My new column, The Bully Pulpit, is a long time in the making; since childhood, to be exact. I wrote it up after I had lunch with Carson Kressley, and he suggested the idea. My initial reaction was, YOU should be writing this, as he has such a wonderful way of expressing his individuality.
Anyway, he got me to thinking, and after all the stuff with the girl in Springfield, Massachusetts, it seemed like a good idea. How do you survive something like this and not write about it? Or do something about it? Then, I think the next day, there was another article in the New York Times, Phoebe Prince, documenting the tragedy.
I don't remember when I started writing the column, but it seemed to take forever. What doesn't surprise me are all the readers' comments I received saying they'd had a very similar childhood. Tragic, huh. What a lot of people don't realize about writing is that, when you do write about something personal, it becomes less personal after publication, because 99.9 percent of the time a million other people have experienced something similar.
On an ironic note, now I've written a gay and lesbian wedding book and live in place where the only bullies are internal ones.
My last column, Mo-Bro, was written awhile back but I've not had a chance to post it until now.
You see, My Particular Peniswas in Miami for almost a month, doing what penises so often do: lying in the sun, hitting the beach, thinking for me.
I hope that you like Mo-Bro. The man it was based on has not read it, and, ironically, has a new girlfriend who's madly in love with him, and who's gorgeous. It seems she feels the same way about him. I'm thrilled for both of them.
That particular bathing suit belongs to my friend Rusty, who was kind enough to loan it to me. I grew very fond of it and even took it to SoBe.
It had a good time.
Well, that's all for new. It's tired and time to get some work done.