Bea Arthur to me, was one of the funniest, talented, most intelligent broads to ever hit show biz. I'm slightly too young to have fully embraced all of her work as much as I did The Golden Girls (one of the best cast chemistries EVER), yet that classic alone is worth many tributes. Add her noteworthy stage career, Maude, and the Comedy Central Roast of Pamela Anderson (seriously, check that one out if you haven't) and it's hard to see her as anything other than icon. She was tall and husky and not the norm for her day or any. Gotta love that.
She was an important pioneer for television. I know I'm not the first to applaud the undertaking of abortion (and countless other issues) on her show Maude, but I say it again. It took guts to give voice to controversy like that, and she did it realistically and with her own brand of tough cookie heart. That 's one of the most affable things about her. The line between what seemed to be her own endearing sensibilities and that of her characters were always blurred to an expert degree. I dare you to watch an episode of the Double G and not feel as if you know her, and are better for it. It's a toughie. She's your elder aunt that don't take no shit from no one, and it's comforting to feel a part of it in that way. Whatever age I am re-visiting any of her work, that holds true.
I am truly chagrined that I wasn't around to partake of her performances on stage, but you could always see that influence regardless of medium. She made holding for laughs an art form, and I mean that as an actor and as a fan. I shudder to think what the current landscape of t.v. would resemble without Ms. Arthur's cocked eyebrow of slow burn incredulity...it would be a lot less witty and a lot more safe. I'm so thankful she was here, and shared with us all she did.
Someone close to Bea stated that she was one of the few performers on earth that didn't need dialogue or pratfalls to get roaring laughter. That sums it up pretty well, and makes her passing today so poignant for so many. Thanks for scoring one for the ballsy ladies, and for being so damned entertaining. Tell Ma hi for us.
Here's to one of the greats.
Sunday, April 26, 2009
Thursday, April 9, 2009
The Lost Art
Growing up and hearing the term "class" (as in "she's a classy lady" or "that showed real class") I figured it meant someone had money and prestigious breeding. As I got out into the big bad myself and gained some wisdom of my own, I came to consider it as most do, as something of high quality. Today, I realized it's most relevant and modern meaning. Class is being intelligent and respectful enough to fin in (without any ingratiating whatsoever) with any group or setting. And most folks I've come across just ain't got it.
Leadership is at an all time low. As generations have given away to each other, we made copies of copies (just like Fight Club) of our foundations and groundings. Maybe it's economic trends or just plain old hyper evolutionary jadedness...but we lost the importance of decency. SO much so, that people are afraid to step outside the parameters to help one another, and that's an awful feeling, and an even awfuller commentary on our times. It's a word.
Reflected everywhere from our love of drama (how could so many sub-par reality hate mongering shows be so addictive otherwise) to the apparent need to full-on rape and plunder to make a buck, I think a lack of empathy is a worse epidemic than Identity Theft. Times are tough but where does it end? Where in the EFFing H did it begin?? I enjoy a good non-swear.
Self-sacrifice isn't an arduous thing. Nor is respecting privacy, or respect in general. One of the worst side effects of all this joyless, blinded, schlepping through life, is that every scrap of self awareness that could be put towards helping the matter is instead used on finding something to distract and/or shove it out of mind. I'm guilty of it on occasion.
Countless "customer-service" calls (which btw have been relegated to a dismal monotone that has no desire to sound slightly enthused even, let alone help you with your grievance that has no pertinence to them anyway) are ended with me disgusted with the human race and anyone who represents it at any level. Via cell phone, i-phone, e-mail, BBM, fax, TTY, telegram....what have you. I almost loathe those very devices. I think they've created a digital and electronic wedge between us and our warmth. No one has to be accountable to a piece of machinery. Convenience has bred complacency. Is that it?
All I know for sure is that things ought to get better soon...otherwise all of us humans will start rioting in the streets of humanity, for lack of any other want or recourse. I'm hoping by then I won't get caught scoring microwaves and DVDs with the rest of the fray.
Leadership is at an all time low. As generations have given away to each other, we made copies of copies (just like Fight Club) of our foundations and groundings. Maybe it's economic trends or just plain old hyper evolutionary jadedness...but we lost the importance of decency. SO much so, that people are afraid to step outside the parameters to help one another, and that's an awful feeling, and an even awfuller commentary on our times. It's a word.
Reflected everywhere from our love of drama (how could so many sub-par reality hate mongering shows be so addictive otherwise) to the apparent need to full-on rape and plunder to make a buck, I think a lack of empathy is a worse epidemic than Identity Theft. Times are tough but where does it end? Where in the EFFing H did it begin?? I enjoy a good non-swear.
Self-sacrifice isn't an arduous thing. Nor is respecting privacy, or respect in general. One of the worst side effects of all this joyless, blinded, schlepping through life, is that every scrap of self awareness that could be put towards helping the matter is instead used on finding something to distract and/or shove it out of mind. I'm guilty of it on occasion.
Countless "customer-service" calls (which btw have been relegated to a dismal monotone that has no desire to sound slightly enthused even, let alone help you with your grievance that has no pertinence to them anyway) are ended with me disgusted with the human race and anyone who represents it at any level. Via cell phone, i-phone, e-mail, BBM, fax, TTY, telegram....what have you. I almost loathe those very devices. I think they've created a digital and electronic wedge between us and our warmth. No one has to be accountable to a piece of machinery. Convenience has bred complacency. Is that it?
