THE MUSINGS OF A NOT-SO-NAKED CIVIL SERVANT

BRITISH ROYALTY AND THE EQUESTRY - A LONG AND HAPPY TRADITION

In a spectacle noted more for its decided austerity than for its jubilee, Prince Charles, the eldest son of Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, of the United  Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland and Her other Realms and Territories Queen, Head of the Commonwealth, Defender of the Faith and The Prince Philip, Duke of Edinburgh (as decreed by Elizabeth the Second, by the Grace of God, etc. etc. etc.) and first (as of this day) in line to the English throne, married his mistress (concubine,  harlot,  whore,  siren, wench, temptress,) Her Royal Highness the Princess Charles, Princess of Wales (technically correct but not in use,) Her Royal Highness the Princess Charles, Duchess of Cornwall (used every-where but Scotland,) and Her Royal Highness the Princess Charles, Duchess of Rothesay (used only in Scotland,) nee Mrs Camilla Parker Bowles and expected to be, upon Charles' ascension to the throne, Her Royal Highness The Princess Consort, in a double ceremony - one a civil union at the local union hall, the other a blessing in the chapel of Windsor Castle. 

It would be easy to look at today as nothing more than what it really was - the first race in the 2005 Ascot season - were it not for the political, moral, constitutional, ethical and decency concerns that it has raised.  Every season, Ascot is a singular society event that calls, from the four corners of the realm, the most important families in the Empire to a near hahj-like ritual that is not only encouraged, but expected, of any person or family wanting to be noticed and patronized by the Queen.  Princess Diana was a regular attendee, as was her sister-in-law, the Duchess of York.  At the event - which is, at its core, a tea-time costume ball for the ladies of the court - the most famous participants are not the sleek Arabians that are raised specifically for the season; no, they are the millinary creations sported by the afore-mentioned ladies and their numerous dopelgangers.  As is befitting the opening race of the season, today's wedding of Prince Charles and the Duchess of Cornwall featured more wide brims, feathers and netting than the costume shoppe at the Olde Globe Theatre, and will be remembered as much for the crowds' difficulties in seeing the face of the bride as it is for the slap in the face that the entire event was to the memory of Diana.

As if orchestrated by some insane party planner, Queen Elizabeth carried the theme of today's festivities to its almost divinely-inspired conclusion - by toasting the winner of today's four-legged horse race before she toasted the second marriage of her eldest son:

"I've got two things to announce to you of the greatest importance," declared the monarch on the auspicious event.  "The first is that the Grand National was won by Hedgehunter. The second is to say to you that despite Becher's Brook and The Chair (two obstacles on the Aintree race course) and all kinds of other terrible obstacles, my son has come through and I'm very proud and wish them well." 

A lovely sentiment from the world's greatest mother...

And, in a moment that Diana certainly created from beyond this earthly plane, the newest  (though certainly not the youngest) member of the royals actually - and you are NOT going to believe this! - threw a horse shoe while greeting the crowds outside of Windsor, and then reacted with a quite audible whinny and a neigh.  Not since the other royal equine, Princess Anne, was thrown from her mount during competition as a British athlete in the 1976 Montreal Olympics has one of the royals so closely mirrored the behavior of the beasts that they resemble, and so clearly suffered a significant episode of hoof-in-mouth disease in response.

As if the horse and pony show played out by the Duchess weren't enough to cast a pall over the ceremonies, protesters took to the streets near Windsor to decry the marriage in  both the name of Diana - to whom most Britains remain completely devoted - and as a blatant thumbing of the royal probiscusis to the country's homosexuals that, as in the United States, are not allowed to marry in Britain.  Making matters worse, the British press - long known for both its judiciousness and its yellow journalism - tossed aside convention by continuously reminding the populace that the marriage marked the union of two people that had been in an intimate, marriage-like relationship for thirty-five years - fourteen of which were while he was married to the mother of the future kings of England, Prince William and Prince Harry.  Granted, the only person that didn't know about Charles and Camilla was the Queen Mum, who lived her final days in a gin-besotted haze that not even the scandal of divorce or the murder of Diana could penetrate, but one would have thought - given the supposed sophistication and propriety of the British people - that with Diana's children and the world in attendance, some measure of dignity and decorum would have been observed.  But, with two mares attending Christmas dinner this year at Sandringham, and it now a foregone conclusion that the Queen has sanctioned her new daughter-in-law's eventual ascent to the throne, who the hell cares about decorum?

Now, if you've ever been to a horse race, you know that the action on the track is often not the most interesting in the park.  Oft-times, it's the machinations in the stands and stables that garner the most attention, and today's hoped-for only running of the Bowles Cup was no exception.  Obviously completely recovered from the devastating death of their mother - and choosing not to bear a grudge against their new Mummy for the part that she played in the disolution of their parent's marriage - both Harry and William were active participants in the ceremonies  (William attended his father,) and throughout the day's events were seen to be quite convivial and bouyant.  Miraculously, Harry - who gets better-looking every day - was even able to elicit a laugh from his usually-stern Grandmama, though no confirmation about the humorous exchange having its genesis in the tossed shoe incident of horse number 7 can be confirmed nor denied.  What can be confirmed, however, is the number of comments made during the day-long festivities about the almost clone-like appearance of Prince Harry to a certain Captain of the Guard, James Hewitt, that was a very close friend of Princess Diana's.  The phrase "stunt-double" was the most popular, though not the only, moniker applied to the dashing prince throughout the day.

