I've always liked Ellen—I even sat through her sitcom, which was brilliant in fits and unfit for television in bits. I liked her more than I ever could have thought possible when she came out, was disappointed when I saw her in person and she did not radiate warmth (to be fair, I was with a camera crew and she probably thought we were after her, which we weren't) and have enjoyed her talk show to an extent. The extent to which I don't enjoy it is that every once in a while, it bugs me that the smart, hip, 50-year-old lesbian has to dance to engage her adult audience. I don't despise the dance, and I see it as a smart branding thing that she probably tripped into, but it comes off as phony. For me.
The rest of her show isn't phony; her bubbliness—unlike when Rosie had her talk show, whose fake persona I loathed—seems to be genuine. And while I sometimes wish she were more political (I hate when people say they're not political...we all should be since politics affects every facet of our lives), I have to give her credit for being openly, unapologetically gay. That is really enough.
I think Ellen, with her visibility and her appeal to citizens from eight to 80, is probably the most important, directly impactful (even if it's not a word) figure in the gay-rights movement. And for that, I can overlook her cloying dance routine. In fact, her stealthy success at making a difference helps me understand what all that dancing could be about in the first place.
Some people trace Cloris Leachman's erratic behavior to the time when she publicly harangued Mel Brooks for not casting her in the Broadway version of Young Frankenstein. I think it started when she agreed to appear in Spanglish in 2004. But whenever it started, it started—she apparently behaved a bit bonkers on a recent Oprah MTM reunion...asking Oprah to step out of a cast picture on her own set! How Phyllis of her.
I used to be a sucker for the cute dude on Land Of The Lost...and his dad, too! I was obsessed with the show, but was so young I barely figured out what was going on. Good thing, since it made little sense. I just found the part where they went over the falls, the theme song (ending with the dino roar) and differently-browed Chaka endlessly fascinating. The image above is from the upcoming movie adaptation, which is said to be comic. Check Towleroad for more info and a Q&A with the director.
If you and your BFF are often described as Will & Grace (literally, not in the pejorative, shark-jumping, Neil Patrick Harris sense), check out this casting for a reality show about queers and their queens (fags/fag hags are sooo '80s).
Work Out's Jesse Brune has the cover of Instinct (April 2008). Inside, he brands himself as a mold-breaking reality-TV participant:
"It clicked with me that I could help myself and help other people transform their lives. I'm not just a trainer. I'm not just a chef. I also started a conscious [sic] thinking group. I'm not a guru by any means, but I'm somebody on a life journey who helps people along their journey as well."
Fine, but where's my dinner?
Also in this issue is the badly titled, beautifully photographed "Garden Gorgeous" by Fabio Xavier:
I can't explain why, but I read every word of Globe's account of Doris Day's sexual history (she tried to keep her fourth marriage going solely because her hubby was "well hung," she was rumored to be a lesbian), plastic surgery (she had a 1984 facelift—past 60—to help assuage her fears of public appearances to no avail) and various scandals. I like some of her movies and loved her TV show because I had no idea what was even going on back then, and it's never rerun so it's like a favorite dream by now. I think I like proof that perfection—especially America' puritanical perception of what constitutes perfection—doesn't exist.
I like picturing Doris meeting Mickey Mantle and deciding the two American archetypes should fuck just because why not?
The article is peppered with factoids and quotes from the books Doris Day: The Reluctant Star and Doris Day: The Untold Secrets Of The Girl Next Door (published by, I kid you not, Virgin Books).
Also in Globe is a scandalous (not) piece "revealing" that Big Brother's "Crazy James" did hardcore gay porn. This came out ages ago, plus he spoke very knowledgeably about anal sex with men during an unaired chat with Joshuah, so it's not as shocking as America's sweetheart was insatiable in the sack.
Lee Pace (from TV's Pushing Daisies) and Jim Sturgess (from the film Across The Universe) both appear in Men's Vogue (May 2008). I see them as similar in that they're masculine but not overly concerned about it; they each have a boyish or even girlish twinkle that's very becoming when stacked up against the macho poseurs who usually win leads.
