Sunday, October 17, 2010

It Gets Better. Really.

I know I've been slack on posting lately. Sorry. R Man is really sick and taking care of him wears me down. But now I am revived by listening to Dusty Springfield over and over, like some teenage angster.

Also, porn helps.

Besides, I stumbled on Joel Burns, the gay Fort Worth city council member's immensely moving video dedicated to gay teenagers who are thinking of offing themselves begging them to understand that things get better. I'm sure you've seen it, everyone has. So sweet and heartfelt and right on.

I should have stopped at getting all teary eyed and just though happy warm thoughts about how outstanding Burns is, but oh no, I had to go read the Fort Worth newspaper's story about it and its online comments, many of which were supportive and many of which were the sort of moronic asshattery I knew to expect. Why don't I ever learn?

I have mentioned that I was originally from Texas. I am, in fact, the fourth generation in my father's family born there. I am proud of my heritage (or "mah hairtudge" as I would have called it in my youth.) All it takes, though, for me to realize that, yes, getting the fuck out was way the right idea is to read some ass wipe's assertion that Burns' list of children who have recently killed themselves to escape homophobic bullying is nothing to be so worked up over, that they should have "sucked it up" and, I don't know, gone on to lead a life as equally miserable as that of the commentor.

That's why I think the "It Gets Better" campaign is admirable. If I could have just had someone say that to me when I was trapped in Baytown Texas with no idea that anything like an escape actually was waiting for me, I would still be grateful to them.

Does this post make any sense? I don't think I care. I have a valium and my bed waiting for me. See ya.


  1. Never read the comments at to the news. I've learned that. It always gets me angry.

    There might be a recipe for potato salad, but the comments will inevitably devolve into the same racist and homophobic commentary.

    Anyway, I'm putting on some Dusty myself and hoping to help revive you from here.

  2. Dusty and valium -- two great tastes that taste great together.

    Sorry to hear that R Man is not feeling well; just remember to take care of yourself, too, sweetums.


  3. I envision you, in your maribou trimmed robe, cocktail in hand, trying to unwind, when you come across an olive in your drink that has been soaking in vodla all day. As you bit into it, your eyes turn up into you head - nirvana.

    Sorry to read that RMan isn't feeling so hot. Mother's mind has returned (funny how that works - eating AND taking pain killers avoids the woozy woozy head) but she has some bad days.

    So I'm thinking of you and RMan. Hugs,


  4. I adore your blog! Take good care of yourself while you are taking good care of R Man, and don't go anywhere; I am still reeling from Chateau Thombeau taking a break. Here's looking for you at Chow, I'll be the one on hillbilly heroin!

  5. Jason is spot on about reading comments.

    And I hope your life will get better on Wednesday, my sweet. At least temporarily.

  6. it's your blog, you can do whatever you like.

  7. I'm dusting off my Dusty as we speak.

    And we've learned not to hug you so I'll just send out pleasing vibes instead.

  8. Keeping good thoughts for R Man and Mr. P. And all the kids out there who simply want to live authentically.


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