The French Open starts in a little more than 90 minutes, fellow gays, and that early round action can’t come soon enough. I’ve been bored out of my mind for weeks now, which is why I’ve been giving the Internet the silent treatment. There’s nothing to write about. Fine, so the lesbian world is abuzz with talk of Jodie Foster reportedly ditching her partner for Melanie Mayron’s partner, but is there anything interesting about any of that?

(I’d like to point out, since I’ve seen a spike in Melanie Mayron-related traffic in the wake of the Foster hullabaloo, that while Mayron has previously opted to have journalists describe her as a single mom rather than acknowledge her long-term relationship with Cynthia Mort, their union was hardly cloaked in a veil of secrecy, so I didn’t exactly out anyone when I wrote what I wrote about her — and I hardly wrote anything at all — back in February.) It only gets interesting if the tabloid feeding frenzy moves Foster to issue a denial or offer some kind of confirmation, and image-conscious as she is, it’s hard to imagine the latter happening anytime soon, assuming there’s any truth to the rumors.

And of course there are the continued adventures of Lindsay Lohan and Samantha Ronson to consider. Except, well, what is there to consider? Those two are another pair who’ve gone about their business in plain sight for a while now, with the occasional timeout for a Ross and Rachelesque break.

What’s interesting isn’t that they’ve been photographed kissing, or that Lohan was recently spotted wearing what looks like an engagement ring; what’s interesting is that Lohan, at least so far, hasn’t felt the need to get defensive about any of it and issue the kind of vehement denials that will haunt the likes of Michelle Rodriguez for as long as cyberspace exists. Think about it: Lohan, an underrated actress with excellent comedic skills, could end up being a pioneer of sorts. If she doesn’t buckle under pressure from her handlers to present a different public image, that is. And for now, with her career in shambles, that remains a gargantuan ‘if.’

There was also a season-ending gayapalooza over at Grey’s Anatomy, where over the last few weeks Seattle Grace has played host to some military man-love (for some, the greatest man-love of all, though when it comes to men in uniform I prefer hot gay cops like Keith from Six Feet Under) and Hahn-Torres action on no less than two occasions, but that’s another thing it’s too early to get enthusiastic about. Because, let’s be honest, Grey’s Anatomy is quite possibly the straightest TV show of all time. It’s all about the penis and the vagina (or vajayjay, as I understand they call it in Grey’s land) and the penis going into the vagina, and the McDreamy and the McSteamy and throngs of straight women salivating over them and what have you.

Really, I can’t keep track of all the heterosexual pairings I’ve seen on that show and I’m not even a regular viewer. It seems like the whole lot of them should have herpes and half a dozen children by now. (I don’t know about you, but when I go to the hospital I don’t want to worry about contracting a surprise case of crabs from an exam table that was just violated by a heartthrob doctor and his latest staff conquest.) Which is a convoluted way of saying I’m not convinced that a program as heterosexually oriented as Grey’s Anatomy can pull off a lesbian storyline that doesn’t end with Hahn and Torres having a Wild Things moment in a supply closet with Dr. Sloan.

Show runner Shonda Rhimes seems to think she can muster something decent, and actresses Brooke Smith and Sara Ramirez certainly have enough talent to knock this one out of the park if given the right material (and yes, if you must know, I’ve had a crush on Ramirez since seeing her on the Tonys three years ago — I think everyone who saw that performance had a similar reaction), so I’d be happy for this to go somewhere. Still, I’ve witnessed so many writers botch similar storylines over the years that my long-term expectations for this remain as low as ER‘s recent ratings.

And there you have it. My inability to get worked up over any of these popular news items (or any news item at all) has left me with little reason to say anything lately. However, it has afforded me plenty of time to re-watch the seventh season of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on DVD, and I had way more fun doing that than anyone has ever had reading the utter nonsense posted here. BTW, in a startling development, Kennedy isn’t particularly annoying five years after the fact. She even seemed essential at times. But the Andrew-centric “Storyteller” episode? Still pretty annoying, despite the best efforts of Tom Lenk.