Last night I had a few people over for dinner (including fellow-blogger PIHP). Your GayProf had too much wine – way too much wine.
It's days like these, when the sound of my own circulatory system produces a thunderous echo, that I wonder about my judgment. Ugh. Right now, I just need some quiet. Sweet-sweet quiet. And maybe a liver transplant.
In the meantime, check out this little shout-out to CoG:
Okay, I know that it is a clever type of advertising for the True Colors Tour targeted at certain gay blogs. Still, for a brief moment, Cyndi Lauper thought about me!
Well, okay not me exactly, 'cuz she clearly had never heard of this blog until four seconds before they started filming. Still, for that brief instant, something about me was on her mind. Eeeee. It’s better than an autograph. Eeeeeeeeeee.
“GayProf,” I hear you asking, “Are you so easily swayed by celebrity? We thought you kept it real, man.”
Clearly you know nothing about how much I crave validation. In the immortal words of Mika, “Love, love me.” Or was that Evita who said that? I tend to get them confused.
We aren’t talking about just any celebrity, anyway. She’s so unusual. As a queer youth, I secretly enjoyed “Girls Just Want to Have Fun” a bit more than you would expect. Or, maybe, you would have expected that.
Lauper is also a woman who had a hit single about masturbation. In my book, that scores a lot of points.
It did make me wonder, for what other celebrities would I plug? I am not talking about plugging for money. Really, I will sell almost anything for money. Do you know how little history profs make these days?
For which other celebrities, though, would I give it away? Hmm, probably if any of the following people asked or in anyway acknowledged my existence, I couldn’t help myself:
I don’t know what she is selling, but I would buy it! Only, though, if she still had the bun. I certainly wouldn’t plug for her if she had the ponytail. No, no. Bun or the deal is off.
FrankenBerry paved the way for queer-oriented breakfast foods. He was comfortable enough in his gender identity to paint giant strawberries onto his fingernails. Truly, FrankenBerry is an unsung queer hero.
Granted, if Lynde asked me to plug something I might be terrified given that he is dead and stuff. No matter how much I loved Uncle Arthur or how witty he was on Hollywood Squares, interacting with the living dead would be disquieting. For some reason, though, the fact that FrankenBerry was constructed out of dead people doesn’t bother me at all.
Want me to push those contact lenses? You’ve got it! I might ask to wear the tiara in exchange, though.