There is a very old song by The The that proclaims, "this is the day, your life begins to change. This is the day, that things fall into place." This feels like one of those weeks. I can't put my finger on it, but it feels like it.
The hilarious stand-up comedy of "the Reverend" Jerry Falwell struck again this week as his "family-values"-oriented publication declared that Tinky Winky of the pre-school show the Teletubbies is gay because he's purple and has a triangle on his head. Also, he has a boy's voice but carries a purse. Tinky calls it his magic bag. Of course, I have my inimitable response. Click here to read it.
My mother once told me that she wanted me to visit so she could give me her goodness. Her goodness, in fact, being food. She's a very good cook. When I lived with Knucklehead she always made a little more, even though I was not out to her yet, but she'd already figured it out. I guess she knew what many already knew: that ballyhooed link from the stomach to the heart.
I went to a volunteer orientation at God's Love We Deliver one night this week. I had always thought of volunteering there, but I was afraid it might be too sad. But in the course of researching my story for LGNY I decided to make the time for it. They show a video with U2's "One" in the background. Boy, whoever made that video sures knows how to get to you. I was almost a babbling mess by the end of it. I suppose that's what it's supposed to do.
When I visited a while ago, I noticed how much fun the volunteers were having, and how the food they were preparing must carry some of that. At the orientation, one of the directors there mentioned that a client said they could "taste the love in the food." Don't tell my mother she was right. She'll never let me forget it.
So I spent a lot of time with Paul redoing my article for the 100th issue of LGNY. He's a good egg. LGNY might drip with attitude but if that's so it's because there's a sincere desire to see that things get better. That's called caring.
My article wound up being a lot better after all those iterations. And the paper uses a Macintosh system--the one true religion. And they are even more early 1990s than our machines at work.
I spent a lot of time at the paper this week. It reminded me of my college newspaper, The Chronicle, except that there are fewer people working there on production night, and everyone is gay. I was there until 3:30 a.m. one night, and they rang me up in the morning to make sure I got up. We used to do that in school also.
It's a bit sad to realize that I had more gratification this week working scattershot hours for the newspaper than I have in 13 years in publishing.
The odd thing about their offices: they share with a toy consultancy. Plus, the toy show was in town this week. Giant plush characters at the top of the BMT Broadway line stairs hand out booth slips for show-goers. So on the shelf next to Queer in America in the conference room is a box of Betty Spaghetty dolls. And this week, some Teletubbies arrived. Tinky Winky and Laa-Laa. When you sink a finger into their considerable bellies, they say their names, they sing nonsense, and coo "Biiiig Huuuugssss!" I think they are gay. That's what happens if you sink a finger into my belly.
I spent the evening with G, from my reading group. At one point, at Food Bar (which was just okay), he told me to go forth and "preach and teach." I worry that I am too preachy at times, but what can I say. G didn't seem to think I was too preachy, but I guess my dialogues do touch on a few things I see as truths. New York is a place with a lot of masqueraders, and someone has to hold up a deep dark truthful mirror sometimes.
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