Sounds of the Season

No matter how many times you've heard the line "make the yuletide gay," it takes on a different - definitely more literal - meaning when Melissa Etheridge sings it. Yeah, I did go there, and if Kristin Chenoweth can turn a "Sesame Street" standard into a cutesy holiday tune, then let's call it even - OK? Both polar-opposite singers - one a lesbian, the other one lusted over by lesbians (she's adorable, ain't she?) - are making the yuletide gayer. I can't say the same for The Boxmasters or Faith Hill, who are also part of our annual Holiday Hear Me Out, but I'm betting, guys, you've had a fantasy or two involving Hill's hubby, Tim McGraw. And that's pretty gay. 

Melissa Etheridge, 'A New Thought for Christmas'

You like whiskey over wine to take the edge off the holidays? Based on her first-ever Christmas album (and, let's face it, she's probably no sipper), I'm betting Etheridge does, too. The lesbian leader's sandpaper-y tone on growlers - the sexy "Merry Christmas Baby," "Christmas (Baby Please Come Home)" and original war-lament "Christmas in America" - frame her rock-out style, seemingly ill-fit for the sweet snowman-making of Christmas. But sprinkled between faithful classics like "Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas" and "Blue Christmas" (a perfectly picked ornament), her 10-song set isn't about frolicking in a winter wonderland; it's about love, war and peace - all as-of-late Etheridge muses. "Glorious," which borrows from "Angels We Have Heard on High" and "Silent Night," is a love-spreader, while call-for-change "Ring the Bells" and "It's Christmas Time" sound like holiday-tinged takes from her sociopolitical album, "The Awakening," released last year. Closing with "O Night Divine," Etheridge's shoot-'em-dead delivery - that note near the end: holy lesbian! - is rousing, but who really expected anything less?

Aretha Franklin, 'This Christmas Aretha'

If oohs and aahs were decorative lights, our home-grown Queen of Soul would need a loan to pay her electricity bill. Heavily Aretha-ized, her first-ever-in-her-half-century-career (!) Christmastime album - generically titled, by the way - is wrapped in smooth soul ("This Christmas" - featuring son Eddie) and churchy gospel ("The Lord Will Make a Way"). And the bow? It's the sassy, gut-busting spoken-word "Twas the Night Before Christmas" - given her, ah, "personal" touch. (Available only at Borders and Waldenbooks)

Faith Hill, 'Joy to the World'

Gotta have Faith. If not for her last album (can't blame ya), then now with her traditional big-band-sounding Christmas debut. "Away in a Manger" and "O Holy Night," blanketed with strings and a choir, are tender beauts, but it's not all sleepy-time lullabies; it's worth strolling through her "Winter Wonderland," too. "A Baby Changes Everything" - no, not advice for Jamie Lynn Spears - is a baby Jesus parable. In fine voice throughout, Hill's un-country Christmas is a good (sleigh) ride.

For more holiday music reviews, pick up Between The Lines on Thursday or visit www.pridesource.com 

OBSESSED!

The latest single, "Long Distance," from Brandy's latest album, out 

Tuesday, has me singing in the shower (and in the car, on the potty, 

in my office, and in any other secluded location).

Adrien Brody, Uptight?

In the new issue of The Advocate, the actor, who's currently shooting a movie in Howell, is. Check out part of the interview below, and then click here for the complete Q-and-A.

What if a man had presented you with your Oscar instead of Halle Berry? Were you so wrapped up in the moment that you might have kissed him too?

That’s a pretty silly question. No, obviously not. Part of the excitement was that it was a beautiful woman presenting me with such a beautiful moment in my life.

Is there any actor for whom you would’ve made an exception?
No.

Let’s try another approach: For your next gay role, who’d you choose for your on-screen love interest? 
You want me to name an actor? No, I can’t answer that question, Brandon. See, you ask me how I deal with rumors, and I also have to deal with not adding fuel to them. Something that would be a completely innocuous comment on my part will be completely taken out of context by the next journalist, so I’d appreciate it if you were understanding about that.

Have I put you in a bad mood?
I’m still in a good mood, but I’m also a relatively serious person, so these questions are difficult for me.

So I guess I shouldn’t ask if it’s true what they say about a man with a prominent nose?
Why would you do that to somebody? You and I don’t know each other, right? We’re complete strangers, actually. I’m being respectful to you, so you have to extend the same courtesy.

Oh, Adrien, it’s all in good fun. I’m trying to show your sense of humor here.
I didn’t sign up for that.

