Last night, Slightly Insane Jewess and I went to see the Broadway tour of Rent. This post is getting a 'Homosaywhat?' tag based on that statement alone. The drawing attraction of this particular production was that it boasted the return of the two original male leads, as well as that huge black woman screaming Cs in Seasons of Love. The guy who played Mark was just as great as he was back in the day/soundtrack/movie and I found myself wanting him sexually despite the fact that he is a 40 year old ginger/albino hybrid. Twould seem that my psychosomatic pattern of abhorring what I've just lost/given up, i.e. teenage Hispanics currently, is in full effect. The other lead guy was, well... okay, follow me here. You know when two people couple up and they begin to take on little mannerisms of the other person that otherwise would be totally unnatural? For example, a girl might begin to drink bourbon or a guy might become a Facebook fan of Glee. Well, it's like this guy was in a loving, committed three-way relationship with a grade 9 drama class and the Swedish Chef from the Muppets. He'd clearly regressed in acting prowess since making the film (and anyone who saw his whole "Not a Girl, Not Yet a Woman" scene can attest that there wasn't a lot to begin with), as well as implementing umlauts on every single vowel he sang. To compound all this sexual tension and fallen idol syndrome, I had to contend with SIJ's justified but still cloying emotional state at losing a friend that she'd known for a minute halfway across the country. If this sounds cold, you try giving a heartfelt mid-performance one-armed hug to a chick wearing a leather sweater. Not easy, people.
And now, as an intermezzo, a brief conversation I had with a colleague at my new job preparing exam materials for paramedic students:
Chatty Colleague: Do you know what defibrillation is?
Illustrious D: Oh yeah. I watch Grey's Anatomy.
CC: I watch House.
ID: Well, uh, there's not a lot of defibrillation on House...
She conceded my point.
Well, that was rousing. Moving on, I think it's safe to say that my foray into seeking new readership outside my real life has been an abject failure (with one noted exception; hollah atchya, B-Town). This is disappointing only because there are some highly followed blogs out there that are absolute shite. Like seriously, straight-porn-watchingly dull. One of my favourite bloggers DCcised recently went all ranty on this subject, while adding his own brand of humorous butt hurt, regarding another écrivain that draws a loyal following somewhat larger than his own and ya know what happened? He received more comments on that post than on any other he's ever written. Now, I enjoy this guy's writing; it has a lovely mix of observational bitchiness and self-deprecation that truly is my bread and butter. However, while I completely empathize with his frustration, calling out a fellow blogger was a bit of a dick move... a dick move that got him 32 muthafukin' comments! Do you know what we can garner from this, children? The gay blogosphere, as in the gay reallifeosphere, loves them some trash talkin' queens duking it out in front of a rapt audience. So I feel that in order to really thrive in this niche, I need not be clever or relatably emo or remotely intriguing; all I gots to do is start calling people out on their shit and wait for the controversy to catapult me to fame (blog rolls) and fortune (monetized ads)! I could be the Kathy Griffin of the homo blogging universe!
Suck it, DCcised! This blog is my god now!!!!!!!!!