The White Peril 白禍

This just in: Irreverence seen in costuming at Hallowe'en party:

Despite a public outcry from gay, Jewish and African American civil rights groups, Virginia Military Institute will allow its own students to investigate a party at which some cadets dressed in drag while others wore Nazi uniforms and still others were in black face.

Pictures of the Halloween party only came to light on weekend when it was learned they had been posted on the Internet.

One picture shows three cadets in VMI uniform shirts giving the Nazi salute to the camera. Two of the students are wearing swastika armbands and one had a Hitler-style mustache.

Another photo shows a cadet was dressed as "a starving African". Other pictures show two men in tiaras, wigs and eye shadow. Both are wearing underpants and tank tops that read, "I [heart] a man in uniform."

There is also a picture of a man in a loincloth wearing dark makeup, and one of a man with a bull's-eye drawn on the rear of his pants.

Ooh, tell me more about that one! Was he hot? Did he have a bubble butt to do it justice?

Unfortunately, the article takes off in a different direction:

Advocacy groups called the pictures disturbing.

"There's nothing funny about gay men and lesbians in uniform right now risking their lives in Iraq," Dyana Mason, executive director of Equality Virginia told the Roanoke Times.

"As future leaders in the military, they [cadets] have to understand you can't make of fun of people at their expense."

I agree. It's too bad the rest of America doesn't take a cue from us gays, who wouldn't think of showing up at a Hallowe'en party ironically dressed as a nun (bonus points for studded leather underwear that can be flashed with a lift of the habit), a priest (bp's for bringing a friend dressed as a corruptible altar boy), a naval officer (Tom of Finland-style, with too-tight and too-unbuttoned uniform), or a rich Reagan-era Republican (who entertains all with cheery banalities about trickle-down economics).

Is it too much to ask that our flacks remember that there are straight folks out there who have actually...um...met homosexuals? A queer activist who lectures at people about being more poker-faced and pious is asking to be laughed off-stage.

Added on 1 February: Thanks to Chris and Michael for the links. Since they mean that someone I don't know might read this, I suppose I should clarify something. (I cut this out of the original post in a doubtless short-lived nod to conciseness):

I don't think that it's possible, even in photographs, to read people's thinking very well. Those wearing swastikas could have been viciously parodying the Nazis, after the fashion of Colonel Klink and Sergeant Schultz on Hogan's Heroes. Those who gave the Sieg heil! salute could have been taking a rare opportunity to chafe at the hyperdisciplined atmosphere imposed by their instructors by satirizing it. It's possible that the "starving African" and drag queens are polite and easygoing around individuals of all kinds but are sick to death of PC coercive compassion (to use Camille Paglia's term) and identity politicking.

The point that people who enroll at a military academy are signing on to more rigorous standards of behavior, and that they're going to represent America in official ways that most of us don't have to worry about, is a good one. But, for pity's sake, it's a bleedin' Hallowe'en party for a bunch of guys in their late teens and early 20s, off the chain for some well-earned carousing. Do we expect them to come as their favorite Mother Goose characters? I could certainly see their superiors' advising them to err in the direction of avoiding the appearance of evil...by having the kind of party they like off-time and being sure not to--hello?!--post pictures of it on the Internet.

Weird week. Atsushi was here for a belated anniversary celebration, which was the highlight; of course, it meant I was keyed up before that. Friend's birthday last Sunday...Monday? Anyway, uncharacteristic work-night carousing. Made for some odd communing between self and current project. Probably odd posts, too.

Somewhere in there, a friend--not a birthday boy--asked me what he was doing wrong. You know, to find a boyfriend worth making a life with. It's not the sort of question you can respond to with, "Just about everything," even if that's pretty much the answer. This is one of those guys who...his way of showing a man he's interested is to be all effusive and touchy. Not touchy in a caddish way, where you have to glare at him and be like, "Sorry, bro, that's my knee"--just with the flirtatious-hand-on-shoulder thing. And he giggles and blushes. A lot.

