teeth so clamped around my tongue with them before (which is saying a lot, believe me) and the only reason I kept my mouth shut was because I feared that if I exploded and started pointing fingers they would all blame my outburst on Violet. Well, that, and Violet wouldn’t want me to defend her that way.
My instinct to defend and protect and keep Violet safe and happy and loved is potent and unstoppable. And it is mutual. I know this because she tells me and shows me this all of the time, in ways that are so intentionally loving and soft and infinite. In ways that cradle me to sleep at night, past all of the anger and anxiety and fear that I carry, into dreams about being free. She does this for me all of the time, she always has, and this, over the years, has softened my brow. And this kind of love has taught me how to hold my angry, defensive words, this time towards my family, until what I have to say has the love I feel for them tucked in as well. This is what Violet has always done for me, and this is how I am learning to love the world back.
This post was suppose to be a vague recap of my holiday adventures, but I like it better this way, and so, for now, I’ll end here.
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