Get Over It, Virginia

My home state is no stranger to hate. My college was in one of the last counties in the United States to be integrated. Robert F. Kennedy said of it:

We may observe with much sadness and irony that, outside of Africa, south of the Sahara, where education is still a difficult challenge, the only places on earth known not to provide free public education are Communist China, North Vietnam, Sarawak, Singapore, British Honduras—and Prince Edward County, Virginia.

The irony lingers. The American South, prominently known for its hospitality and homespun wisdom, is still a hotbed of disregard for anyone who steps out of line. 

Well, in another twist of irony, religious conservatives in Virginia proved that they're still a few steps behind. Understandably, those in Richmond's gay community (or any rational Virginian) were outraged over a billboard that proclaims, "nobody is born gay."

With photos of what appear to be a pair of twins, the billboard implies that twin studies have proven that sexual orientation is a choice, and not a matter of genetic makeup. But the organization behind the billboard, Parents and Friends of Ex-Gays (could they not thing of anything original?) didn't do their research before - who I assume was an ex-gay scouring the internet for "hot men" - selected a stock photo of Kyle Roux, who's not a twin and, in fact, gay.

I'm starting to think that some people are born stupid too. But that stupidity only proves why our Freedom of Speech is important for everyone, even the haters. Motorists passing this absurd proclamation aren't being recruited by PFOX, they're shaking their heads and sympathizing with a growing acceptance of the LGBT community, likely asking themselves, "Even if it is a choice, who the **** cares?"

Our Frenemy, the Internet

Around the world for the past twenty years, the internet has proven itself humanity's biggest frenemy, a word probably invented by the internet. It allows us to connect with forgotten friends, distant relatives, and spend our days looking at pictures of kittens.

My Internet

Unfortunately, it also enables the trolls that lurk beneath seemingly normal people to crawl out from under the bridges of our subconscious. And worse than those who attempt to incite World War III beneath YouTube videos are the convert trolls who once new better. 

Capitalizing on viral videos, purported "studies," and BuzzFeed listicles, the mainstream press fans the flames of our baser ire until the most mundane of grievances become campaigns, or worse: the prejudice this nation has been desperately trying to tackle is exploited, maneuvered, and strategically directed to the point of discourse that sells advertisements. 

Journalism has always been vaguely jaundice. But on the worldwide web, tabloid ethics have been buried beneath subjective data and ten cent words. The media doesn't want to report on our justified outrage, they want our outrage to be unjustified. News is boring. Riots are juicy. And readers keep falling for it.

Rob Bliss Creative's viral video, "10 Hours of Walking in NYC as a Woman" alleges that an actress received more than a hundred "offensive" comments that were secretly recorded. Some comments were what one would unfortunately expect: catcalls, and some truly creepy encounters. But if you objectively look at the video, you'll realize that the most offensive comments are buried under comments like "How are the this morning?" and "Have a nice day." The short video doesn't include all one hundred comments, so what was left on the cutting room floor? 

Objectivity. 

Rob Bliss Creative even bills itself as a "Viral Video Marketing Agency." Their business model is hype, and they succeeded in getting the video featured in the mainstream media around the world, none of which addressed the subjectivity of the so-called experiment.

Further down the rabbit hole into absurdity, social media including Tumblr and user content listicles prompted New York to address the behavior of "manspreading." Manspreading, if our frenemy the internet is to be believed, is an epidemic of men taking up too much room on subway trains. Granted, some of the photographs are absurd, some even comical. 

But again, what's lost is any objectivity in a global ocean of photographs hand selected from hundreds of subways and millions of passengers. 

What both instances inadvertently point to - if reason or logic is to be considered - is New York's, and even the greater world's, increasing resistance to interact on any real level. 

Thank you, internet. 

When did "good morning" become a threat? When did people become afraid to ask, "Hey, dick hole, can you move your legs?" And when did New Yorkers expect New Yorkers to be courteous? 

But what's worse than the internet's complete lack of objectivity, or the fact that it duped us into believing that the Men of New York are unilateral pigs, is that both campaigns have painted women as passive nags too timid to speak without the comfort of a blog. In an attempt to expose double standards, these campaigns accidentally created new ones that shouldn't exist.

The trend in the media's exploitation of peoples' anxieties treads into even more dangerous territories. In the United States, right now, that would be in Ferguson, MO and the protests taking place around the country. Like the George Zimmerman trial in Florida, Ferguson was supposed to be the media's next golden ticket. A case that would define racism in America. But when it largely flopped and proved not to be so legally cut and dry, the media made it black and white. 

In the end, the media got what it wanted. A complete train wreck. 

A nation of racial harmony doesn't get clicks and sell subscriptions. For all the bitching and moaning we do about partisan bias in the press, CNN, MSNBC, and Fox want the exact same thing: to pit us against each other until we give them a story with no roof.

