My friends confuse me sometimes. Like, out of the blue, my friend Michael sent me a copy of Boys in the Band. "Thought you'd find this interesting!" said an attached note.

For a nanosecond I thought, jeez, that's nice.

And then, why the fuck did he think that?

You know Boys in the Band, right? For gay people it's like Saw, Scream, and The Ring all rolled up into one. A bunch of panty-waisted, pansy-assed queens have a birthday party, which naturally means limp wrists, paisley ascots, and verbal abuse. I first saw it in the 70s, and couldn't believe it. Like some bitchy critic said, every word is a lie, including "and" and "the." They parade the latest in gay apparel -- short shorts, tank tops, berets -- and run to the bathroom to snort coke and slather on another layer of wrinkle cream. A stripper appears, stirring dissent in the ranks. Back off, you old faggot! This queen's paying for that cowboy-hatted hottie to make me temporarily forget the Middle-Aged Gay Hell of Fading Looks. Drinks are drunk and speeches are made about how we all hate ourselves.

Thanks, Michael! I'll try to fit this in on Sunday night!

I flip the box over and over in my hands. It's impressive, and weighty. I'm looking for a sticker that says something like "Now, with more self-loathing!" Included on the disk are three "featurettes." There's audio commentary. It's been remastered. What, grainy images of stereotypical self-hatred just weren't good enough? Now we can see our mincing butt-bandits in HD? Cool! And now if we get through the whole thing without killing ourselves, we can flip to the outtakes.

Days later, I'm still wondering why Michael gifted me. Now, I'm not saying we should forget about this film, but it belongs in a drawer at the Gay History Archives marked HORRIFYING rather than in somebody's DVD player. It should be stuck in a time capsule along with enormous cellphones and Don Rickles.

Because why, exactly, would somebody want to watch it? Has time given it some campy charm? Are all the minority groups going postmodern? I'm wondering if black people are exchanging copies of Roots or Mandingo. With flowery little notes attached: "After you pick up your dry cleaning and have a glass of Chardonnay, take a look at how white dudes used to buy and sell our folks!"

Curiosity gets the best of me and I give Michael a call. I casually steer the conversation around to the DVD, and how surprised I was to get it. "I thought you could use the fashion tips," he declares.

Girlfriend's always been a bitch.