Lest we forget that Mimi has the uncanny ability to make temporal lobes weep at the drop of a dog-whistle-pitch hat metaphor, here is the video that I actually recommend you watch, an 18 year retrospective of incredibleness.

The F.U.D.G.E. Theater Company has one of the first productions of The Wedding Singer in New England, and I’m lucky enough to be a part of it!  The show is, in all honesty, way better than you might expect.  And that’s saying something! You would expect it to be terrific!

It was nominated for all sorts of Tonys when it was on Broadway, including best musical, book, score, choreography, and actor (comedian Stephen Lynch originated the lead role of Robbie Hart).  It’s effing legit.

It’s full of really high-energy, true-to-the-80s, dance-til-you-die dance numbers, like this one:

…as well as all the songs from the movie, like the grandma’s rap, I Wanna Grow Old With You, and Somebody Kill Me (Please).

I’m in the dance ensemble, as a result of which I have lost eight pounds in the past three weeks since rehearsals have started, as well as several smaller roles, like the drunk Steve Buscemi best man and a Billy Idol impersonator, among others.  The leads are supremely talented, and I’m not just saying that.  Here’s a video of our Julia (Kira Cowan, left) and co-ensemble member (AnneMarie Alvarez, right) tearing it up at a cabaret last year:

The cast is gorgeous!  Look at us! I know what you’re thinking! I could get it with the whole damn cast! Well guess what? Your chances of doing so are greatly improved by coming to see the show.

HERE ARE THE DEETZ.

WHERE:

The Arsenal Center for the Arts
321 Arsenal Street
Watertown, Massachusetts

WHEN:

July 24, 25, 30, 31, Aug 1 at 8pm
July 26 at 2pm

HOW DO I GET TICKETS?

Click here.

Tickets are $20 for general admission, $18 for students and seniors.  ProTip! There isn’t any uncomfortable audience participation/assaulting in this show, so don’t be afraid of the front row!

TRIVIA: Did you know that six of the cast members were subjected to the Naughty Nelly/Raunchy Robert encounter?

If I Were a Free-Fallin’ Boy, DJ Earworm

The important question about his death, though, remains unanswered: What do gay people think about it?

Gay people are known to have very important opinions.  That’s a sentence that doesn’t even include a link because it’s so true I don’t even need to source it.

Three more things are true:

1. All celebrities are dead right now.
2. People talked about all celebrities being dead on Facebook.
3. Being concerned about the well-being of society like I am, I compiled some valuable (and possibly life-saving!) information about how concerned people were about dead celebrities.  Specifically, how gay people and straight people were concerned to varying degrees about dead celebrities.

For people not familiar with my Facebook Gaynalyses, here’s the procedure and methodology: I have all of my Facebook friends categorized into one of three friend lists – Gay People, Straight Dudes, and Straight Bitties.  If you are my Facebook friend, I have categorized you.  If you friend me, I will categorize you.  For each of the three groups of people, I counted all status updates between June 25 at 12:01 am until June 30 at 11:59 pm, as well as counted how many statuses mentioned Michael Jackson, Farrah Fawcett, Billy Mays, or Ed McMahon and their respective deadnesses. Those are the only dead celebrities, apparently, that warranted mention by my friends Other dead celebrities, such as Steve McNair, earned either one or zero newsfeed appearances from June 25 until the time of this post, influencing both the study period and which dead celebrities were worthy of my scientific scrutiny.  Maybe you should have dangled some more babies out of windows, Steve.

Over the six-day study period, during which 1053 status updates appeared in my newsfeed, 15.4% of all Facebook status updates referred to celebrity death.  Gays and dudes were somewhat more interested in dead celebrities than their cats, fights with boyfriends, and shitty jobs than the ladies were, as you can see below in Figure 1.

Out of the four dead celebrities in question, Michael Jackson’s death had the most uniform appeal among all three study groups.

Straight dudes went comparatively crazy over Billy Mays’ death, probably because they’re all Neanderthals, and Mays dropped out of West Virginia University, kaboom, in typical straight dude fashion.

As for Farrah Fawcett – gays were basically the only ones who cared, because her spirit adjective is the word “fabulous”, making her an immediate favorite of the gays, or a gayvorite. Straight bitties were just jealous she looked so good, and straight dudes think of her looking like this, not this, so they all gave her the silent treatment, being the disrespectful bastards they are. 