The trifecta of yellow journalism - CNN, MSNBC, and Fox - and the bilge wanter they stew in - BuzzFeed and HuffingtonPost.com - don't profit on news, they profit on the chaos that they orchestrate. When "manspreading" finds headlines above murder, rape, Gaza, and homeless veterans, we need to step back and take things into perspective, and maybe ask ourselves if it's time for the mainstream media to go the way of the printing press.

It might be tough to accept, but people are not as bad as our frenemy the internet says we are. Why else would there be so many pictures of cats?

Happy Holidays, Kirk Cameron

Hollywood comes at Christmas like a schizophrenic who just discovered some cocaine under a bag of weed. The biggest blockbusters are being released so as to be fresh on the minds of those in Academy  come time for the Oscars, right alongside Grumpy Cat's Worst Christmas Ever.

Yeah, that happened. 

But it's not the worst tediously predictable holiday movie this year. That title is reserved for Kirk Cameron's Saving Christmas.

Certified dick hole and Jesus gal-pal, Mike Seaver, is fed up with the war on Christmas. 

Seriously, Cameron, where is this war on Christmas? As far as I can tell, Christmas began weeks before Halloween. That's more than two months, a rather decent fraction of the entire year. 

What more do you want?

Don't get me wrong. I love Christmas. I say Merry Christmas. But in the last few years, by the time December 25th rolls around, I'm so fucking sick of Christmas my single, 38 year old ass is aching for Valentine's Day to slap me in the face. 

If anyone's declared war on Christmas, it's Christmas.

So what if cashiers at Macy's say "Happy Holidays"? Their window displays prove that they certainly know what time of year it is. Washington landmarks - the very symbols of this nation - are decked out in the signs of the season. 

Well, Kirk Cameron still isn't satisfied. And thank God he's not, because it inspired him to make Saving Christmas, and the most accidental piece of Hollywood humor since the sequel to C.H.U.D. But the movie isn't the funny part. That's all on Cameron himself. With an apparent knowledge of how the internet works akin to his understanding of evolution, Cameron took to Facebook to encourage his fans to boost the movie's abysmal 36% Rotten Tomatoes rating.

After his plea? 8%.

Maybe he should have prayed harder. Or maybe it's because all of those who critiqued his movies are just evil. In Cameron's mind I'm guessing they're Jews and gays.

I swear, there is no bigger ass hole than an ass hole who doesn't know he's an ass hole. 

Happy Holidays, Kirk Cameron.

A Real Superhero

I know I talk quite a bit on here about being a better man, and a lot of that has to do with building a better body. Truth be told, I'm not superficial, and I'm certainly not suggesting that anyone should look like - or try to look like - Chris Evans. If you do, good job. Keep it up.

But as gay men, we deal with a lot. Despite an overwhelming flip in pubic acceptance, the struggle is still difficult and daily. It's easy to ignore the praise and internalize the hate. And that leads to problems. We seek out crutches. We drink. We do drugs. We're reckless. We overeat. We starve ourselves. We don't all become better men.

John Glaude, the viral video sensation of Obese to Beast offers some inadvertent insight into our insecurities with his own "My Biggest Insecurity." After shedding 160lbs and becoming relentlessly jacked, he was left with an unfortunate side effect of overcoming obesity: lots and lots of excess skin.

His message is absolutely inspiring and what he showed the world is stunning. Beautiful, even. As we as a nation grow so unhealthy that some believe the next generation will be the first not to outlive their parents, Glaude took charge of his life and he has the battle scars to prove it. 

He's a f*cking superhero in every sense of the word. He struggled and he overcame. And whether we're struggling with drug abuse, alcoholism, or weight problems, his message transcends all of us who struggle to be the best men we can be. 

If you found my site I'm sure you've seen the original video, so here's John Glaude's Thank You video to all of those who found inspiration in his journey.

Collateral Damage

In an unfortunate series of events, Philadelphia's Gayborhood neighborhood was delivered several hits in the last month. The former Letto Deli, a unique piece of 50s era Americana, was demolished. iCandy was faced with the suspension of its liquor license. And sadly, it seems, Westbury will be closing.

After a fire broke out in the Spruce Parker Hotel, the city shut it down. The Westbury, a popular gay bar, was caught in the cross fire. Without a second exit, the bar was shut down along with the hotel. 

The city has been looking for a reason to shut down the Parker for years. The hotel is a remnant of a city that no longer exists. Some call it a hostel, others a whore house.

It's by-the-day, -week, and -month rates harken us back to a time when cities were more than Carrie Bradshaw and Co. brunching with their trikes in toe. Cities were places of diversity...ugly, ugly diversity.

To be fair, the Parker has become a venue for prostitutes, drugs abuse, suicide, and other ill repute. But it was also a place for those struggling to make ends meet, newcomers, and rent hikes. The Parker represents the ugly diversity that self ascribed champions of sympathy love to love but refuse to talk about: hardship, crime, and homelessness.

As unfortunate as it is, the Westbury is collateral damage. But the Parker offered something unique: affordable housing in a city that still needs it.

For all that's been said of the Parker, I'd love to see someone rattle off the crime rates at 13th and Spruce relative to any other corner of Center City, even Rittenhouse. The Parker was a flea-bag hotel, sure, but that's all it was. It was as much a place of struggle as it was for insidious activity. 

