Amen, Sister

You've probably all seen this clip already - it's Faith Hill going ballistic on a fan after she grabbed the package of Faith's husband, Tim McGraw. We know Faith has gone regrettably nutso before, but in this case, we think she's awesome. Especially when she makes a cupping gesture, to demonstrate specifically what type of ball touching is not allowed.

Well, We Know Somebody’s Got A Gimmick.

Well, we thought our last Sunday was pretty gay. But this most recent Sunday might have just topped it. Last night we went with our tall and handsome friend to Patti Lupone’s final performance at Encores, as Mama Rose in “Gypsy.”

We expected it to be a mo-heavy audience, but we were not prepared for the gayhem that ensued. There were queens everywhere (including Barbara Walters!), and the line for the men’s room was easily four times the length of that for the ladies’ room.

We loved the show very much, and loved being seen with a handsome date among so many theater trolls. But we were completely blown away by the ending. Not by Patti Lupone’s (admittedly stunning) rendition of “Rose’s Turn,” but by the utter pandemonium that rocked the City Center when it ended. The crowd was on their feet for at least fifteen minutes. Men were screaming and weeping. And then, just when people seemed to be calming down, Patti pulled Steven Sondheim onto the stage.

It was like the apocalypse. We actually fled before the applause ended, for fear of we might never get out. On the way, we overheard Babwa say to her date for the evening, Frank Langhella, “Well, it certainly was a MAWvewous pufowmance.”

Oh, Babs. When you’re right, you’re right.

You Know You Are Gay When You Make Your Dog Try On A Dozen Outfits Every Time You Go To PetCo.

In 2002, when we left for our senior year of college, we took our family dog, Sophie, with us. She was already a little old lady Shih Tzu, who preferred the company of people over dogs (see picture, with our housemate Derrick). She used to follow us from room to room, wherever we went, and preferred to be carried rather than walking herself. She was a big hit with the college crowd (one time our roommates got her stoned and she rolled around on the carpet with vertigo for an hour) and enjoyed going to parties. We used to imagine that she had the voice and personality of Angela Lansbury, and that as she sat in the corner of a room full of drunken seniors, she’d look around and begin singing, in her head, “Tale as old as time…”

It was with her that we first realized, a gay man with an attitude can take a small dog anywhere, even restaurants and grocery stores.

Sophie died yesterday at the ripe old age of 15. As anybody who has ever had a dog knows, they become a very important part of your life. We have specific childhood memories of explaining to Sophie, and our other dog Ribsy, things that we didn’t feel comfortable discussing with anybody else. It sounds absurd, but sometimes it really helped to get things out – including, as we recall, the fact that we were gay. Our dogs probably knew before anybody else did. (Oh, let’s be honest, they knew ever since that time we made them wear mittens before going out to play in the snow).

Yesterday, our big brother reminded us of an old Will Rogers quote, which we find to be quite true:

“If there are no dogs in Heaven, then when I die I want to go where they went.”

We should be so lucky.

WHY YOU ARE GAY: Notes.

It was sixth grade. You were in social studies, getting nervous to get up and talk about your Current Event. You had the newspaper clipping about Clarence Thomas, or the Persian Gulf, spread out on your Formica desktop, with your pens lined up in the long groove along the top. Then, suddenly, as your teacher was writing something on the whiteboard, the girl next to you slipped a folded up piece of lined paper, shaped into a tiny triangle.

You got excited. You looked around and unfolded it. Tiny, swirly handwriting filled the page. A note! From one of your many platonic girlfriends! It may have included Green Day lyrics, or drawings, or nothing meaningful at all. Probably, it cattily analyzed the behavior of another one of your girlfriends, who was caught up in another dating permutation with guy in your small group of friends. Or talked about Ethan Hawke vs. Christian Bale. More than once, it probably contained the following quote from “My So-Called Life”:

"People always say how you should be yourself, like 'yourself' is this definite thing, like a toaster or something. Like you can know what it is, even. But every so often, I'll have like, a moment, when just being myself in my life, right where I am, is like, enough."

You quickly got to work writing your response.

You may have passed only small notes. You may have spent recess time in a corner, avoiding the rope swings and the endless games of Red Rover, scribbling away. It was an effort to get out what you were feeling inside, and a secret way of bonding with your female friends, without getting romantic.