Because we are observing the royals in their natural environment, it is important to remember that all manner of scandal and innuendo and grief always accompanies any important rite that the family participates in.  The opening of Parliament every year becomes a tradition-steeped afternoon during which the Queen gets to break-out the good jewelry, even though it's just a matter of showing up and saying "Get to work," and weddings become the one opportunity that the family has to put forward their best face and prove to the English that they are worth every single one of the millions of pounds spent each year to keep them in the style to which they are accustomed.  Even Diana's and Charles' wedding over twenty years ago was shrouded in scandal because it was said - by the hard-working British press - that Diana was not a virgin, as is required by the Church of England as a means of protecting the most sacred bloodline of the Windsors.

Today's wedding was, as could be expected, no exception.  While the couple was walking down the aisle towards the blessing of their union, ancestry and royalty experts were announcing the findings of their exhaustive research - research that showed that Charles and Camilla are either 9th cousins, due to the commonality of Henry Cavendish in their bloodlines, or half-cousins once removed, thanks to the affair that Charles' great, great-grandfather, King Edward VII, had with Camilla's great-grandmother, Alice Edmonstone - which produced Camilla's grandmother, Sonia Keppel.

PROVO, Utah, April 4 /PRNewswire/ -- When Prince Charles first met Camilla Parker-Bowles at a polo match in the early seventies, she said to the prince, "My great-grandmother and your great-great grandfather were lovers, so how about it?" Today, genealogical research shows they have an even stronger bond, they are ninth cousins. According to family history experts at Ancestry.com, a service of MyFamily.com, Inc., Prince Charles and Camilla are ninth cousins once removed.

Prince Charles and Camilla are both descendents of Henry Cavendish, 2nd Duke of Newcastle. Prince Charles' family history can be traced back to the Duke's elder daughter Margaret Cavendish, while Camilla's family tree leads to the Duke's younger daughter Catherine Cavendish.

A second and more scandalous possible tie also exists that would make the soon-to-be married couple half second cousins once removed. It is believed that Camilla's grandmother, Sonia Keppel, was the illegitimate daughter of King Edward VII. If this is true then she and Charles would be half second cousins once removed. The half denotes that Charles and Camilla are descended from different partners of Edward VII (Charles from Edward's wife and Camilla from Edward's alleged mistress, Alice Edmonstone).

Thank God it's safe to assume that Camilla is past child-bearing age. 

Thankfully, that was pretty much the end of the drama, and the balance of the day was left for family to join together to celebrate what is supposed to be the beginning of the happy years for Charles.  Edward and Sophie, Charles' brother and sister-in-law, the Earl and Countess of Wessex, were there; so was Andrew, the groom's other brother, with his daughters by the Duchess of York Sarah Ferguson, Princess Eugenie and Princess Beatrice.  Princess Anne was in attendance, with her daughter Zara Phillips and son Peter Phillips by her marriage to Captain Mark Phillips.  But what wasn't there was an excuse - not even an explanation - for all of the many improprieties that today's union brought to light.

Let's forget, for a moment, that it's just tacky that the future king of England is marrying his concubine after 35 years of shacking up in drafty palaces and castles throughout England - while Diana was giving birth to the next-in-line to the throne and dealing with a press that vilified her for what it declared was her lack of attention to her marriage - only to be murdered by the "grey men" that were brought out of the shadows - the M5 - in Fergie's autobiography. 

And let's forget that Elizabeth's sanctioning of the union is both a very public rejection of Diana's memory as the legitimate Queen Mother once William becomes king and a very vocal statement of support in favor of Trigger Bowles.  In addition, as the defender of the Faith, Liz's blessing of the marriage is much like a papal blessing - in essence, declaring that the divorce of Charles and Diana was irrelevant and the marriage of a whore and an adulterer - with the blessing of the Church of England - completely relevant and completely acceptable in the eyes of the church.

The forgotten element of today's events are the lone and quiet gay rights' protesters that pointed out just how hypocritical and prejudicial and downright un-constitutional the marriage laws in both America and Britain are.  While Charles and Camilla both take a second honeymoon trip to Scotland, gay and lesbian couples in a majority of countries fight for custody rights and visitation rights and the right to end a partner's suffering and a host of other things that 90% of the planet take for granted. 

But, hey, who has time to think about 10% of the population.  Charles and Camilla are finally legally wed.  And bookies are laying 2-1 odds that this filly is going to finish out in front.

And Camilla's happiness is what it's really all about...at least it has been for the past 35 years...

Good show, Camilla.  Now, give the old girl a carrot.

Ding, Dong The Pope is Dead...

By the time most of you read this, Pope John Paul II will have left the planet.  As a recovering Catholic, my only concern involves whether or not the prophecy that there are only two popes left before Armaggedon is true; as a human being, my only concern is whether the planet that John Paul is leaving is worth saving from destruction. 

Much has and will be said about John Paul and his incredible magnetism and appeal and, as the tributes begin, much will be said about the hundreds of self-less and Godly acts committed by the Pope in the name of Catholicism.  He will be remembered and lionized as the man that ended communism and spent the better part of his papacy traveling the world in an effort to unite the over 1 billion members of the Catholic faith and to bring even more non-Catholics into the fold.