Now, there's nothing wrong with being jolly and boyish, but if you're too jolly and boyish...and you go for big Australian guys...and you have a tendency to act shocked and affronted when they get the idea they're going to score with you, you are asking for trouble. Talking to my friend about this stuff reminds me of those dead-end discussions we had in college about whether a woman is being "provocative" if she goes around in an eyelet camisole and micromini and can't talk to a man without flipping her hair.

[CNN-related aside: Speaking of clothing choices, who the hell told Dianne Feinstein that the pale-green jade beads were a good idea with the black jacket? She looks as if she were about to show Princess Aurora something in the way of a nice, new spinning wheel.]

My friend fails, in the by-the-book way, to see where the problem might lie. I mean that he hasn't made the basic connection between, on the one hand, behavior that attracts men and gives you the thrill of being admired and, on the other, behavior that signals you're eager to provide a different kind of thrill in return later. You don't have to subscribe to the revolting belief that you owe a guy sex if you let him buy you a drink in order to believe that it's dishonest and manipulative to push his buttons to shore up your ego. My friend is well-intentioned and really doesn't seem to see it that way, and (at least where I usually run into him) the guys behind the bar as well as his buddies know how to keep an eye on him. It's just frustrating when someone asks you something important and doesn't want to hear the answer.

[Is Jane Harman the most annoying person in the world, or what? Sweetie, it's okay to choke out a single sentence without taking a dig at the President, sometimes. No, really--we'll be able to remember you hate him even if we go 30 seconds without hearing about it.]

In better news, since Atsushi was home for the weekend, I was able to pass along my parents' Christmas present to him, which arrived in the mail after he'd gone home from the New Year. He'd given them a figurine for the Year of the Rooster, so they gave him one back: a cat, probably because he played so easily with my parents' two (real ones, not figurines) when I brought him home two years ago. They're Siamese, so suffering themselves to be played with is not a habit.

The weather is supposed to turn cold today in his part of Japan--actually, along the Sea of Japan coast overall, I think. It's windier and colder than last week here in Tokyo, too, but it's still clear. I probably ought to air the rugs while I can. Now that Aaron Brown is on television, I probably ought to change the channel, too. Criminy.

I like John Corvino's latest article posted to IGF, but, then, I like his writing in general. I could have done without the Rosa Parks analogy, which he crashes through the guardrail and follows in flames as it rolls down the ravine (just to be gallant and cover his bad conceit-making with my own). His priorities are in the right place, though, and I join him in wondering how other people can possibly fail to see this stuff:

Is that name difference silly? Yes, it's silly � maybe even insulting. But when health benefits are denied to committed same-sex couples, when a person can't get bereavement leave upon the death of her same-sex partner; when loving couples are split apart because one partner is a foreigner and can't get citizenship, that's far worse than silly or insulting � it's downright cruel. I contend that we have a fighting chance at ending such cruelty, and that once we do so we'll have an even better chance at ending the silly name-difference (again, see Scandinavia).

I still don't agree that attaining marriage under that name must, must, must be the goal. Even if we accept that legal and social circumstances are unequal now, it's possible that opening marriage to gays is not the solution in the best interest of the larger society (including us gays). If the child-rearing function really is central to marriage, perhaps it needs to be reemphasized through stiffened divorce laws and greater penalties for parents who make spurious accusations at each other in custody battles, for example.

The interference in individuals' ability to make contracts that dictate the disposal of their possessions and persons if they're incapacitated isn't even a given everywhere; as Corvino says, we need to start there. Forget even the part about "recognition of our relationships" in the general sense, or at least, hold it in abeyance. Accusations like the one in the hate mail with which Corvino opens his article can only come from people who don't see the current social and political climate for what it really is, a phenomenon that may be partially explained by their tendency to reach for invective when they should be assessing and countering arguments.

