I Gave At The Office

Pride season 2010 is here.   This weekend Seattle Pride is in full swing and I am sitting quietly on my own little version of "Wysteria Lane," just minutes outside of the hustle and bustle of the big city of the Northwest.  I am doing my usual Sunday mix of writing, reading, blogging, watching Sunday Morning News shows, doing laundry, and of course enjoying multiple cups of good bold rich coffee.   I've heard from friends far and wide ask me the same question which is "what are you attending this year at Pride?"   My answers are varied and depending on the friend are sometimes loony; but the sentiment and core of each answer is that I have Pride year round and this year I'm sitting out the parade, festival, bars, & usual Monday Morning gutter crawl towards home in the wee squinting shaky bourbon soaked morning.

I am far from saying I am retiring from future Pride weekend attendance; but this year I really felt like I have been there done that.   For God's sakes I have walked the Seattle Parade route itself in 6 inch heels, with the "full Betty," drag on five years in a row; I've "entertained," the "troops," in 5 San Diego Pride seasons as well and we won't regale all the shenanigans of my Palm Springs, Long Beach, San Francisco, Asheville, Orlando,DC, & Holland Pride festivals.   I will coyly plead the Vegas morality law which says that which has happened at each of those Prides will stay there.   I have given at the office in more ways, locations, and positions than one can imagine.

I will say that with the passing of my most recent birthday I reflected on the past 2 years of Pride festival attendances that they had begin to lose their luster for me.   I begin to think maybe it was an age thing.   The closer forty gets I see my priorities sharpen and my tastes for many things I once thought "fun," wane.  It is not  that I lack Pride.   I feel that it is a 24/7 365 day a year work in progress.   As I have grown older I have begun to really appreciate how my Pride has matured.   It goes beyond holding a sign in a parade or sticking a rainbow flag on your car.   I feel my actions in my everyday approach exemplify my growing respect for myself and as the old adage goes, actions speak louder than words.   

The Pride parties, parades, and festivals are great fun and I believe they are essential.   If you ever experience a Pride Weekend there is no way to deny that the old 10% rule of thumb is way off.   I think it is important to have a special weekend to parade like peacocks and show off your colors, your true colors.   If for any other reason to show the world that diversity is fun, crazy, zany, and embraceable.   It is palpable, it lives, breathes, and at its most significant core promotes a heartbeat sustained by the idea that there are so many colors in the rainbow and notes in a song.    Being different, embracing diversity, living through adversity are monumental reasons in which to celebrate.

This year I may be choosing to celebrate myself and my pride in a quiet place and state of mind; but deep down in my soul that iconic Sister Sledge anthem, We Are Family, roars strong in my soul and hums steadily in my veins.   So friends do not fret my Pride is not on life support, it is alive and well, It is  just matter of fact that this year I feel I've already given at the office, maybe I will see y'all next year.   Until then I send up a big ole hands in the air to Jesus dance wave, two snaps in a rainbow formation and an honorary, girrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrl!   Happy Pride!

Howdy! My Name is Blanche (Remembering Rue McClanahan)

I first remember encountering Rue McClanahan as Aunt Fran on Mama's Family in the early eighties.   I was addicted to Carol Burnett re-runs and thus became obsessed with Mama's Family when it spun off into its own prime time sit com series.   Not long after Rue's character, Aunt Fran died from choking to death on a chicken bone if I remember correctly, Rue McClanahan showed up on a new risky sit com The Golden Girls.   It was risky because the prime time market in television at this time was flooded with youth obsessed shows and yuppie infused thirty somethings. So, who would want to watch four women of a "certain age," talking about the "change," and dating, and gasp, gasp, horror, horror, their sex lives?   Further more would it be FUNNY!   Hell Yes it would prove to not only be funny but be, well......Golden.   For seven seasons we embraced these funny ladies and thanks to Lifetime, WE, Oxygen, and countless other cable networks, it seems The Golden Girls could also be called The Immortal Girls.    To further illustrate their popularity across all age demographics, it seems that The Golden Girls are quickly catching up to I Love Lucy in terms of how many times it has be re-ran in syndication.   Quite an amazing feat considering I Love Lucy had a thirty year head start.