You probably eventually started collecting the notes, in a shoebox or a jar. As the carefully folded pieces of lined book paper began to accumulate, you thought about how fun it would be to read them when you got older, to catch a glimpse into your growing pre-adolescent mind.

Years later, if you did find the notes and read them, you probably did have fun reading them. “Man,” you might have thought. “I was a fag even before ‘White Squall.’”

Beyonce's Hair Is Invincible.

This clip, borrowed from Perez Hilton, is truly delicious. At about 1:30, Beyonce takes a huge nosedive down a set of stairs. After less than two seconds, she's up again, whipping her hair around to recover.

Maybe she really IS a superhero!

We Woke Up Feeling Satin and Depressed.

What did you do last night? Hiro perhaps? Did you have a vodka soda in a plastic cup and flirt with a boy in American Apparel undies? Maybe makeout with a summer intern from Dubuque?

Even if you ended up splayed out on the stage of the Hole, acting like a Chinese Penis Trap for two Colt stars, you couldn’t have had a gayer night than we did:

8:00 pm: We started out at a friend’s house, where he made fondue and we watched the digitally re-mastered version of “Liza with a Z.”
9:30 pm: After a lot of Chardonnay, our host decided to play the D.A. Pennebaker documentary about the original cast recording of “Company,” with Stephen Sondheim and Elaine Stritch.
10:00 pm: We attended the closing night of the bar Rose’s Turn. If you’re under 50, that’s the lovable piano bar where decaying queens used to go sing along with the classics. Our co-worker calls it a “wrinkle room.” Gay dad and “SVU: star BD Wong was there, singing along with “Cabaret.”
11:00 pm: We decamped for Marie’s Crisis, the only slightly less tragic piano bar one door down from Rose’s. We were beginning to worry that somebody might see us. Just when we thought it couldn’t be any gayer, we spotted Vogue’s Hamish Bowles in a corner wearing gingham pants. This was topped moments later by Project Runway’s Malan Breton, who got up and sang “Mame.”

Next weekend we were supposed to attend the infamous bi-annual “No Diving” gay toga party out in the Hamptons, but we’re afraid if we go, we’ll spontaneously combust.

Oooh!

We love it when Anderson Cooper makes inside jokes where nobody is actually on the outside. (We stole this clip from Perez Hilton, watch until Anderson's quiet comment at the end, and Erica's nervous laughter...)

Where Do Homosexuals Get All Their Energy?

We love this essay from the Onion.

For me, just shopping for a new pair of shoes is exhausting. I try on maybe one or two new pairs, and I'm ready to call it a day. But a homosexual can sit for hours in Barney's tirelessly trying on dozens of pairs, and when he finds the one he wants, why, he's ready to wear those shoes out to a homosexual club and dance all night. What vim!

We've got to start using the word "vim" more frequently.

True Friends Talk About Puke Together.

Allow us to introduce one of our very best fag hags, who has just started blogging. We met Noelle at a black tie dinner years ago, when Sargent Shriver was making some speech about something, and Eunice Shriver was tottering in a corner looking like Skeletor. The whole event was alcohol free (we were in college!) so we spent it running to the bathroom to do shots, and also talking about our best vomit stories. Ever since then, we have been obviously very close.

We believe our contribution to the conversation that night was the time that we projectile vomited into a mirror as we were drunkenly trying to pop zits (we were in high school!), which was pretty appalling.

Since then by far our best ralphing story was the time Adrian Grenier bought us a margarita at Starlight and then we went home and yuked on our wall (it was last year!).

WHY YOU ARE GAY: Supermarket Sweep

There were times when you were young when nobody was around, and you were left with the remote. This is when you took control of the TV and unabashedly watched random, slightly effeminate programming, just because you could. Maybe you developed a taste for “The Mary Tyler Moore” show on Nick at Nite (or, let’s be honest, “Rhoda”). Perhaps you just watched soap operas or Talk Soup. You might have even watched “Body by Jake!” (Oh Jake, even your muscles couldn’t catch all those orphaned dreams.)

But we’re betting that every time you came across it, you were riveted by “Supermarket Sweep.”

