It is still odd to us here at Glassdog World Domination – perhaps because our goal is world domination and we want to dominate everyone so any particular one’s self-identity is pretty much beside the point – that the anachronistic concept of declaring one’s sexuality is still something worthy of a “thing.”
In other words, why is it that one set of persons has to declare this, and another set doesn’t? Does one declare one’s eye color? No, one does not. Does one appear on Time Magazine’s cover under the headline, “Yep, I’m left-handed!” No, one does not. And yet….
It would appear that a “major celebrity” will be declaring his or her sexual preference on People Magazine’s cover story this week. It will be doubly surprising if it turns out to be Ricky Martin declaring, “Yep, I’m straight!” but we sort of doubt that’s the “major celebrity” because he hasn’t been one or the other for a few years. Rumor, and Gawker, has it that the celebrity in question is Chely Wright, to which our only response is, “Who the hell is Chely Wright?”
Maybe the answer to that question is “some chick who’ll do anything for publicity because no one knows who the hell Chely Wright is.” Or how to pronounce her name. Is it ‘Shelly’ or ‘Chelly?’ Maybe it’s Kelly? Whatevs. Roll eyes.
Back to the point, such as it is. When do we get to not come out anymore? Maybe it’s when gay marriage is also okay, and by gay marriage we mean two gays getting married. To each other. And not, as some would propose, one gay marrying a non-gay because that’s legal, and or one gay marrying another gay of the opposite sex.
Is it okay to refer to gays as ‘gays’? This is all so confusing.
Coming out publicly is a right of passage for the gays, or did you already know that and it was pointless to tell you? And if you didn’t know that, perhaps you should come out! Coming out means that you gather people together in front of a magazine rack and present them with a color headshot of yourself smiling, but not smiling too much (which is gay), and then stand there while they take more pictures of you and fantasize about you having sex with someone who looks kind of like you, only not as attractive, because if they are as attractive (or, scandal!, more attractive) that’s too gay. Then they feel all funny inside and hug you and say “we support you no matter what!” because this is kind of like confessing that you spend your lonely hours drowning puppies or feeding shit to babies.
After coming out, you have a couple of weeks of blessed freedom, finally able to ogle all those hot asses you couldn’t ogle before because they were attached to the wrong people. Oddly, the hot asses are all the same no matter who they’re attached to, but it’s only when your eyes travel up the bodies that trouble happens. Those first two weeks are like the lives that people who aren’t forced to come out are like. It’s weird and awesome and you realize in those days what your life should have been like all along, whether you came out or not.
Then buyer’s regret settles in and you start to realize that nothing at all has changed, you still don’t get to actually go to bed with the hot asses and now you’re not just lonely, but you’re also sad because before you had all these people you could’ve secretly fucked but now that you’re out and they’re not, you can’t even be seen with them (until they come out, too).
Imagine, for a moment, that you’re Tom Cruise.
Okay, now imagine that someone has accused…
Stop screaming! Please!
Imagine… you’re going to scream again, aren’t you? It’s okay, it happens to everyone in this situation. Imagine that you’re so far in the closet that you have to sue people who even suggest that you might come out one day. Now imagine that you’re Katie Ho… you’re going to scream again, I just know it. You’re Katie Holmes and you’re married to Tom Cruise and…
Well, all this screaming is just killing the mood.
“That’s what she said!” Ba bim boom!
Nevermind about Tom. Just forget him. Pretend, instead, that you’re Ricky Martin sitting across from Barbara Walters and she just asked you in front of TV cameras if you’re gay. This is your moment. This is the opportunity. This is the time when you can finally face up to the truth and stop being scared of what others think and the fact that your career is over after the words leave your mouth.
What do you do?
Fact: You cannot be pulled out, you have to come out. No matter how many people step forward and tell all that they slept with you (but never, curiously, whether you are any good at it) it’s all okay until you say it. You can be seen romping on secluded beaches wearing a Speedo with your “personal trainer” all summer long, but until you say it yourself, that shadow of a doubt means you’re still straight and, therefore, still “okay.”
Remember the shit-eating babies.
Anyway, best of luck to whomever snags that People Magazine cover. You’re in for two weeks of amazing fun, and then three months of regret, and then oblivion. And compared to almost anything else, it’s the oblivion that sucks.