Beneath all the popularity, awards, and golden reputation this show has it was always the characters that kept me a loyal fan and still has me coming back for more.   I own all the seasons on DVD and yet when I'm flipping the channels, I more often than not get hung up on an episode of The Golden Girls and find it hard to turn the channel no matter how many times I've seen that particular episode.  

Given my love of The Golden Girls it would be hard to say which character I loved more.   The past few years we have lost all but one of those funny ladies.   Estelle Getty (Sophia) was the first to go, then last year Bea Arthur (Dorothy) left us and just recently Rue made her final bow and exit as well.   So as much as a grieve for my girls that have gone on, they live on, thank God on some TV channel somewhere in the world daily; but also the beloved Betty White has, at the age of 88, hit her stride it seems, beyond enjoying a renaissance of sorts in her career she has become hip and known to a whole new generation which has reportedly given an astronomical jump in the number of cable stations buying up rights to the syndicated episodes of The Golden Girls!

Yet, one Golden Girl hit a home run in my heart from the very first episode and that was Blanche, so brilliantly played by Rue McClanahan.   Rue herself had remained busy after the series ended doing theater and TV movies and various guest spots on popular shows.   Rue had also begin to hit a comeback in the last two years as well.   Her memoir, My First Five Husbands, became a best seller, she received kudos and critical praise when she joined the Broadway cast of Wicked, and finally she re-entered the world of TV sit coms when she accepted the role of Peggy Ingraham in Del Shores' Logo Channel cult hit, Sordid Lives.   Playing along side Caroline Rhea, Ann Walker, Bonnie Bedilia, Beth Grant, Leslie Jordan, & Olivia Newton John Rue once again turned up the heat on how society might expect a seventy something year old grandma character to behave.   The series has been on hiatus awaiting some legal issues to be resolved; but Rue made an indelible and hilarious mark with her talent and comic timing in the first season.  

But getting back to Blanche, I feel like I have to sort of come clean and do a sort of "AA minute," here:  HI, my name is Kitty and I am Blanche.   My drag personae Kitty Davis was heavily influenced by Rue's Golden Girls' character Blanche Devereaux.   In fact before I finally became Kitty Davis, I was Blanche Davis and then Kitty Devereaux.   I saw Kitty as a culmination of many strong female heroines and characters but felt like Kitty was best summed up as a hybrid of Blanche Devereaux (Rue from Golden Girls) and Suzanne Sugarbakker (Delta Burke of Designing Women).   Blanche continued to follow my private life for all of my twenties and most of my thirties as many friends openly nicknamed me as Blanche given, (allegedly), my sexual adventures, again.........allegedly (wink wink)!

So I will always remember Rue's pitch perfect Southern drawl, sizzling saunter, and smoldering swagger.   Though I never met her I always felt close to her, lucky for us Blanche will live on thanks to cable and seven seasons of comic treasures and Rue, what else to say.......but thanks for being a friend.

BP= Bullshit Politics

I wonder how this country ever gets any law passed or any thing done.   From confirmation hearings to the latest congressional hearing investigating the BP Oil disaster in the Gulf Coast I have come to the conclusion that at least for me this confirms that these hearings are nothing more than a gathering of talking heads saying the same redundant sound bytes one after the other.  

In a courtroom when a witness does not answer a question they are usually considered a "hostile witness," meaning they are being uncooperative and stand a chance of being found in contempt of the court and/or committing perjury.   Yet, somehow, on the "Hill," (DC), witnesses get away with redundancies like:  "I don't recall;"  "I never saw that communication;"  or my favorite response after some whispering with a counselor and a covered mic the witness will respond, "I cannot answer that at this time."  

I often wonder how any man or woman with a conscience can deliver such inane, limp, & asinine "testimony," like Tony Hayward did this past week and walk away from it seemingly prideful.   I guess when you are getting paid over $ix Million dollars in annual compensation plus millions more in stock and benefits, maybe it is easy to play stoic and in the end render such empty rhetoric.