The show was flawless. You learned about household supplies, you developed a fastidious eagerness for earning small amounts of money, and you got to watch “best friends” dress in matching polo shirts and frolick around a grocery store. You had no idea why, but every time they raced around the supermarket, throwing items in their cards (“Get five turkeys!” “Don’t forget the garden hoses, they’re worth a lot!” “Grab more laundry detergent!” “FOR THE LOVE OF GOD GRIND THE COFFEE FASTER YOU LAZY QUEEN!”), you got a warm special feeling inside.

Now, every time you get satisfaction from buying an extraneous set of Oxo measuring spoons or fancy spice tins, you probably understand that feeling better. As a child, they were part of the domestic world that you wanted to join - but were banned from because your parents thought you should spend your afternoons in Little League (even though you reliably hit the tee instead of the ball in Tee Ball). Now, every kitchen accessory that you purchase, and every whole chicken that you roast (better than your mom ever could, thank you very much) is a small victory for creating your own home life exactly the way you want it.

Oh, yeah – and if you’re getting fucked in the ass on the kitchen counter, you really don’t want any shoddy products lying around.

Are We The Last People On Earth To Post This?

From a REAL dental ad airing in Queens.

If you don't get it, the YouTube title for this clip is "My Wife? My ass."...

So Fucking True.

From Overheard In New York:

Queer #1: I need to lose some weight for the summer.

Queer #2: When I was in the hospital I lost 10 pounds in three days. What you need is a good trauma to get you started.

--Houston & Sullivan

Have You Ever Noticed That She's The Only Candidate's Spouse Who Actually Looks Like A Mom?

We're curious what you guys think about this whole Elizabeth Edwards pro-gay marriage thing.

See, we like Elizabeth Edwards. We understand why she and her husband continued with the campaign, we think she's smart, incredibly brave, and surprisingly real. But like it or not, when she decided to go on stumping for her husband in the face of her deadly cancer, she assumed a far more pivotal role than any other candidate spouse (maybe even more than Bill Clinton, who can be excused for having his own opinions because, well, he used to be the most powerful man in the world). Elizabeth can raise as much money as John, she's better at earning headlines, and she has incredible draw as a speaker.

John Edwards has essentially endowed his wife with a co-candidate role. Which is fine, except they're not preaching exactly the same message. Elizabeth is touting marriage equality to the gays, which is sure to draw many to her camp. But that's not what we're going to get if John is elected. I'm not suggesting that gays are too dumb to understand this, but sometimes the positive feelings that are engendered by a touching speech or an inspiring interview is all it takes to earn a vote.

It feels like the Edwards are trying to have it both ways with the gays, who are a high-income, politically active group among the Democrats. In a race between leading Dem candidates with virtually identical positions on marriage equality, there's no way that this won't give Edwards a (false) edge.

We think it's fine for Elizabeth to disagree with John Edwards. But as a co-candidate, to keep emphasizing this point (and to not adequately explain her husband's position) is essentially false advertising.

Are we being naive? Are we underestimating the gays? We're not sure. We just miss the days of Teresa Heinz Kerry. It was so much easier to decide things with the potential of having a drunken drag queen in the office.

Far. She’s Been Traveling Far. Without A Home - But Not Without A Star.

Amazing. We just got a sneak preview of Victoria Beckham’s one-hour special, “Victoria Beckham, Coming to America.” Rather than moving to Queens and working at McDowells, she moves to LA and sits by the pool.

We wanted to hate her, and sort of did throughout the first few minutes of the show. But after a while, her positive attitude about America and moments of dry humor really won us over. We think the gays will really like her.

Things we learned about Victoria include:

1) She knows how to smile and actually looks cute doing so.
2) She knows that people wonder why the hell she doesn’t smile, yet makes no effort to change (As she walks out of a Coffee Bean, after confronting Perez Hilton at his “office,” she says quietly, “I’m leaving, got to get depressed,” before she changes her expression to her trademark pout for the cameras.
3) She is still touchy about her husband’s infidelity (when an assistant asks whether she will have to do any work for her husband, Victoria stonily asks, “Why, would you like to? Do you find him attractive?”)
4) Her boobs are fake, and they’re spectacular.

We’re totally on team VB. We’re already practicing, per her advice, to make a face like an inflatable sex doll next time we see the paparazzi.

The Worst Part Is, We Haven't!

