Thursday, December 17, 2009

The Gayest Christmas Song Ever

Let's face it - the holidays are a very gay season. Colorful and sparkly decorations hang everywhere. Every weekend there are festive parties where we dress up, drink too much and hope the best looking guy in the place finds us while we wait under the mistletoe. And from the day after Thanksgiving right up until the post-Christmas sales, it's all about shopping, shopping, shopping. Add to that every Christmas Eve we lie in our beds and hope a bearded bear of a man will quietly show up with a big package. Really, December is one big gay month.

And then, there's the holiday music. What other time of year can you think of when everyone happily joins in on a song that includes lyrics where a group of lords leap around together? We sing one song about donning our gay apparel and then we burst forth about good old Frosty, who celebrates coming to life by wearing a top hat, doing a dance and then making a bee-line for the local traffic cop, because who doesn't like a man in uniform? There's "We Three Kings" about three men who enjoy hanging out in the desert together and "Santa Baby" a favorite of drag queens everywhere.

You may think Christmas carols can't get much gayer, but you'd be wrong. Because, ladies and gentlemen, I give you the gayest Christmas song ever written..."Christmas Shoes." If you don't know this song, you are instructed to stop reading and go find it, give it a listen and then come back. Even if you have heard it, I encourage you to sit through it one more time before reading on. Go ahead, I'll wait.

Ready? Good. Let me ask you, what kind of little boy leaves his dying mother on Christmas Eve and runs to the local mall to purchase a snappy pair of pumps? And who is this fading, barefoot mother with the shoe fetish? Carrie Bradshaw? Imelda Marcos? Cinderella? I don't believe the lyrics of this song for one minute. I don't believe this little boy, desperate to give his mother one perfect gift before she expires, goes to the store, (unwashed mind you) and manages to buy those shoes while quietly reminding shoppers everywhere what Christmas is all about.

Humbug. This is no innocent child. There's never a mention of the age of this needy kid with a fondness for high heels, but I'm thinking he's about nineteen with skintight jeans, a coquettish manipulative streak and an addiction to strawberry flavored lip gloss. And I believe that "Momma" in the song is actually the boy's drag name and those coveted shoes are the perfect compliment to the outfit he'll be wearing while performing in the midnight Christmas show at the local gay bar downtown.

He's smart though, this kid. When realizing he doesn't have enough money, he immediately turns to the horny man behind him, bats his heavily mascara'd eyeleashes a few times and mentions how much he wants "Momma" to look beautiful if she meets Jesus tonight. What he doesn't say is this is not the Jesus who's birthday we celebrate every December 25th. This is Jesus as in Madonna's model boytoy who the boy swears he'd have a chance at running off with if he can just manage to get his feet into the perfect pair of shoes.

But the guy you really have to feel badly for is the poor sap who ends up paying. Here he is, handing over his American Express while thinking he's found the true meaning of Christmas by helping Momma look so great. Unfortunately the only way he'll ever truly see "Momma" is by heading downtown, paying ten bucks and agreeing to the 2-drink minimum. What Christmas is all about, indeed.

So there you have it, "Christmas Shoes" a song about a pretty boy who gets another man to buy him a pair of women's shoes so he can perform in the local gay bar drag show on Christmas Eve while dreaming about Madonna's hot boyfriend. It really is everything you'd expect from the gayest Christmas song ever.

Friday, December 11, 2009

Dear Santa

First, my apologies for having not written in the past, well, forty two years. It’s nothing personal. Once you get past the age of six, people tend to frown on the fact that you’re still sending letters to Santa. Kids point and laugh, adults wonder when it is you’re going to grow up, etc. And when you become an adult, it's very difficult to find the extra time. I can barely keep up with the things I’m supposed to be doing on a daily basis, never mind find a spare half-hour to pull out pen and paper and jot you a note. Maybe if I could email I might be able to get to it more often. Or maybe you have a Facebook page?
The reason I’m writing now is not so much that I’m hoping you bring me something, although a heating pad would be quite lovely and a really good wrinkle cream is a gift that just keeps on giving. (Can the elves whip up a wrinkle cream? If not, you might suggest they look into it. It could open up a whole new market for you.) Rather, it’s more about the state of the world. I’m not sure what it’s like up there at the North Pole, although from the sound of it you’ve been able to walk around in shorts and a t-shirt a lot more than you used to, but down around here things aren’t looking too rosy. And I’m beginning to think you might be the only one who has any answers.
Remember your naughty and nice list, Santa? I'm not sure whatever happened to that but I think its time for a comeback. I remember naughty people being told their only holiday gift would be a lump of coal in their stocking, a stern reminder that their behaviour over the previous year had been unacceptable. There was a degree of shame connected to that naughty list and a clear signal that expectations were high for the upcoming year. Naughty people weren't rewarded. But not anymore. That dreaded lump of coal has been replaced. Naughty people now look forward to a reality television show, a lucrative book deal or YouTube stardom. Naughty is everywhere. Naughty has become the new nice.
You may be wondering, Santa, what all this has to do with you. It seems to me that you've always been an advocate for children and it's the kids I worry about most. Maybe it's an age thing, so many things seem to be age-related to me, but I worry about the messages we hand our children and our children's children. What have we taught them? Bigger boobs boost your self-esteem? The size of your paycheck is what really counts? The ends justify the means and no matter what you have to do or say is fine as long as you win? Naughty is better? Is that really what we want to leave behind?
So, Santa, I guess what I'm asking here is, can you give nice back to us? Can you bring us reminders that a kind act outweighs a fat wallet? Can you somehow fit patience and tolerance and acceptance into your sack, hoist it onto your sleigh and distribute it to every child on earth? And can you bring back the message that naughty carries consequences? I'm not sure the old lump of coal is the way to go, but I trust you'll think of something.
That's it, Santa. That's what I'm hoping for this year. Just a little of that old fashioned goodwill towards men; a better message for all of us to shelve the naughty for a while and bring on the nice. That would make this one terrific Christmas. Oh, and a little of that wrinkle cream I mentioned wouldn't hurt either.