It would be easy to just to beat up on Tony for his testimony to nowhere; but what about those congress members pointing the fingers.   It struck me duplicitous that the men and women conducting this hearing were lambasting Mr. Tony for his "don't know," answers and his very apparent prepared general statements when they give the same circuitous blank answers whenever you see them being questioned on a Sunday morning news program.   Somewhere along the way America has lost its integrity and soul and especially the men and women who allegedly "represent," us in the government.   Everyone of those members questioning Tony (Republican and Democrat alike) have all received donations from "Big Oil."   I dare say the whole damn hearing was just a show to make the American public at large feel like government was at least "doing something."   I cannot help but wonder if the organization of this hearing went like this:  "Hey, Tony we need ya to come up to the Hill so we can look like we are giving you a public whipping........ all ya got to do is to continue to look like the schmuck and provide no real answers and we will get a little testy with ya, then we will all go have a nice lunch, give the people a little show then go home, what do ya say?"  

B.P. may stand for a corporate brand of petroleum products; but for me it will always mean bullshit politics, which I understand is saying nothing new; but if we take it to a larger picture I feel like this oil spill is just a big metaphor and wake up call for the real clean up work that needs to be done in this country.   Our Country's integrity has had a black, mucky, sticky residue eating away at it for some time now and that icky sticky substance is politics.

Grits and Gravy!

This morning I had savory grits with lots of butter and cracked pepper.  Yum!   We have talked grits before; but what can I say~  I'm a true Southerner and I love my grits!   On rare occasions I am lucky enough to get my grits with gravy.   Gawd what a posh breakfast.   To me gravy is like icing.   Cake is sweet and good all by itself but it sure tastes a helluva lot better when icing is added.   The same with biscuits or grits.......they are both good and buttery but when you get to top it off with gravy....wellllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll it is so good words escape me.  When it comes to dealing with people in real life I am more apt to chose grits over gravy any day.   Coming from the south I do know how to pour on the gravy myself; however I tend to like those who are straight shooters.   Every once in a while you need someone to sugar coat the truth; but over all the nitty girtty is the better form.

An acquaintance of mine caught me in a conversation recently and secretly I was just rolling my eyes.   The conversation may have covered different ground but down deep it boiled down to the same thing:  self.  This person puts a lot of gravy on everything.   This person is not "bad," but ironically as loudly as this person touts being self aware and honest with themselves the grit of the matter is this  person is just selfish.  Every subject tracks back to this person.   If by chance I was actually able to start a conversation about anything inevitably the subject will somehow get twisted back to this person.   This person's gravy bowl definitely floweth over.

People like politicians rely on their gravy (a.k.a. spin) to dance around a subject, cover up a scandal, and even boost their ratings.  Ordinary Joe's like their gravy as well.   I admit it is much easier to like what you hear when people tell you what you like to hear; but this does not necessarily get you anywhere near any sort of truth.   Much like a biscuit sopping up gravy I think Washington D.C. and society in general like their truth and fragile egos saturated in gravy and sugar coat that if you can please!   Believe me, I love my grits and gravy but I know my waist line can't have gravy all the time!

Ya Got Know When to Hold 'Em, Know When to Fold 'Em (Life Lessons From Country Music?)

I admit I watched Oprah this past Friday.  (When did we start to feel like we have to sound apologetic when watching Oprah?)   However, my lifelong guardian angel, friend & favorite down home Diva Dolly Parton was the guest and I would sit my ass down in front of the TV with a tornado directly outside my front door if Dolly was on.   Near the end of the show Oprah "surprised," the audience by bringing Dolly's longtime friend and sometime duet partner, Kenny Rogers out to sing Kenny & Dolly's big duet hit, Islands in the Stream.  Dolly had to do a lot of fancy vocal gymnastics to cover for Kenny's aging vocal chords.   To spite Kenny's obvious struggles vocally their on stage chemistry was undeniable and was shining brighter than ever.   You can tell they just love playing in the same sandbox together!   After some sit down and chat time following the "surprise," duet, Oprah asked Kenny to close the show with his biggest hit, The Gambler with Dolly and Oprah doing backup.   Thankfully Dolly's vocal gymnastics were able to completely cover up Oprah's singing, if in fact she was singing.   Unfortunately not even Dolly could cover up Oprah's Whitney Houston like attempt at trying to dance/move to the music.   I feel so uncomfortable when Oprah feels the need to even sway to the music let alone (clearing throat)....ummmmmm........dance.

