A Startling Revelation from Your Long-Lost Blogger

In the wake of the recent "Gay Girl in Damascus" and "LezGetReal" blog scandals, I thought this would be the perfect opportunity to do something I should have done years ago – reveal my true identity: I, CrankyLesbian, am really Darryl, a 54-year-old sheet metal worker from Mobile, Alabama.

(Okay, not really. Still a biological female, still so gay I wake up singing Liza songs and still too busy with my career and my partner to blog regularly. But I couldn't resist posting that.)

(Also, really, what self-respecting lesbian would call their website LezGetReal?)

Happy Valentine's Day

As some of you might recall, this time last year I was blathering about cubic zirconias and fried chicken, as I'm wont to do throughout the year but particularly on our most romantic holidays (Valentine's Day, Koninginnedag, Polish Independence Day; you know, all the usual suspects). This year I'll be blathering alarmingly gooey "No, I love you more" stuff to the woman who has kept me away from this blog for months and months -- an act of charity toward the Internet that reportedly has her in the running for a Nobel Peace Prize -- but I wanted to dust off the old keyboard long enough to wish you all a Happy Valentine's Day. And a special Happy Valentine's Day to the mysterious Ms. Aarons (if that is your real name): You set my heart ablaze like Connie Stevens' flaming baby "brother" in "Susan Slade," dear, and I love you madly.

Pssst: That plastic baby? A better, more emotive actor than Troy Donahue.

(Told you I'd find a way to post that screencap!)

(P.S. No babies were harmed in the making of "Susan Slade," only Connie Stevens' and Dorothy McGuire's dignity.)

It's the Last Day of the Month

And guess who just won a completely meaningless bet? I did, that's who.

There's No Hiding 'Teh Gay,' Even on the Internet

First there was "gayface," and now there's "gayfacebook," as MIT students Carter Jernigan and Behram Mistree have found a way to determine whether male Facebook users are gay -- regardless of whether the men disclose their orientation to all of the Internet. Jernigan and Mistree's homosexualist-spotting program was unable to help them zero in on wily lesbians and bisexuals, and I'd make a lame joke that attempts to explain such a failure, except I'm not on Facebook (there's already enough aggravation in my life without being alerted every time someone from my third grade class orders pizza), so I've got nothing. Just one more post this month, though, and I win...

Will I Post More Than Twice in September?

It's the question all of America is asking (and by "all of America," I mean seven people, including two in the UK and one in Canada, none of whom will care enough to check back for an answer later this month unless they're really, really bored at work or forget to clear their browsing history and accidentally select "Cranky Lesbian" on their drop-down menu when they mean to click something else), and while Vegas oddsmakers don't think it's going to happen, I bet that it will. I wouldn't place a large bet -- I'm anti-gambling, mostly because I value my hard-earned money but also because Kenny Rogers put me off it back in the day -- but maybe a dollar or two...

"Anyone Had Any Dirty Phone Calls Lately?"

Apparently that's what a lascivious John Gielgud would be asking you if he were still alive. But he's dead as dead can be, so I'll ask instead: Anyone had any dirty phone calls lately? I haven't. A few days ago I picked up on the third or fourth ring and was greeted by heavy breathing that was ultimately revealed as the work of my grandfather, who sucks in air like Darth Vader over the phone (when he isn't coughing and loudly repeating everything he is told to my poor disinterested grandmother). Was I disappointed? Perhaps, but only a little. You never know what obscene phone calls tomorrow might bring, and I'm always hoping for something that mirrors the famous "212 Fuck You" exchange from Serial Mom.

Anyway, writer Michael Thornton wants everyone to know that Gielgud was a dirty birdy (TM Misery) who liked younger men, didn't practice monogamy (is that like practicing the clarinet -- the longer you do it, the better you get?), and (presumably) whacked it to pictures of a nude Iggy Pop. And then told Judi Dench about it. Or something. I lost interest a few paragraphs in and moseyed over to ESPN.com to check out the draw for the U.S. Open; Roger and Rafa are on opposite sides, but I wouldn't be surprised if one of them doesn't make it to the final. Hopefully Nadal's knees will hold up, as I like what he'll be wearing this year and would rather see it than the bland ensembles most of his competitors sport...

