For many people, a family is what they choose to make of it. For some, that means a close-knit collection of relatives; for others, it’s a group of friends who are always there when needed.
But in reality, the family has almost always had a clear legal definition that changes slowly with the times and has been changing since the word was formed. From the Latin word “familia” came the Middle English word “familie,” and so forth. The Latin definition of a familia household included everyone who lived in the house, including the servants. Things have changed a bit since then (and not always for the best).
For some time, I’ve wanted to say something in this column about the use of crystal meth in the leather and gay male communities. No, I’ve never used it, but I’m still affected by it. Crystal meth affects all of us, users and nonusers alike.
Margaret Anderson and Jane Heap were key figures in the literary scenes of Chicago, New York, and Paris in the 1910s and 1920s. Their magazine The Little Review introduced Modernism to a contemporary American audience.
The life of a political pundit isn’t easy. The other night, I was at a “mixed” dinner party. My partner and I were the only lesbians. All the others were straight married couples. They wanted my take on the upcoming presidential election—who would win in November?
The Life of Reilly is not only one of the most marvelous success stories of a gay man set to film, but also belongs in the Hall of Fame of “Great Films About The Theater,” alongside All About Eve, The Dresser, and All That Jazz. Measuring right up there, The Life of Reilly is a bloomin’ masterpiece.
Another year, another look back. 2007 was a transitional year for the music business, as the reality of the new economic situation (in a nutshell: unless things change fast, the mainstream record companies are sunk) and a dearth of new sounds made for 12 months of good to great, but rarely spectacular, music. Still, plenty was worth listening to this year—and some of it even ended up on the radio.
As my partner, Chad, and I guided our culinary vacation troupe up a 900-foot, narrow, suspended, cement walkway, it felt as if we were leaving the real world.
Our destination, Civita di Bagnoregio (in the Lazio region of Italy, about an hour north of Rome)—or simply Civita (chee-VEE-tah)—is perched on top of a hill at an altitude of 1,440 feet above sea level, between two valleys running in an east-west direction, on what is called the “Italian Grand Canyon.” It’s a city ruled by wind and erosion. The population has dropped to 14, but the town survives.
If you spotted clothing designer Andrew Christian pounding the star-studded pavement of Hollywood Boulevard, you might mistake him for a cleaner-cut Colin Farrell, or, perhaps, a more rugged Robin Thicke. But Christian is neither a reformed drunk from Dublin nor a pretty-boy R&B balladeer. Still, the 29-year-old Christian oozes sex appeal with the best of ’em. Especially in his underwear.