Dear Santa

Strangely enough, there are few things I find myself wanting for as this holiday season approaches. Sure, I'd love a new pair of boots and a run of big tippers at the bar right before I head out to do my Christmas shopping at the last possible second, but I at this advanced age have loftier dreams so I'm putting my personal concerns aside for a moment and hoping against hope that I can have a media revolution wrapped in pink and lavender ribbons stashed beneath my poor excuse for a tree this year.

I wish this year that a lesbian kiss on prime time television will garner much less attention than the widely publicized "Ellen" episode did. When these kisses occur, I wish they will not forewarn you with lengthy disclaimers about mature subject them, especially when on "Friends" we're free to watch Ross and Rachel go at it full stop in the museum, comfortably outside the confines of wedlock with not so much as a heads up to concerned parents. As if watching two like-gendered people kiss is enough to turn anyone gay. Think of it this way Santa, I saw that great kiss at the end of Philadelphia Story for the first time when I was 7 and it didn't turn me straight.

That TCAN's - "The Christian Alert Network" cure for AIDS - the eradication of "homosexual acts," exclusively blamed for the disease will fail to ring true this year for more people than it did last year. According to them (and other groups like them) simply being homosexual is the reason for the season when it comes to the big disease with the little name. How a group so large can fail to understand simple medical facts like transmission of a virus through the transfer of bodily fluids escapes me.

That tolerance will not find it's norm in what I now refer to as "Utah Style" acceptance, where teacher Wendy Weaver was allowed to keep her job, but issued a gag order by the school board forbidding her to mention her lesbian nature to anyone remotely affiliated with the school, including students, teachers, parents, and members of the Spanish Fork, Utah school board. This was naturally to avoid "potential disruption in the school community."

It is my hope that movies that play on the promise of a little eye candy actually deliver, and the makers of "The Full Monty" are appropriately ridiculed. I also hope that Mark Wahlberg doesn't do anymore films that ruin my dates. After boogie Nights, there really wasn't much I felt I had to offer my charming companion besides a nice cup of tea.

While I'm itemizing my wants Santa, I'd like to add that gay men will move across America and live in a neighborhood where they can have nicer neighbors than those on Melrose Place. If they must stay there though, let's have that poor boy get laid. If there's hope for Billy, there's hope for Willie.

If my broad based wishes have garnered your favor Santa, and you think I might deserve one treat all for myself, you can feel free to throw in a nice boy from a good home who is not only a native english speaker, but who will not call me "Mommy" in the throes of passion.

willie@smug.com

in the junk drawer:

November 1997
October 1997
September 1997
August 1997
July 1997
June 1997
May 1997
April 1997
March 1997
February 1997