The Republic of T.

There are no second acts in American lives.

F. Scott Fitzgerald

It struck me as simultaneously ironic and poetic when, a few weeks ago, two of music biggest icons — each of whom in their own way represented the intoxicating excess that goes with a certain level of celebrity — went through transitions that were as similar as they were different. And within days of each other.

One, at least, no longer has to please his public — or seek its forgiveness. The other now faces the task of disproving the famous F. Scott Fitzgerald quote above.

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Clearly something is amiss. Let the record show that, as we say in the south, “he ain’t right.” Kelly Clarkson wonders what happened to him as a child. Obama called him a “jackass.”

Well, he did behave like one.

Seriously, though. I wonder if Kanye West really does have a problem, because I can very much identify with the trouble his mouth has gotten him into, again.

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It was late last night, after putting the kids to bed and doing a bit of work, that I learned Patrick Swayze died of the pancreatic cancer he’d battled since last year.

Patrick Swayze, the actor and classically trained dancer whose role in the enduringly popular “Dirty Dancing” made him a movie star, one who struggled with the alienation of fame and against being typecast as a leading man, died Monday. He was 57.

Swayze, who also starred in the blockbuster film “Ghost,” died in Los Angeles with his family at his side, his publicist, Annett Wolf, said.

Early last year, Swayze learned he had pancreatic cancer, a diagnosis that came two weeks after production wrapped on the pilot of “The Beast,” an A&E series in which he starred as an unorthodox FBI agent.

Swayze has long been a favorite male celebrity of mine, ever since he caught my eye as a just-coming out, southern gay boy. So, I thought it appropriate to post my two favorite Swayze movie moments.

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It was quiet this morning, when I sat down to read the news, after seeing the rest of my family out the door. It was quiet this morning when I read about the passing of Senator Ted Kennedy.

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iii

Tell me, tell me, tell me the answer…

“Helter Skelter,” The Beatles

His name was Jason. I didn’t remember that right away, but I remembered him. As I closed the book on Rader and asked myself how people could sit right next to a murderer like him — or like any of the others whose deeds I’d been reading about — and not now it … I thought about Jason. I hadn’t done that in a long time.

He was, when I knew him, a fairly ordinary guy. I didn’t know him well, and we weren’t close friends. He was, for a while, part of my social circle in college. Most of the time, I’d see him in the dining hall, where some of us who had a break in classes at the same time of day would gather for lunch. Or I’d see him when (roughly) the same group got together for dinner in the dining hall.

I don’t remember how he came to be a part of the group, which was randomly assembled. He may have been someone’s roomate. Perhaps he had a class with someone in the group, or attended the same high school, or came from the same hometown.

He was a pretty regular guy from what I recall. He was average height or maybe a little shorter, kinda skinny, brown hair, blue eyes. He had a nice smile and a somewhat deep voice. Knowing me, I might even have thought he was somewhat cute back then, briefly, before moving on to some other crush on some other guy within a day or so.

Anyway, he was straight, so I likely dismissed the notion quickly. He dated one young woman in our group, for a while. They eventually broke up, but don’t remember any drama about it. He still hung out with the group.

Most of all, I don’t remember anything that stood out about him. He wasn’t, violent as far as I remember. I don’t remember anything about him that suggested he was likely to murder anyone.

Like I said, I couldn’t even remember his name. But I remembered him. And, more than that, I remembered his victim’s name.

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Not every evening, but several times a week — after the kids have gone to bed — there comes a moment when my husband reaches for the television remote and declares what we we will now “watch something in which no one is not horrifically murdered.” I chuckle, but I don’t object, because by then he has already indulged my penchant for the “True Crime” television genre.

On any given night, there will be at least one viewing of Dateline, 48 Hours, Deranged, Most Evil, Cold Case Files, Crime 360, The First 48, True Crime, American Justice, Dominick Dunne: Power, Privilege and Justice, Crime Stories, City Confidential, The Interrogators, Notorious, or Forensic Files. Maybe any two of the above. Then my hubby commandeers the remote and it’s either HGTV, DIY, The Food Network, or Logo.

Can’t say that I blame him. But it wasn’t until the first time he made that announcement that I realized I’d had a longstanding fascination — more than half my life at this point. —with crime stories. It was something I took so much for granted that I didn’t notice how much I watched the shows above or others like them. It wasn’t until just recently that I thought about where, when and how it got started.

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I was wondering why this post was suddenly getting so many Google search hits.

Now I know.

The Russian prime minister was photographed engaged in a series of adventurous activities including riding a horse bareback and climbing trees in southern Siberia.

