A Jolly GayProf Fellow

Aging is usually something best done alone. Or maybe with a bottle of bourbon. Whatever the case, it’s hard to conceive that I will be 38 this week. Another year probably doesn't matter too much. Fortunately or unfortunately, my gravitas has always made me seem much older than I really am. People are always pleasantly surprised that I am so much younger than they initially think. It's sorta a compliment or something.

Speaking of gravitas, I am just not ready to part with my annual birthday post here at CoG. Who does not enjoy weighing their life accomplishments against others at the same age?

At age 38, this is the year that I would publish The Native Tribes about the East Texas Missions if I were historian Herbert Bolton. It would be my last year teaching at the University of Texas.

If I were Gore Vidal at age 38, I would be busy writing my novel Julian.

If I were Don Draper, this is the year that I would start a new advertising agency (Sterling Cooper Draper Pryce). Reaching the age of 38 would also mean that this is the year that I would finally divorce Betty.



If I were Elizabeth Cady Staton I would be working with Susan B. Anthony at the shortlived Woman’s State Temperance Society. We would both decide our efforts were better spent working on suffrage.

If I were Cher at age 38, I would be filming Mask this year.

If I were Frederick Jackson Turner, I would have delivered my career-defining “The Significance of the Frontier in American History” essay six years ago. History grad students everywhere would come to curse my name.



According to traditional sources, I would use an asp to kill myself this year if I were Cleopatra VII.

If I were Sam Steward, I would be working at World Book Encyclopedia after leaving Loyola University. I would also have my last drink this year.



If I were Dolores Huerta, I would be seated on the platform while Robert Kennedy gave his last speech before being shot minutes later.

If I were Rudolph Valentino, I would be dead. It would have been seven years since I had sex with Sam Steward in my hotel room.


If I were James Baldwin, this is the year that I would publish the essay “Down at the Cross” in the New Yorker. It would have been six years since I wrote Giovanni’s Room.
If I were Jimmy Stewart, I would star in It’s a Wonderful Life this year, a heartwarming picture about an ungrateful town that drives a man to suicide on Christmas Eve.

If I were Lolita Lebrón, it would have been four years since I led an armed attack on the U.S. House of Representatives in the name of Puerto Rican independence.


If I were 99 percent of the U.S. public, I would have no idea who Lolita Lebrón was.
If I were Frances Parkman, it would be another four years before I published The Pioneers of France in the New World.

If I were Rock Hudson, I would star in the forgettable A Gathering of Eagles this year. It would have been 17 years since I had sex with Sam Steward in a freight elevator at Marshall Field’s department store.


If I were Malcolm X, I would declare that John F. Kennedy’s assassination was the “chickens coming home to roost.”

If I were Pearl Bailey, I would release the album The Intoxicating Pearl Bailey this year.

If I were Tennessee Williams, I would have just started my affair with Frank Merlo. It would last 14 years and ultimately be the longest lasting romantic relationship of my life.


If I were Ann Bancroft, it would have been two years since (!) I played the role of Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate.

If I were Vivian Leigh, I would win my second Academy Award for Best Actress for portraying Blanche DuBois in A Streetcar Named Desire. My mental health would be mighty precarious.

If I were Danny Kaye, I would star in On the Riviera this year. My alleged affair with Laurence Olivier probably didn’t help Vivian Leigh’s mighty precarious mental health.


If I were Abraham Lincoln, I would be serving in my only term in the U.S. House of Representatives. It would have been a decade since I started slaying vampires.

If I were Marylin Monroe, I would be dead.

If I were William Shatner, this would be my last season on the t.v. show Star Trek.

If I were Oscar Wilde, I would be in the first year of my affair with Alfred “Bosie” Douglas. Things would not go well for me in that relationship...

If I were Alfred “Bosie” Douglas, it would be another 29 years before I had sex with Sam Steward.

If I were Lupe Vélez, I would be dead.



