Twisted Spinster

It occurs to me that one of the reasons pop culture seems so enervated these days is because we got what we wanted: the alternative is now the mainstream. But what little energy the mainstream got was from weird, avant-garde art, which in turn got its energy from the weird, alternative lifestyles practiced by most avant-garde artists. And many of those artists are, or were, gay, or at least liked to hang around gays for the “different” vibe and conversation gays used to provide. Nowadays it seems that all gays can talk about is the latest boring political movement to force Joe and Jane Schmo to accept their bed habits as being “normal.” But they seem to have forgotten that “normal” is another word for “boring.” I posted the following comment here:

Does anyone besides me and Florence King wonder why gays are suddenly (supposedly) so into being accepted into the mainstream, to the extent that they want their living arrangements to be treated by law just like the living arrangements of heterosexual couples? Back in the “old days” (when I was a young ‘un, cough hack) of the Sixties and Seventies gays prided themselves on being “different” and having escaped the square, dull life of the “straights.” They were also widely regarded as wittier and generally more artistic. Even the loud and trashy drag queen act had that bit of burnish from being “not for everyone” especially the “safe entertainment” sorts. Nowadays, however, thanks to the take-a-mile strategies of the GLBT activists, we are daily presented with the full horror of Gays Are Just Folks Like Us, which means they are just as boring and unattractive and lumpen. Some of them even lack a sense of fashion!

I think it’s all a plot, a plot to destroy gay culture from the inside. Gays should fight back — to have their status as outsiders returned! If I were gay, I know I’d want my closet back after the publication of things like Heather Has Two Mommies.

I think the end started when AIDS came along. Regular venereal diseases were one thing — either you took medicine and recovered, or you went mad and died. But AIDS had no cure, which meant that the culture of diva-ness was merged with the culture of sickness which had been growing in the US since at least the Fifties (when self-sufficient, manly movie stars like John Wayne and Gary Cooper began to be supplanted by neurotic fainting violets like James Dean). The results we see today: no one in an position of authority dares say “boo” to a mouse for fear the mouse will turn out to be a gay lesbian cripple with a stack of hate crime forms next to her iMac. In the meantime, I can’t listen to any songs released after 1992 because all rock bands these days look like the same jeans-clad skinny white boys and all their songs are the same grunge-metal chords and lyrics about bad dorm sex on meth. I never thought I would miss Boy George.

Update: I totally did not see this before I posted.