In the latest of a series of media stunts Mr Putin was snapped striding through grassy fields wearing ankle high boots, an Indiana Jones style-hat and green fatigues while visiting the remote Russian region of Tuva.

The Russian premier camped out overnight, rafted down the region’s fast flowing rivers and visited a traditional farmstead, according to Russian news agencies.

Mr Putin’s day of activities were described as a “holiday” by state media but was clearly aimed at reinforcing his tough-guy image that plays so well at home.

I guess anytime this guy want to score media points, he strips off his shirt…

Tell me again that “race had nothing to do with” the arrest of Henry Louis Gates. We’ve gone from “gorillas in the mist” to “banana-eating” “jungle monkey.”

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I don’t know about you but “sorry” doesn’t begin to cut it

Chris Brown has publicly apologised for attacking his ex-girlfriend Rihanna.

In a two-minute video on his website, the R&B star said “I thought it was time that you heard directly from me that I am sorry”.

He says he is seeking help and wants to live his life as a role model, saying: “I wish I had the chance to live those few moments again”.

Chris Brown pleaded guilty to assault after he was arrested the night before the Grammy awards in February.

Not when we’re talking about this.

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There’s one Michael Jackson video I forgot to add to the previous post. I thought of it because I found myself humming it yesteday.

I guess the lyrics spoke to me.

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We all have a few of them. Those "where-were-you-when" moments that simultaneously help define generations and span generational differences. Our parents and grandparents may recall where they were when FDR died or when they heard that Kennedy — John or Bobby — was assassinated. Or when they got news of Martin Luther King’s assassination. Or Elvis’ death.

I remember hearing about John Lennon’s murder, though I don’t remember exactly where I was or what I was doing. I remember where I was when the space shuttle Challenger exploded. (At home, watching it on television, saying to myself "That wasn’t supposed to happen," when it broke apart.) I remember where I was when the Berlin Wall started to come down. (Again, watching it on television.) I remember where I was when I heard that Princess Diana had died. (At a party of gay men — my fraternity brothers — when someone came downstairs after watching a news report, and announced it to everyone.)

And, I’ll remember where I was when I heard that Michael Jackson had died.

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Aw, man. First K-Fed and now this?

Levi Johnston is now officially an aspiring actor and model. And according to his new manager Tank Jones, he is getting closer to a clinching a deal that will help him support the baby son he fathered with his former girlfriend, Bristol Palin.

“There’s offers on the table for a little bit of everything – sitcom appearances, a reality show, some modeling,” Jones tells PEOPLE. “We haven’t signed anything, but there’s offers.” Jones declined to give specific details.

Johnston’s interest in a show business represents one of the few viable careers open to him, Jones adds. A high-school dropout passionate about hunting and hockey, Johnston, 19, “is going to go and take the test and finish school and enroll in some college courses,” his manager says. “[But] it’s not like he can go and get a normal job now. Because of all the publicity. The whole interviewing thing, and red carpet and paparazzi – he still hasn’t gotten comfortable with it, but what else does he have? Can he go work at McDonald’s? … He wants to take care of his son financially.”

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I’m a woman.

I can make love to a crocodile…

~ Koko Taylor, “I’m a Woman”

That’s my favorite line from my favorite Koko Taylor song — “I’m a Woman,” which sounds like an answer to the Muddy Waters/Bo Diddley number “I’m a Man.” I started listening to the blues while I was growing up. It started with a fascination with Billie Holiday, which led me to listen to Bessie Smith, and Ma Rainey.

But I didn’t find those in my dad’s collection. That took a trip to the library. It wasn’t until I went to college and starting deejaying at the campus student-run radio station that I discovered Koko Taylor, who passed away yesterday at the age of 80.

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OK. Rob Thomas was never all that hard to like. (At least not as far as I’m concerned. He’s easy on the eyes, and many of his songs work quite well for my voice, on the occasional karaoke night).

But then he goes and writes stuff like this, and makes it even easier to like him.

I am a person who believes that people are born gay. I don’t think you have any control over what moves you or to whom you’re attracted. That’s why it’s called an attraction and not a choice.

I believe that America is a great nation of even greater people. I also believe that anyone who says that this is a “Christian nation” has RHS, or revisionist history syndrome, and doesn’t realize that most of our founding fathers were either atheist or at least could see, even in the 1700s, that all through Europe at the time, religion was the cause of so much persecution that they needed to put into their brand new constitution a SEPARATION OF CHURCH AND STATE so that the ideals of a group of people could never be forced onto the whole. (I also find it funny when people point out to me that it says “one nation under god” in our pledge of allegiance, not realizing that this was an addition made in 1954 during the communism scare of the McCarthy era. It’s not surprising, however, knowing that these same people would punch me in the mouth if I called Jesus a Jew.)