All I know for sure is that things ought to get better soon...otherwise all of us humans will start rioting in the streets of humanity, for lack of any other want or recourse. I'm hoping by then I won't get caught scoring microwaves and DVDs with the rest of the fray.
Tuesday, April 7, 2009
Why I Love My MOs
I was out at a very meat market-y bar this past weekend. The usual Tom Foolery ensued: I was close-talked into a window by a particularly aggressive Drunky McGee; I was awarded a shot for bitch slapping a willing participant TWICE (you can't beat that with a stick); I got chatted up and then back down; I got caught up in a little intra-friendship drama out of sheer alcohol confusion; and (my fave) got to hang out with like minded people I set out to at the start of the evening. It was fun, but on many levels I longed to be amidst my male on males, dancing it out with mutual abandon and musing on how radical Lady GaGa versus hot her back-up dancers are. That's why I love every gay man or any GBF I come across...masculine energy to be had without the hassle of a sneaky booty play later, and maximum support of any lengthy grooming or celebrity gossiping. It's tiring to constantly justify your entitlement to be a diva in your own right, however subtle. I may be a gay man in a woman's body....that would explain a lot.
It's more than that for me though. The majority of gay men are used to feeling at odds with parameters and religious ideals most of us are entrenched in growing up. Within their own family, from an early age. They know what it's like to have someone that means a lot to them look at who they are and what they do with (even now a days) vehement judgement and negativity and shame. Weather they're out or not they're aware of it. They usually tend to be easier on those who are different, as long as the odd ball in question is being real in whatever they do. And boy howdy, I'm a whack job by most conventional standards so it's a mitzvah. But gotta be me. They gotta be them. Fun isn't contingent on me possibly giving up the goods. The goods are just appreciated and/or groped thereof, no apprehension about what I'll do in response, or what the rules are. They know I know what it means and I'm ok with a stranger coping a feel in that light. Like a high five with genitals, kinda.
If I counted the times I've had a knock down drag out good time at a straight Bro bar/getting hit on and tallied the same of a gay bar/with gay men, it'd be close, but favor of the latter. Hanging in any counter culture feels more like cutting loose, by nature of the people involved. The thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning isn't so double edged or even observed at all. You can limbo under it. That leads to a more complete and total wild oat sewing.
Plus when I'm with them, they totally understand I'm representing/expressing myself for me, not for them, (but even so), they still give props. Straight guys tend to automatically assume you're seeking some financial or sexual validation from them if the sweater puppies are out to play. Sometimes that's the case with a lot of women but I RARELY play that card. I mostly like to play dress up and feel my age. Much like my tranny name sake in The Kinks' song, I just do my thing. If I want to hook up I will but I'll be in the drivers seat, much like a man. All my fellow 'Fag Hags' out there catch my breeze. Even if that label has contrary meanings to some, to me it says I'd rather be in the company of fun loving flamboyant men just like me. True that.
So next time I go out, I'm going to use my finely tuned homo spidey sense to find the fellas that only engage to talk shop, and not the other way around. Can't wait. :)
It's more than that for me though. The majority of gay men are used to feeling at odds with parameters and religious ideals most of us are entrenched in growing up. Within their own family, from an early age. They know what it's like to have someone that means a lot to them look at who they are and what they do with (even now a days) vehement judgement and negativity and shame. Weather they're out or not they're aware of it. They usually tend to be easier on those who are different, as long as the odd ball in question is being real in whatever they do. And boy howdy, I'm a whack job by most conventional standards so it's a mitzvah. But gotta be me. They gotta be them. Fun isn't contingent on me possibly giving up the goods. The goods are just appreciated and/or groped thereof, no apprehension about what I'll do in response, or what the rules are. They know I know what it means and I'm ok with a stranger coping a feel in that light. Like a high five with genitals, kinda.
If I counted the times I've had a knock down drag out good time at a straight Bro bar/getting hit on and tallied the same of a gay bar/with gay men, it'd be close, but favor of the latter. Hanging in any counter culture feels more like cutting loose, by nature of the people involved. The thin line between Saturday night and Sunday morning isn't so double edged or even observed at all. You can limbo under it. That leads to a more complete and total wild oat sewing.
Plus when I'm with them, they totally understand I'm representing/expressing myself for me, not for them, (but even so), they still give props. Straight guys tend to automatically assume you're seeking some financial or sexual validation from them if the sweater puppies are out to play. Sometimes that's the case with a lot of women but I RARELY play that card. I mostly like to play dress up and feel my age. Much like my tranny name sake in The Kinks' song, I just do my thing. If I want to hook up I will but I'll be in the drivers seat, much like a man. All my fellow 'Fag Hags' out there catch my breeze. Even if that label has contrary meanings to some, to me it says I'd rather be in the company of fun loving flamboyant men just like me. True that.
So next time I go out, I'm going to use my finely tuned homo spidey sense to find the fellas that only engage to talk shop, and not the other way around. Can't wait. :)
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