What will not be mentioned, however, is John Paul's continuing demonizing of homosexuality, which virtually rubber-stamped hatred towards and violence against gays and lesbians worldwide; his virtual obfuscation of the church sex scandal, which shook the faith of the faithful but caused no widespread reform in the church to address the issues of priests as predators and choir boys as their objects of lust; his continued rejection of contraception to curb exploding populations in the poorest countries on Earth, since it is the Catholics of those countries that form the foundation of the church's wealth; his less-than-forceful condemnation of the war in Iraq and its satanic instigator, George Walker Bush; nor his hands-on policy of dealing directly with oppressive regimes while doing nothing for the citizenry being oppressed. 

In many ways, John Paul shouldn't be remembered for those things - he was, very much like Ronald Reagan, a popular pontiff that will in all probability be remembered as the most popular of the many hundreds that have reigned over and governed the largest Christian denomination on Earth.  As a man, that popularity is understandable - but, as God's representative (and alleged mouthpiece) on this plain of existence, he fell far short of the teachings of the Christ and the spirit of God's love. 

The world's wealthiest entity - Vatican City - houses the papal government while hiding the entire history of mankind in its  bowels.  The things that we know about this history is that it does not follow the principles so ardently asribed to by John Paul.  It all paints a very different picture of the "creation" of man, the life of the Christ and the ultimate fate of our home world.  This information is kept hidden so that the people under papal control will remain devoted to the faith and thus support the massive corporation that is the Catholic Church.  If any of it were to be revealed, the masses would have no need for religion and, therefore, no need for the church.

Which is what, ultimately, needs to happen.  Christ stated that the only way to the Father was through Him - He didn't mention churches or synagogues or mosques or temples, and He certainly didn't prescribe clergymen as the intermediary for communication with the Almighty.  Apparently, God's word is meant to be edited.

I've never been able to reconcile the Church's tenets that call for love and compassion for all with the same church's blatant discrimination towards women and gays and lesbians.  The God of my understanding wants us to love one another support one another and help one another.  He, at no time, preaches hatred or discrimination.  God's word, you see, is contained in the Ten Commandments - which simply do not support the contention that gays and lesbians should be shunned and denied civil liberties, or that priests should be given a pass to abuse children or that the impoverished should be condemned to a life of starvation and disease and indignity so that the Church and other corporations can continue to operate without government interference or taxation. 

And that, you see, is what must be remembered about this pope.  He was an astute politician, much more so than a devout prelate.  He actively sought to drive a wedge between the divergent factions of the Catholic Church and to promote an image of moral and spiritual superiority over those of opposing viewpoints.  Having gained immense popularity because of his support of the Polish labor unions that eventually brought communism to its knees, he continued to rely on politics to advance the causes of the Church and allied and aligned himself and the Church with leaders and governments which human rights records and fostering of liberty and justice were at least as questionable as his own. 

I'm sorry that the Pope is dying - truly, I am.  His death heralds the final chapter of our collective histories, and signals - like Gideon's trumpets - the pounding hooves of the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse.  But the fact remains that John Paul II was, like Jesus, merely a man - guilty of human foibles and human failings.  He was not perfect and he was not God.  If we agree with that, then we must agree that many of his proclomations were false, and that much of what passed for the word of God during his papacy was merely political posturing to maintain his control.

Rest well, John Paul...your work is, thank God, done....

WHY CAN'T WE ALL JUST GET ALONG?

So, I'm a member of this really terrific site by the name of Dreamcaps.  It's a site where you can go and see pix of gorgeous men - celebrities mostly - add comments, play games, meet people, etc.  Sort of like a bar, but the pictures are better.  I've been a member for a while, and really enjoyed all of the postings and comments - if not the attitude exhibited by some of the members.  You know, I figured the pay-off was greater than the challenges.

So, tonight, I'm back at the site and attempting to contribute - adding some pictures of cutie-patootie Maroon 5 lead singer and hunk-a-hunk-a-musical love, Adam Levine, and I've got all eight pictures uploaded and the message complete and I send it and it doesn't go.  Says some necessary files are missing, blah, blah, blah.  Then I notice that there's a message in my inbox - which is rare, because NOone from the site ever writes to me (hell, they hardly respond to my postings...) - so I open the message and it's from Val, one of the moderators, and he says something to the effect of "STOP POSTING IN CAPS...CAN'T YOU TAKE A HINT?" or something equally confrontational.  Needless to say, I was aghast at the rudeness.

Now, granted, I didn't reat the fine print when I started to post to the group, so it might have been Rule #1, Regulation B-26, Subsection 25 that said, in clear and concise language, that posting in caps was VERBOTTEN!  I admit it - I didn't read it.  Bad boy...bad, bad, bad boy.  But is that a reason to come back at me so harshly.  Couldn't dear and precious Val simply have said, "Hey, buddy....could you not post in caps anymore?"  I would have gotten the hint, loud and clear.  But instead of the higher path, Val opted for the baser one - the one followed by every demigogue and asshole ever created that thought because they moderated a website that they were somehow possessed of such magical powers that they could transend this life and dictate to those remaining.    How sad!

