The average American consumes ten hours of media a day – through print, TV, radio or internet. “The internets,” as W likes to call them. His phrasing could catch on. I’m not really sure how to say “nuclear’ any more. People watch 65 days of television a year. My girlfriend – and we’re so pissed about MA and gay marriage, we’ve decided to introduce each other as “my ball and chain” – asks me where I get my data. I say NPR. And though it wasn’t from Sylvia Polgoli, it must be true. For some blessed reason in this new year, so far I have been off the grid, off my media feed. It hasn’t been intentional, but it is lovely. So I’ve missed some news, but I was just wondering, since we are at war and about to surge into an even war-ier, and since more than 3,000 American troops, AKA people, have been killed, and 36,000 Iraqis were killed and 34,000 injured in 2006, let me ask you, did they cancel the Golden Globes?

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Get out your old fuck charts! The L-Word gals have hooked up with some divine webmistresses and they’re putting together an uber—user chart, called OurChart. They’ve explained how it works to me, but since my new year’s motto is, “I couldn’t care less. No wait, watch me. I’m caring less!” I don’t need to know how it works. Let the kids have their fun. I’m just glad they’re doing it.
It’s as if they are mapping the human genome series. They’re sequencing lots of little Ls,and Ds, Bs and Fs, Ts and Bs. Near as I can tell, everybody is supposed to dust off their old charts and the lovely social anthropologist types on the new site are going to do their version of taping the whole thing together. Excellent!! For one thing, we’re finally going to be able to trace some of those so-called ex-gays. For years I asked audiences if anyone there had dated Ann Paulk, the ex-gay poster child. No one ever had. I figured if we didn’t know her, she wasn’t a lesbian. Now we can fire up all twelve cylinders on our search engine, mine our data and get some answers. Think of it as Lesbian Connection without the staples and the tetanus shots. Actually LC is the mother board of Our Chart.
Our fuck chart of Provincetown, 1978-present, is tucked in our kitchen cookbooks between Madher Jaffrey and the gals from The New Basic Cookbook . We started to work on our chart after dinner one night about eighteen years ago and have inputted information ever since. Patterns developed. Certain “hub-women” emerged. These are women who were the anchor in many overlapping clusters. For one impressive lesbian, we had to tape on an entire new page, her own wing. She’s a booth operator at a parking lot now and I admire her from afar.
Can’t wait to get back to Ptown to dig out the chart and send it in and do my part for this great lesbo-science project. You’ll see. Eventually we are all connected.

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Happy New Pelosi!!
Just try to picture that bearlike slab of a Dennis “We didn’t want the appearance of gay-bashing in the Mark Foolery case” Hastert, former Mister Speaker, inviting all the kids in the chamber up to the podium for his swearing-in. Well he couldn’t and you can’t. It was pandemonium! Madame to be Speaker Pelosi trying to raise her hand in the oath portion of the ceremonies and knocking her grandson in the head; disembodied hands reaching into the frame trying to wrestle the boss’s script from the granddaughters; grandsons trying to grab the gavel from Grandma Pelosi to try it out. Hey kids! It’s time to play the House version of Wack a Mole. It really is. If the next 99 of the first 100 Hours of the Democrats back in control of the House are like the first wild glorious hour, I’m hoping that old Newt Grinch’s “Contract on America” will finally be cancelled.
In the coming days watch as the media midgets stumble over themselves trying, for the first time, to cover a woman in power. Watch for men whining. They better get used to it.

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I’m practicing celebrity abstinence in the fortnight between Solstice and the New Year – i.e. no People, no blogs, no ET. I need to detox. Pardon my paraphrase of that Britney Spears before she started seeing Paris Hilton: oops, I did it again. I’m so mad at myself. I fell for it. I forgot that despite the mid-term election, the Iraq Study Group Report, democracy whatever, your president George Bush does not give a shit. Oops. When Bush was first Supremely selected, by the guys and gals in the black robes, not the one who has a celebrity birthday on Monday, the story goes that a gay man went through the Inaugural receiving line and told Bush that he was very upset by his homophobic positions and positioning during the campaign. Bush smiled and through clenched teeth, said, “Why don’t you tell someone who cares?” The people have spoken. The people have been ignored. I was thinking democracy. They’re thinking third term. I forgot. In the space I’ve cleared out from my celebrity detox, I’ve resolved to think about what very targeted direct action will snap this Bush’s head around. Or off. I’ll let you know what I come up with.

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