People only want to see the worst in others.

Liberalism can be a blindly double edged sword. While many who proclaim themselves champions of cause pat themselves on the back for cleaning up their neighborhoods, they've ignored those they've displaced with nowhere to go. We liberals view community gardens as improvements, but turn a blind eye to those who strive for a warm meal from McDonald's.

What sickens me most about the Parker's closure isn't the building's closure, it's the hypocrisy behind the unofficial campaign to eradicate the occasional warm bed for those accustomed to sleeping on the street.

The Gayborhood of all places is Center City's last vestige of cause. We should know better than anyone. When a kid is thrown out of a suburban home for coming out to his parents, the Parker was a bed. Now he or she has a steam vent along Market East. 

Progress isn't measured in the superficiality of new condos and hotels, it's measured in compassion. The Parker may have been a den of inequity, but no one stopped to question why that den existed. Its drug abuse, prostitution, and suicides weren't products of the hotel, they were products of our society. Now that the Parker is gone, those atrocities won't vanish, they'll be relinquished to the streets where they'll be ignored. 

We shouldn't have been campaigning to close the Parker, we should have been campaigning to end the reason the Parker served a need. 

13th and Spruce may find itself with a new hotel, market rate apartments, or a vacant building. But erasing the Parker from Philadelphia did nothing for those who needed it. At best it traded a rare alternative to a homeless shelter for boutique hotel rooms. At worst, those who resided at the Parker will be living on the streets in exchange for an abandoned high-rise. 

Think about that, then pat yourself on the back. As so-called "progress" transforms American cities with upscale apartments and trendy cafes, is it any wonder that homelessness is on the rise?

Hidden History

If you live in Philadelphia, you might have noticed that #savelittlepetes is now a thing. 

As the block home to Little Pete's at 17th and Chancellor will likely be rezoned to accommodate a 12 story Hudson Hotel, the diner's days are numbered. 

However, unlike the 50s-era Letto Deli recently demolished at 13th and Chancellor, Little Pete's iconic 17th Street location is only iconic in its interior and signage, all of which could be moved to another location if management chooses to. 

It could even feasibly be reopened on the ground floor of the new hotel. 

But Bob Skiba, the Gayborhood Guru of Hidden City uncovered a bit of history that will be lost with this unassuming parking garage. Like Letto Deli's location on 13th, Little Pete's was once a Dewey's Famous Diner. While Dewey's on 13th tolerated the Gayborhood's largely LGBT clientele as far back as the 1960s, its 17th location barred "a large number of homosexuals...wearing non-conformist clothing."

Civil protests were certainly not unheard of in the 60s, but four years before the famous Stonewall Riots in New York City -  events that typically mark the beginning of the Gay Rights Movement - 150 men and women staged a protest at Dewey's on 17th in 1965.

That same year, another one of the nation's first gay rights rallies was held at Independence Hall. Known as the Annual Reminder, these pickets were held until 1969 when the movement was moved to Christopher Street in New York City to coincided with that year's Stonewall Riots.

While Dewey's is long gone, the location's significance may perhaps be stronger than ever given recent strides in LGBT rights and marriage equality. Philadelphia is home to a lot of "firsts" but I'd be willing to bet that quite a few, even those active in the LGBT rights movement, know just how integral a role the City of Brotherly love has played. 

Even today, despite conservative politics in Harrisburg and throughout the Commonwealth, Philadelphia continues to lead the nation in progressive policies. From Congressman Brian Sims to the ever vigilant Councilman Jim Kenney, both more concerned with doing what's right than playing politics, we continue to be a city that pushes towards the side of acceptance, even if it's unpopular. For the second year in a row, Philadelphia has tied for first place in LGBT equality.

While we have leaders to thank, like State Attorney Kathleen Kane who refused to defend an unconstitutional ban on gay marriage, we also have a loud and opinionated public that refuses to accept injustice even when it may not coincide with their personal beliefs.

Growing up in the South I'm well versed in the hypocrisy of a region known for its "hospitality." It may seem ironic that Philadelphia, a city reputably rude, would also be so tolerant and accepting. Perhaps its because hospitality and politeness are a farce and rarely have anything to do with recognizing what's just. Anyone who's participated in a protest or sit-in knows how true that is. 

And that's exactly why Dewey's Famous on 17th Street may play a role in history, but as a building, isn't deserved of preservation. 

Our rebellious roots were alive and well in 1965. Philadelphia is no stranger to architectural lost, but we've never lost our way. Little Pete's is just a diner and the Hudson Hotel is no one's civil enemy. Philadelphia is still - and will remain - a city that fights for what's right.

Being the Best Man You Can Be

When an old friend cracked a joke about something I did in college, I responded with, "oh please, I was 20, that was like...shit...almost 20 years ago!"

I'm well aware that I'm approaching 40 and I'm not lying when I say that I honestly don't care. If you're anything like me, you got all your anxiety over with when you realized that your favorite baseball player was a solid decade younger than you or that guy you checked out on Market Street could feasibly be your son.

