Tuesday, April 8, 2014

In the spring a young Brooklynite's fancy lightly turns to thoughts of Airbnb. All of a sudden those ridiculous rents we pay don't seem quite so ridiculous after all. Now people offer us huge sums of cash for our little hellholes (though Airbnb begs us to brighten up the place, perhaps by leaving some flowers in front of the sign that reads, "LOITERERS WILL BE PROSECUTED" or hanging Japanese lanterns over the fluorescent security lights). Different people have different travel strategies: high vs. low season, bank holidays, following the sun. Me, I leave whenever French tourists who want to spend a few weeks in New York offer me enough to buy a pony.

So, I'm off again. London, Prague, Salzburg, Vienna, and Budapest. When I get back, I'll share the highlights. Don't expect too much, though: I've passed the age of backpacking and doing drugs with topless fire-eaters on remote beaches, and now blindly follow Rick Steves into quaint little villages with tea shops and strudel. Until May 4 you'll have to entertain yourself by wandering the archives. If this note has left you with even the slightest hint of melancholy you'll want to find my Pride and Prejudice piece, and all fond feelings will vanish like Paco's oats.

Republican Leadership Tries To Stabilize Party's Reputation Slightly Above Bottom Of Barrel


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Monday, April 7, 2014

There's a big hubbub a-brewing because of what somebody at Advocate.com said about RuPaul. (Don't confuse the website with the Advocate magazine: evidently this media conglomerate is so big it can't be contained by a single infrastructure.)

Writer Parker Molloy is furious, simply furious, that RuPaul routinely uses words like "tranny" and "she-male," even taking to Twitter to announce, "I fucking hate RuPaul." After much thought and a soup├žon of K, I totally agree. I believe I'm uniquely qualified to comment on this argument since I was nearly a Human Sexuality major in college. (Want proof? The pronouns I use for myself are Shem, Shep, and p*ngo, and the last email I sent to GrubHub was 87,000 words long.)

Though RuPaul has been, without doubt, one of the gay/queer community's all-time iconic figures and role models for gender fluidity, he needs to know he's not above the law. C'mon, since when are members of a minority group free to use words that are offensive when spoken by others? Ms. Molloy points out that the folks on Mike and Molly were hauled over the coals for using the word "she-male," while nobody says a word about Ru. The double-standard is ridiculous: if two Midwestern heteros are castigated for laughing at alternate gender expression, why should a man in a bouffant and spandex catsuit get a free ride? I mean, would it be so hard to change the phrase, "You've got she-mail!" to "You have received a small package or parcel that has arrived via the Non-Cis-Gender Express"?

Where Advocate.com falls short, though, is putting this in perspective. RuPaul ran way out of a limb before any of us even knew there was a tree. He preached to our parents that queer is good since we were gluing sequins to our nappies. He deserves our eternal thanks for literally defining the queer community, for uniting us behind a message of peace and love, for giving all of us the courage to step out of the closets and into society, and for raising our self-confidence so that we can stand up and tell the world, "Christ, that RuPaul is just such a fucking asshole."

As for Ms. Molloy, I hope she continues on her crusade. I only wish Jackie Robinson had lived long enough to hear her say, "'Negro'? It's 'African-American,' ya jerk!"


Friday, April 4, 2014

TUNICA, Miss. — Marie Barnard was delighted when, after decades of silence on the topic, Mississippi passed a law requiring school districts to teach sex education. But the lesson involving the Peppermint Pattie wasn't what she had in mind for her sons.

The curricula adopted by the school district in Oxford called on students to unwrap a piece of chocolate, pass it around class and observe how dirty it became.

"They're using the Peppermint Pattie to show that a girl is no longer clean or valuable after she's had sex — that she's been used," said Barnard, who works in public health.


I totally get this kind of sex education, and I applaud it. Girls are exactly like Peppermint Patties. They're both smooth and thin and have a light layer of sweetness masking a whole lot of bitter. Me, I'm not crazy about either, because I don't like people being able to guess what I just ate.

Like Peppermint Patties, girls are useless after they've lost their sheen and snap. Taffy? On an existential level, it's reaming truck drivers on the turnpike. It's a crack whore on Skid Row. Hey, there's a reason it always tastes like salt water.

I think this is a great way to show kids the reality that girls are useless after they've had sex. Girls need to learn that they're useless after they've had sex.

To show what happens to boys when they're promiscuous, the teacher should pass around an M&M. It can go all around the room, and in the end it'll look exactly the same as when it started. It'll be fresh and clean and still shiny. You'll actually be able to actually watch the beacon of inspiration light up the boys' eyes as they suddenly realize, "Wait, I get to fuck ANYTHING I WANT?"

Still, I realize there are some problems with this argument. It's saying women exist to be eaten, and that it doesn't matter what they're like inside. There's no rationality behind this metaphor: for instance, why would sex devalue a woman when something like stupidity doesn't hurt? Wouldn't this lesson teach our girls to crank up the air conditioning and sit on the couch? I don't know about you, but after ten minutes of watching "America's Funniest Home Videos" I feel like my minty filling is going to end up all over my hands.

