kind of amazing

The Bookend Brothers Bond Over Those Fabulous Beekman Boys

OR HOW ANIMAL HUSBANDRY GOT ITS GAY ON

Just a few days ago, Gavin and I were lounging on the sofas in front of the flat screen downstairs. Having wrestled the remote from him after suggesting he was in dire need of a hot shower (he smelled like the dairy farm where he works), I flipped through the channels, trying to find an episode of Dr. Who or something else of equal "interesting" or "intellectually expansive" factors. It was a Saturday afternoon and not much was garnering my attention. I passed over the SciFi and Spike channels and began the fascinating journey through The Discovery Channel, The Learning Channel and --that sometimes frightening place on the wavelength which reminds me why I'm glad I grew up human -- Animal Planet.

Nothing was catching my eye, and I was about ready to give the remote back to Gav; however, as we passed through more nature documentaries than Jane Goodall could dream of, I saw it as I almost skimmed over Planet Green -- one of those words that enraptures all gays -- that divine and flashy adjective: FABULOUS!!!

Gavin groaned, "Mom and I saw a commercial about this. It's some new show about gay farmers."

I grinned.  "Let's see what this about," I teased as I put the remote down and settled into a pile of embroidered pillows.

Gavin rolled his eyes, but then he got comfortable, too. I think he was, perhaps, intrigued by the premise of a couple of queers prancing about a gorgeous farm and, although he'll never admit this, I think (and I would have never imagined it) he's kind of started to like watching some of my shows with me.  What Not to Wear.  Chelsea Lately.  Glee.  He always, always, always pulls up an armchair when I'm watching those McKinley High kids overexert their ice-pack-me-right-after-this-take-is-finished vocal chords on Hulu.  I've even found Rachel Berry and Finn Hudson's Journey duet (among others) on iTunes.  I haven't bought any of the albums.

So.  Anyway.  We're watching and the gents are introducing themselves.  Brent's the former VP of Martha Stewart's something and Josh used to be a drag-queen.  This could get a little uncomfortable for Gav, I thought.  Maybe I really should find something else to watch.  And then, the moment for which no one would have been prepared:  we meet Farmer Jo, a bald, hefty, rural upstate New Yorker.  He has been hired on as the gentlemen farmers' goatkeeper.  He's talking about how if it weren't for Brent and Josh and the Beekman farm, he'd have lost the goats and how much he loves his animals and he starts crying!!!  I looked over at Gavin.  He looked at me.  We burst out laughing and watched the next three episodes of The Fabulous Beekman Boys, giggling together for another 90 minutes.   



The New York Times may not agree, but I kind of know that shows are brilliant when Gavin and I -- from two completely different molds -- can bond over watching them.  The fact that Gavin, in his muck boots and manure suit, and I, in my skinny jeans and hair paste, can sit and see facets of ourselves and each other in this stupid reality television show; the fact that we can giggle about how we do or don't fit into the stereotypes of cowboy or farmer or sensitive or gay man; or the fact that we can discuss our experience with having used or being the target of derogations like redneck and fag after watching this particular TV show is really incredible.

Who knew the gays and the rural backwater boys could enjoy the same thing so much?

Young Women Lessons, or How I Bawled Out a Bunch of Pre-Teens

Sam and I decided we'd go to an improv show a few Friday nights ago. It was going to be the show's 6th or 7th anniversary show, so we thought we'd better get there early to save a spot in the line. We thought right. Excitement pulsed through the line as we anticipated the show. The line snaked through a large room and people started crowding into each other as the room in which we were standing filled with sweaty, excited people. We are not going to lose our place, I thought. "Sam," I said (loud enough for the people in front of, beside and behind us could hear) "make sure you stay right behind our neighbors." He looked around, his eyes widened and gave me a look that read You're crazy if you think we're going to be in the same place when they open the doors, but nodded his head.

People rushed the door as soon as the ticket office lights were lit, and all seemed lost. I watched as the young men ahead of us speed-walked toward the ticket line, their smokey-eyed dates in grip and dragging behind them. I pulled some cash out of my wallet as we maneuvered through the throng, readying myself to make the ticket transaction as efficiently and quickly as possible--I really wanted to get to a good seat. We maneuvered through the throng of people and pretty much maintained our spot in line. It'll be fine, I thought. We're still pretty close to the front of the line. There aren't too many people who've butted in front of us. We'll get good seats. And then, I looked to my right. A group of about six pre-teen girls meandered and shuffled next to us, trying not to make eye contact with anyone. I wasn't sure where they had come from, but I knew they weren't anywhere near us in the earlier line. I got a little bitchy.

"Hey! You girls!" I pointed in their direction and shouted, relishing how quickly their quick-texting fingers stopped all movement, their mouths gaping from shock as I bawled them out. "What? You think that just because you're shorter than most of us your mom can drive you here five minutes before the show and you can sneak in here and butt in line in front of us when we've been waiting for a half an hour? Or more?!? I did not see you there five minutes ago. Not cool, ladies."