I just shrug it of with, "Jennifer Aniston's 45 and still the hottest babe in Hollywood." 

The fact is, recognizing the reality of your age is far more attractive than clinging to your youth. Hairpieces, implants, and two cylinder roadsters are the things of midlife crises. They happen when you're slapped in the face with something you can't accept.

It's understandable. The reality of your forth decade can be frightening. Your risk of heart disease, various cancer, diabetes, and simply never being able to regain the health of your youth exponentially begin to increase. But you also start truly realizing the things you'll never experience.

But the good thing about recognizing your 40s is the recognition that it's not too late. I've begun considering my vices in a very real way, namely my weekly visits to the Gayborhood bars and an earnest effort to remain active even through Philadelphia's brutally impending winter. 

Booze didn't just stop being cute in your late 20s, it also taxes your health. But from smoking to drinking to drug abuse, the ills of our past can be reversed, especially if you catch it in time. Motivation is the only thing in your way. And like all things American: motivation is found on the silver screen and the boob tube. 

For me, it's some of the hottest men in their 40s. Sure, it may be superficial. Hollywood is not known for realistic role models. Women are routinely offered up unhealthy, even anorexic standards. That truly sucks. 

But for the most part, Hollywood's leading men are inspirational. And if we're willing to give up our vices and trade several hours of television every night for a gym, the inspiration is attainable.

So here they are...

1. Jason Statham

The "Poor Man's James Bond," or in my opinion, "The Hot James Bond" doesn't just keep it so tight he performs his own stunts, he's one of Hollywood's only leading men who makes bald sexy without completely shaving his head or resorting to hairpieces or hair plugs. There's no doubt the former model's body is the product of a lifetime of professional training, at 47 it's inspirational nevertheless. And if you think this British bad boy is just another Hollywood cliche, check out the U.K.'s Hummingbird, released as Redemption in the U.S. You'll get the Statham you've come to enjoy, but he'll also tug at your heartstrings exposing the ugly reality of substance abuse and homelessness.

2. Ryan Robbins

If you haven't watched Canada's Continuum or Sanctuary, you might not know who Ryan Robbins is. The 41 year old single father from British Columbia has been in entertainment since high school: singing, directing, even working in a circus. But the struggle was real, one that landed him homeless, living in a van. He overcame and succeeded, and has become a mainstay in numerous science fiction television shows. If "lumbersexual" is actually a thing, Robbins embodies it. 

3. Wentworth Miller

The baby faced, South African star of Prison Break is 42. With his blue eyes and a hairline any 25 year old would dream of, genetics were very kind to Miller. After drifting off the Hollywood radar for a few years, Miller charmed the public in 2013 with a heartfelt letter to the Saint Petersburg International Film Festival denouncing Russia's treatment of the LGBT community. He can now be seen in The Flash as Captain Cold.

4. Gerard Butler

Gerard Butler drove us wild with his airbrushed abs in 300. But it was't all smoke and mirrors. The production's training routine required Butler to maximize his physique. Despite 300's subtly anti-gay themes, its homoerotic overtones had everyone asking, "who is this guy and where has he been?!" Well, before 300, mostly in the U.K. Like Jason Statham, Butler is another great actor who's graced us from across the pond. Along with his success as a movie star, he's proven what someone struggling with alcoholism and drug abuse can overcome at 45.

5. Rob Thomas

You might think Rob Thomas is a douche bag. But his reputation as a mainstream pop star is a product of the simple fact that he's just so good at writing, composing, and singing music that millions of people enjoy. But he's also a pretty damn good guy. Way back in 2009 when the gay marriage movement was just beginning to generate the momentum it's now enjoying, Thomas posted an article on the Huffington Post called The Big Gay Chip on my Shoulder. With absolutely no pressure to join the gay rights movement, he decided to react to some ugly Twitter comments in the most beautiful way possible. He's not just hot at 41, he's also on our side.

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I'm going to leave it at that. RMDS isn't BuzzFeed and I think listicles (that's apparently a word) are kind of stupid. I just wanted to delve briefly into the notion that 40 isn't old, although I fully understand that my compulsion to write a post about it only proves that it isn't young. 

But you know what? It isn't, and that's okay. 

The point is, whatever your place in life, it's never too late to be the best man you can be. For me, that point is now, two years from my 40th birthday. But for others it may not be a number, just a hurdle. 

Don't ever accept an inevitability. If you're struggling with substance abuse, you can find a healthy alternative. If your parents are diabetic, no genetics prove you have to be. If you're overweight, you can still find yourself in the fittest skin you've ever known. 

You are not your parents, your society, or anyone's expectations but your own. No one dictates your choices but yourself. The moment your life's next act is staring you in the face, know it's not an obstacle but a challenge, and charge at it headfirst. When you resolve to be the best man you can be, you feel like a superhero. It consumes you and it's beautiful.