Along those lines, I'm sorry to see that Maggie Gallagher is the latest columnist who took pay by the Bush administration to plug programs and is only now disclosing it. Gallagher is not my favorite person, as you might imagine. She has always struck me as principled, though, and I've cringed whenever I've seen someone from my team decide that the way to provide a witty and substantive refutation of one of her pieces is to call her a bitch. What she's done isn't an ethical infraction of epic proportions, but it doesn't speak well of her--how does one forget about a contract for two grand, exactly? And even if her support for the program was there for the asking, anyway, is it impossible to believe that she might have been inclined not to publicize such flaws as it might have had once she and the government had an understanding?

What this does do is give people who could learn from Gallagher's arguments a new, easy reason to dismiss her as a bankrupt thinker. That's not exactly what we need on either side at the moment. (The Gallagher story was foreshadowed by Instapundit and Drudge.)

Why do ads targeted at gay men always have to feature shirtless kouros figures, ask Michael and Chris? (It was especially fun to read this complaint on a blog called "boy's briefs" with a masthead photograph of a few hundred shirtless men milling around in the sun.)

I think part of it has to do with the kind of advertising they're looking at. I don't exactly make a habit of reading Out or The Advocate (or, if it's still around, Genre) when I'm back in the States--all that contemptuous muttering tends to make people at surrounding tables look up from their coffee--but you see plenty of ordinary ads there with properly clothed people.

Unsolicited mail and cheapo ads tucked in 2" X 2" boxes on back pages are placed by different companies. They target not "gay men" in general but the lowest common denominator--by which I mean both the types of guys who organize their entire lives around making pick-ups and the sucker in all of us who falls for non-reasoning that says, "Buying XYZ will unleash pleasures akin to having a romp with that muffin there in the picture." It's not as if you didn't see farm and automotive equipment being pitched to straight men with pictures of busty women in bikinis and pink workgloves, too.

Personally, I find these things tedious more for (warning: old, tired complaint ahead) the homogeneity of the men than for anything else. Back in the Calvin Klein bus ad era, the N'aired chests and improbably defined muscles were allusive and stimulating. I still remember smiling up at the giant Samsung ad (with the brawny man with a microwave under his arm) across from Port Authority whenever I came back to New York from home a decade ago. Now that every picture of a gay guy outside Honcho looks like that--usually showing the face with a bland Ken doll expression, too--it's played out and enervating. Seeing a guy with a jaw full of whiskers and a chest resurfaced to look like vinyl, my first thought these days is less like Mmmm! and more like I hope you keep your nails trimmed, 'cause you are gonna be feelin' the itch day after tomorrow, honey!

Now that Nathan is decamping for Hawaii, it's apparently time for gay Spokane to make its move:

Spokane already has a gay newspaper, Stonewall News Northwest, and some businesses that cater to gay residents. It has had an openly gay member of the City Council.

But creating a district is still important, Reguindin said.

"It would help youth struggling with their sexuality to realize they don't have to go away to a big city to be gay. You can be gay right here in Spokane," Reguindin said.

Farand Gunnels, local representative for the Pride Foundation, a Seattle-based group that gives grants to support the gay community, wondered if there were enough gay residents in Spokane to support such a district.

The INBA is also preparing to launch a "visibility campaign," in which businesses will be asked to display signs in their windows proclaiming their support for gay, lesbian, bisexual and transgender people.

"We'll know where we will be welcome and patronize those businesses," Aspen said. "We've had a very positive reaction from the business community."

Gay customers will be able to leave special cards at businesses they patronize, to let the owners know they were there, Aspen said.

"It will give Spokane an idea of the economic impact gay people have," Aspen said.