Last night we went to our friend Lock’s “Going Away From Gawker” party on the Lower East Side. We were standing with our tall and handsome friend, and one of our best gays, Jesse O., when a prominent New York theater critic came up to us.

“Hey guys,” he said, shaking hands with the group. “Seen ‘Xanadu’ yet?”

Gaycial Profiling! Oh, the shame.

Great Gays Think Alike.

Our friend David was watching "Murder, She Wrote," the other day, by coincidence, and was musing about how the show made HIM gay. Here, he breaks down the gay cause and effect a little but more clearly:

Here is an independent woman living alone (widowed young apparently)
completely disengaged from any reliance on a man, who lives in a charming
sea side town. She travels, visiting her long list of friends who are
either wealthy, accomplished, attractive or all of the above. She is
famous, in the good way, kind of a like Carrie Bradshaw, just enough name
recognition to make people suck up to you.

Her "example" though that drove you to Sodom town: She is a feisty biatch
who always stands up for the wrongly accused. She beats the arrogant, macho
and dismissive police detectives not with muscle but with smarts. In each
episode's "J'accuse!" scene, she stands up to the murderer fearlessly and
explains how he/she did it, proving once again that this outsider has
everyone's number.

Recap: Female empowerment + rich people + emasculating male members of
authority + champion of the innocent victims of circumstance = you like it
when men sit on your face.

It's so true. We do love it when men sit on our faces!

Not Gay, But Worthy Of Gay Incredulity.

Oh, HELL NO.

Is It Possible To Be Hard On Gays, But Soft On Cashmere?

John McCain shows even more how little he understands gays when he accuses the Bill Cosby sweaters that he wears of being faggy, and therefore somehow deep-sixing his campaign.

Hello, John, every gay knows that sweaters are for people with NECKS.

WHY YOU ARE GAY: "Murder, She Wrote."

Recently, while on a road trip, we were stuck in the backseat of a Honda Accord with our tall and handsome friend. The two girls in the front of the car were asking questions from a box of Trivial Pursuit Pop Culture cards. They ran the gamut from “Punky Brewster” to dancing Yeltsin to “Die Harder,” and we were all pretty much doing equally well. Then came this question:

“In what Maine town does Jessica Fletcher live on ‘Murder, She Wrote’?”

The girls were silent, but us two gays in the back shrieked at the same time, “Cabot Cove!”

There was an awkward pause, after which we hugged TAHF and quietly thanked him for dating us.

“Murder, She Wrote” was “The Golden Girls” for gays who weren’t queer. Many people thought the show was repetitive and obvious (and that Jessica Fletcher was clearly a murderer because wherever she went, people immediately croaked). But we’re betting that you had a weird fascination with the show. You may not have known about Angela Lansbury’s legendary Broadway past, but something about her drew you in. If you were like us, you may have even forced your family to go on the “Murder, She Wrote” “ride” at Universal Studios, instead of the “Jaws” boat. (In that case, we’re betting your older brother also beat you up in the hotel later).

Whatever the case, by the time you got to the age where you were digging up vintage “Mame” recordings and watching old VHS’s of “Bedknobs and Broomsticks,” you were already hooked. How could you have known dear old Angela was a gateway drug that would lead you straight to the cockpipe?

Heterosexuality Never Looked So British.

Our pal JustJared came across these amazing pics of Posh and Becks in the upcoming issue of W. The scan quality isn’t great, but wow. David Beckham looks like an orgasm in those white briefs.

We used to wonder how they managed to not kill each other in a house together when they both have such annoying voices. Now we realize, we could talk or not talk to David Beckham for hours…

This is Lance Bass's new boyfriend. We are assuming that someone with that pretty of a face has the conversational skills of a guppy. But even if he does, that puts him several species higher than Lance's ex Reichen on the evolutionary entertainment scale. Go Lance!


ps - something is wrong with blogger and won't let us do titles or post videos. Boo!

We (Bigmouth and Fishwatch) were at another wedding this weekend. It was between two very close friends of ours, a pair of blond WASPs with hearts of gold and pants of madras. Fishwatch even sang at the ceremony – a song about Jesus christ! In a Church! Don’t tell Vishnu!

