“At least we got a brief opportunity to look at Levine’s 2 percent body fat.” — Esquire magazine on Adam Levine‘s halftime performance during the Super Bowl.
Virginity is vastly overrated – and I say that as someone who held onto at least portions of his far longer than most (although I made up for lost time). I also think that virginity might cause at least partial mental instability. Two popular shows on network television currently feature high-profile virgins. One is dumb as a stump, and the other is batshit crazy. I don’t mean to disparage either of these people, but I believe perhaps their celibacy has played at least some part in their tenuous grasp on reality. So the next time someone proposes something beyond your level of expertise, give it a try. It may actually help…even if initially it hurts.
If there’s one thing that works out less often than being a virgin, it’s being in a throuple. And I’m not talking about casual encounters, in which case I say the more, the merrier. But if you think being in a relationship with one person is hard, try two. Frankie Grande tried his share of combinations before going public around Halloween as being the proverbial third wheel to a very hot couple. Apparently it wasn’t all smooth sailing. “You have double the highs, double the excitement, but also double the lows, double the drama.” Those heady days have passed. “I am single. I’ve been single for about a month now.” Probably spending most of his time in a sitz bath!
The big gay story last week was the attack on “Empire” star Jussie Smollett. I was kinda shocked at the reaction. First, some of my dearest childhood friends questioned if the attack really took place, or if Jussie was simply looking for publicity. “Something doesn’t ring true,” one said on Facebook. Yeah, because if I were looking for publicity, I’d tie a noose around my neck and douse myself in bleach! Then someone pointed out to me the social media posts by organizations that used this attack as an opportunity to promote themselves. Shameful.
As of the writing of this column, here’s what we know. On the evening of Monday, Jan. 28, Jussie had flown from New York to Chicago – where “Empire” shoots and where Smollett has an apartment. Around 2 a.m., he was hungry and went to a 24-hour Subway (and, if I might inject a bit of levity into this difficult story, let me note that nothing good happens at a Subway at 2 a.m.). When he left the Subway (presumably with his sub), two white men wearing ski masks approached him and yelled out, “Aren’t you that faggot ‘Empire’ n****r?” They then allegedly attacked Jussie, put a rope around his neck, and poured bleach on him, saying “This is MAGA country” as they ran away. After reporting the crime to the police, Jussie got himself to Northwestern Memorial Hospital where he was treated for a fractured rib. A couple of days later, Chicago Police released a photo of “persons of interest” that shows two men on a neighboring street around the time of the attack.
I will admit, all of this raises several questions – who is walking around Chicago at 2 a.m. with a noose and bleach? There is speculation that Smollett was targeted, as he had earlier received a letter that was sent to the “Empire” set and threatened, “You will die black fag,” with a return address that simply said “MAGA.” Also, a woman who lives in Smollett’s building says that when she took her dog out to pee at 12:30 a.m., she saw a suspicious man lingering. On the flip side, Smollett says that at the time of the attack, he was talking to his manager on his cell phone. So, the police asked to examine the phone – Jussie declined. Police say he was not obligated to share the handset or phone records. And, frankly, as a gay man, I don’t think I’d want the fuzz looking into the bowels of my mobile, either.
I don’t regularly watch “Flipping Out.” In fact, I try to avoid it. So, I didn’t realize Jeff and Gage were not married – but who cares? If straights can have kids out of wedlock and be sued by their surrogates, why not gays? I found out the couple wasn’t married because Jeff announced that Gage had moved out last week. He says that for most of the past year, Gage had been in a separate bedroom and the two have primarily been friends with benefits – the benefit, if you ask me, is that you get your own room! I don’t have a dog in this fight (no offense), but I’d like to make one general observation: one doesn’t marry a Gage. One has meaningless sex with a Gage. Hot, meaningless, nasty sex. Like, I once slept with someone named Brick. I can’t swear that was his real name – I never checked his papers. The Gages and Bricks of the world are the guys you fool around with in the bathroom while your boyfriend is waiting at the table in the restaurant. You want a drama-free life? Marry someone with a name out of the Bible. Except Lazarus – every time you think you’re done, he’ll spring back to life and you’ll never get any sleep.
Until next time, remember, one man’s filth is another man’s bible.