Regarding Ed McMahon’s death, no one cared.  He started the wave of celebrideath, but he was only mentioned 6 times on Facebook, and every mention just appeared in a list of dead celebrities 3 days after he died, e.g. “Liz Taylor just sighed relief. Mcmahon fawcett Jackson. We all know these things come in threes [sic].” 

Wikipedia doesn’t call him the “greatest side kick of all time” for nothing.

Here’s a stacked bar graph to better visualize their relative popularity, as the data set is “statuses mentioning dead celebrities” instead of “statuses”.  Sure, this graph directly contradicts stuff I said before, but you haven’t been reading that closely, and also… Facebook. Let’s not get crazy, people. 

***

So there you have it.  Everything you didn’t really care to know about dead celebrities and Facebook.  If you care to learn more about how gay people use Facebook in a slightly different manner than straight people, click here for some similar posts.   Also, none of these graphs come close to the time Bea Arthur died – gays went nuts. Out they minds. You can peep that here.

Please reconsider all previous criticisms and skepticism of people who find images of God in toast and Cheetos, because today, I found God in my facebook newsfeed. If I can use “God” as a placeholder for “extreme coincidence”.  Poetic license, people.

I hope you have read this post, a.k.a. my last post, a.k.a. the post in which I chronicled an evening in which an older couple engaged in some impromptu manual exercises in the middle of a crowded bar, a.k.a. handjobs.  This post is a sequel to that post.

You may remember that Naughty Nelly told me that she and Robert met at a gay bar, “well not so much a gay bar. It’s more of a whorehouse.”  TURNS OUT! Nelly may not have been as a reliable source as I originally may have intuited!  I have a friend who is a talented photographer (check him out) who just so happened to be on assignment for a photography project.  The place in which he was on assignment was Jacque’s, which is a drag bar in Boston.  That is where Robert and Nelly met, because they were spotted together! Not a whorehouse at all!  I feel so betrayed.  Photographer friend sent me this shot:

This is Robert and Nelly dancing together at the drag bar almost exactly one hour before I encountered them. The song being performed at this time was “I Will Survive”. Unfortunately, the performer on stage at this time was the only one that did not agree to be photographed by my friend, so I can’t provide any more detail or context about their now-fabled meeting. (Video, for possible illustrative purposes only). For the record, Jacque’s has the following policy listed on the homepage of their website:

We sincerely ask that you please remain seated throughout the performance for the enjoyment of all our customers and out of respect for the entertainers who work so hard for you. Thank you.

Speaking with my friend, we have been able to forensically synthesize an accurate timeline of their evening based on timestamps of photos and text messages.

• 11:45 pm – This picture is taken. 
• 12:04 am – Robert and Nelly leave Jacque’s drag bar and do the nasty on the patio of an unknown restaurant. Please do not share photographic evidence supporting that second part if anyone happens to have any, I’ve had enough coincidences about this thank you very much.
• 12:57 am – They’re in the bar I’m in, doing yuck yuck things I’ve previously mentioned.
• 1:10 am- They retire to Robert’s hotel room.
• 1:54 am  – Nelly comes back to the bar, she and I chat.
• 2:01 am – Robert comes to collect Nelly, the bar closes, I go home and have nightmares for the rest of the week.

So like, there’s nothing exceedingly exciting or newsworthy, other than the extreme coincidence that I was not the only person I know to encounter Nelly and Robert that fateful evening.  Although I think I’m pretty much done with my recent luck of coincidentally finding people having sex in public for trues, people.

As per yooge, me and the group of quaids were there this past Thursday. Steve and Rob finished up their set around 12:30, but we stuck around for a little while longer.  This post is about to take a dramatic turn. Do not associate the content that follows with my prior ringing endorsement of Steve and Rob, who you should go see wherever they may appear.  Steve and Rob are good people, a sharp contrast to what follows.

The only bar patrons at this point were about 25 twentysomethings and one older couple.  This is a usual occurrence – the bar, being attached to a Marriott and right next to two dance clubs, tends to attract a diverse age range – business travelers, foreign tourists, and college students.  Then, there was a less than usual occurrence. Indeed, I would go as far as to say that it was an unusual occurrence. The older couple was handjobbing. Hand. Jobbing. Right at the table, right in front of everyone, right in plain sight of my impressionable, naive, society-trusting eyes.