Here's Jim's best shot (his shoot's by Phil Poynter):
And here is Lee's (by Walter Chin), though I like all of his:
Last Friday, José and I went to Las Vegas to do some girl-watching; specifically, we had tickets for Miss USA.
I'm not a pageant person at heart. When I was young, pageants did fit nicely in my fantasy-world outlook—they had glamour for its own sake, they turned women into sex objects (just like I did with my drawings, though for different reasons) and they were usually billed as "special events" on TV, back when there were only a handful of channels and deviations from their lineups were indeed rare.
At some point, I began listening to the girls' answers to The Final Question and was turned off—they always spoke in ways that seemed to me to be in opposition to all that had just preceded that moment. They trumpeted family, the military, Christian values. They struck me as huge phonies—why couldn't anyone see they were sizzling, sexual monsters, not future homemakers of America? It was like how nobody noticed Michael Jackson was a flamboyant queen. In both cases, maybe sequins acted as a protective force field...?
I was wrong, of course—those values did not contradict conservative values. There is a sexual side to conservatism, too, it's just that the male/female sex roles are much more rigidly defined. It's okay for women to be sexy beasts, to flaunt their assets, as long as it's clear they are aimed at pleasing men. Young, hot girls can avoid being liberal sluts if they use their cleavage to attract old, not-so-hot, established men or use their anatomical gifts to satisfy husbands who did things like playing football or fighting our enemies foreign and domestic.
Bombshells are as American as cherry pie; if she talks the talk of the right ("My platform is saving sick children through Bible study!"), the swath of her hips can successfully pass over both the left and right sides of the catwalk.
Of course, some pageant girls in recent years have seemed to break the mold, to not wear their Christianity like a crusading shield, choosing apolitical answers, floating in an irreligious aura, caring about HIV/AIDS. Perhaps we'll have one soon who's against "bullying," a code for queer tolerance.
Of the major pageants, Miss Universe is the cool one despite being owned by Donald Trump, the one less likely to produce Ann Coulters in swimsuits—the girls are from outside the USA (except for Miss USA, who this year is from Texas...which might as well be a foreign country to some other citizens). José is my "Mr. Universe" not because of his Schwarzeneggerdly muscle mass, but because as a Puerto Rican, Miss Universe has been an unending fascination for him for 38 years, ever since they won their first crown. (Check out how different Miss Universe 1970—PR's first—and Miss America 1970 looked, at right.) Now, 56 years after the first contest, Puerto Rico is second only to the U.S. with five crowns, and there is every reason to believe they'll snatch their sixth this year with Trump favorite Ingrid Marie Rivera. (Yes, she really was pepper-sprayed...there was proof!!!)
The winner of Miss USA goes on to Miss Universe, explaining why we were arriving at the show at Planet Hollywood Resort & Casino on April 11.
The universal beauty of Planet Hollywood.
The second we arrived, we got out of the cab and saw Chace Crawford of Gossip Girl—his sister, Candice, was Miss Missouri—checked in, saw Donny Osmond (another Republican childhood diversion and, with his sister, the show’s co-host) and then went to the adjacent upscale mall to eat.
The place we wanted was closed and we only had a few hours before showtime. As we walked to our second choice, I spotted a beauty in pink seated at a Brazilian restaurant. “Isn’t that her?” I asked José. I’ll never forget his face as his blank expression was colored with shock—it was her, it was Miss Puerto Rico. She was eating dinner with an entourage that included some cute guys, her trainer (Miss Universe guru Magali Febles) and her frenemy Miss Dominican Republic. She looked lovely, with flawless hair and giant eyes—every inch una ganadora.
Reinas: José with (L-R), Miss Venezuela Dayana Mendoza, Miss Puerto Rico Ingrid Marie Rivera and Miss Washington (who is part Puerto Rican) Michelle Font.
I’m sometimes reticent to ask for photos in a situation like that, but this was an emergency situation—it’s not just, “Oh, there is Famous Person A, I should get my pic with her,” it’s, “There is the embodiment of a hobby I’ve had for 38 years. I’m getting the picture if I have to hold her down.”