Madge-ic Moments

“Make a hometown girl feel welcome,” Madonna urged at her long-time-coming return to Michigan Nov. 18 at Ford Field. And they did. All 30,000 of them. Amidst a undersold sea of girls and gays, the Rochester native performed, as part of her “Sticky & Sweet Tour,” her first home-state show in seven years, suggestively opening with her leg thrown over the side of a throne. For two zippy hours, she extended her unflappable energy through a short-on-sex spectacle that was, as expected, a grandiose, bipolar – but mostly hella fun – affair. It was easy to get lost in her labyrinth of awesomeness, and I did. Heck, even a few days later I'm still wow-ing over these moments (multiple Madonnas! “Material Girl”! Double Dutching!) – dreaming of them, waking up to them, bragging (endlessly) about them. Let’s hope it’s not another seven years before we do it again, Madonna. 

NEW OLDIES

The Queen of Reinvention lived up to that title. Toying with oldies-but-goodies – a punk-rock “Borderline” (with Madonna rocking the electric guitar), a on-speed “Into the Groove,” and a risky, but effing fab, hyper-Latin “La Isla Bonita” – was another reminder why wannabes continue trying to top her swagger, style and sophistication, but never come close.

THE ZINGERS 

Plenty escaped her unfiltered mouth – but not just when she sang (or pretended to). She harassed some dude with an allegedly bad ‘do, she sneered when people wouldn’t sing along, but, best of all, she recognized her Michigan MIA-ness: “I don’t come here very often – so, please, make a big deal out of it.” (No problem!).

JUMP ROPING

Jump roping double Dutch style, not just a thing for fifth grade girls. Even though she looked like one, (barely) dressed in teeny-tiny, apple-red shorts – and an ear-to-ear smile – she, during “Into the Groove,” gleefully made an elementary pastime part of a sly, old-school song section. Next tour: Hopscotch, please? 

For the complete list, check out Between The Lines on Thursday. And, Madonna fans, what were some of your Madge-ic moments? 

BTL Reader Likes to Hump, and Hump, and Hump

I don't get a whole heckuva lot of letters at BTL, but when I do, they're more than worth the wait. Just a few weeks ago I received a hand-written letter on notebook paper from a guy looking for a seven-feet tall, red-headed "monster" who could crush him. Yeah, seriously. Now, this is the latest letter (or some of it, since the original is four pages long and basically says the same thing over and over) to make its way into my inbox. And it's just as hilarious, especially considering it has little to do with its subject line: "Gay marriage in Conn."

Dear Editor,

This is my Take on Gay Marriage that the State of Connecticut, State Supreme Court made it legal in CT. for couples of the same sex to wed, Well here is my take on this-from both sides-using me as a real life example ...

A man loving a man,(very strongly) and showing that affection through, kiss, touch, caress, and humping his thigh even fully clothed isn`t a problem.(it appears to be anal sex that the bible frowns on).

Have I ever had a relationship with a man, yes I lived with him for 2 years too.

A hot hunk built like a football player/wrestler blond hair, blue eyes, apx. 225-250 lbs, very smooth skin, and I humped those smooth thighs of his. Humped him while he wore skin tight leathers, naked, in the shower, bath tub out side, in bed and on my bike(A GOLD WING), he too loved rubbing it on the seat. He looked good in my leathers, and helmet, and we were into the same stuff, outdoors, camping, riding my motorcycle, traveling, then life took him else were, and that was that.

The last guy I humped(his thighs) was of a similar description as my former lover mentioned above, and that was on the fly, and over 3 years ago ...

So about my self:

At a very early age, and I do mean very early age I learned how it worked-without anyone showing or telling me anything-and that may have been the biggest help here, plus no books, magazines, movies were around to show me either, I would learn for myself.

I rubbed it on those very shiny vinyl bicycle banana seats, a very smooth, and shiny saddle of a fiber glass horse(the kind that was mounted to a spring steel metal support,(the rocking motion really helped here), real cars, corvette bodies, snowmobile seat, and motorcycle seats, and I had the hots for thighs too, and humped them as well.

Even back then I would learn about leathers, like racing leathers, race suits, touring leathers, vinyl,like jackets, rain coats, car seats rubber boots, and rain wear, smooth plastic, like helmets, large toy cars, sun glasses and such.

Then I would learn about fetishes, like cars, motorcycles, spandex(cyclists thighs) leathers, vinyl, rubber, latex, helmets, du rags (this one was much later in life-and a shiny du rag is hot when humping a hunk`s thigh. uniforms.

...and fantasy too... humping guys thighs in gear, wrestlers, football players, athletes, cyclist, bikers, bat man, and robin, and the Bat mobile, Bat cycle, Bat plane, Speed Racer, and the Mach 5, Knight Rider, and Kit. One fantasy came true, and that was humping a real, and very sexy, and shiny airplane.