I find it especially disconcerting at this point in time and space because there is  so much else going on in the world that is so much more important than whether or not I post in caps or lower case.  That poor woman in Florida; her husband; her family; the Iraqi people; the American people; people with AIDS....there is so much stuff that deserves so much more of our attention - but all Val can worry about is whether or not I can take a hint about posting in caps?

It seems that the entire world has gone completely nutso.  There's no civility left...no one cares...no one gives a rat's ass about anyone or anything else, other than themselves and what's important to them, and the hell with the rest of us.  Salespeople are surly, co-workers bitter, friends about to pull their hair out by the roots and family - well, if they weren't all dead, I'm sure they'd be pretty out-of-sorts, as well.

What do you suppose is causing it?   Is it the planets that are all aligned against us poor mortals?  Is it the compassionate conservatism of the Bush troika?  Is it just the end times, wreaking havoc on the planet to avenge our evil ways?

You know what the real pisser in all of this is?  I tried to cancel my membership to the site - and there was no place to do that!  Can you believe it?  My posting privileges have been revoked, but I can't even exit the group.  It's like AA or the Republican Party - once they've got you in their clutches, you can never leave.  They can treat you like shit, beat-up on you, ignore you and your efforts to fit in - and you are still a member! 

Oh, and see...I forgot to tell you how poorly they treated me while I was a member.  I tried to fit in.  I tried to add wit and wisdom to the commentary...tried to give people reasons to like me.  And they ignored me.  Never responded to my comments, nor replied to my e-mails.  I'd post something with hot photos, and get maybe 5 people to even read my message.   Someone else would post tired re-posts of tired people - and there'd be 40 or 50 messages. 

Why bother, you ask?  Because if I walk into a room full of people - say a thousand - and only one person dislikes me, that's the person that I'll focus on.  Forget the other 999 - it's that damn one person that doesn't like me that I'm going to pay attention to.  It's just like the Dreamcaps site.  It was the one site that I never felt at home with.  So, rather than following my gut instinct and ending my patronage - I held on, hoping that they would eventually see what a great guy I am.  And you know what?  It wasn't ever going to happen.  I'll never be straight, or Republican or popular at Dreamcaps. 

And that's that....

'Til Death Do Us part...

I'm not prone to getting into political discourse anymore, given the hideous results of the 2004 election cycle and the current occupant of the White House, who I choose to block out of my consciousness for fear that - should I let him occupy too much time or space - I will be rendered completely unable to function and in desperate need of a bottle of what Judy took just before she yelled "Micky Dean, Micky Dean," from the loo.

But, something is happening - which I told everyone would - that is beyond the pale and borders on an America so warped and so completely disparate from the America envisioned by the framers of that now-forgotten document, The Constitution of these United States of America, that I simply cannot stay quiet.

I am speaking, of course, about Terri Schiavo, the Florida woman that has become the center of a controversy so monumental and so unbelievable that I cannot even believe that any of us are devoting time to it.  In a nutshell - as if you haven't already heard more than enough about it - the poor thing has been non-functioning now for fifteen years now, as the result of a heart-stoppage that cut off the flow of oxygen to her brain.  She can breathe on her own, but is incapable of caring for herself or of speech.  Her husband obtained a court order allowing him to disconnect the feeding tubes that sustained her, but her parents - swayed by the prognostications of some snake-charmer physicians that swear on a stack of bibles that the woman can be rehabilitated - have challenged that order, and now we find ourselves in the constitutional quagmire that we do.

For a man that avows that God is his guide and the bible his road map, as George Bush does, to overlook some of the most powerful words written in that book as they pertain to marriage is no longer just a laugh-riot - it is blashphemy...heresy.  For Mr. Bush would have us believe that he acts in God's interests, yet again he has found reason to oppose God and oppose the bible, all the while pleading that he is a man of devout faith.  Here are just two passages from the bible about marriage and the relationship between the husband and wife:

(1 Corinthians 7:2-4 KJV)
(2) Nevertheless, {to avoid} fornication, let every man have his own wife, and let every woman have her own husband. (3) Let the husband render unto the wife due benevolence: and likewise also the wife unto the husband. (4) The wife hath not power of her own body, but the husband: and likewise also the husband hath not power of his own body, but the wife.

(Ephesians 5:22-33 KJV)
(22) Wives, submit yourselves unto your own husbands, as unto the Lord. (23) For the husband is the head of the wife, even as Christ is the head of the church: and he is the saviour of the body. (24) Therefore as the church is subject unto Christ, so {let} the wives {be} to their own husbands in every thing. (25) Husbands, love your wives, even as Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; (26) That he might sanctify and cleanse it with the washing of water by the word, (27) That he might present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot, or wrinkle, or any such thing; but that it should be holy and without blemish. (28) So ought men to love their wives as their own bodies. He that loveth his wife loveth himself. (29) For no man ever yet hated his own flesh; but nourisheth and cherisheth it, even as the Lord the church: (30) For we are members of his body, of his flesh, and of his bones. (31) For this cause shall a man leave his father and mother, and shall be joined unto his wife, and they two shall be one flesh. (32) This is a great mystery: but I speak concerning Christ and the church. (33) Nevertheless let every one of you in particular so love his wife even as himself; and the wife {see} that she reverence {her} husband.