Oh my, I said to myself.  I have hit the Are you this person? jackpot. Us suddenly unintentional voyeurs were hooting, hollering, cheering, screaming in fear, squealing in disgust, vocalizing the entire gamut of reactions possible when abruptly being unwittingly thrust into a couple’s Private Time. They acknowledge the crowd with a little wave and a smile, then get back to business.  Cameras flash.  They don’t stop.  They are very clearly enjoying the spotlight.  There may or may not have been a cell phone with video capability shining a very bright LED light on them for holy-shit-that-just-happened posterity purposes.  (A video which may or may not be located here. You can’t see anything, other than be able to confirm that the arm is going up and down.  It’s very grainy, so step away from your screen and squint.  It’s solely to prove I’m not a liar about this, and also some of the screams are quite entertaining as people realize one by one what is happening).  She says, “Send us over a drink, at least!” and HOLY FUCK SHE’S GETTING ON HER KNEES. My stomach and repressed, discretion-valuing Catholic upbringing can handle it no longer.  I go to the other side of the bar, back turned, hands around my eyes like horse blinders.  A minute or two later, they exit the bar and go into the hotel.

In the next 5 minutes, the phrase “That just happened.” was spoken no fewer than 642 times. People wept, people laughed nervously, people sat in corners rocking back and forth.

Then! The woman came back! She sat at the bar! And ordered a glass of wine.  I went over to her and chatted up the Susan Boyle of hooking up.  Here’s our conversation, reproduced to the best of my trauma-blunted hippocampus’ ability. (for best results, read her lines with a Long Island accent, and every time there is a vowel sound, hold it out for 50% longer than you would think is necessary. Also, add a smidgen of MadTV’s Stewart’s mom’s intonation)

Me: Wow, that was quite the performance.  Can I take a picture with you??

Nelly: Of course, darling.

Me: Um, my name’s Steve.

Nelly: Well, it’s very nice to meet you Steve.  My name is Nelly*.

Me: So like, who was that dude?

Nelly: His name is Robert*.

Me: Where did you meet him?

Nelly: At a gay bar.

Me: A gay bar…?

Nelly: Yeah, a gay bar.  It’s right around the corner.  My gay friend was like “Let’s go out! To the gay bar!” Well, it’s not so much a gay bar. It’s more of a whorehouse.

Me: Oh, a whorehouse.

Nelly: Yeah, a whorehouse.  Anyway, I met Robert, and then we went to this patio of this restaurant around the *other* corner from here and we did it on the patio.

Me: So this is your second public encounter tonight?

Nelly: Well yeah! I went out to lunch at this nice restaurant that had a nice patio, so I brought Robert there and we had sex on one of the tables, and then we came here.  He has a room in the hotel tonight, but he wants me to come back to his house.  I don’t think I trust him enough for that.

Me: … (short inhale, squint) …

(Robert enters the bar)

Me: Nice to meet you, Robert.  Well done today.

Robert: Thank you. That was a nice tribute to Michael Jackson that you sang tonight.

Nelly: Robert can speak Italian!

Robert: Something in Italian

Me: You guys know that there were people that saw you, right?

Nelly: Oh yeah, what’s the big deal?

Me: Did you notice the camera flashes?

Nelly: Ya, we put on quite the show, didn’t we!?

Me: You guys make such a cute couple.  Can I take a picture of you two?

Robert: Please do!

Nelly: Here, take my business card! Email it to me! Hold on, let me write down my personal email address for you.

Me: Oh, well thank you! I’ll be sure to send it!

Click. (Beep, rather. It’s a camera phone. But “click” is a word more strongly associated with the sound a camera shutter makes. You get the damn point.)

Me, mind collapsing from the gravity of the situation I have experienced: Okay, well I’m going to find my friends. You two have a good night…

***

I hate straight people.

*This is a morally ambiguous post at best.  I at least changed their names, because I have at minimum 0.002 souls.