(Yes, my thought process is a bit muddled today, but I swear it isn't my fault.)

The Classiest Gay Nuptials of All Time

Right here. When my girlfriend (who recently told me to get off my lazy ass and update this motherfucking blog already, but in a less Samuel L. Jackson-ish tone than that) and I get married, that's the first thing we're going to do: hit a guy with a shoe, both of us, so that way we can honeymoon in a luxurious prison cell that boasts amenities like a creaky cot and a toilet that hasn't worked since 1973. Truth be told, I'd rather spend a week in France or go to a quiet bed and breakfast for a few days, but she's a Roger Corman fan and you know how he romanticized women's prisons...

Shock of Shocks: Another Boy Band Member Comes Out

Duncan James of the British band Blue has come out as bisexual (warning: the link will take you to a trashy UK tabloid website that will hurt your eyes and possibly your intellect), and the best part of any boy band member coming out is always reading the comments his borderline illiterate fans make online afterward, so let's sample some of the reaction to his announcement:

"this news is brill!!!!"

"NO, NOT DUNCAN!!! I loved him, OMG! I was a huge fan! What i can say? It shouldn't be this way. What is happening? I don't think being Bi is a good thing...."

"no such thing as bisexual. you smoke a pipe - youre gay. end of!"*

"It was SO obvious!!!"

"Well as Duncan is always walking up and down Compton Street in London's gay village, there was no shock to this news."

"absolute filth. You should be locked up for putting women at risk from your dirty sordid antics. mind you, you would probably enjoy dropping the soap in the showers!!! disgusting human being"

"you seem like a top bloke mate that's all that matters well done for being brave and talking about it good luck" [Cranky note: Well, we know that comment was the work of a heterosexual, because there's no way 'a gay' would be able to call James a top anything with a straight face.]

Overall, there were lots of "Duh!" responses, which makes a modicum of sense if you're familiar with the hair and posture (more pictures here) of this particular boy bander. Honestly, I found the reactions to be disappointing, perhaps because Blue hasn't been relevant for years. What I'd really like to happen in the near future, just to see if the Internet can withstand it, is for a current heartthrob with mass tween and teen appeal -- a Daniel Radcliffe or Robert Pattinson -- to come screaming out of the closet. If that could be timed for December, it would make for the greatest holiday season ever.

*Presumably that doesn't apply to lesbians.

The Obligatory "OMFG, Federer!" Post

Back in May*, I asked if eight greater words than "Federer stuns clay king Nadal in Madrid final" had been written all year. That's a distant memory now, with the French Open in the rearview mirror, and this evening I saw a ten-word proclamation that must certainly qualify as the best headline I've read all year (other than "Palin Resigns"): "Roger Federer confirms he is greatest ever in wonderful finale." So to my father, who has been antagonizing me since Federer's bout with mono last year by saying at the start of every tournament that his best playing days are behind him: Suck it.

* I know, I know, what happened to June? Your guess is as good as mine.

This Just In: Gay Men and Straight Men Can Be Friends!

You can read all about it in the New York Times, where this is apparently news -- three pages worth of it -- to some people.

The Eight Greatest Words Written So Far This Year?

"Federer stuns clay king Nadal in Madrid final" -- my vote is yes.

A Heartwarming Mother's Day Post

Not to spoil the movie or anything, but Gwyneth Paltrow's head is in that box.

My dear, dear mother doesn't know about this blog (my siblings give her enough to be distraught about as it is), but should she ever learn of it, one of the first things she'd do is search for mentions of herself -- to see if she has grounds for a libel suit. Well, Mom, you're going to have to find another reason to sue me, because I only talk smack about you in private, and I'm only mentioning you now so I can tell you Happy Mother's Day and have it recorded for Internet posterity. Thank you for never having any freak-outs about wire hangers, and for never starring in Trog. To the extent that I'm capable of loving anyone, I love you, and I'm sorry for writing that salacious tell-all in the '70s. Next time I'm mad at you about something, I'll sleep on it for a week or two before inking a book deal.

And to anyone reading this who's also a mom, provided you're not the kind that gets calls from Child Protective Services, Happy Mother's Day to you, too.