I believe the fact that an atheist, who doesn’t believe in God at all, is allowed to enter into the holy land of marriage while a gay Christian is not, shows that this law is arbitrary. Are we to believe that anyone who doesn’t live their life according to the King James Bible isn’t protected by the same laws that protect those who do? Using the same argument that I’ve seen on the 700 Club, that would mean that Jewish, Hindu, or Muslim weddings are also null and void.

I believe that to deny this right to the gay population is to say to them, “this god is not your god and he doesn’t love you.” There isn’t one person who is against gay marriage that can give me a reason why it shouldn’t be legal without bringing God or their religion into it. Still, I’m amazed at the audacity of a small, misdirected group of the ultra-conservative Christian right wing, to spend millions of dollars, in a recession, on advertisements to stop two men or women who love each other from being able to be married, but when you present any opposition to them, they accuse you of attacking their religion. Isn’t it funny that the people who are the quickest to take someone’s basic rights to happiness are always the loudest to scream when someone attacks their right to do so?

But this isn’t a paper about religion. How could it be? Since we clearly have a separation of church and state, how could a conversation about laws have anything to do with religion at all? I’m writing about basic civil rights. We’ve been here before, fighting for the rights of African Americans or women to vote, or the rights of Jewish Americans to worship as they see fit. And, just as whites fought for African Americans or Christians for Jewish Americans, straight people must stand up and be a voice for gay people.

Talented, good looking, and a straight-guy-who-gets-it?

I long ago gave up getting serious crushes on straight guys. But guys like this one have my respect and admiration.

Two rulings, from different courts, caught my eye this morning. It would have been more interesting if they’d come from the same court, but it’s still kind of funny. And rather curious.

I present Exhibit A:

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This is getting ridiculous. Now conservatives are volunteering to be waterboarded. Now? Seriously? Where were they for the past eight years, when we were doing that and much, much more to people, many of whom weren’t guilty of more than jaywalking, let alone of terrorism against the United States?

Now, here comes Sean Hannity, belatedly offering himself up to be waterboarded.

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She meant well, I know.

Years ago, after I got a letter from my mom. Also in the envelope was a newspaper clipping. I unfolded it to find it was an article about a company that made lifts for short men to wear in their shoes, in order to achieve a few inches of height. When I spoke with her on the phone, she asked me if I got the clipping, and I confirmed that I did. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that, as a gay man, I’d never hear the end of it if I got caught wearing lifts. I’d be better off just wearing heels or platform shoes.

That wasn’t the first such exchnge between my mom and I. When I was in college and home for a weekend visit, she handed me a newspaper clipping about fashion tips for short men. (One that I remembered was to avoid wearing cuffed pants. Reason: the cuff breaks the line of the leg, shortening it even further.) Again, she meant well. My guess is that she knew men of less-than-average height are generally at a disadvantage, and wanted to help me out if she could. (Studies have documented heightism in employment and politics. Plus, short kids are more likely to be bullied.)

And once, while watching television, we came across a 20/20 program about how short men get, well, short shrift.

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And, Frankly, that frightens me.

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It’s almost enough to make you feel sorry for Republicans. Trounced in November’s election, faced a popular president, and a voting public that seems to have rejected their conservative politics, now they’re stuck with Rush Limbaugh as the de facto head of their party.

No matter how much they deny it, the parade of conservative politicians rushing to kiss Rush’s ass after daring to criticize his rantings makes it pretty clear whose in charge.

The thing is, it’s not just Rush.

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Because school is in session. Or it should be, because some you have a fucked-up view of domestic violence that doesn’t bode well for your futures.

Up until now, I have resisted commenting on the Rihanna/Chris Brown matter, in part because I’ve been increasingly appalled with just how its been handled in the media. (The absolute nadir was the leaking of what was reported to be Ms. Fenty’s battered face. I purposely avoided looked, until I saw it splattered across a tabloid by the cash register where I waited to pay for my groceries. I looked away after a realized what it was. Ms. Fenty’s already been violated once — yes, that’s what domestic violence is; a physical, psychological and emotional violation of someone’s humanity. Leaking/publishing those pictures violated her again, felt. That picture shouldn’t have been seen outside of a courtroom, until or unless Ms. Fenty decided to release it.)

But I also declined to comment because the issue hits way too close to home for me. No, I’ve never been in an abusive relationship myself. But I’ve watched people I love and care very much about deal with just that, and I know it’s not always as cut-and-dried or as easily dealt with as people — including some of you — seem to think.

Which brings me back to my initial point, kids.

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