I am not a theologian, nor am i particularly devout when it comes to religion, but I am capable of reading and comprehending even the writings of long-dead men that professed to know something about what God wanted for the world.  It seems to me that, in those passages, mankind is told that the husband is the decision-maker in matters concerning the marriage and the wife.  This being the case, it seems to me that the ruling set down by the judge in favor of Mr. Schiavo is the closest thing to God's will that a human judiciary can achieve.

All of that notwithstanding, when did it become the dominion of the government to decide which life should be spared and which one lost in cases such as this one?  Why, all of a sudden, is Terri Schiavo's life so important to Mr. Bush - or to the fate of the nation, for that matter?  And when did it become incumbent upon the government to interfere in the personal lives of its citizens to such a degree that the right to die with dignity is no longer a personal choice? 

Certainly, this is NOT a matter of national defense.  Terri Schiavo's life nor death will not determine whether another terrorist attack occurs; nor whether democracy is established in the Middle East; nor whether Social Security will be "rescued" with private accounts.  It will determine nothing - except how far Mr. Bush and his demogogue cabal will stoop to undermine the Constitution and rob us of our rights as individuals and citizens of a country that used to hold personal Liberty and Freedom to be THE most important and fundamental elements of our society.

Mr. Bush has gone too far...and yet the sheep continue to blindly follow - just as the prophets foretold.  It is a dark day in America, but not because of Mrs. Schiavo.  It is because George W. Bush has proved, once again, to be the very essence of evil...the anti-Christ.

May God help us all!

SPORTY GAYS

Many people seem to be of the mistaken opinion that homosexuality and sports are two mutually-exclusive states of being or endeavor.  America's past-time - baseball - for example, is in the midst of a potentially history-making event which will see the "outing" of one of its players after a recent survey of major league players revealed that 76% of them don't have a problem with a gay team mate.  Granted, there are more than enough vocal members of the remaining 24% that will make the event a media circus, but the fact remains that there are and always have been gays in sport and, pretty soon, we're all going to know exactly who they are.

It all started with the Greeks, actually - and those bloody Olympics.  For those of you that haven't studied the subject, homosexuality was a much-practiced and, in fact, encouraged sexual activity, both because of the bonding that occurred between the two men involved as well as the realization that men needed to be sexual but women were supposed to be virgins upon marriage so some accommodation simply had to be made.  That accommodation was homosexuality.  Homosexuality was, in fact, so prevalent in ancient Greece that even soldiers were gay - and were often encouraged to be so because, it was rightly believed, a lover was more likely to look out for his partner and protect him than was some stranger conscribed to the same sleeping tent. 

Change came, as it always has, when the Catholic Church got into the act and declared homosexuality to be a sin.  Prior to that edict, the population was still worshipping all manner of dieties, from woodland elves to multiple gods assigned to myriad tasks.  But the Church, under married and warring popes, decided that to amass power and control the populace, it had to establish itself as a political, as well as spiritual, entity singularly capable of providing people with everything that they needed in this life and the next. 

Of course, standing in the way of the great papal plan was a little thing called civil government, i.e. the various monarchies that ruled the civilized world and, ostensibly, had the power to govern and control the peoples of the planet.  Needless to say, confrontation became the order of the day, as the king declared that he would put a transgressor to death and the pope declaring that he would condemn a transgressor to eternal damnation.  The pope usually won out.

Except at a little meeting called The Council of Vienne that took place during the early 1300's and resulted in the installation of a third pope to challenge the legitimacy of the two reigning popes, as well as authorization to launch a holy war against the Muslims in order to wrest control of the Holy Lands away from them.  This council, as well as one two hundred years later dubbed The Council of Trent - which acted to counter the Protestant revolution with a hardening of Catholic dogma and a definitive "consequences of your action" punishment system that could be applied throughout the church.  It was at this council that homosexuality became a hot topic, it being an obvious and grievous sin and all. 

So, in one fell swoop, gays in the military weren't out - and neither were Olympians or any other sportsmen that wanted to curry favor from the church and other sponsors.  Thus began the association of manliness and machismo (read not gay) with sports.  Gays were, after all, "light in the loafers," and could not be expected to summon the necessary strength of body and character to toss a football or kick a soccerball or hit a line drive.  Ice skating, possibly; cheerleading, definitely - but quarterback?  Never.  This, despite the fact that sports is literally rife with homoerotic player terms...such as "tight end" and "catcher." 

Of course, there have been a few pro players that have come out - once they had left the game, of course.  David Kopay, a running back for the 49'ers, the Lions, the Redskins and the Saints, made history when, in 1977, he officially came out, via his autobiography, The David Kopay Story.  Since then, Greg Louganis, Rudy Galindo, Martina Navratilova and Billy Bean have all added texture to the gays-in-sports montage, but notice one thing:  Diving, ice skating, tennis and, okay, baseball.  Not the most macho of sports.  Except for former Dodger, Billy Bean, the sports in which the afore-mentioned athletes participated were viewed as "acceptable" sports for gays and lesbians to participate in.  Except for David Kopay, the number of gay football players to announce their preferences is miniscule, if countable at all.