True, but it could also convince people that it's not possible for us to pay for a bottle of Windex without announcing that we're homos, which will not exactly militate against the stereotype that we've got sex on the brain 24-7. (It could produce a few comical exchanges, though. "Oh, here's my queer card. Do I just give it to you?" "No fooling! A gallon of whole milk, a dozen eggs, and Hydrox cookies? I thought all you boys were anorexic.") Also, if there's already a gay newspaper and there's been a gay city council member, does there need to be a whole neighborhood for gay youths to figure out that they might be able to find mates in their hometown?

I don't have any trouble with a bunch of investors starting gay-themed businesses on a street where properties are available, obviously. Announcing that you're pre-planning the creation of a full gay district strikes me as asking for trouble, though. Opponents will have an open invitation to blame gay life for any and every new social ill that hits the place. Some will do that even if a group of gay investors decides to gravitate toward a cluster of shopfronts and beat-up old houses, of course, but the increased revenue and residential gentrification are more likely to register as benefits because they won't seem like part of some institutionally-funded plot to give the gays a home base.

Added on 25 January: Michael (the sort of squeamish Charlie who apparently can't eat squid unless it's edited to look non-threatening, like X-large Spaghettios) also has a reaction to this, which he cross-posted at Dean's World and got an interesting discussion going.

Gay Orbit notes that GayPatriot appears to have cast the apple of discord in our midst with the varying opinions of its proprietors about whether it's the new Daily Dish. Others are already doing all the wrangling necessary, so I will confine myself to two points I don't think are being given sufficient attention:

First, yes, Andrew Sullivan has turned into a wet noodle. It's painful to see, and his opining now frequently ranges from the silly to the outrageous. Let's remember something, though, shall we? A decade ago, he was using his print and television presence to show a rare face of gentlemanly, reasonable gayness. The gay marriage argument has moved beyond his early books, but back then, the opposition really did tend to confine itself to things like, "Gays have sex, not love." At the level to which the debate had progressed, Sullivan was one of the few major figures who made rational arguments that gays were responsible enough to be fully included in society.

This past year or so has been a test of his principles, and he's flunked so far. There's always hope that he'll get it together, but he completely deserves the drubbing many of his current positions are taking. That doesn't change the fact that he made a lasting contribution to gay advocacy; it's unseemly to be slagging him off as if he were a terminally-empty Richard Goldstein type who'd recently found a way, somehow, to become even more tiresome. Show some respect.

Second, Gay Patriot wants attention, and I think it's wonderful that he and his thoughtful collaborator are getting it. I don't like the idea that for eternity there will be a single Andrew Sullivan Chair in Non-Commie Homosexuality that has to be filled, with every other gay who opens his mouth considered leftist until proven innocent; but there's nothing wrong with having one commentator or blog that's the most prominent exponent of right-leaning gay thought.

And yet...I think GP mentioned once that he works in marketing, and, well, I believe him. I mean that in both good and bad ways. GP and GPW are good at soundbites, and soundbites are useful in blogging. They get quoted, and they're attached to a site called GayPatriot, and that does good, necessary work in demonstrating that not gays are not all lockstep leftists who look down on America.

At the same time, I worry. I worry because the guys at GayPatriot don't seem to recognize that you can't stop at marketing. At times, they do make solid, worked-out arguments; but for the most part, when one of their political posts sounds good, it sounds good because you're filling in the gaps between catchy pronouncements with actual facts or logical constructions you've read elsewhere. When GP, especially, needs to make a case that has no evidence to corroborate his--there's the hilarious story of the bottle thrown at his car and the more serious allegation that LCR's Chris Barron may have had divided loyalties up to very late in the election year--he doesn't show much inclination to ascertain and then question his own assumptions in order to strengthen his story. (I suppose it's possible that each of these posts was followed up with more hard evidence, but I read GayPatriot regularly and am pretty sure I'd have remembered; they both made me practically fall off my chair at the time.)