This really took off when I would see motorcycle cops. With or without a cape, the helmet, leather jacket, boots, the bike, and their builds(body), and those shiny helmets, with their sun glasses a real turn on with me, I like to see them in skin tight leathers, vinyl, or rubber authentic uniforms, and in the summer, skin tight black, or dark blue pouch pants, power thighs that are smooth, with a natural shine to the skin, black shiny boots, pvc vest worn over a white tee shirt, sun glasses, shiny police helmet(shorty) , for me, my real life super heroes--and then came bicycle cops in shorts

I love to rub it on the smooth skin of their thighs, the leathers, and the soft, and smooth, shiny vinyl seats of motorcycles. The closest that I ever came to this is humping guys who rode motorcycles, and wore the gear(which ranged from skin tight leathers, vinyl , and rubber uniforms. And those muscular thighs with their ever so smooth skin(hump many a thighs that fit that description.

I have humped many a motorcycle seats,like gold wings((owned several-one was a an early 80s model with a seat to die for, humped it like mad), kawasaki, 900/1000/ltds Suzuki GS 1400, AND HAVE HUMPED JUST THE SEAT IT SELF IN BED,THE SHOWER,AND THE BEST A BATH TUB OF HOT AND SOAPY WATER-vinyl is a rubber like, very smooth, and shiny,. Cars got it too when I was a kid mustangs got humped a lot,a Porsche as did the plastic/fiberglass bodies of vets. Fork lifts seats, snowmobiles dirt bikes---working in the shops really helped my humping a lot. leathers got it too,as did helmets. Yes I had a hot hunk blue eyes,blond hair smooth skin(thighs got it the most)humped him in and out of my skin tight leathers,and he would like it when I was humping him bent over my gold wing as he too loved the soft,and smooth vinyl as he rubbed it, and siding on that seat, till he got off on it.

I have humped a bike like it was being raped, I squirted the extremely shiny seat with baby oil, which is very slippery. I laid the bike down, a gold wing it was. got completely naked, and up on the bike and humped that smooth, and very slick seat. The bike had case guards around the engine, and got the bike rocking. I was like the bike was trying to get away,and I said oh no you don`t humping, and rocking her harder, and harder until I blew my load all over that shiny seat.

When I was a child, I couldn't`t keep it off a girls thigh either, and they love to rub it on bicycle seats. my legs,and a very large very smooth, and shiny black plastic jet, she loved the nose, and I humped its body, big enough to get on, and strong enough to hold my weight, we did it not knowing what it was all about, only that it felt good.

Dreamed of humping Wonder Woman`s thighs, bat girl, and her bike, rubber woman, as I grew older, I drifted away from humping woman, and later found out that it was a good that it happened that way.

As for humping a woman`s thigh today, sure, I would tell her that I`m bi, and ask if she is spoken for, yet I don`t go looking, but at the same time, I would love to have a woman, built like wonder woman, who likes her thighs to be humped rather then intercourse, and is bi too, she`ll better understand, and relate to me and where I`m coming from, and is in to the same things that I`m into too.

I`m a defender of the family, whereby I protect, defend, and preserve the family from extinction---IF THE FAMILY GOES---WE`VE HAD IT.

Yet, should a hot hunk wearing the gear, has the toys, offer me a good time, I will be a humping his thighs, leathers and his motorcycle, in short---Humping the thighs of men, always, and forevermore.

Fake Whitney Album: Hilarious!

Spreading through the Web like herpes is this cover of Whitney Houston's upcoming album. It's fake, people. But still hil-ar-ious!  

Reel Pride Opening Gala Film: 'Tru'-ly Unloved

If the final aw-moments in “Tru Loved” were indeed true, California’s deplorable Prop. 8 wouldn’t have stood a chance in hell of passing. But, topped with a pretty pink bow, queer writer-director Stewart Wade’s out-of-touch dramedy mostly deserved the beating it got from Roger Ebert when the film critic recently decided eight minutes of the movie was enough, walked out and gave it a thumbs down based on what he saw (he later, after controversy erupted, screened the film in entirety, still maintaining his one-star rating).

It’s obvious why. So much story is crammed in, so many characters are loose, stereotypical archetypes, and so much of your time will be wasted if you see this drab bore – unless you’re looking for messages that’ll massage your heart and super-glue a smile on your face. That it does, and well. “Tru Loved” actually begins promisingly, with lesbian moms and their name-called straight daughter, Tru, who deals with a new town, a new high school, new friends and the inevitable snotty teenage clique. The 16-year-old (the film’s champ, Najarra Townsend), realizes her potential new boyfriend, Lodell (Matthew Thompson), is queer. To keep it on the down-low, she acts as his diversion. Things get complicated when Tru launches a GSA and, during a meeting, spots a hetero hottie. Had the movie’s remainder fleshed out Tru’s straight-kid-with-gay-parents story, this humdrum after-school special could’ve materialized into a groundbreaking queer film. Instead it’s stuck in quick sand – and sinks into an abyss of been-there-done-that gay cinema. Compared to last year’s endearing festival-opener “Shelter” – and several better choices, like the avant-garde “Were the World Mine,” also at the current Reel Pride Film Festival – it’s a mighty shame this drivel was selected for the opening night gala. