The gift of gluttony

Blogging may be light over the next two weeks, as I'll be trying to copy-edit a 100-page magazine (and write some of it) while eating, sleeping, washing clothes, and reading 1000 blogs on a fairly regular schedule. Another chore at this time of year is holiday (do your worst to me, Bill O'Reilly!) shopping. Along those lines, I recommend this Slate.com posting on the madness of "gift cards." Some are better than others (Starbucks is OK because I can just buy friends coffee until the card runs out), but in general gift cards are just cash with strings attached. ("No, you may NOT spend this at Liquor Land! Get some school supplies at Staples!") Gift cards do have the advantage of not taking up a lot of room in a small apartment. But the best gifts are in the food-and-drink category. Anything edible or drinkable isn't going to hang around my apartment for too long. If I don't like it, I'll serve it to a visitor, and if none of my friends like it, I'll bring it to the office.

The shocking truth about the Orange Line

I believe that man landed on the moon, that Lee Harvey Oswald acted alone, and that Marisa Tomei won an Academy Award fair and square for My Cousin Vinny. But I don't believe that any "signal repair" work is being done on the Orange Line this weekend. Or that there's any good reason for substituting buses for subway trains from Malden to Boston, as the T has done for all but three weekends since I moved to Malden three months ago. Or that there's any legitimate reason for "diversions" of service on the Orange Line to last almost four years so far. I could have single-handedly laid down completely new tracks from Haymarket to Oak Grove in less time. Alas, the MBTA's award-winning Web site doesn't explain why a "fully functional state-of-the-art signal system" should take so long to install. Can we at least get some diagrams on there? If the problem is giant rats undoing most of the day's work after quitting time, I would gladly pay a little extra for my Charlie Card if the T could post a graphic novel about the subterranean battle between orange-vested public employees and rogue rodents. Crocodiles would be good, too. An alternative explanation is that we Orange Line prisoners are unknowlingly dealing with something like this, as reported last month by the Metro:

In the past two months, commuter rail employees have been participating in a covert “working strike” — holding up service and causing significant train delays — in retaliation for what they consider poor treatment by management, according to sources who spoke to Metro.

Conductors and engineers have been refusing to work overtime when the commuter rail is short staffed, or operate trains when there are minor maintenance issues, like a burned out bulb, in order to stick it to their employer — the Massachusetts Bay Commuter Railroad — the company contracted by the T to run the commuter rail, a source told Metro.

Furniture bars

One friend has explained to me that the men who once went to gay bars are now spending all their time at Home Depot and Crate & Barrel. I guess the advantage is that you can see whether a guy clashes with your couch before you take him home.

A good face for radio

I'm scheduled to appear on Michelangelo Signorile's satellite radio show this afternoon at 3:30 to talk about my article on the disappearance of gay bars. I've been warned that Signorile can be a provocative interviewer, but at least I don't have to worry about being outed. I do hope, however, that he hasn't come across my kindergarten essay on how I want to be president someday. I haven't been very good at following up on that.

Straight fan of gay bar

Thanks for all the feedback on "Last Call," my Boston Globe piece on the decline of the gay bar. Erik Lindgren, from the group Birdsongs of the Mesozoic, sent the letter below. I agree with him about coffeehouses serving some of the functions of third spaces (I defended Starbucks here), but their early closing hours limit their usefulness, as do the seat-fillers he mentions in the last sentence:

I found your article in the Globe fascinating and very insightful. Being a straight male, I was fortunate to have a gay friend take me as a guest to the Napoleon Club in the early '90s and it was a wonderful eye-opening experience. My pal especially wanted me to hear the two pianists (I am a classical pianist and composer) who had completely different technique and repertoire, and I really enjoyed the cozy atmosphere and warm sense of camaraderie. I was saddened to hear of it's demise (late '90s?) and didn't realize that it was part of a general downsizing trend which you cite. However, one aspect of socialization that you don't mention is the rampant growth of the "coffee house" phenomenon which has really taken off throughout the country during this past decade. Cafes like Cambridge's two 1369 locations, Davis Square's lesbian-friendly Diesel, Newbury Street's Trident Bookstore (which is more of a restaurant), L'Aroma, plus Tealuxe's multiple locations aren't necessarily catering to a gay crowd but are blind to sexual/gender preference, as with their corporate counterparts including the Starbucks, Peets, Caribou, and Au Bon Pain chains. Unfortunately many of those who frequent those establishments feel more comfortable speaking to their laptops rather than their table mates but that is a byproduct of our recent cyber culture. Caffeine for thought.

Cheers, Erik Lindgren

Ladies, please take your boyfriends to age-appropriate films

Last weekend I saw the lip-sync musical Romance and Cigarettes at a Cambridge movie theater, and when there was a close-up of Christopher Walken's rock-music-themed license plate, the guy behind me read it aloud: "BODIDDLY!" I'd like to point out to his girlfriend that the movie may have been too mature for someone who has recently learned how to recognize letters and words. It's quite understandable that he's so proud to figure out something as complicated as two words smooshed together that he has to shout out his accomplishment. But Romance and Cigarettes, with its swearing and frank sexual content, might be above his head. May I suggest Bee Movie?

The South End Is Over

A blog that really gets into the transformation of the South End into a neighborhood for people who like the idea of urban life but can't stand the reality:

Here's the deal: You live in a city. Get over yourselves. As long as there's not a crack house operating next door, you should consider yourself lucky.

A bucket of good cheer

One thing that didn't get into my Boston Globe story on the disappearance of gay bars was the Use Me team, a group of volunteers from Boston's MALE Center who distribute condoms and safer-sex education at bars. Programs like this have been around for a long time, and I remember being approached by friendly young guys with rubbers when I first went to bars. I have to say I was always disappointed to realize their interest in me was charitable rather than carnal, but it was still better than realizing that the cutie talking to me on the bus was recruiting for his Bible study group. Anyway, one of the Use Me guys made the point that, with fewer gay bars around, the team had to develop "more organic" or "stealth" approaches to safer-sex education. For example, he said, "we have some people who just put out a bucket of condoms in their living room for friends to take." I guess I'm on the wrong side of that generation gap. I'd sooner expect to see a bucket of anti-depressants in the living rooms that I frequent.

Why straight people should care when gay bars close

My article on the disappearance of gay bars and the increasing dullness of city life is in today's Boston Globe. Please read it in public while inhaling a Bloody Mary.

In which I learn how to avoid pledge drives and looking like a flag

I've discovered a few new things thanks to friends' emails. First, you can turn off your radio during NPR pledge drives and still get that Nicaraguan chloroform high by tuning into Irrational Public Radio. I recommend Inside the Metal Box; an interview with claustrophobic strangler and outdoor chef Graham Von Shreinhaus. It's as if Bob and Ray collaborated with Alfred Hitchcock. Second, my friend Alan from Albany is deservedly in the finals for "Best Dressed Man of the Capital Region." I'm afraid that I couldn't pull off half of these outfits, but at least Alan showed me how to wear red, white, and blue without looking like a candidate for County Anti-Subversion Commissioner. I think it's the light shade of jeans, along with the watch and shoes. Finally, I learned not to take leftovers home from a restaurant where this happens. I don't want to eat it, but I'm afraid of what may crawl out of my garbage disposal if I try to get rid of the stuff down there.