Yay, I’m Gay

It’s Pride Week in my neck of world and to kick it off I rode Bevan’s coattails all the way to the state capital last night to rage at the governor’s mansion.

Unbeknownst to me it’s two thousand degrees in Sacramento in June and I forgot to put on deodorant so I thought it appropriate that the first hand I shook upon entering the manse belonged to someone v. tolerant of dude sweat—former NBA player Jason Collins, the first openly gay athlete to play in any of the four major North American pro sports leagues.

Other LGBTQIA+ movers, shakers and allies in attendance were Governor Gavin Newsom, Senator Scott Wiener, Empress Nicole and the Stuart Milk.

Oh yeah, these studs, too.

Remember when I didn’t wanna be gay?

Friday Night With the First Fam

Bevan and I met Pete Buttigieg, the future first openly LGBTQ+ President of the United States, at a fundraiser at the Regency Ballroom last night. B actually spent much of yesterday afternoon showing Pete’s husband Chasten around San Francisco which means that I spent much of yesterday afternoon fielding giddy text messages containing poorly-angled selfies that brought on hella jealousy cuz Chasten is gonna be one fierce/fab first spouse.

Wholly Frucking Shiz

Bevan and I were sipping margaritas while perusing the menu outside at Arriba Arriba in Hell's Kitchen after The Boys in the Band tonight (it was très incred, by the way) when who strolled past our table but the sole male under forty that I have ever had a crush on in my entire life—BEN PLATT.


I know!

The only other human I would rather have seen in person on this whole big planet is Harry Potter himself if he'd emerged from fiction and into real life.

BEN PLATT, y'all!

While B thought it was somewhat neat, Sid gave me the response I needed.

New York, I love you.

Oh yeah, and also you, Ben Platt.

P.S. I feel incredibly uncool about how cool I feel right now.


"I don't mean to interrupt," she said, tapping my father on the shoulder. "But you look just like Harrison Ford. Has anyone ever told you that before?"

My father had, in fact, been told that on more than one occasion.

It may seem silly that I keep a ready account of such an unimportant memory, but it remains in the lockbox of my mind for one reason.

I have no celebrity counterpart.

My father struts around town in his Indiana Skywalker skin and I, his beloved son, possess no celebrity match.

In an attempt to silence my whining, a friend once uploaded a photo of me onto a website that automatically matches you with your celebrity look-a-like.

To gauge the complexity of said website, my buddy's photo (below) garnered matches that included Owen Wilson, Kate Hudson and Benji.

"I'm Sorry, Your Photo Yielded No Results," was the only match my photo garnered.

Not once has a stranger taken it upon herself to say to me, "Sir, in this light you very closely resemble a young Brad Pitt."

Or, "Wow Mister, you should move to Hollywood immediately and fill the void left by the death of George Clooney's face double."

Not once.


Well, until this weekend, that is.

While playing beer pong on Saturday January 27, 2007 at 9:14 pm CST, an opponent paused in the middle of her windup, looked me in the face, and said, "I got it! I know who you look like!"

"WHO?!?" I replied calmly.

"Have you ever seen Fantastic Four?" she asked.

"Yes," I said sorely, anticipating her answer to be The Thing (pictured below).

"You look just like that fire dude."

"The Human Torch?" I asked meekly.

"Yah! That's his name. The Human Torch," she answered, tossing the ball and missing the nearest cup by an arm's length.

"Oh, well, yah. I mean, uhm, the Human Torch. Yeah. People tell me that all the time."