The guys at GayPatriot also don't seem to understand that, while they deserve kudos for publicizing their unpopular political opinions, their mindset about people is stereotypical urban-gay, and not in the good way. Here's GP demonstrating that he's more all-American than Andrew Sullivan:

Andrew's main problem is that he, along with his fellow Clinton Democrats, do not understand Red State (and the majority of) America. He admits he doesn't like or "get" country music, for example. Funny, my iPod continously brings up Kenny Chesney on random rotation.

I know people who grew up in rural Kentucky that can't stand country music; there are also New York music critics who can go off for days about how wonderful George Jones and Loretta Lynn are. But neither of those is really the point--the point is that GP is fixated on the artifacts rather than the attitude. Do you use your music to make a statement about yourself, or do you figure that people's integrity is pretty much unrelated to whether they have Cher or Reba in the CD player? And, if we're going to use the term, which mental framework is more "Red State"? (I admit I laughed at the hockey joke, though.)

There are a lot of nice people in the blogosphere who are looking for reasons not to think uncharitably about gays and who are very receptive to GayPatriot's message, which is great. Some of them have day jobs as journalists and could get the site real exposure, which is also great. For now. But the more attention they get, the more likely it becomes that they will run into skeptical people who hold you accountable for everything you say and expect finely-woven arguments. If they don't start figuring out how to provide them, they'll make themselves and the rest of us look bad.

I don't agree with Michael about marriage policy, but I think he's dead right about this:

[We're part of everyday life.] And it�s our job as gay people to let people know we exist, that we live and work with them, and that we�re family members. You don�t do yourself or anyone else any good when you cry �unfair� from your closet.

You either stay closeted or get to complain that people aren't doing enough to make your gay life easier, but not both. It's perfectly honorable to believe that your sexual orientation is a private matter and live by it. You might (in fact, you almost inevitably would) think gay activists are idiots, but you wouldn't bitch that society is standing in your way. I'm also not referring to what people do on-line--there are lots of reasons people don't use their own names that have nothing to do with embarrassment at being known as gay.

What I mean are the types like this guy a few months ago--I thought I'd drop my drink right there--who thought that he'd have an easier time coming out to his parents if gay marriage were legal, 'cause, see, then he could go with his new spouse and simultaneously come out and reassure his parents that he had someone to take care of him. He had obviously given this some thought and, in the manner of all thoroughly insane people, presented it in the even tones of one who knows he's being perfectly rational. I'm afraid I myself may have reacted like a raving lunatic: "You think the folks are going to take it better if you present your entrance into what they consider a degradation of a sacred institution as a fait accompli? That that's going to mitigate their anger at having been lied to for your entire adult life that work kept you too busy to socialize and you just hadn't found the right girl?" The hardships involved in being gay make integrity more, not less, necessary.

Can we please call a moratorium on asking other adults, "Why are you so quiet?" That kind of question is just--just barely--passable when addressed to a five-year-old you're trying to encourage not to be shy about joining a conversation with all the adults.

When the person you're addressing is 32, it's inane. I mean, what answer are you expecting, pray tell? "Well, the truth is, I'm painfully shy, and I was just waiting for a big, strong busybody like you to come over here and bring me right out of it"? Maybe next time, I should make my eyes swim dangerously and say, "I'm trying out my Jeffrey Dahmer act," just to see how that goes over.

I know I sound obnoxious here. There genuinely are painfully shy gay guys who just wish people would come up to them and flirt when they go out, and here I am bitching that guys are talking to me and asking questions that don't suit me. But that's not my point. My point is, if you want to start a conversation, start a conversation. I have no objection to being asked where I'm from, how long I've been in Japan, do I like Tokyo. Those are the obvious points of departure, but you're supposed to use them to depart somewhere. I'm flattered when someone takes an interest in me, but I don't consider it a proper conversation if I'm just being called upon to hold forth on the details of my personality, particularly when my interlocutor then feels at liberty to pass judgment on whether I'm too this or not enough that.