#becauseflorida

"#becauseflorida" might be one of the most entertaining hashtags to come out of social media. From a woman stealing a liquor bottle in her vagina to typical Spring Break stories, Florida provides an endless supply of humor at its own expense. 

But it's also a uniquely divisive place. Politically, South Florida is largely liberal while the rest of the state falls staunchly in line with the Bible Belt. Where heads butt, people scream the loudest, and lately Florida's civil servants have proven just how bull headed and irrational they can be.

Digging their heels deep in the sand, Governor Rick Scott and State Attorney General Pam Bondi have proven their insistence to stand on the side of hateful discrimination despite a national inevitability. History books will record them as the bigots that they are.

But their lesser known followers will simply be painted as passive aggressive thorns in a nearly defunct movement to stymy progress by making it difficult to deal with the bureaucratic process.

Scott and Daniel Wall-Desousa were married in New York. Like most married couples, they used their marriage license to change their names on all their legal documents. But Florida, being #becauseflorida, decided it would "indefinitely" cancel their drivers licenses that were printed with their hyphenated last name. 

Despite the fact that the federal government issued them new social security cards, the Florida DMV apparently pulled rank. Why? Well it doesn't really make sense. People change their names all the time. Whether the couple used their New York marriage license or their social security cards to acquire a new license from the Florida DMV, it in no way means that their marriage is recognized by the state of Florida.

The Florida DMV may just be bowing to a technicality. But the fact that their drivers licenses were issued in the first place means that some busy-body went through a lot of trouble to put up a red flag. In an effort to just be a horrible person, someone simply wanted to make their experience at the DMV, one that's rarely friendly or smooth, infuriatingly frustrating.

The Enemy of My Enemy is My Friend

That statement has probably brought more people together and ended more wars than any protest, advocacy, or humanitarian effort.

Why? 

Because humans are messy. We're saddled with the unique ability to reason with absolutely no reason to use it. Humanity is stuck in an evolutionary hiccup, somewhere between where we've been and where we're headed. Those before us maintained a harmoniously chaotic balance, and barring any extraterrestrial variables - asteroids, comets - life would have continued to simply exist and not much more. 

As soon as the first homosapien discovered that unique ability and fashioned a spear, the planet changed. Agriculture led to societies, societies led to nations, and nations led to culture. And with culture came a flood of questions followed by a drought of answers. How do you answer the unanswerable? Religion.

Nothing has simultaneously united and divided people like the quest to answer that which the human mind can't comprehend, and abstract ideas like gods and blind faith were set up to fail.

Unfortunately, stuck in evolution's hiccup, we're still dry heaving explanations for the unexplainable. We will never know where we come from. But discontent with the absence of answers, we discard reason for the ugly, irrational traits of the human mind.

But that's where our enemies come in handy. The messiness of idle humanity takes a streamlined turn when faced with absolute insanity. As irrational as we are in our spiritual beliefs, we can become extremely rational when faced with things that any sane person knows is complete bullshit.

I certainly don't want to give the haters any credit, at least not the credit they want. Organizations like the Westboro Baptist Church are comprised of pure evil. And I understand the irony in the term "evil" considering what I just said, but I'm a flawed human like the rest of us. 

Still, as hateful as the hate mongers are, they inadvertently unite the rational people, those willing to entertain reason every once in a while. Protesting the funerals of fallen soldiers with signs reading "GOD HATES FAGS" does nothing for a hate monger's cause. It's a disgustingly disrespectful act and causes nothing but pain when it's inflicted. But in the aftermath of these atrocious events, it forces those fortunate enough to live free of persecution to understand what it's like to face bigotry for a day. 

The Westboro Baptist Church and other hate groups have a sole target: Humanity. And in doing so they turn the world into a united minority group fighting for a common goal: To live free from hate.

Of course examples of this behavior are not always as painful as the slurs cast by Fred Phelps and his cohorts. Sometimes it makes us step back, cock our heads to the side, and laugh. Pastor James David Manning of the Harlem's ATLAH Worldwide Missionary Church recently claimed that Starbucks was adding "male semen" to its lattes, apparently in an effort to attract "upscaled sodomites."

Pastor Manning

Manning has his share of followers and comments like this get paraded across social media. But it's almost unfortunate that anyone, especially legitimate advocacy organizations, actually entertain these comments in any serious context, because the vast majority of those reading the overuse of the redundant phrase "male semen" are likely getting a good laugh. That includes thousands upon thousands of straight men and women who might finally be thinking, "this anti-gay shit is getting ridiculous." 

Insulting the general public might be the best avenue for humans to revisit their unique ability to reason. There will always be unreasonable people and, if they're just insane enough, I say let them sing. Their audience - the world - is turning their hate into our love and bringing us together. There might not be anything more beautiful than that.

Hollaback: Junk Science

By now you've probably seen the viral Hollaback video. Rob Bliss Creative hired an attractive female actress to walk around New York City for ten hours, secretly filming her. What was found was disturbing, if not sadly expected. In the short two minute video, the woman was harassed with catcalls and whistles a staggering hundred times and counting. 