This isn't to say, however, that gays haven't been a formidable presence in sports, albeit in the stands on on the sofa in front of the TV, and this is in no small part because...well, face it - jocks are hot!  Oh, yeah...all that testosterone packed into those tight pants and oh-so-brief Speedos is frigging luscious.  And you won't find one gay man that will admit to not fantasizing about an after-game locker room session that includes more than the standard cool-down.  Jocks and socks and uniform pants and cleats and all of the equipment and accoutrement of the sportsman become erotically-charged paraphernalia and memorabilia for the man that's banned from playing the game but not playing around.  I'm not too proud or to shy to admit that I'm one of them.  Billy Bean would be exhausted if I were allowed to do all of the things to him when he's in uniform that I want to.  Just something about a baseball player....

So, what happens when the possible becomes a fact?  What happens when gays and lesbians are not just rumored to be in pro sports but are, in fact, highly visible participants.  How will it change the game, for the players and the spectators?

Of course, it's all conjecture at this point, but - aside from the new meaning that after-point-making butt pats will have - there won't be much difference for the spectators.  During fan days or photo days at the park, one might see John and Bob behind a table signing player's cards - instead of John and Roberta - and at-home profiles of players in the sports sections of the newspapers might have two handsome faces staring back at them, rather than a beautiful male-female couple, but other than that, it just won't affect the game for the spectator.  Unless, of course, humans are as base as they seem to be, and yelling "faggot" and "queer" and "cocksucker" from the stands after a bad play becomes the norm.  Would there be fines, do you suppose?

As for the players...well, it's hard to say.  I mean, truth be told, there are already gays in the game.  Will knowing their names make that big a difference?  I'm still enough of a "fag" to think that there's a lot of gay action going on during those road trips.  I think there are some pitchers and catchers that are doing just that in their hotel rooms after the game.  Of course, no one's gay...just horny...what with the wife being at home, and all.  And let's not forget those kinky equipment managers and all that free time that they have both during and after a game.  There's a lot that can be done with some tape and bandage.  All in all, though, I think that it can be as beneficial to team morale as it was for the Greeks.  Imagine how much more watchful we would be over our lover on the playing field than we would be for just some schmo from UCLA that we were forced to room with during away games.  Why risk being refused sex, after all, if you actually let your boyfriend get sacked, as it were.

When you think about it, though, the entire argument for and against gays in sports - or in the military or anywhere else - is trivial and unimportant.  The fact is, we are everywhere and everyone knows it.  Now, all we need to do is ensure that the government provides us with the same rights and benefits that it does to every other American citizen.  Or maybe we'll just take our ball and go home...

Poor, Poor Pitiful Me....

So, I'm sitting here on a Friday night, feeling sorry for myself because...you see...in a very few months, I will be 45 years old.  And, though I know that that is less than half-way to the end of my life (I've a contract until I'm 96 - then, it's negotiable,) it isn't the age thing that has ever bugged me.  I actually feel better today than I did when I was in my 20's.  No, what bugs me - more than the grey hair and the failing eyesight and the forgetfullness (which I'm sure is the early signs of Reaganitis) - is the fact that...no one looks at me the same way anymore.  No one thinks I'm hot anymore...sexy anymore...worth going home with anymore...  That's what really bugs me...

I look at pictures, such as the one of Model John Coulter above, and my heart actually aches because I find him so beautiful.  I don't want to simply worship his feet (and other appendages,) I want to consume him.  And, no, I don't have a Jeffrey Dahmer complex...it just doesn't even seem to be enough to lick him from head to toe - consumption seems to be the only solution to satisfy my craving...

The thing is, it'll never - EVER! - happen.  Granted, it might have been difficult when I was younger - but, now that I'm in my mid-forties, it's downright impossible!  And, being a civil servant and all, it's not as if I have a bank vault full of money to be the seduction that replaces my good looks.  And, though I can accept or deny a workers' comp claim, I don't have the kind of power that's going to make John or Martin Amondarain, pictured at right, drop everything and dash over to offer themselves up at my temple of lust.  So, while most middle-aged men are getting their new sports cars waxed or having liposuction or their eyes done - I'm sitting at home, pining over male models and regretting that time has passed me by. 

You have to understand, though, that I was a lot like Blanche Devereaux - you know, on The Golden Girls...except that, unlike Blanche, I was merely attractive - I didn't have the confidence that she does. so that I'd be able to have any man that I wanted.  But, at least people used to look at me.  At least I could pretend that someone would actually want to be seen during daylight hours with me.

I think the thing that hurts the most is that I can't even get anyone to respond to me online - at least, not anyone within the same time zone.  I seem to be most popular with people in Asia, which is fine - but I can't exactly be popping off to the Far East for a few moments of erotic pleasure, now can I?  I go online, get all hot and bothered by pictures of gorgeous men in very little clothing, and then go to a dating site to try and scare up something for a little after-work fun - that's exactly what I do...I scare something!  Apparently, I've got them running so fast that most servers report a 50% decrease in hits when I'm online.

I do everything....I post witty responses to members' statements; qvell over their beauty and their wisdom; posit that I could do things to them they'd never believe and have them coming back for more; even offer to pay for their services...and, still, nothing!  I've spent more money on online dating services than I'd spend hiring a hustler every night. 