Anyway, regarding quietness: I can't speak for anyone else, but I, for one, am capable of loudly and gratingly monopolizing conversations when I'm in one of my moods. If I'm not doing so, I'm not in one of my moods. Be grateful for lack of bounty. It's nice of you to reassure me that I don't need to feel all abashed in front of the grown-ups, but it's also unnecessary. (The first time, I mean--to say nothing of the next ten repetitions.)

Via Living in Pink, I see that GayPatriot has gotten some trad media attention. Good for its proprietor and his partner. I have my reservations about them, but they're willing to argue for their political positions in common-sense terms that really could do the needed job of getting more exposure for gay conservatives.

Mrs. du Toit also said something in a comment on this post that crystallizes a point I've been thinking about for a while:

I don't think it's endemic to gays particularly, just any group who have activists who make their living convincing people that potty training isn't necessary when there is always someone else to wipe your bum for you.

When people compare the gays rights and civil rights movements, I become very uneasy, because the way they tend to do it is sweeping and lacks (forgive the word choice) nuance. Homosexuality and blackness (or other ethnicity) are not in and of themselves comparable.

The reason I don't think we can throw out the comparison entirely is that the dynamic between each group and its sympathizers is the same, and it's the same in illuminating ways. John McWhorter wrote a few years ago--well, he's said this multiple times in different wording, but I think this was in a review of a book on depictions of blacks on television--that it's a cruel fact that, however horrible racism has been historically and still is in places, black Americans cannot expect to live cushioned lives as a way of making up for it. You work to fix the problems, but you can't expect any kind of cosmic payback.

The failure to understand this is the main problem with gay, feminist, and minority activism. It's one thing to sympathize with people who suffer--I probably had an easier time coming out than most people, but it sure did suck, and I have no objection to people's feeling sorry for me about it--but another thing to let sympathy be the engine that forever drives how you treat them. My experience fits Connie's: gay people aren't any more or less naturally self-pitying than anyone else. There is, however, a part of coming out that involves acknowledging that it was wrong for people imply that you're sick and evil, and when you're not encouraged to move beyond it, it's easy to freeze there and think all your problems come from other people's nastiness. Too many of those who sympathize with gays don't know when to be warmly supportive and when to knock it off and let us learn necessary lessons through bruising experience.

And now that our own crew of activists has made itself an industry in most urban areas, the problem has become self-perpetuating. In order to avoid driving myself crazy, I persist in thinking that no one is willfully trying to turn us all into a bunch of dependent ninnies. Nevertheless, the overall effect of gay advocacy is to tell people they can always think in "How can you fix this for me?" terms and still be regarded as sovereign adults. And, however different the issues addressed by feminist or minority advocacy may in fact be, it does the same damned thing.

It's interesting that Kim du Toit posted a series of pictures of Janine Turner this weekend, because I'd kind of been thinking about her myself.

Atsushi brought back with him a tape of an NHK nature special about Mandarin ducks, not just because I like those sorts of programs but also because of a now sort-of-ongoing joke. When I asked him to pick up another video while he was out shopping, he apparently went to the mystery section and found the series Agatha Christie's Partners in Crime. (The episode he chose, BTW, was The Affair of the Pink Pearl. Yeah, if they ever do start rounding up the queers and herding us into camps, this household'll be the first shoved onto the wagons, baby.)

At first, I assumed he'd picked one of them up because we've already seen all the Miss Marples with the unsurpassable Joan Hickson. Then I looked at the Japanese series title: おしどり探偵 (oshidori tantei: "the Mandarin duck detectives"). This will make sense to those who know the series from twenty years ago on PBS's Mystery! or who read the (badly plotted) novels on which it was based. Partners in Crime--it started as a book of short stories--centered around a husband-wife detective agency. The fun, of course, was seeing how they played off each other. At least, it was supposed to be. The books, as I said, were lame. The series was not, largely because the role of the wife, nicknamed Tuppence, was played by Francesca Annis.