It's unsettling, upsetting, and exposes just how inconsiderate men can be towards women, even in public. Basically, it's everything a viral video should be, right down to the soundtrack.

There's just one problem. The social experiment isn't just flawed, it technically isn't even an experiment.

I've resisted writing about the Hollaback video for two reasons. One, the science behind true experiments, social or otherwise, is dry. That's why viral videos masquerade behind junk science. No one wants to read about hypotheses and scientific methodology, and video bloggers can't take the time to scrap their experiments when confounding variables arise. 

You're yawning now, and that's why science doesn't sell.

But more importantly, I simply didn't want to criticize a video that has led to even more online harassment well beyond a ten hour walk around New York City. If being catcalled isn't inconsiderate enough, death threats are surely terrifying.

Unfortunately, with an internet full of fly-by-night "social studies," it's hard to criticize anything that attempts to expose harassment without sounding like harassment itself. Zeynep Tufekci of medium.com did a fine job of explaining the flaws in Rob Bliss's experiment without downplaying the harassment that exists. 

However good intentioned, these experiments are social irresponsible, painfully evident in the backlash the video and its' actress have received. Social experiments are important, and one on street harassment can have merit. But it's important, especially when dealing with sensitive issues and your subjects' safety, to be vigilant in how these experiments are performed. And to be prepared to prove that the science behind your experiment holds water.

But the sensitivity targeted by these experiments is the problem. Science and conscience don't mix. Experiments like Hollaback attempt to instill sympathy and outrage, but there is no place for passion in scientific experiments. Science is blind and sometimes exposes ugly truths about humanity, and not always where it's hypothesized. 

Perhaps more scientifically interesting than the 100+ catcalls is the underlying reason Rob Bliss chose to spend more than 50% of the experiment in predominantly African American neighborhoods. Rob Bliss went into his own experiment to prove a prejudice against women, only to expose his own prejudices.

Rose McGowan Has a Bad Day

No one can truthfully carpet bomb an entire demographic with one statement, but we sure do try. It's usually understood with an "I get what you're saying" nod. But if you're a celebrity and you happen to utter what everyone's thinking, ready the spin room.

When someone says, "gay men are sluts," 99% of us know it's technically not true because the statement implies all gay men are sluts. But the other 99% have probably made this comment. Are we stereotyping? Generalizing? Or just ranting in frustration? All of the above.

So why do we take to the internet like an army of passive aggressive activists anytime a blanket statement is made against us, or any demographic for that matter? Are we offended? Or does it guiltily remind us of all the times we've blasted an entire demographic, or the world, in frustration?

According to the Advocate, actress Rose McGowan "blasted the gay community." What exactly did she say? "Gay men are as misogynistic as straight men, if not more so," going on to say that "right now" she is really upset with the gay community.

That's a broad claim. Without additional insight, it's easy for the media to latch onto the comments and run her through the bigot mill. But common sense asks, "Did McGowan have a bad run in with a gay guy recently?" We all say things in frustration, and frustration is never rational. 

Can gay men be just as misogynistic as straight men? Some can, sure. Her comment is just as insulting to straight men in that she implies the insidious all. Of course as minorities, we fixate on generalizations despite the fact that anytime someone says they've "lost faith in humanity," they're referring to every race, religion, gender, sexual orientation, and generally evolved neanderthal.

Being in a minority, we not only take generalizations personally, but we have to answer for them. When someone asks, "Why are gays so militant?," we have to qualify the question with the word some. But all too often we ignore the implied semantics of casual vernacular and head straight for the jugular. Good job, Advocate, your readers now think that Rose McGowan is leading an army of 90s clad Jawbreakers for the gay gates of San Francisco.

Think, people.

Rose McGowan had a bad day. How many times have you been bumped at brunch by a group of girls in leggings and riding boots and thought, "basic bitches?" McGowan made a statement, one that actually has more merit than the gay media is willing to address: We are just as misogynistic as straight men.

Not only are we men with no, or little, sexual interest in the fairer sex, but as a minority, we are somehow granted a pass. That makes a combination ripe for snide remarks. If you are honestly offended by McGowan's comments, you better be prepared to put your friends in check next time they call a girl a "slut" for wearing the same dress you wore last Friday.

Judging by the comments piling up on social media, it sounds like the Advocate has done a fine job proving her point.

Wake Up

Some have taken offense at Rep. Brian Sims' Facebook comment regarding last Thursday's brutal attack on two gay men in Philadelphia. What Sims said was visceral, and that's exactly why it worked.

That's my Congressman.

Yes, it could be interpreted as a call for violence against violence, or as Queerty called it, "straight-bashing." But it's not that at all. Where in Sims' comment does he advocate Gayborhood fury be unleashed on every man who likes pussy?

It's rare enough for politicians to speak passionately and from the gut, but to do it on our community's behalf without first consulting a focus group is unheard of. Brian Sims said exactly what ever gay man, and frankly most of Philadelphia, was thinking last week: "Give me a tire iron and five minutes alone with these people."