Kenny begin to sing and his aged growly vocals actually added a good ole Hollywood Old West feel that gave the hit, The Gambler, another layer, a spicier note.   Although I know every word of this old hit by heart it seemed for the first time I really heard it.  Maybe it was the influence of listening to Oprah for an hour; but I thought, my lord above The Gambler sure does have a lot to say about life.   If we can acknowledge that life is ultimately a gamble then like the Gambler we start to know there are times we stay and sweat it out then there are times we know we have to walk away.   In the best case scenario we can only hope to break even in this life.

I will admit that I am not a "New Country," fan.   So my love of Country Music comes from what I consider the classics like:  Dolly Parton (of course!), Hank Williams (Sr.), Loretta Lynn, Johnny Cash, Merle Haggard, Tammy Wynette, Kitty Wells, Patsy Cline, George Jones, Barbara Mandrell, Kenny Rogers, Willie Nelson, Jim Reeves, and Marty Robbins.   To me, what is considered "new country, " is not unlikable, but just not dynamic or necessarily very creative.   All the new ladies of country sound the same and it seems all the men are just singing about big butts and happy hour.   The songs of new country don't tell a story, the vocals all run together.   When Dolly or Patsy comes on the radio you know who it is immediately within the first note.   The same with George or Willie.  Their voices were distinct and their songs all told stories, words you can remember.

There are few exceptions to my disdain for "new country."  First of all I do think that Martina McBride and Allison Krause who are not really "new country,"  have, however come along within the last twenty years which doesn't really qualify them for "classic," or "legend," status yet, however they do echo some of the same amazing qualities and distinct voices that will last and emerge as classics and legends in years to come.   I don't necessarily like Taylor Swifts music because I'm older and so the teenage voice in which she writes her music is a bit too immature for me; but she is poised to last a long time because she does possess one of those distinct voices and she does have talent in writing lyrics.   Brad Paisley stands out as a distinct voice and clever lyrical guy.   Beyond that, unfortunately, the new country has the same problem as pop music has right now in which it all tends to blend and fade into itself because after a while they all start to sound the same and say the same things.

When Carrie Underwood pleads for Jesus to take the wheel, I don't feel much and I feel like even the good Lord above sighs a heavy sigh and rolls his eyes.   When Dolly talks of Jesus and Gravity I hear her struggle between ego and humble confession to basic human weakness.   When Loretta warns : "women like you are a dime a dozen you can buy 'em anywhere for you to get to him I'd have to move over but I'm gonna stand right here it'll be over my dead body so get out while you can, 'cause you ain't woman enough to take my man," let me tell you I think even forty something years later cheating husbands and bleach bottled husband stealing sluts all cringe and look for the nearest cellar to hide in.   There are truths and dare I say life lessons to be gleaned from a classic country song.   Words mean something in any good song and a good song becomes a legendary hit when that those words speak to someone's heart or to a time, place, an era.   And when you continue to learn something from a seemingly simple song like Kenny's Gambler of Dolly's Coat of Many Colors it becomes more than just a legend to the individual that is touched, moved, inspired, or all three.   I can promise I didn't learn anything from Trace Atkin's "Bedunky Dunk," and the only movement it caused within me was of nausea inducing proportions; but thanks to Kenny's Gambler I can know when to walk away or run when a bad song comes on.

My Brain Hurts (Thanks Alot Jeneane Garofalo!)

Last night I attended the live taping of Jeneane Garofalo's new comedy DVD at the historic Moore Theater in Seattle's Belltown district.   Having not really followed Jeaneane's career that closely, I kind of looked at the evening as a great time to hang with some good friends I had not seen in a while.   I did not expect to have my insides turned inside out from laughter and my brain feeling like it was pulsing out of my head.   I'm just saying Jeaneane rocked the comedy mic last night!