I'm not sure what scared them more, the fact that I'd called them on their complete disregard of ticket-line etiquette, or that I was a 25-year-old man yelling in registers that were higher than their 12- to 13-year old voices. They didn't move, except to look at one girl (I'm assuming their queen bee: their alpha female: that girl in every group of junior high girlfriends who intimidates the others with her hair, her clothes or her newly budded boobs and thus has the power to command, coerce, and connive against the others) and silently ask, Shit. What do we do now? Twilight didn't prepare us for this!!! I smirked at them and turned back around to talk with a chuckling Sam.

"Oh, Nic," he laughed, "I think you scared those poor girls more than you intended."

"Good," I retorted, "Maybe they'll learn their lesson."

I turned around to see their huddling shoulders. They looked a little more than intimidated, and I started to feel a bit bad about my outburst. "Ok girls, so here's the life lesson to be gleaned from tonight's run-in with me." They looked at me, horrified at what else I might do or say at their pride's expense. "You never, never, never cut in line in front of a gay boy, ok? We will call you on it every time. We're just that way."

They only responded with a few slight nods of their heads. I looked down at their young, awkward little selves. The make-up was a bit too brightly applied; the hair was in need of a bit more coiffing and smoothing; the clothes were a study in badly matched cuts and colors. I felt sad for them, but I knew there was hope. "Oh, and when you grow up and go to college, you'll love the gays: We'll help you pick out great shoes and clothes; we'll discuss whether or not your new haircut is right for you; and we'll always talk with you about the stupid boy problems you'll run into. You'll see: we're indispensable, even if we do call you out when you cut in line."

Their eyes lit up at my mention of "boy problems". They all circled around their queen bee and started up a chorus. "Oh! Oh! She's having boy troubles right now." "Help her! Help her!" "Tell us what to do to get him back!"

We were next in line to buy tickets. I turned around, cash in hand, and left them to figure out their own solution for their broken-hearted alpha. Sorry girls, I thought. You're not gonna get that lesson until you learn you don't cut in line.

Jenny Gets a New Coat - Part III

I walked over to a rack where Jenny was fingering the green scarf she had worn earlier  as well as another in a deep maroon shade.

"Ok, Jen," I said, using my most commanding voice, "You're getting the coat."

"But I can't--"

"No, not another word.  We're doing this for you because you deserve something nice.  It's about time somebody treated you to a thing like this, and we're doing it.  Somebody grab that coat before somebody else does.  Corey, give Jules your twenty.  I'll give her what I've got, too.  Jen, you get yourself a couple of scarves.  They're two for twelve.  You can afford that, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," came the shocked response.  "You don't have to do this."

"We know," Corey and Jules both said.

"We're doing it because we want to do something good for you.  How did you feel when you put the coat and the scarf on?" Jules asked.  "Pretty great, didn't you?"

"Yeah, I did."

"Then let us get it for you."

"I'll pay you guys back when I get a little bit of money.  Really?  You're really doing this?" Jenny couldn't believe it.

I loved every bit.  "You bet we are, my dear."

We walked up to the register, where Julyn bought the coat.  We walked out to the car, where Jenny promptly put it on.  We arrived at the reception just barely in time to see the ring ceremony.

I've thought a lot about how great it made me feel to do something like this for Jenny.  I didn't feel any anxiety about giving up a chunk of money that could have paid for a tank of gasoline of a couple of nice dinners with friends.  I wasn't worried that I may not see that money come back to me for a while.  I wasn't upset about any of that because I was so happy to see my friend happy because she felt good about how she looked.  It was totally worth it.

We often hear about people giving the clothes off their backs to show love and support, and Jenny has always done that for all of our friends.  She has been one of the first to show love and the last to mete out condemnation when any of us have struggled.  She is a beautiful individual, and I want her to see herself as such.  I guess, in a small way, we kind of did that for Jen when we bought a coat to put on her back.  We did it because we're old friends.  We did it, because, really, when it boils down, we've become family.  And families -- including the ones we create outside our biological ones -- work best when we build each other up and help each other feel our bests.

And Jenny LOVES her new coat!  :D

Jenny Gets a New Coat - Part II

We all knew she looked good, too, and our chorus of compliments grew in crescendo.

"You've got to get it, Jen," I said.  "It's a good, warm coat, and it looks great on you!  The way it cinches around your waist is superb -- so flattering."  Jenny was just smiles.

And then, she looked at the price tag.  One hundred some-odd dollars.  A sum far and above what Jenny has ever been willing to pay for any item of clothing she purchases.  "No," she shook her head in disappointment and started untying the scarf wrapped around her neck, "I've got some bills to pay and a few other things and payday isn't until next week.  Still, it was fun to try it on and pretend for a minute."

"But Jenny," I was incredulous, "it's 50% off."

"It's totally worth it, Jen," Corey concurred.

"And," chimed in Jules, taking the scarf from Jenny's hands, "if I buy it for you 'as a gift,' I can add my employee discount to the sale price."