Annis has been known at home in England for decades--I think she's most famous for playing Lady MacBeth. But she also participated in one of the gayest sequences in movie history--at the end of Joseph Mankiewicz's Cleopatra, as one of the queen's handmaids. She's not the one that gets to answer Octavian's retainer ("Was this well done of your lady?") with the gay-coronary-inducing line, "Extremely well--as befitting the last of so many noble...rulers," while sliding poisoned-ly down a polished stone platform. Annis is, rather, the one who hands Elizabeth Taylor the fruit basket, after which there's a brief but unforgettable shot of the darkly glossy figs being stirred from below by the asp.

Speaking of darkly glossy, by the time of Partners in Crime, Annis was mature and beautiful rather than pretty. The scripts frequently called upon her to feign innocence while asking a client or suspect some key question, and she did it expertly: the eyes widen and flash with what looks like guilelessness to the person addressed but can be recognized as shrewdness to the television viewer. And unlike today's flat-voiced starlet types, she could curl her voice up, down, and through syllables very expressively. Wonderfully pert carriage, too. It's a shame, as I say, that the plots made Charlie's Angels look intelligent.

And I realized while watching it this weekend that it was Francesca Annis whom Janine Turner had been reminding me of, which had been driving me crazy because I couldn't figure it out. One of the cable channels here has been broadcasting, for the last few months, this Lifetime serial about a women's clinic. It's called Strong Medicine, and the first time I happened on its opening credits, I noticed that it was produced by Whoopi Goldberg and was set in Philadelphia. So, of course, I was hoping that it would turn out to be some socially-conscious soap with campy, contrived subplots about women put in horrible positions by the Nasty Patriarchy. I mean, I grew up around people in straitened circumstances and do not dismiss real desperation lightly; by contrast, central-casting desperation, when done with sufficient ham-fisted ineptitude, can be a fiendish delight. And, you know, Whoopi Goldberg as executive producer? Very promising.

My stars, I was not to be disappointed. See, the Rittenhouse Hospital has an OB-GYN for the paying customers who's a luminously beautiful, kind of fragile white girl (this would be Turner's character). She gets to help the well-off with their genteel diseases and need for fetus-threatening surgery. She also gets to fence with the doctor who runs the free clinic. The free clinic, which serves The People, is headed by Dr. Chica Sista-Girlfriend, a Latina single mother who had to work her way through med school, fights for patients who are invisible to the system, and is always there for her son but still works her ass off at the clinic because she Really Cares.

The supporting cast has the unintended-comedy thing down pat, too. There's a male nurse-midwife--a scruffy, gentle-voiced vegan who prescribes massage therapy and stuff. The joke is that people sometimes think he's gay, but we viewers in the tribe know he's not because he quite clearly doesn't think his penis was made for anything except taking a wee-wee. Oh, yeah, and the hospital receptionist is a reformed hooker. She's a black woman. Guess what her assigned personality trait is.