It was a beautiful weekend, and the wedding and reception were straight out of Town & Country. Until the couple’s first dance, that is, when they did an entire choreographed routine to “The Promise” by When In Rome (you may recall this scene from Napoleon Dynamite). It was, knowing them, appropriately touching and hilarious.

Sometimes we spend entire wedding ceremonies daydreaming about our own future wedding. Come on – you know you do it to. But during this one, we couldn’t stop thinking about how happy our friends will be, for the rest of their lives.

Congratulations, Will and Bates. We’re couldn’t be more proud.

WHY YOU ARE GAY: The Sound of Music

Okay, this may be obvious, but think about it. There were a lot of gay movies that your parents encouraged you to watch when you were little: Mary Poppins... The Wizard of Oz... The Wiz... Return to Oz... Howard the Duck... But none stuck like before to your lower colon so much as "The Sound of Music." It got you like Arlene got Garfield.

You knew all of the words to the songs, and you would sing them as you walked around the house - perhaps even bobbing to "Do Re Mi" like the children in the movie, in their new curtain lederhosen. You may have even dreamed of auditioning for one of the young roles in the show at a nearby community theater. You could never get over the bravery of the nuns for hiding Maria and her family. And something about Max Detweiler really spoke to you, but you couldn't put your finger on it.

Why wasn't your family exuberant and musical, you may have pouted. Where was your spunky governess with the voice of an angel? And how on earth did they really pull off that puppet show??

Whatever it was about "The Sound of Music," it changed something within you. Every time you went camping with your family, you imagined you were musically fleeing the Nazis. Every time something bad happened, you sang "My Favorite Things." Every time you passed a gazebo, you imagined you were Liesl, and Rolf was about to take you in his arms.

Yeah, you were okay until that last one. After that, you were gay for good.

It's Bad Enough That Kathy Griffin Is A Re-Run.

Man, being at home with your parents is boring. Very few gay things happen. Except today, when we were talking with our Dad about our friends back in NYC. He asked about our most recent ex-boyfriend, and we told him about how we ran into him at Beige recently with his replacement bf. We said we were extremely proud to be seen there on the arm of our tall and handsome friend, but refrained from voicing our true opinion of the ex these days.

Our dear, straight, manly dad looked at us.

"Hm," he said, nodding sagely. "He got fat, didn't he."

And to think we were ever afraid to tell this man we were gay.

We're Still Rooting For Lenny And Carl To Finally Make It.

Simpsons mania has started up already - certain 7-11s across the country have been changed into Kwik-E Marts and are selling collectible Springfield merchandise as an effort to drum up hype for the movie.

The Advocate also has the Simpsons on its cover this week. We were one of the writers that was approached to write the piece a while back, but they ended up going with a different guy(perhaps because we use bizarre constructions like "we were one.")

When you think about it, The Simpsons really did make it okay to laugh about gay people - the right way. The initially homophobic Homer Simpson was basically Archie Bunker, except even more ridiculous (as when he starts performing gay weddings). And remember how cleverly they handled Patty's coming out episode - where her lesbian lover turned out to be a man, and instead of winding up with him, she dumped him because he had a penis?

Care to discuss your favorite gay Simpsons episodes? We'd reminisce, but we're too busy thinking about how we could have been getting a fat paycheck this week...

BREAKING: Old People Not Genetically Required To Be Bigoted.

FYI - Bigmouth is on vacation this week, so posting might be a little light. Right now, we are sitting at our grandmother's computer (whose internet connection appears to be based upon the "two Dixie Cups and a length of yarn" model), but we wanted to relay a little anecdote:

See, our great uncle (brother to said grandmother) was gay. We never really knew him, but he was very successful and had a partner of nearly 30 years. According to our granny, they were "extremely devoted to each other." For the first time, we got up the nerve today to ask her about him, and what his life was like as a gay man in the forties, fifties and sixties. She said that it was odd - there weren't many people living openly like him and his partner. But if there was any negative reaction, she never heard about it.

"People wouldn't dare say anything to me," she said, "because it was obvious how much I loved them."

We've never been sure about what our older queer relative meant about us being gay, genetically. But in light of what we talked about last week during Pride, this seems particularly relevant.

And meanwhile - to our brother, if you're reading this, you're so not inheriting the Winslow Homer from her. She already gave us her grandmother's wedding china. You may be able to have the great-grandchildren, but we'll always have the taste.