If I were Alexander Hamilton, I would resign my position as Secretary of the Treasury because of a scandal involving an extra-marital affair. The story would have been more interesting if it had been with Sam Steward.

If I were Gloria Steinem, this is the year that I would found Ms. magazine.

If I were either of my parents at age 38, I would have three children. The oldest would be eighteen and the youngest would be eleven.

If I were Mary Richards, I, and most of my friends, would have been fired from WJM last year.


If I were Mitt Romney, I would hopefully never be President of the United States.

If I were Jaqueline Kennedy, I would visit Cambodia as an official-unofficial ambassador for the United States at the age of 38.



If I were Saint Anthony, I would be dead.

If I were Michele Obama, I would be fabulous.

If I were GayProf, I would have achieved tenure and promotion this year. My blog would have been updated so infrequently in the past year that two birthday posts would appear on the same page. I would never have had sex with Sam Steward.

If I were Jayne Mansfield, I would be dead.

If I were William Rufus King, I would be serving as a Senator from Alabama in Washington D.C. I would soon shack up with future President James Buchannan. Our relationship, among other things, would lead Andrew Jackson to give me the nicknames “Miss Nancy” and “Aunt Fancy.” I’m not sayin’, I’m just sayin’.


If I were Dolly Parton, this is the year I would star in the regrettable Rhinestone with Sylvester Stallone.

If I were teen heartthrob Corey Haimm, this is the year I would die.

If I were Che Guevara, this is the year that I would arrive in Bolivia in a doomed effort to foment revolution.

If I were Wonder Woman, I would age another 2,453 years before joining Patriarch’s world to fight crime.

Happy Birthday, Mr. GayProf

Now that I have recovered from my throat eating bacterial infection, I can think of more pleasant things. And what is more pleasant than my birthday? Yes, this weekend GayProf’s odometer rolls over to 34.

I find it hard to believe my birthday is already here. Where has the summer gone? Oh, right – The Never Ending Research Project of Doom and illness. Hey, it can’t all be sunshine and lollipops.

As is tradition at CoG, it’s time to break out the ol’ subjunctive mood. Let’s measure my life against where other people were at the same age. :

If I were Jacqueline Kennedy at age thirty-four, I would have moved out of the White House last year following the untimely death of my husband.

If I were John F. Kennedy, I would currently be serving in the U.S. House of Representatives. I would meet Jacqueline Bouvier next year.

If I were Jesus at age thirty-four, I would have been dead for one year.

If I were Mary Richards at age thirty-four, I would have moved to Minneapolis four years ago. It would be abundantly clear that I was going to make it after all.



If I were Cher, this would be the year that I formed the doomed band Black Rose. It would be two years before I starred in Come Back to the Five and Dime, Jimmy Dean, Jimmy Dean on Broadway.

If I were James Dean, I would have been dead for ten years.

If I were Cleopatra VII, I would be Queen of Egypt and Cyprus.

If I were Julius Caesar, it would be another sixteen years before I would meet Cleopatra VII.

If I were Mark Antony, it would be another seven years before I started an affair with Cleopatra VII.

If I were Montgomery Clift, I would be enjoying critical acclaim for my role in From Here to Eternity. In two years, I will smash my car into a telephone pole and disfigure my face.



If I were Pancho Villa at age thirty four, I would become provisional governor of Chihuahua in the midst of the Mexican Revolution. It would be another three years before I decided to launch an attack on New Mexico.

If I were Harvey Milk, it would be another 13 years before I became the first openly gay elected official in a major U.S. city.

If I were Miguel Otero, II, it would be another three years before I became the first Mexican American governor in the U.S. (Appointed to govern New Mexico)

If I were Ezequiel Cabeza De Baca, it would be another nineteen years before I became the first elected Mexican-American governor in the U.S. (Serving New Mexico).

If I were Octaviano Ambrosio Larrazolo, I would be the District Attorney of El Paso. It would be another thirty-five years before I became the first Mexican American elected to serve in the U.S. Senate (for the State of New Mexico).



