Friggin' Surreal

The former governor of New Jersey, Jim McGreevey, not satisfied to make our shared sexuality the centerpiece of a media circus, will now enter the country's oldest Episcopal seminary, located in New York.

After a week in which his estranged wife told Oprah that she a) didn't believe McGreevey was gay because she never saw him checking out guys AND b)kinda sorta figured he was screwing around AND c) her friends thought he was gay AND d) her sex with him was WAY hot... Well, we thought he'd take a breather from the public eye. Just to let his reputation cool off, if nothing else.

Publicity must get in your blood.

Divorce proceedings include wrangling over where their child will be allowed to eat a communion cracker: she is now the paragon of Catholicism, he a new-born Episcopal on his way to a possible priest gig. Episcopalians are to Catholics what Off-Broadway is to The Great White Way. A Catholic wouldn't take communion from a Baptist preacher on the precipice of Hell if Jesus himself offered a written promise of eternal bliss. An Episcopalian, on the other hand, would consider a bagel during Drag Brunch in the Castro to be good enough to do the trick. There's something to be said for relaxing a little.

As a gay man, I object to McGreevey giving a daily dose of ammunition to the people who think we're just genetically odd. Someone should also clue in his soon-to-be-ex-wife #2 that when you whore yourself out to be First Lady, you have scant room to bitch when the gig goes south. It's not like she had white picket fences in her eyes going in. Now she's a nobody with a tape of herself on Oprah. Good on her. But everyone will remember her as the chick who got dumped for another man and lost her Trophy Wife job in the bargain. Tell me she didn't make a deal with the Devil to trade her common sense for prominence.

If Jim McGreevey would like to continue his status as Big Gay Headline, we would suggest that he spend some time figuring out what it means to be a gay man. Perhaps if he had some big gay substance to underpin his interview schedule, his constant assault on the public consciousness wouldn't be quite so embarrassing for all involved. Take a week in the Castro, have a few breakups, buy a Playgirl at 7-11 from a man with tattoos, get too drunk at a leather bar and wake up hogtied with an amazing collection of clothespins. Or just shut up for a year and live your big gay life.

Contrary to urban myth, we don't have a manual or an agenda. But if we did, page one would include the admonition: No Seminaries or Interviews in the First Year.

For every Ellen and Melissa, Ian McKellen and Doogie, we get a McGreevey, Anne Heche, Bobby Trendy and Boy George. Because the negative has twice the impact as the positive, that makes it One Step Forward, Two Steps Back. It's becoming harder to get excited over the famous folks dancing out of the closet.

Maybe next time we should be more specific in how we pray.