No, really. Guess.
You lose. The correct answer is "shallowness." Kidding! Kidding! Of course, our reformed-hooker receptionist is actually a SASSY black woman. Whoopi Goldberg is looming over this show, after all. Now, the great thing about a program on this kind of PC autopilot is that you don't actually have to watch it to watch it. You can run the vacuum cleaner over the dialogue, go change loads of laundry, and cook in the part of the kitchen from which you can't see the TV, and as long as you saw today's subplots being set up at the beginning, you know exactly what will be happening when you come back in 20 minutes. Of course, you may be wondering why I'd bother, anyway. There are two reasons. One is that the commedia dell'arte levels of subtlety make many of the scenes irresistibly hilarious--and, as you might imagine, the more manipulatively heart-tugging, the funnier. The other is that, when Turner comes on screen, you can't look at anything else. She's given bad hair and make-up, and her chief job is to be thrown into emotional tizzies over her patients' predicaments, but you get the sense that she's overplaying because the director is pushing her to. In the scenes that don't have some kind of sociological point, when she's allowed to relax, the lower register in her voice comes out--both sexier- and more intelligent-sounding than the shrill "On my count!" breathiness she uses when things get frenetic--her brow unfurrows, and she seems as if she really could be a doctor trying to keep her equilibrium. She doesn't actually look or sound like Annis, and the personality traits she's portraying are different. Nevertheless, the effect is similar, because her voice becomes very musical, her eyes look keenly alert, and you get the feeling that she's graciously pretending to be acting in a better show than she really is. Added on 7 January: Revealing the dangerous murder-obsession we all know grips every private gun owner, Jeff at Alphecca also just posted something related to Agatha Christie, listing his favorite books of hers. All good ones. He's also correct that the movie adaptations of Ten Little Indians are all frightful. Directors just can't resist changing the setting to a shadowy, creaky old house and slapping on a happy ending in place of Christie's original very bleak one. I do think, though, that besides the abominable Miss Marple movies with Margaret Rutherford, the very worst Christie adaptation is the 1982-ish all-star The Mirror Crack'd. Angela Lansbury plays Jane Marple in lace-trimmed plunge necklines and with incessant, annoying tosses of the head. Elizabeth Taylor and Kim Novak humiliate themselves in roles as rival has-been actresses; and Rock Hudson walks around clearly thinking that, by comparison, it may not have been so bad to have to pretend to be in love with Doris Day, after all. A complete train wreck, and not a fun one, either.

I need something explained to me, maybe because I'm a moron. This (not an American story, but not dissimilar from things that happen in America, either) is from 365Gay:

Dominique Ripoll-Dausa claims that he and retired millionaire Phillip Middleton considered themselves to be married before Middleton's death last June following a short battle with cancer.

They had been together for 15 years. At the time of his death, Middleton and Ripoll-Dausa were sharing a home.

But, Middleton's parents claim their son was not gay. James and Joan Middleton claimed the two men were only friends and they say they did not draw any inferences from the fact that the two men appeared to share a bed while the family were on holiday together. [You can convince yourself of anything, huh?--SRK]

...

Ripoll-Dausa is asking the Constitutional Court to declare his relationship with Middleton equivalent to that of a married couple. His suit says that the law unconstitutionally discriminates against the rights of gay life partners to inherit their loved one's estates, particularly when the deceased leaves no will.

This never came up in 15 years together? The report doesn't say whether Ripoll-Dausa can live on his own earnings or is a starving-artist type that Middleton was supporting. I can see how you might, if in love with a millionaire, want to avoid too-eager discussions about what's going to happen to all those lovely assets after he's gone, because it could make you sound like a gold-digger even if you aren't one. It's also possible that Middleton didn't want to make a will in his partner's favor because that would make their relationship "official"--someone who's determined not to think of himself as a homosexual can be a bottomless well of rationalizing ingenuity when it comes to that sort of thing.

Whatever the case, no matter how good the companionship, sex, and art collection--am I the only one whose first thought is, Ooh! What was in that art collection?--I can't imagine feeling bonded for life with someone who wasn't willing to be worried big time about how I'd manage if he died. Ripoll-Dausa and Middleton were free to engage in whatever relationship they wished, and maybe the topic was contentious between them or they just didn't like to think about their own mortality.

Never mind. All of this is speculation. What is not speculative is that queers look like jokes when we start bellowing about discrimination to cover our own failures to plan like adults. These two had a decade and a half to have The Talk and write wills--if this guy was a millionaire, you can bet he had a lawyer or five. They had full knowledge that they were not considered married under South African law and therefore had no legal claim on each other's property. I vigorously support domestic partnerships/civil unions, but the case for them is weakened when dizzy bitches don't even bother to use the resources that are available, then act as if the bind they end up in is someone else's fault. Way to underscore that we know how to take charge of our lives, there, guy.