If I were Saint Anthony of Padua, I would currently be serving in the papal court of Gregory IX. I would only have another two years to live.

If I were Che Guevara at age thirty four, I would be a key figure in the Cuban Missile Crisis.

If I were Marilyn Monroe, this would be the year that I shot my last full film, The Misfits.

If I were George W. Bush, I would be a major failure and an embarrassment to all of humanity (this is true at any age).

If I were Kate Jackson, I would have left Charlie’s Angels four years ago. It would be another year before I starred in Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

If I were Farrah Fawcett, I would have left Charlie’s Angels four years ago. It would be another three years before I made the Burning Bed.

If I were Jaclyn Smith, this would be my last year on Charlie’s Angels. I would be the only one of the original three to stay through the show in its entirety.



If I were Barbie, this would be the year that I declared “Math class is tough.”

If I were Emperor Maximilian I of Mexico, I would be under heavy pressure to abdicate my fabricated claim to a fabricated throne. France would also withdraw its military support. This would therefore be my last year alive.

If I were Barack Obama, I would currently be working as a Civil Rights attorney in Chicago, Illinois.

If I were either of my parents, I would already have three children. The youngest would be six years old (who would later grow up to be the most desirable man on the blogosphere).

If I were Queen Elizabeth I of England, this would be the year that I imprison Mary, Queen of Scots.

If I were Diego de la Vega, I would have been fighting injustice as Zorro for a full decade.



If I were Dolly Parton, I would have three number-one songs on the chart this year: “Starting Over,” “Old Flames,” and “9 to 5.” The last would be nominated for an Oscar.

If I were Billie Holiday, it would have been two years since I was convicted on drug charges. I would be banned from performing anywhere in New York for the rest of my life. It would be another five years before I decided to tour Europe, where I was much more appreciated than in the U.S.

If I were GayProf, I would have finished my first year at Big Midwestern University and be working on the Never Ending Research Project of Doom – still. Oh, wait, I am GayProf.

If I were Lupe Vélez, I would be at the height of my popularity in the U.S. as the star of the “Mexican Spitfire” films of the 1940s. I would commit suicide in two years.

If the people want me to be President of the United States, it will still be another year before that will be allowed by the Constitution. I can be named Supreme Emperor at any time.

If I were Eva Perón, I would have been dead for one year. Argentina may or may not have been crying for me.

If I were Wonder Woman, I would age another 2,457 years before joining Patriarch’s world to fight crime.

I Haven't Done Jack in 33 Years . . . Or Steve, Either

My birthday week is upon us. In the future, I imagine this week will be marked by parades and bank closures. It will be a time when people throughout North America will gather and reflect on my existence. Of course, for those who follow the religion of CoG, my birthday will be one of the high-holy days. I expect that ceremonies will involve a ritual humming of the Charlie’s Angels theme song and maybe a game of bullets-and-bracelets.

Well, okay, maybe that isn’t exactly what is going to happen with my birthday in the future. Still, thinking about such things is far better than considering the Supreme Court’s decisions to limit our rights and to maintain a racist and class-biased education system. It’s also much better than thinking about the debacle that was called immigration “reform.” My fantasy world is a happier place – The sky is purple there.

In reality, however, the passing of my birthday in the next couple of days just means that I have turned thirty-three. Aging doesn’t particularly bother me (though I would like more hair and hope that hair which remains continues to linger). As always, though, I like to compare where I am with my life at thirty-three with where other people were at this same age:

If I were Jacqueline Kennedy at age thirty-three, this would be my last year in the White House.

If I were Jesus at age thirty-three, I would die this year.

If I were Pierre Trudeau, I would be busy editing the journal Cité Libre.

If I were Mary Richards, I would have moved to Minneapolis three years ago. This year, I would also cut my hair, thus ending the show in GayProf’s eyes (despite it going on for another four years). Long-haired Mary or nothing.

If I were Emiliano Zapata, I would have issued my Plan de Ayala a year ago. My attention at thirty-three would be focused on trying to oust the military dictator Victoriano Huerta under my call for "Tierra y Libertad."



