I wanna be trapped with them!
What makes a gay heart weep Dallas-sized tears of misery, anger and vexation? [Remember: everything's bigger in Texas ... including tantrums.] Why, it's finding out that one of your fast-favorite shows is cancelled. Case-in-point: GCB
GCB (which stands for Good Christian B [rhymes with witches]) is one wrong-but-oh-so-right laugh after another each episode.
From Kristin Chenoweth's skyscraper Louboutins and impressive cleavage [remember, cleavage helps your cross hang straight, y'all] to Annie Potts' one-liners ["God often speaks to me through Christian Dior - I believe He'd like me to have a new fur coat"] the show delivers big hair, big ... accessories and big laughs.
What more could a gay heart ask for?
In an era of hyped-up controversy [I'm looking at you, Bill O'Reilly and Rush Limbaugh] where religion seems to be at war with a sense of humor and sex [let alone sexuality] GCB and its cast/crew took the chance to marry laughter and savior.
I was hooked the minute my friend showed me the pilot [almost a full week before it aired - take that people who didn't know they were competing with me] and I knew that, despite it's airing-delay (filmed back in early/mid 2011) audiences would connect with the Sex and the City/Desperate Housewives-esque clicque. Here came a show which had strong, funny, intelligent [we'll forgive Sharon Peachum's lapses due to naivte and earnestness - at least, that's what we'll call it] and well-written women.
The fact that there's a gorgeous hunk'a gay man front and center? Why, that's a slice of heaven right there. Thank you, Darren Star, you do know your audience. [Blake, marry me - I'm up for some GCB'n!]
Granted, the show isn't for everyone - some of it's one-off jokes dance on the line between corny and cut-up - but, what is? [Tho' I dare you not to laugh at "Basketeria; that's Mexican for Basket Factory" when said by a cluelessly cute white guy - or "At least my husband knows how to keep both hands on the wheel during orgasm".]
Not all tv is for everyone. That's why we have different channels and different shows to watch on them.
GCB quickly grew a Twitter following - hashtags and tweeting accounts sprouted up with nomers like "Gigi's Hair" and its stars (Cheno, Leslie Bibb, Potts) corresponded with fans there and on facebook ... in short, the show had achieved Sensation Status.
Of course, what Sensational thing doesn't have its detractors? Time and again, small-minded bigots and Holier-Than-Thous [translation: stick-up-their-butts] tried to say the show maligned Christians and Conservatives. True, the show (and by extension the novel Good Christian Bitches by Kim Gatlin) called out the hypocrites who tote the Bible in one hand and vodka with prostitutes in the other.
Television has always done an interesting job of holding up the mirror to society - flaws and all; good and ill. That is part of its job ... that? And entertainment. And this gay heart was sure entertained by the gals of GCB.
With ABC announcing that the show would not be picked up for a 2nd season [assclaps] the collective gay gasp could be heard across the country. Luckily for us, some strong-willed and very enthusiastic folks won't take this lying down. [Or is that layin' down? Despite being from Virginia - pronounced Vah-gin-yah - my Southern to English vocabulary is decidedly lacking.]
Even if ABC doesn't help another network pick up the pieces - *cough* Lifetime, you REAAALLy should be looking into this *cough* - the act of letting our voices be heard will hopefully help balance this silencing of laughter.
Follow GCB on Twitter
Save GCB on Facebook
Save GCB on Youtube
Save GCB official site
What makes a gay heart weep 5th sense levels of Amanda Seyfried tears [how LAME it is to make Mean Girls jokes?] or Heather Duke-esque crocodile tears [how OLD a Heathers joke makes me?] is realizing that social media is totally High School: Part Deaux.
Think about it.
I mean it, really.
Think about it.
When Myspace was trendy [you know, cro magnon days] if you weren't in someone's Top 8, 12 or 64 [they offered so many options to snub] you may as well not even have a page. Of course, the more socially mature folks wouldn't bat an eyelash at this. I? Am so not mature.
I'm a bit neurotic.
Example: While standing in line for her 2008 Such a Pretty Fat Tour I caused Jen Lancaster to snort in laughter because the 2 perky girls ahead of me squealed when they realized I was "that BEN" in her Top 8.
I wish I'd had the adult sensibility to just let it pass unremarked.
I was not.
Jen of course signed the book "For Ben, who is totally in my top 8" (with grins plastered on both our faces).
I was in the Cool Kids Club. I was a Heather. I was totally top 8 material.
Then myspace became the next-big-thing-to-be-passe. [Damn]
Enter the era of Facebook supremacy [member since 2004 when it was just for college kids. YO.] and all of the ridiculous keys and styles "inspired" by Myspace over the last 5 years. It's a tad ... well, ridiculous.
From their popularity games [I have not/am not/nor will not be interested in Farmvile. Okay? Thanks] to the feeding-into-neuroses "Like" button, "Connections" and "Facebook Recommends" links, Facebook is one giant high school. Complete with populars, geeks and bullies.
And bless your heart if you aren't in the right clicque - or the right "click".
Top this off with Tumblr [aside from finding some great dirty photos, what's the point?], Google+ [plus what? I wish I could knock it, but I don't know squat about it] and - my major addiction - Twitter, you have a recipe for a truly Mean Gurls Click.
I hate to say it, but, the number of followers (and ratio of followers to following) seems to carry a lot of weight. Again, wish I could say that I have the self-awareness and maturity to declare that this doesn't bother me. I really do.
But, apparently - say it with me - I don't.
The old I-wasn't-popular-until-Junior-Year-and-was-picked-on-a-LOT-as-a-kid insecurities reared their head recently and I asked my followers to promote me in that atrocious of atrocities: Follow Friday.
Tho' the times I've been a Follow Friday recommendation without hounding someone into it? Well, I may've done a victory dance [complete with Madonna-backing-vocals]. Maybe.
Twitter is like that verbal diarrhea you get in school; when every thought comes pouring out of your mouth because the cool kids are paying attention to you. You extoll the virtues of the VERY boring meal you just ate [yawn] or you rant about the merest minutiae of your daily life [guilty].
My friend (the beautiful and talented novelist and screenwriter) Caprice Crane pointed out, in a recent conversation we had, that she really only uses Twitter to post observational humor or to make jokes about whatever pop culture headline is ripe for the picking.
Translation: she doesn't stoop to the Mean Gurl Click mentality. Caprice has class.
Alas, I don't have her self-control or confidence [or looks, wit, breding or ... well, the list can go on for days]. Self-censoring has never been my forte. More than once my best friend has said I need an editor for daily conversations.
[Apparently TMI isn't always a great place to take conversations in public. Who knew?]
In fact, more than a few of my tweets have been just-shy of assclap-level Mean Gurl.
[Think more Winona Ryder in Heathers, less Shannen Doherty]
Like high school clicques, it's a game you play (or don't).
Play it on your own terms. Be aware that our lives are fodder for pages in a digital Burn Book the Heathers compile.
Watch out you don't become one.