As if that isn't bad enough, the few times that I've ventured out to try and participate, live and in-person in this thing called life, I've gone to places that other men go to when they have similar....uh....urges - you know, the adult theater and the health spa - and offered to provide a service - and nothing!  Nada!! Rien!!!  In fact, they look at me as if I'm crazy.  Not even a "thanks, but no thanks..." they just look at me as if I'm crazy.

And, maybe I am.  I mean, who goes to adult theaters and health spas for a good bj anymore, right?  After all, this isn't the 70's - there's AIDS and other STD's...and let's not forget the Republicans!  No, they're at the theater to watch the movie, and they're at the health spa for their health!  Yeah, right....

I know there are people out there that are looking for the same thing that I am - a little snuggle under the sheets, no strings attached.  Just an erotic tryst that'll get us both through the lonely nights when our partners are out with the boys - getting the stuff that we're desperate for!

And I know what you're thinking...you're thinking, "Well, why not just get it from your partner?"  Well, that's lovely in the abstract, but reality and abstraction have nothing to do with each other.  First of all, my partner and I have been together for 12 years - two lifetimes in the world of the breeder.  We were bored with each other after the first six months - the usual length of a gay relationship.

In addition, my partner is HIV+ - not exactly a turn-on when you're trying to stay negative.  And, though I know that there's a little thing called safe sex, it's too much trouble...who wants to stop in the middle of something to put on a condom that dulls all feeling for the wearer and looks, tastes and feels like a kitchen gadget to the other person in the picture.

Finally, there's too much water under the bridge, as it were, between us.  I know him too well...and there are some things that hurt so much that the thought of being intimate is just not possible.  Plus the fact, I think that gay men - maybe men in general - like the excitement of the "new."  A new body to explore, a new person to get aroused by - different.  And - and this is the big one - for a footer, it helps if the other person has nice feet.  And my partner has anything but....

It's not just the fact that he almost never wears shoes, so that his feet always look as if they've gone through the dust bowl and been beaten up by a few Okies along the way, but he has ugly feet, plain and simple.  And, to expect a person that is aroused by feet to be aroused by ugly, dirty feet is akin to asking a breast man to be aroused by a mastectomy or a butt-loving woman to find excitement in a furry mound of gluteus maximus.  It ain't gonna happen...

So, what's a 45 year-old, bald, gay civil-servant to do in Los Angeles - the land of the anti-45 year-old, bald, gay civil servant.  How do I manage to find some measure of fulfillment when even online "friendships" don't happen - I mean, they can't even see me and they're rejecting me!  Think about it....

And, lest you think that I'm always this morose when I'm online - you're quite wrong.  That's why I have this little journal - to get out those negative vibes so that I can be a happy and joy-filled fellow when I'm trying to score. 

I think about our mascot, Quentin Crisp.  Imagine how little activity he saw, given his affectations and appearance.  But you know what?  I'll bet you that he saw more action than I do.  He was famous, for cryin' out loud - strange and odd-looking, but famous.  People would look at him and think, "Well, he's an old queen...let me give him a few minutes of pleasure in his twilight years."  And 45 doesn't qualify for twilight....

And it's not going to get any better.  I mean, I'm not going to wake up at 60 and be better-looking, with more hair and fewer wrinkles.  And I sure won't have any more money - the effects of Mr. Bush's economic plan will just be occurring, so my little government salary isn't going to mean a whole lot.  I won't even be able to afford a hustler!!!!!

Of course, there's always the military - as long as I don't ask and don't tell.  Surely, in a ditch in Iraq some cute recruit is going to feel the need for a little release - and maybe even a 45-year old private will start to look good to him!

And to think, in the straight world I'm actually quite a catch!

One is The Loneliest Number...

One of the most difficult things about being fabulous is that so few people understand.  People just didn't understand why a seemingly normal human being would dye his hair the color of an Easter egg; wear what amounted to women's clothing; model - in the nude, no less - for artists of questionable talent and dubious character (it was, after all, the tale end of the Victorian era;) and take on the demeanor and countenance of a woman - when one was, after all, genetically male.  And, regrettably, some of those people were Quentin Crisp's own family and friends - and, truly friends, when one's own family and friends don't understand you, you are - without a doubt and completely - isolated from the mainstream of life. 

Some of us actually enjoy that isolation - I know, I do.  At home and on my job, I am constantly called upon to do something for someone at virtually every moment of the day.  Those rare occasions when I can sit quietly and think or read a book or just play Collapse on the computer are such treasures for me that I crave them and guard them as if they held the key to eternal life.  For me, they may just.  I guess it's just a Cancer phase that I'm going through - God knows, it's not a Gemini phase.  Isolation is just not something Geminis do, unless it's to recharge our batteries - and trust me, my batteries are charged quite enough, thank you.

Which leads me to the point of this entry.  Lately, and for reasons of which I am not quite clear, I have been craving the companionship of a man.  Not to date, I am in a twelve-year relationship, after all.  I don't want to go to the movies or go out to eat or see a movie or go to Vegas....I want sex, if you must know (as if that came as anything resembling a big surprise to you!)  I will, however, accept penpals and other individuals that might help me to feel less like a pariah and more like an actual member of the family of man.

Which, truth be told, is one of the reasons that I started this blog.  It's really an off-shoot of an earlier effort that I made to contribute to various groups on the 'net by sharing my unique view of the world and...well...my fabulousness!  My bald, 45 year-old, slightly out-of-shape fabulousness.  The "various groups" of which I just wrote seemed the perfect place for it - seeing as how I would not have to actually be in the room with the person that I was communicating with, thereby lessening the chances that they would become distracted by the rapid advance of age upon my being. 