If I were Pancho Villa, I would have another three years before I became instrumental in thwarting Huerta’s dictatorial ambitions.

If I were Harvey Milk, it would be another 14 years before I became the first openly gay elected official in a major U.S. city.

If I were James Dean, I would have been dead for nine years.

If I were César Chávez, I would need another seven years before I founded the precursor to the UFW with Dolores Huerta.

If I were Dolores Huerta, I would have founded the precursor to the UFW with César Chávez last year.

If I were Rita Moreno, I would have won the Oscar for my portrayal of “Anita” in West Side Story three years ago.

If I were Oscar Wilde, this would be the year that I started working for the Pall Mall Gazette.

If I were Blake Harper, this would be the year that I win the GayVN award for “Gay Performer of the Year” for my diligent work in porn.

If I were GayProf, this would be the year that I move to Midwestern Funky Town to start a new life – again.

If I were Larry Hagman, I would be given the role of Anthony Nelson on the television show I Dream of Jeannie this year.



If I were Hernán Cortés, I would launch Spain’s invasion of Mexico this year.

If I were Thomas Jefferson, this would be the year that I draft the Declaration of Independence (much to the historical chagrin of forgotten Richard Henry Lee).

If I were Che Guevara, I would be serving as Cuba’s Minister of Industries.

If I were Marilyn Monroe, I would film Some Like it Hot at age 33.

If I were George W. Bush, I would be a major failure and an embarrassment to all of humanity (this is true at any age).

If I were Kate Jackson, I would have left Charlie’s Angels three years ago. It would be another two years before I starred in Scarecrow and Mrs. King.

If I were Farrah Fawcett, I would have left Charlie’s Angels three years ago.

If I were Jaclyn Smith, I would be the last of the “original” Charlie’s Angels still on the show.

If I were either of my parents, I would already have three children. The youngest would be five years old (who would later grow up to be the most desirable man on the blogosphere).

If I were the titular character in the song “Good Time Charlie’s Got the Blues,” my heart would keep tellin’ me that you’re not a kid at thirty-three.

If I were Joaquin Murrieta, it would have been nine years since the California Rangers executed me. My head would currently be on display in a jar of brandy as a curiosity for interested Euro Americans willing to pay a buck.

If I were Dolly Parton, I would start filming 9 to 5 this year.

If I were William Shatner, it would be two years before I accepted the television role of Captain Kirk.

If I were Captain Kirk, I would have been commanding the U.S.S. Enterprise for two years.

If I were Billie Holiday, I would have just been released from jail for a conviction on drug charges. I would be banned from performing anywhere in New York for the rest of my life.

If I were Walt Whitman, I would be busy writing the first edition of Leaves of Grass. It would be another three years before I would become world-famous with its publication.

If I were Elvis Presley, this would be the year that I filmed my 1968 Comeback Special for NBC.

If the people want me to be President of the United States, it will be another two years before that will be allowed by the Constitution.

If I were Anne Bancroft, it would only be another three years before I played Mrs. Robinson in The Graduate (which is kinda depressing to think she was that young and considered over the hill).

If I were Seth Green, this would be the year that I produced the special "Star Wars" episode of Robot Chicken.

If I were Reies López Tijerina, I would send a letter to President Dwight Eisenhower asking that the Federal Government investigate the dispossession of Mexicans in New Mexico. It would be another three years before I founded La Alianza Federal de Mercedes.

If I were Eva Perón, I would die this year.

If I were Malcolm X, this would be the year that I married Betty. It would be another five years before I write my autobiography.

If I were Brad Pitt, I would probably have better things to do than write lists about other people’s accomplishments at age 33. Actually, this might be true about everybody mentioned.

If I were Freddie Mercury, this would be the year that I write the song “Crazy Little Thing Called Love.”

If I were Wonder Woman, I would age another 2,458 years before joining Patriarch’s world to fight crime.