Beyond Jeaneane rocking I also found myself getting inside her head a bit.   I got it!   I GOT IT!   It is so weird to sit and have a moment of recognition of yourself in someone else and not really be able to forge together an idea of how to express that moment.   I am still reeling.   The only way to explain it is that for the first time I saw someone on stage try to express how their brain works when they are very self aware that it doesn't necessarily think along the same humanoid lines as yours do.   Her comedy and slant on life in general does not color within any box, it spurts outside the box and into another dimension.   I saw someone on stage being able to "not be able," to express themselves and do it in a humorous way.   That is a whole other layer.   To bring comedy out of your own frustrated and tired brain and lay it out there raw with the full disclaimer to yourself that you know the laughter is not necessarily coming out of a place of getting what you're saying but more in how you are physically saying it.

The more I try to describe my out of body comedy experience last night the more my brain hurts.   Thanks alot Jeaneane!  

PS:   Jeaneane, ya know how you think that Natalie Portman has never shit, that she was too good to defecate, well I have thought that about Dolly Parton for years.   I can never ever believe that woman even leaks a poot let alone drops a loaf, Dolly and Natalie are just too pristine for that kind of humanoid waste action!   (If ya get the DVD you'll get that inside post script!)   ;-)

The Mother Load (Remembering Erma Bombeck)

On this Mother's day I could not help but think of Erma Bombeck and her prolific humorous columns and books on the everyday pitfalls and joys of being a mom.   When I look back on my childhood I realize my own poor mother probably did not know what she had given birth to.   I admit I was an odd child.   By age five I had declared my undying love for Dolly Parton and had memorized a good portion of the lyrics to her biggest hits.   In kindergarten I played Wonder Woman, running around, spinning from Diana Prince into Wonder Woman, playing a pretty mean air magic lasso and putting foil on my wrists to deflect bullets.   I can't imagine why the other boys wanted to beat me up.   By third grade I was hopelessly addicted to Judy Blume books and Nancy Drew mystery novels.   I admit I didn't quite understand everything I was learning while reading Judy Blume's classic "Are You There God, It's Me Margaret," but I was hooked!   By fifth grade I had discovered Erma Bombeck.  I first heard her on Good Morning America one morning when I had stayed home sick from school.   She made me laugh and I was instantly attached to her.   I found out she wrote a column and drove my mom nuts trying to track down a news paper that might carry her column, at the time our local paper only carried columns by Ann Landers and yes, Billy Graham.  

Realizing my mom could not track down a newspaper with Erma's column every week made me put on my thinking cap for a solution to feed my need for more Erma in my young budding literary mind and so I headed out to the library and found her articles that way.   It was while I was walking out of the library one day that my eye caught the name "Erma," on a book's spine on a stack return cart as I neared the exit.  I spun around and to my delirious surprise it was an Erma Bombeck.   It was called, "Aunt Erma's Cope Book," and I quickly checked it out.  My love for Erma's brand of home spun humor hooked me.   I guess when you are running around pretending to be Wonder Woman during  PE and reading Judy Blume, Nancy Drew, and Erma Bombeck it is pretty hard to fit in, so I never tried.   If the price of being able to read these delicious books was getting picked on, I could survive.   Besides, I always had Erma to cheer me up.

As much as Erma pointed out the less than joyous rigors of being a mother, I felt like she helped bring about insight into a mother's life all the while with her rye brand of humor.   I got it and I think it helped me understand a little bit of what my own mother might be going thru.  

During my mother's day call to my mom today we took little trips down memory lane remembering the absurd as well as the sweet moments  it reinforced Erma Bombeck's important place not only as a legendary humorist but also her own gift to mothers for years to come.   A gift of being able to see someone else's shared experiences in child rearing and marriage and the gift of being able to laugh at themselves.  A gift of celebrating the importance of motherhood as well as deflating some of the seriousness of the job.  

Re-reading some of Erma's writing today I am so glad I was that weird little boy in my elementary school.   I feel like I kind of won the mother load:  a good mom and a healthy respect in my early introduction to the one and only Ms. Erma Bombeck.   Happy Mother's day Mom, and Happy Mother's day Erma, I thank you both!