So, to these groups I contributed, hoping - apparently, beyond hope - that someone...just one person...would find my spirit and my wit and my brain at least as attractive as the photo of Jake Gyllenhall's gorgeous chest posted on the homepage of the site to which we both subscribed.  I did my level- and bald-headed best to contribute - my messages were filled with healthy doses of comedy and tragedy, passion and pathos.  I complimented everyone else on the board - reminded them how lucky the group was to have such an incredibly erudite and brilliant member.  And...nothing.  It was as if I had crashed a frat party - a frat party hosted by THE fraternity on campus, whose members were descended from Adonis and Hercules and Colin Farrell, with I merely an extra from the Revenge of the Nerds soundstage.  I was so completely unimportant and unworthy that the other members didn't even bother to respond if I asked a question or created a poll - hell, no one even bothered to write a scathing message to me.  It was - and is - as if I didn't exist at all.

Which, as it always seems to, leads us back to sex - or the lack, thereof.  Despite a tumultuous twelve year relationship with the love of my life, sex is not exactly a staple in my life - especially because the sex that I enjoy involves the pedile attributes of the male animal.  Yes, you guessed it - a dude's feet!  Love to sniff 'em, suck 'em, massage 'em and lick 'em.  And there was a time when an offer like that had people lined up around the block for a chance at it - not necessarily by me, of course, but they sure loved the idea of having someone service their feet.  But, it seems, that is no longer the case.  Hell, even the one guy on the most cliquish site that considers himself a footer doesn't bother to respond to my direct e-mails. 

I'm alone, ladies and gentlemen, and I'm lonely.  I miss certain aspects of sex...miss the sight and touch and smell of another man's body...the things that I can do to make that body feel fantastic - which, in turn, makes me feel fantastic.  But I have, somehow - without the lavendar hair and the fru-fru and the lace and the effeminate mannerisms - isolated myself from that main stream of life and, today, I feel lonely.  Not alone....just completely lonely....

Here's to Quentin Crisp, our mascot, our heroine, our raison-d'etre.  The poster boy for loneliness....Maybe he had it right - it's the naked part of civil servant...

NAKED CIVIL SERVANT, YOU SAY?

Well, yes, as a matter of fact, that IS what I say.  Think of it as an indictment of politics and bureaucracies and government, if you must.  Or, as a variation of that beloved children's story, The Emperor and His New Clothes. In reality, it is merely a play on words, as it were, of the title of an autobiography by the name of The Naked Civil Servant.

Now, I know how incredibly surprising that that title must be, given that the name of this blog refers to a "not-so-naked civil servant."  But, after all - especially in this town oh-so-near Hollywood - we certainly don't want to take a chance and find ourselves in court defending ourselves against the charges of copyright infringement or plagiarism lobbed by the author's estate, now do we?

The author in question, for the one or two of you that don't know, was Quentin Crisp, one of the "stately homos" of England.  He was also, according to many of the literati, the "natural descendant" of Oscar Wilde.   Which is either a good thing or a bad thing, depending upon your leanings.

At any rate, Mr. Crisp's book chronicles his life in London as both an artist's model and a civil servant - one whose choice of hairstyle, dress, mannerism and lifestyle isolated him from the rest of London society - both high and low - and, ultimately, landed him in the witness box of the local magistrate on charges of conduct unbecoming a subject of Her Majesty, the Queen.  Of course, dear Quentin probably stated that, since imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, his regal behavior was not the subversive plot to undermine the crown that his accusers believed but, rather, an homage to all things queenly.  It was statements, such as that, that landed him in that witness box to begin with.

So, in essence, this blog is an homage to Quentin Crisp.  No, I don't fancy myself to be the 21st century's answer to Mr. Crisp.  That, dear friend, is not something that I have or would ever aspire to.  But, there are more similarities that Quentin and I share than there are differences.  I am, after all, a civil servant - though the degree of nakedness to which I participate is only something between just enough to shower every day and the clothing habits of a cloistered nun; I am, too, a gay person of the homosexual persuasion - though I long ago stopped thinking that being gay meant being flamboyant like Mr. Crisp; an observer of this life and those that inhabit it, though I don't believe that my observations will any time soon become a part of the lexicon; and, a writer - published, even - though I have not yet seen anything even resembling a residual check.

But, after all, everything has become sanitized in the era of Bush, with individuality and singular thinking now likened to subversiveness and anti-American sentiment.  So, maybe a watered-down version of Mr. Crisp.  Which is to say that I've no idea what will appear in this blog in future - much as Quentin's contemporaries were never quite sure what color hair he might appear in on any given day (for the record, the variations on a theme ranged from lavendar to jade green, dependant upon the color of his ensemble.) It might be something as simple as an opinion of the current actions in Iraq and the administration's complicity in the Great Lie; or, it might be a diatribe about gay marriage, and why straight people should be begging us to wed; maybe a commentary on J'Lo's latest film bomb or the state of her sham marriage to that singer; and, it could be a damnation of all things religious - who knows. 

What I do know is that, like Mr. Crisp, it shall not be boring!