I'm not sure this is such a cautionary tale. At the end of the demonstration, no matter how dirty the chocolate is, there's still gonna be some bite marks in it -- maybe by a set of lesbian teeth. And while I'm sure the girls would prefer a new candy, the boys will be totally happy with the one that really likes to be touched.

Last, evidently these folks haven't noticed that chocolate deteriorates whether it's touched by one person or one hundred. Doesn't matter if it's the same hand or a different hand: it just loses its gloss. Which is why I suggest they bring out the Hershey's syrup for lesson number two, "This Here Is Your Mama."


Monday, March 31, 2014

A Reply From PBS

Dear Mr. Hans,

Thank you for your kind note. As you have noticed, Mr. Selfridge isn't onscreen quite as much this season. This is completely due to Jeremy Piven's busy schedule rather than the thousands of letters we've gotten from viewers noting that anyone with his unrelenting enthusiasm would have died before they turned five.

However, Mr. Selfridge remains the moral center of the show, so whether it's more accurate or not we will probably not rename the show, as you suggest, "Some Guy Who's Freaking Out Because He Has Too Many Kids And A Girl Who Is Seriously Overworked."

All the best,
PBS

Thursday, March 27, 2014

As a writer, I'm unusually attuned to what's going on in the world. You probably haven't noticed, but on TV these days there are two major trends: people coming back from the dead, and kids with magical powers.

Aside from being very popular, these types of shows are also inspiring. Between Believe and Resurrection, they've reawakened my sense of wonder -- and not just wonder about how big of a part cat food will play in my retirement plan. Inspired by their success, I'm merging the genres and writing a heartfelt yet uplifting TV pilot about people who come back from the dead and discover they have magical powers, tentatively entitled I Can't Believe I Resurrected! I don't have a lot of contacts, though, so if you know anybody in the industry feel free to send them the three sample scenes below.

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STEVE stands outside the bakery his WIFE owns. He rearranges his hair with one hand while holding a bouquet of colorful flowers with the other. As he enters, he watches his wife pass a bright pink box to an old man with a gracious smile. When she glances over and sees STEVE, her mouth drops open.

MARGO [through tears]: Ohmigod! I can't believe this! No -- don't say a word! I don't care what happened. I'm just so happy I won't bother the universe for an explanation. I don't care if the sun had to spin backwards, or time had to turn inside out. Every night I prayed for just one more minute with you, and now my prayer has been answered.

STEVE: Yup. And look -- I can make a handkerchief dance!

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The DOCTOR has just left and JESSICA is resting peacefully. While she stares at MR. WHISKERS, her stuffed penguin, it twitches and jerks, and then as if weightless it slowly rises into the air. It lazily circles JESSICA's head, and soon is joined by PICKLES, CHICKEN CHICKEN and PLOP in a fluffy pink tornado.

JESSICA's mother hurries past the half-open door holding a hamper full of dirty laundry.

JESSICA [staring wide-eyed]: Look, mommy! LOOK!

MOTHER: Mommy's busy now, sweetheart. Give me a call when you can make middle-aged women lose weight.

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DOUG and TERRY are truck drivers who were killed when their truck flipped over during a Chicago snowstorm. The sun is out this afternoon, though, as they wake up in the cab. They understand that something inexplicable has happened to them, then excitedly realize that DOUG can erase wrinkles from clothes and TERRY can heat up cold coffee with just a touch of a finger. After their clothes are tidy and their coffee is gone, they talk about returning to their families.

TERRY: Well, I'm going to go up to my wife and say, "Sweetheart, I've come back from the dead with a magical power. Now, I know what you're thinking, but all that matters is that I'm back and I love you and, more than anything, I want us to be together again."

DOUG: Hey, that's pretty good. I think I'll use that too.

DOUG goes home and nervously knocks on the front door of his old house. His WIFE opens it. She shrieks and drops her mug of coffee, which shatters.

DOUG: Sweetheart, I've come back from the dead with a magical power. Now I know what you're thinking.

WIFE: Really? Okay. Well, so I've been fucking your brother. SO THERE!


Monday, March 24, 2014

Cher is preparing for another farewell tour, but at the age of 74 she's running into some problems. In rehearsals, apparently, she's having a hard time getting her big red weenie hard enough to ride.

Russian Thugs Think St. Patrick's Day Celebration Is Gay, Beat The Shamrocks Out Of Irish

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Friday, March 21, 2014

Dear Bill Donohue:

You want to give the gays a taste of their own medicine. They want to march in New York's St. Patrick's Day Parade, so in retaliation you say you want to march in our Gay Pride Parade. And you want to hold a banner that reads, "STRAIGHT IS GREAT."

Unlike Irish Catholics, gay people are actually inclusive, so it looks like they're going to let you do that. Just for future reference, though, know that your compassionate Christian request isn't remotely equivalent to ours. We want to hold banners that read, "LGBT CLOG-DANCERS," or "GAELIC GAYS," or "ERIN GO BRAGHLESS LESBIANS." To approximate you, we'd have to carry one that read, "WE MAY BE GAY BUT YOU'RE ALL DRUNKS."

Hope this helps,
RomanHans