But the pious trolls at Queerty only know the meaning of the word "raw" when it applies to Chris Crocker's latest porn. They're so busy sustaining the stereotype of the sex crazed pervert or the limp wristed fairy that it's actually shocking when one of our own aggressively shows us his balls.

Change takes place in the courthouse but it starts in the street. Wake up and smell the blood on the sidewalk.

Social Media Wins the Day

Last Thursday's brutal attack on two gay men near Rittenhouse Square was slow to make traction in the news. The papers buried it under stories about casinos sixty miles away and when it found its way on television, it was wedged between the weather and puff pieces.

One of the victims suffered skull fractures, a deep laceration on the face, and has his jaw will be wired shut for eight weeks.

However, the Philadelphia Police Department and the online community took it a little less lightly. After the police released very clear video surveillance footage of ten to twelve suspects, social media proved just how little we rely on newspapers and the six o'clock news. Even more, it proved just how swift we can be when we work together.

In a matter of hours, Facebook and Twitter turned these suspects into Philadelphia's Most Wanted. The Citizens Crime Commission initially offered a $1000 reward for information on the suspects, followed by three local businesses putting a $10,000 bounty on their freedom.

For a few tense hours, ten to twelve of the tristate's worst citizens must have been shitting their pants as they watched their faces walk across surprisingly clear surveillance footage. But that's when things took a 21st Century twist and went all Justice Leaguey, virtually speaking.

Shortly after posting the video on his Twitter feed, @greggybennett, former cast member of Real Housewives of New Jersey received and posted a photograph from a "friend of a friend of a friend" that showed a group of individuals matching those in the surveillance footage. 

The red vest is undeniable, and several others can be clearly made in the rest of the surveillance video.

It was almost immediately retweeted by @FanSince09. Minutes later followers had noted that the restaurant was Rittenhouse's La Viola. 

@FanSince09 used Facebook Graph Search to find profiles checked in at La Viola prior to the attack and managed to match a number of faces and clothing to the surveillance footage and the photograph which, at the time, was still available on Facebook and conveniently tagged by a few of the suspects.

By the time Detective Joseph Murray was contacted by @FanSince09, the hunt was essentially over. Late last night, lawyers representing a few of the suspects had contacted the PPD to make arrangements to surrender to questioning this morning. The police have not yet announced any arrests or additional information, short of deserved praise for @FanSince09, @greggybennett, and social media in general.

Despite the excitement that unfolded last night and the expectations many may have had this morning, Murray was quick to remind everyone that this is not an episode of Law & Order. With upwards of fifteen suspects likely to be brought in for questioning, it will take time to interview them all and sift through the evidence. It may be days, even a week, before arrests can be made.

As it is, it looks good for the victims (at least in terms of justice) and bad for those who chose to lawyer up late last night. Unfortunately, hate crime legislation that includes LGBT victims was struck down in 2002 and failed again in 2009. As it stands, the maximum sentence for aggravated assault that causes, or attempts to cause, serious bodily injury is twenty years and $25,000.

Without clear footage of the attack, it may seem it would be hard to prove which suspects were directly responsible for the injuries. However, given the large group of suspects, there is no question that two or more will sing like canaries and sell out their friends. And given the outrage spanning the nation last night, no District Attorney can afford to tread lightly. 

In the mean time, let's all sit back and think about the victims and their families. And on a slightly lesser note, what it's like to be part of a socially networked group of superheroes bent on spending their evenings hunting down the villains trying to ruin our Great City.

Molly's Daily Kiss

Fag Hag: Friend or Foe?

Chris Blondell of G Philly, the gay oriented supplement of Philadelphia Magazine, recently posted an article entitled Your Fruit Fly is Not Your Friend, and I've been struggling with how to take it. To be fair, G Philly has done an outstanding job of diversifying the once Main Line centric Philadelphia Magazine and its writers don't shy from coloring outside the lines. Your Fruit Fly is Not Your Friend is no exception.

While the article is more rant than journalism, Blondell makes valid points that have been echoed throughout Philadelphia's Gayborhood for years. Thanks to exponential leaps in equality and acceptance, having a gay man at brunch is the new black cocktail dress. We're a must-have. And that's where Blondell nails it.

The concept isn't new, but accessorizing your entourage with a token gay has become exacerbated, especially in more progressive cities. Ever since Will and Grace and Sex and the City, every hot chick has only been as hot as her hottest (i.e. most flaming) gay. But it hasn't always been that way, and I think that Blondell falls short in ignoring the impact women have had in our very own, often violently unpopular, fight.

Things happened fast for us gays. About twenty years ago, Seinfeld treaded into risky territory by simply saying, "not that there's anything wrong with that." Today we have our own cable network. Like Latin music in the 90s, being gay is trendy and the trendiest of people want one of us in our corner. But being trendy isn't acceptance. Being trendy means being a stereotype. 

We like shopping. We worship Lady Gaga. And we live for the next cat fight on the latest Real Housewives abomination. Personally, I hate shopping. Most of my clothes come from Modell's. I listen to Matchbox 20 and Train, and I can't stand reality television.

