© Breeze Vincinz
One of the occupational hazards of living in Los Angeles is this city's incessant fascination with the life and lifestyle of celebrities. It's an old yet frustratingly true cliché about the ole city of angels. You can't take a crap in this city without having somebody with a respectable imdb profile in the stall right next to you. And with them come the paparazzi who have blood signed deals with the devil to get cash for getting even the most indistinguishable shots of even the most indistinguishable celebrities doing the most indistinguishable things in exchange for a little dignity, a little honor and more than likely at least one testicle.
And as much as intelligent contemporary audiences decry the audacities of those lizard cunts with auto focus and telephoto lenses, somebody's paying attention to them. Here in Los Angeles you will be hard pressed to turn on the television and not find some Entertainment Tonight Extra TMZ Insider TSH (That's So Hollywood) Celebrity Exposé drivel showcasing the beauty of the rich and thin (then demonizing the ones who decided to make that their goal then fail horribly at it).
And while rich white girls have been notably and understandably demonized during the celebrity witch hunts of 2007, I did find myself fascinated with the celebration and/or degradation of three E-List celebrities last year, Chris Crocker, Sanjaya Malakar and Perez Hilton, mainly for the noticeably gay slant they brought to the table.
Even if you haven't been keeping up with the sink hole known as Brittney, more than likely you have seen blonde by bottle Chris Crocker crying his baby blues pleading to cyberspace with all the desperation of a dying man for the world to just "leave her alone!" Sanjaya Malakar was one of the most memorable reality television stars by having the most consecutive off key performances in the history of American Idol. The fascination, celebration and eventual degradation of both of these individuals, however, was not totally in what they did in 2007, but more in who they are, two really fey men.
There have been many people who have supported Brittany's crazy ass in the past and there have been a plethora of people whose voices could induce gastro problems in cows on American Idol, but none have ever done it with as much direct and indirect male girlpower as Chris and Sanjaya and I often wondered if their heightened feminine appearances was a major factor in the media's voracious need to rake them over the coals. I can't help but wonder if America's longtime apprehension of effeminate men and homosexuality in general was the true reason these two were put on the spit? And as homosexuals, what exactly should our stance be?
Enter Perez Hilton. Perez Hilton has been slowly making a name for himself by being the "go to" guy to find all the dirt in regards to celebrities. Like Chris and Sanjaya, he too carries himself in a flamboyantly gay manner, to wit his critics attribute to being his allure or deterrent depending on their current mood. But without the gay hair and Cyndi Brady meets West Hollywood lisp, seriously, would anybody give a shit about Perez Hilton? He uses his flamboyancy the same way Don King uses his hair, and for that, I can't be mad at him (despite the fact he actually could be siphoning off the gay civil rights efforts made of the past couple of decades in effort to buy a couple of more boxes of Manic Panic AfterMidnight Blue).
I know that I am not comfortable with the idea of my own sexuality being so subjective to greater society; I don't want it to be the ulterior side note one keeps handy, ready to be used as icing if I succeed or bullets once I fuck up. I could simply be a hack writer. But with the whole gay thing, I would be the hack writer without a gag reflex because I give head so much. And I guess I don't want the lack of having a gag reflex to my "thing". I don't want it to be my blue hair, my off key feminine tune, my mascara-running call for a better Brittany understanding world. I would want to just work on not being a hack writer.
But God bless those three for taking their lemons and making lemonade. Let's just hope I can be such a mixologist if I find myself caught in the predicament of my craft on the spit and my sexuality dangling on display. Just a forewarning, if you ever see me with pink hair, now you know why.
One of the occupational hazards of living in Los Angeles is this city's incessant fascination with the life and lifestyle of celebrities. It's an old yet frustratingly true cliché about the ole city of angels. You can't take a crap in this city without having somebody with a respectable imdb profile in the stall right next to you. And with them come the paparazzi who have blood signed deals with the devil to get cash for getting even the most indistinguishable shots of even the most indistinguishable celebrities doing the most indistinguishable things in exchange for a little dignity, a little honor and more than likely at least one testicle.And as much as intelligent contemporary audiences decry the audacities of those lizard cunts with auto focus and telephoto lenses, somebody's paying attention to them. Here in Los Angeles you will be hard pressed to turn on the television and not find some Entertainment Tonight Extra TMZ Insider TSH (That's So Hollywood) Celebrity Exposé drivel showcasing the beauty of the rich and thin (then demonizing the ones who decided to make that their goal then fail horribly at it).
And while rich white girls have been notably and understandably demonized during the celebrity witch hunts of 2007, I did find myself fascinated with the celebration and/or degradation of three E-List celebrities last year, Chris Crocker, Sanjaya Malakar and Perez Hilton, mainly for the noticeably gay slant they brought to the table.Even if you haven't been keeping up with the sink hole known as Brittney, more than likely you have seen blonde by bottle Chris Crocker crying his baby blues pleading to cyberspace with all the desperation of a dying man for the world to just "leave her alone!" Sanjaya Malakar was one of the most memorable reality television stars by having the most consecutive off key performances in the history of American Idol. The fascination, celebration and eventual degradation of both of these individuals, however, was not totally in what they did in 2007, but more in who they are, two really fey men.
There have been many people who have supported Brittany's crazy ass in the past and there have been a plethora of people whose voices could induce gastro problems in cows on American Idol, but none have ever done it with as much direct and indirect male girlpower as Chris and Sanjaya and I often wondered if their heightened feminine appearances was a major factor in the media's voracious need to rake them over the coals. I can't help but wonder if America's longtime apprehension of effeminate men and homosexuality in general was the true reason these two were put on the spit? And as homosexuals, what exactly should our stance be?Enter Perez Hilton. Perez Hilton has been slowly making a name for himself by being the "go to" guy to find all the dirt in regards to celebrities. Like Chris and Sanjaya, he too carries himself in a flamboyantly gay manner, to wit his critics attribute to being his allure or deterrent depending on their current mood. But without the gay hair and Cyndi Brady meets West Hollywood lisp, seriously, would anybody give a shit about Perez Hilton? He uses his flamboyancy the same way Don King uses his hair, and for that, I can't be mad at him (despite the fact he actually could be siphoning off the gay civil rights efforts made of the past couple of decades in effort to buy a couple of more boxes of Manic Panic AfterMidnight Blue).
I know that I am not comfortable with the idea of my own sexuality being so subjective to greater society; I don't want it to be the ulterior side note one keeps handy, ready to be used as icing if I succeed or bullets once I fuck up. I could simply be a hack writer. But with the whole gay thing, I would be the hack writer without a gag reflex because I give head so much. And I guess I don't want the lack of having a gag reflex to my "thing". I don't want it to be my blue hair, my off key feminine tune, my mascara-running call for a better Brittany understanding world. I would want to just work on not being a hack writer.But God bless those three for taking their lemons and making lemonade. Let's just hope I can be such a mixologist if I find myself caught in the predicament of my craft on the spit and my sexuality dangling on display. Just a forewarning, if you ever see me with pink hair, now you know why.
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