The Week in Gayness

Monday: Australia, despite being home to the Minogue sisters and that queen from Savage Garden, can’t get its act together when it comes to legally protecting their gay and lesbian citizens. (Who do they think they are, the United States?) While Americans spent the week passing judgment on the teenage spawn of that guy with a mullet who sang “Achy Breaky Heart” and eagerly awaiting the release of Iron Man, Australians spent it having the same old argument about civil unions versus gay marriage. Meanwhile, proposed changes in the law will come too late for those who were already denied pension benefits after losing their partners.

Tuesday: Woody Allen confirmed what every Woody Allen fan already knew by saying the hype over the “extremely erotic” Penélope Cruz/Scarlett Johansson action in the upcoming Vicky Cristina Barcelona is just that: hype. As he told Entertainment Weekly: “Because it was Penélope and Scarlett and Javier, it got out that there was torrid sex in the picture. People who come and expect those exaggerations are going to be disappointed.” But we’ll always have our imaginations. And Photoshop. Don’t forget Photoshop.

Wednesday: Islanders (real ones, not the hockey players — professional hockey players fully endorse lesbianism, particularly when it involves women at their favorite strip clubs) have gone to court to reclaim the name Lesbian from the lesbians.

Here’s the thing, islanders: We outnumber you. By a lot. Watch the Beijing Olympics this August and you’ll see what I mean. If you can’t stand the wait, go to any outdoor concert where an ovary-having singer-songwriter lightly strums an acoustic guitar while wailing angry, faux-poetic lyrics and take a good look around. You’re not going to win, and this lawsuit makes you look like fucking idiots. You’re now the Tom Cruise of island natives, except Oprah won’t pay a visit to your vacation home to help you rehabilitate your image because you didn’t star in Cocktail. (Which wasn’t released by a gay porn studio, despite Tom’s come-hither stare on the DVD cover.)

Thursday: The women of Sex and the City made a cursory appearance on Oprah to promote their upcoming movie, to the delight of countless squealing audience members of both the female and flamboyantly gay male persuasions. (I only saw a fraction of the interview and noticed jazz hands in the audience at least once.)

As usual, Oprah had to act downright puzzled by lesbianism, this time as she grilled Cynthia Nixon about her personal life. It was very awkward to watch, seeing as the stage they were all sitting on was playing host to more lesbian ass than the passenger seat of Shane McCutcheon’s car, and it’s high time for Gayle to pull Oprah aside and tell her to cut the crap.

Setting aside the numerous indignant public denials Oprah has issued about her own sexuality, we know she knows about lesbianism. She hired Donna Deitch to direct The Women of Brewster Place because she admired Deitch’s work on Desert Hearts — you know, the one with the hot lesbian sex? That means Oprah has known a thing or two about lesbianism since at least 1985.

Then there was her appearance as the therapist Ellen Morgan comes out to on Ellen, way back in 1997. There was also a TV interview she conducted with Ellen DeGeneres and Anne Heche around the same time. I remember watching that with my mom after school one day, and they patiently broke it all down for her then.

The woman has interviewed innumerable lesbians, she’s friends with an inordinate number of Scientologist closet cases, and she’s a freaking 54-year-old veteran celebrity. We know you know about lesbianism, Oprah. Grow the fuck up! Does she think her viewers are so incredibly stupid that they don’t realize she’s had lesbianism explained to her by about five trillion different guests over the years?

Does she think they don’t remember all the times she groped Tyra Banks and gave impromptu breast exams to helpless lingerie models during “fashion shows” as an audience of housewives sitting twenty feet away giggled at the wily (read: lascivious) antics of their best pal, the fun-loving (read: breast-loving) and irrepressible (read: latently homosexual) Oprah?

I’m changing subjects now, before I give myself an aneurysm, but if this keeps up I want that obnoxious, patronizing sonofabitch Dr. Phil to stage an intervention. He needs to stand there in one of his stupid suits, with that stupid smirk on his face, and in the most condescending drawl he can muster, he needs to say, “Oprah, you’re a grown-ass woman with countless gay acquaintances. What is the emotional pay-off you’re getting from having every lesbian and bisexual woman who comes on your show explain the mechanics of lesbianism to you? What, other than the occasional cheap thrill, are you getting out of this?” However she replies, I bet she does not refer to his homespun wisdom as a Light Bulb Moment™.

Friday: Methodist lesbians, ones who didn’t study under Lee Strasberg, got married in Texas, and the world didn’t end. Also: Nicole Kidman is reportedly set to play Dusty Springfield in a biopic that will probably pretend Springfield was bisexual with straight leanings, though in reality she was about as gay as Nancy Kulp. (Remember, Elton John was bisexual in the ’70s as well.)

The screenplay will be written by Michael Cunningham, who also wrote the novel The Hours, which means there’s a 60% chance that Kidman’s Springfield will spend the duration of her lesbian relationships pining for a brilliant, tortured gay man, or interrupt her housework to kiss Toni Collette before disappearing into a decades-long self-imposed exile. Hopefully he’ll tone down the pretension and stick with the facts, but I’m not optimistic.

Saturday: Damned if I know what happened on Saturday. I was sitting quietly on the couch watching The Crying Game, wishing that Jaye Davidson would take up acting again and that someone please give Miranda Richardson a decent part in something.

Sunday: A musician named Missy has announced a gig on an all-lesbian cruise in October. Alas, it isn’t Missy Elliott, though it’s possible the eccentric “Get Ur Freak On” performer will be there as a mere civilian homosexual. This Missy is an Australian with the last name Higgins, one who has chosen to describe herself as “not so straight.” Which could mean any number of things, including not much at all, but hey, how often do comments like that actually help you get work?