The fruit flies that Blondell is referring to, the ones who dragged Green Eggs Cafe and Nest into my Gayborhood, are not my friends. But while these particular women may choose to stereotype my community as two dimensional cartoons, it's important not to stereotype our allies in two dimensions as well. Blondell mentions the distinction between allies and "fruit flies," but I wish he had expanded on it because the women who fought for our rights and stood beside us long before it was popular deserve the space in Blondell's article far more than the women who drove me out of Tavern on Camac last Friday night.

As pejorative as it sounds, "fag hag" never had a bad meaning to me. When I was coming out of the closet in 1995, these were the women who stood by me when sodomy was still illegal, when I could have been expelled from my college for being gay, when my home state actively refused to serve alcohol to "known homosexuals." These women risked as much as I did, just to be my friend. And to this day - through marriages, divorce, children - these women are still my closest friends, friends that my own family treats as family.

While the fruit flies of today, the Gucci clad girls twerking at Woody's, pale in comparison to the fag hags that sat beside us as we cried in our dorm rooms, there is still a mutual sense of validation between two insecure parties. Despite headways in gay rights, women are still a cultural minority, one that has digressed from Tori Amos and Fiona Apple to Mylie Cyrus and Ke$ha. 

As tedious as it may seem to brunch with these fruit flies, or even tolerate them on the dance floor, it's hard to criticize a demographic held to even more unrealistic standards than our own. Perhaps they're not seeking to stereotype us, but rather to identify with a sympathetic ear, one that understands prejudice. 

Many women played a vital role in helping us through the 80s and 90s simply because they were good people. Maybe it's time we stop and listen, read between the lines about shopping and divas, and really hear why these women have sought solace in us. 

Love's Perfect Imperfections

I've never been offended by the question, "so, what do you do for a living?" Perhaps that's because I spent so much of my early 20s in an industry town. In places like Washington, D.C. and Los Angeles, it's less about sizing up the enemy and more about starting a conversation. In cities driven by unique fields like cinema and politics, it's highly likely that the person next to you at the bar, even your date, has a lot in common with you, professionally.

But after more than a decade in Philadelphia, the question has begun to take on a new meaning, one that says a lot about the person asking. Sure, often it's benign chatter, but sometimes it takes a more insidious turn, particularly amongst single men well into their thirties and forties.

A few months ago I went on a date with a nice enough guy. Early forties, very put together, attractive, smart. 

Great. 

Then came the dreaded question. As someone who doesn't really care what any potential boyfriend does for a living as long as he's happy, I was upfront and honest. To be fair, the question still doesn't bother me. In fact when it rears its head it's a good opportunity to gauge the asker's reaction. If my professional position is a deal breaker to someone, that's a deal breaker for me.

For this particular man, it was apparently a deal breaker. As soon as I said the words, "laid off," he gave the signature look. The one that says, "how do I get out of this date?" After about fifteen more minutes of awkwardly forced conversation, he was out the door. 

Fine, right? On to the next OKCupid profile.

But why is it that way? Why does it matter, especially to older, single men? The surface answer is obvious. As we approach middle age, still single, we don't want to waste time with potential problems from the very start and we're less likely to take risks. 

But one deeper issue may be that many men well into their thirties and forties have already built a perfectly successful life around an empty nest. The perfect house, the perfect job, the perfect dog, so naturally one wants the perfect man. Unfortunately with such perfection meticulously constructed around oneself, the perfect man can't be anymore dynamic than the perfect car. 

Husband hunting becomes sofa shopping.

Problems will arise in any relationship and younger generations seem to understand this. Or at least their inexperience allows them to blissfully fall into less than perfect relationships, ultimately learning to tackle things like sickness and unemployment when they arise.

What happens to those cynically seeking perfection, or those who find a candidate with the perfect resume, when they finally realize that perfection doesn't exist? Those who've built the perfect life around themselves may have the biggest baggage. After all, love isn't a career or that Eames Lounge chair you can finally afford. 

It's four dimensional, it's messy, and it rarely makes sense. Perhaps the quest for perfection means one has simply given up on finding true romance, opting for lavish European vacations that provide all the quantifiable elements of what love looks like, without the qualities that can be found on a simple weekend getaway to the Poconos. 

Maybe some have even lost sight of the Hollywood illusion. Maybe some really are looking for the perfect man who matches their drapes. But even if one is looking for that perfect accessory in human form, chances are the candidate already has his own perfect house, perfect car, and perfect job. In that case, one's best hope is to find a partner in the most mundanely professional sense of the word. Freedom to Marry just became a business contract. 

Love is risky, it's rooted in silt, and more often than not, it's scary. Those aren't attributes that meld well with pragmatic ones like stability and success. If you are knowingly trading romantic bliss for six figure incomes and matching BMWs, own it. But if you think you're looking for love, don't be afraid to dive headfirst into that murky river. You might break your neck a few times, but eventually you'll find the spring. 

Be less concerned about whether your date owns his own condo and more concerned with who that person really is, in every beautiful flaw.