"I just can't do it right now," Jenny argued.

"What if Corey and I put in the cash, and Jules adds the discount, Jen?"

"And you think of it as your Christmas present," Jules continued.

"And maybe part of your birthday, too?" Corey finished.

Again, Jenny refused, "I'm not going to let you guys do that.  That's nice and all, but I just can't have you do that."

Oh, we were disappointed, but that didn't stop us from dressing the rest of us up in coats and sweaters and scarves.  We had a grand time selecting winter fashions for each other, modelling our picks for the dressing room attendant, and posing as she took our picture.

When we took our items back to their tables and racks, I took Corey aside.  "We've got to do something, Corey.  It will be a tragedy if she doesn't walk out of here wearing her coat.  It is the last one in her size.  I checked.  I've got about $40 I can give her for it."

"And I've got about $20.  Let's do it," he motioned Julyn over, explaining our idea to buy the coat for Jenny since she wouldn't do it herself. 

Jules was all for it.  "Did you see how happy she looked when she was wearing it.  Sometimes, a girl just needs a good piece of clothing to help her feel good.  Give me the cash, and I'll buy it.  With my discount, $60 should be about right."

Now, we just had to convince Jenny.

Jenny Gets a New Coat - Part I

Oh, the joys of living the Life Trendy in Small-Town, USA!

Julyn, Jenny, Corey and myself had just finished the delicious wedding luncheon of our dear friends Jamie and Dan, catered by the most expensive restaurant in town.  Jamie was one of the most beautiful brides I've ever seen, and Dan was radiant with joy.  It proved to be a lovely dinner: Jules and I, being naturally theatrical and a bit flamboyant, serenaded our table-partners with the old standards of Nat King Cole, Dean Martin, Ella Fitzgerald and Frank Sinatra while Jenny and Corey sat at the end of the table, giggling together about our musical antics and commenting on the intricate, silvery beadwork on Jamie's bodice.  And now, we had two hours to kill before the reception was to begin.  What to do?

Jenny suggested we drive to the nearest Borders and peruse the shelves.  "That sounds like a great idea!  What's better than spending a pleasant, drowsy afternoon in a fabulous bookstore?  Let's go," I agreed.  So we left the restaurant and headed down the street.  Five minutes later, we were parking our cars at the strip mall where our Borders was located, neighboring our town's only Old Navy clothing store.

Julyn, recently employed by Old Navy, advertised their latest special to our quartet, "We're having an exceptional sale on outerwear this week.  Everything's 50% off."  Then, whetting the impeccable taste for fashion Corey and I share, she smiled and teased,  "Oh, and boys, our argyle is to die for!  And, the scarves that came in the new shipment are great, too.  Wanna go in for just a minute?  I need to check my schedule, anyway."

No one objected, and we marched right in.  After indulging the boys for more than a few minutes in the men's clothing section, the girls meandered over to the women's.  Following them, my eye lit on this wonderful ode to American style and seamstering.  I called Corey over.

"We have to find a way to get Jenny to try this on.  It's perfect for her.  Look at the cut, and the buttons!  Oh!  The the lining! -- that's a superb shade of fuschia!  It'd pair beautifully with that black handbag up there.  Where did those girls go?  They're not at the clearance rack, are they?!"

"You're not kidding.  It is beautiful," Corey agreed.  "Jenny!  Jules! Get over here, and bring a couple of pretty scarves with you.  We've got a little something we want Jenny to try on."

I could tell Jenny wanted that coat as soon as she saw it.  I sensed we had to find a way to convince her she had to get it as soon as she started slipping her arms through the sleeves.  I knew we couldn't leave the store without that overcoat in a sack on Jenny's arm as soon as we had buttoned it up.  It fit her perfectly.  Corey, Jules and I were speechless for a moment (a feat in and of itself), and then Julyn started tying a green, sparkly scarf around Jenny's neck.

"That scarf doesn't match the dress I'm wearing," Jenny tried to protest.

"That doesn't matter at all," Jules asserted. "You can wear whatever color of scarf you want with this coat, and no one can tell what you're wearing under it.  This camel color is perfect -- it'll match anything.  Now, take your ponytail out and let your hair down."

"Jules is right," Corey said.  "And it looks great when you fluff the scarf up like that."

"Here," I added, "try this bag.  No, it's not too big.  Yes, it's black.  No, it doesn't have to match.  It's just right.  Trust me."

Once we had Jenny all spiffied up and accessoried, we took her to a mirror to see our handiwork.  The moment she saw herself is one of the priceless memories I'll always keep tender.  Jenny is not the kind of girl who wears make-up.  She doesn't really agonize over what she's going to wear (she works as a teacher's aid in the schools, so how fancy does she need to be?).  I don't think she really considers herself "pretty."  I watched Jenny as she appraised the image in the mirror.  The slump of her shoulders straightened up.  The shuffle of her feet took on a more confident step.  Her smile put the overhead flourescent light to shame, and you could see in her eyes that she knew she looked good.