Common Sense	Common Sense Archive

I see that one of the premium cable channels has launched a gay-themed TV series, operating on the presumption that gay men have more "taste" and "style" than their straight brethren. One of the producers was quoted, the day after the initial broadcast, that viewership was much larger than expected. Who watched a show about gay men "making over" straight guys? Women, I suspect. But it's nice, sort of, to see more "gay visibility" on the boob toob. I'm still waiting for one of the cable folks to start the all-gay channel, and I'd like to be programming director of that job. My first sked would be "The Robert Patrick" show, and I'd slot it right up against re-runs of "Friends." (Patrick's already out there in TV land; why not kick him upstairs from the writer's desk to the host's desk?) The rest of the grid would be filled up with, oh, a potpourri, a rainbow cooking show, amateur hours, porn previews, silly game shows-- I'd have Felice Picano host that one (Felice once told me he was angling to get on "Jeopardy!"), a sports-fashion show, lots of Barbara Stanwyck movies (on off hours, Beryl Reid and/or Judy Holliday), home improvements, pet grooming, dating, a sing-along hour, old Liberace re-runs and all the other genres required to fill up a 24/7 plasma screen. The one show I will personally produce is the gay rip-off of the PBS antiques road show, which will be called "Toys In The Attic."

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Can you imagine the joy of gay men dragging out their most special gay treasures from their closets, attics, basements, and even better, the joy of watching it all in a just-so way.

"Well, Bunny, I picked up this exquisite psychedelic painting-- it's oil on velvet-- of Judy Garland in Haight Ashbury back in '67 at one of the first orgies hosted by the Reverend Fuck Poland, where they had a sideline of yard-sale items and I'd hate to give it up but I was wondering what its market value might be."

"Sid, velvet-based portraits of the divine Judy are top tier of collectibles, and don't waste this one on an E-Bay auction. I'd network with the former members of the National Judy Garland Fan Club Association. It'll find the right owner."

"Thanks, Bunny."

What treasures are in the collective gay attic? Well, there's all that wonderful old "erotica." Those 8-millimeter porn loops. Some older fellow-- that is, older than I am-- came in my shop the other day and asked if I buy old stuff. I told him I love old stuff. He brought up the 8-millimeter films, of which he had a generous number. I entertained the idea of taking them-- on the assumption that there's eventually a gay market for old gayola-- but then I reminded myself that I had just bought some old videotapes from someone doing spring-cleaning and a number of them turned out to be Beta tapes! And it comes to the point, well, I hate seeing anything thrown out, but the thought of diminishing returns was part of the consideration. The impulse to archive the culture of gay life in America slams into the retail necessity and the obsolescence of technology. Will those great digital porno fotos be archivable, transmittable and publishable in 25 years? No one knows. There's nothing like the security of a good negative. So much of this shit seems designed to be thrown away, certainly just about all of popular culture. But the queens-- well, at least many I know-- like to collect stuff, and many columns I have written for this publication have recounted my impressions of encounters with these types.

One friend who knows a lot about old furniture told me he often attends auctions wherein one-of-a-kind antique furniture is being knocked down. He sees many of the same people at each auction, and many of them are gay men whom, he assumed, were in the decorating business. He did comment: he had never seen such a collection of men who were of pale complexion and rather hatchet-faced. What does that say? And is it only the furniture catalogue that draws this profile? I have never been to a Cher "Final Tour" concert, but that might be interesting as an exercise in gay profiling. James McCourt told me that at the Judy Garland concert in Carnegie Hall-- later turned into one of the classic gay LPs in the catalogue and a "must have" for the lavender tribe-- one of his friends screamed out: "Judy, sit on my face!" And McCourt said that if you listen real hard you can actually hear where they had trouble editing that remarkable phrase out. Actually, they should have left it in; it would have added "authenticity," something of concern to marketing departments these days. And it would have covered the "gay product placement" quota for times back then.

"Bunny, I have a remastered bootleg of the Maria Callas Mexico City concert which I burned on CD and for which I have created a computer-generated animated sequence of Maria performing in various roles. I have also written the accompanying volume of Maria's life in an As-Told version, the person being told to being Me, which I patched together from various sources, but mostly made up because I wanted her life to be so fabulous!"

"Gus, this is material too good to even price out here on the antiques show. Tell you what, bring it by my office tomorrow and we'll develop it to fit in with out Divine Divas Hour for Gay-TV, worth far more than a song. Think of all the Value Added!"

Finally, a sight for sore eyes.

Author Profile:  Mitzel
	Mitzel was a founding member of the Fag Rag collective, and has been a Guide columnist since 1986. He manages Calamus Books near Boston's South Station.
	Email:	mitzel@calamusbooks.com
	Website:	calamusbooks.com