Bonus! Here’s a quick clip of Press Secretary Robert Gibbs confirming that Monday’s White House reception for LGBT leaders is just for show and no actual action is being considered with regard to gay rights legislation:

Moving my sister’s wardrobe burned many, many calories.  You don’t even know. That calorie expenditure turned into a voracious hunger, the type of hunger that requires Meat to replenish.  Luckily for my stomach, she lives within walking distance of that awesome hamburger joint that Obama took Biden to a while back when Biden was all “Not to cause a panic, but I have Bubble Boyed my entire family and am living underground and you should also do this if you love your family because SWINE FLU IS GOING TO KILL THE WHOLE COUNTRY” because Biden used to be a local news anchor, as we all know. Then Obama ordered Dijon mustard on his burger, conclusively proving that he is a gay French British communist, also a liar. Remember that? Yeah, me too. We went to there.

I ordered a burger with mustard because I am those above things as well.  It was delicious.

Let’s get something clear: Ray’s Hellburger is my favorite place in the world.  First off, its name is a terribly forced pun, which automatically puts it into the “friend” column of this site.  Second off, its menu is off of chains. They don’t just sautee their mushrooms, they sautee them in sherry.  You can upgrade from beef to foie gras.  Yes. Like, not just a bit of foie gras thrown in with the ground beef. Like, instead of beef, foie gras. Burgasms abounded.  (I did not get foie gras, as it was an extra ten dollars, and I am a man of modest means. For the record, I am pro-force feeding geese through intubation a la Kirstie Alley because once I used some foie gras in collard greens and wept like Chris Crocker it was so delicious [similes!])

Bottom line: om nom nom. I didn’t think the lunch could get any better. WRONG. Enter this matching couple:

What a delightful pair.  They are wearing matching pink shorts! Ahhh-dorbs. They then levelled up big time when, as I was taking this picture, the guy proclaims “WE DIDN’T DO THIS ON PURPOSE!” Me: “Even better! I’m putting this on my blog so the internet knows that you are a Good.”

I know there is at least one math major that reads this blog.  Does he or she want to figure out what the probability is of two people wearing pink shorts? I’m estimating it is approximately impossible.  It would be something like [p(someone owns pink shorts) x p(that person chooses to wear those pink shorts)]^2 x [p(choosing to wear a white shirt with it)]^2, which is probably within 5% of the probability of Moby not having herpes, which is also known as zero.  (I can confirm second-hand that Moby has herpes).

Thank you so much, pink-shorts wearing couple, for perfecting my already perfect day.  Thank you, Ray’s Hellburger, for attracting couples that wear matching pink shorts. God bless Rosslyn, Virginia.

A commenter asked whether I thought Obama’s inaction on gay rights was a political calculation or if it gay rights just aren’t on his radar at all.  I think what’s  frustrating for the gay community is that it’s become increasingly difficult to tell if the president’s recent overtures – the recent extension of a few benefits to federal employees, inviting some gay leaders to the White House to celebrate the Stonewall anniversary – are signals that the administration will be taking a slow, incremental approach to extending rights to gays, or if it’s just damage control when people like Howard Dean and campaign advisers on LGBT issues are pulling out of LGBT-focused fundraisers for the Democratic Party.

One of the more surprising things for the gay community has been the change of tone from the administration.  Dial back to January, before the inauguration, and we were hearing the administration saying things like “…you don’t hear a politician giving a one-word answer much, but it’s yes.” when asked if the administration was planning to repeal DADT.  Dial forward to May, and the same person is giving a waffley, politicky, (realistic) answer – conversations are being had between the administration and the Pentagon, we favor a legislative solution, other rhetoric.

If you read that HuffPo article from January I just linked to two sentences ago, you’ll see how outdated it is six months later.  We were really led to believe and allowed ourselves to believe that gay rights would be a priority from Obama and that we weren’t going to repeat the Clinton administration, which started off being a vocal supporter of gay rights but ended up signing both DOMA and DADT.  So while a lot of the gay anger towards Obama might be explained by gays coming back to planet Earth after having unrealistic expectations, I don’t see anything wrong with keeping pressure up and keeping expectations high to avoid repeats of disappointment.

I agree with Gibbs when he says that Congress needs to get rid of DADT and that congressional action will create a longer-lasting solution, and I’m pretty sure Dan Savage does too, but in the meantime, Obama has fired approximately 264 people for being gay.  I take that as a personal affront, but I also realize that gay people are a political liability.  What a sad sentence to have to write.  I’m really looking forward to what Obama has to say on Monday when he speaks at the Stonewall celebration.