Ingrid saw José’s reaction and quickly finished a bite (of salad), washed it down with water and stood to greet us and pose for pictures. She was gracious and composed. “Likewise,” she said when I told her I was pleased to meet her, just like a pageant queen would have said back in the early days of the contest.
When they walked past our restaurant later, José had the video on them and they gave him the sweetest video ever, one that overcame any redness-of-face I experienced as our fellow diners stared at us like we were paparazzi storm troopers.
The Chace is on.
The show itself was lightning fast. I was more interested in pageant-people-watching than anything else—I hadn’t seen so many boobies since What Would You Say To A Naked Lady?—and the moms, whether surprisingly disheveled or preserved like lamb fetuses in embalming fluid, were as fascinating to look at as their too-perfect daughters. Our seats were four rows from the stage (you can see us on the telecast), way ahead of Chace Crawford’s clan. Emboldened by José’s earlier maneuver, I was able to get my pic with Chace, who was as gracious as Miss Puerto Rico and is now my choice for Mr. Missouri.
Candice Crawford emerged, after losing, in a spectacular short-shorts outfit.
We had an excellent view of all the judges—yes, Heather Mills was booed by a couple of people, not shocking from a crowd for whom legs are everything—allowing us to see how Rob Schneider and Christian Siriano had to sprint to the restroom at commercial breaks:
The most noteworthy things during the show: How Donny and Marie Osmond would go from “on” to “off” at breaks, huddling with serious faces when the cameras were not on. Professional to the nth degree. Marie at one point mouthed, “I’m too old for this!” of her dress and laughed, clearly to undercut anyone who might think she was, because she didn’t think she was, and she wasn’t. Donny also went over to chat with Miss South Carolina Teen USA Lauren Caitlin Upton, she of the infamous “maps” answer, after teasing her mildly from the stage. I later got a pic with her. I asked, "Could I trouble you for a photo?" and, living up to her rep, she cooed, "No, not at all!" meaning yes. My head's giant in our shot, but she has a Marilyn-in-All-About-Eve quality.
After, all the judges filed past—I got footage of Days Of Our Lives queen Kristian Alfonso, an obsession of my friend Frank Anthony Pllito who is immortalized in his upcoming book Band Fags!—and José got still more footage of not only Miss Puerto Rico and Miss Dominican Republic, but also Miss Venezuela, Puerto Rico’s always-rival for the crown. Seeing those exotic beauties in the audience as America’s contestants duked it out could not have been comforting to the ladies on stage; I don’t see the impressive Miss Texas as a world-class contender, but we’ll find out July 13 at Miss Universe.
As Project Runway's Nick Verreos told us, "There's the Miss Universe Top 3 right there!"
I had a lot of fun with my Miss USA experience, even if I suspected I’d have little in common with most of its most hardcore devotees, mainly because I focused on the aspects that united us—a shamelessly visual appreciation of startling beauty, a kneejerk tendency to tear it apart, a voyeuristic love/hate with celebrity and a tribal worship of anything on the tee-vee.
Eric Mabius and America Ferrera blow out some candles on the set of Ugly Betty. Mabius—looking too aggressively PhotoShopped (they took away his personality) if still supercute—turns 37 on April 22.
Better straight than never, here are the eye-catching guys from the week's 'bloids.
Nikolaj Coster Waldau, of TV's ratings-challenged New Amsterdam looks fine in TV Guide (April 14—20, 2008):
New Amster-damn, I wish I was your lover!
Also from TV Guide is this cute-as-a-button Dave Annable pic:
Justin time!
In OK! (April 21, 2008), you'll find tasty Eric Mabius as their "Man Candy" du semaine. "Honey, I brought you some candy!" he's quoted as saying to his wife. That would be man candy:
Here come the brides.
But beyond that, she spoke passionately about Lawrence King this year in a move that really blew me away. And now that the conservative-heavy (so much for "activist judges") California supreme court has ruled that gay marriage should be legal (possibly going into effect within 30 days), Ellen has not let us—or herself—down: She's announced on her show that she plans to marry Portia de Rossi.
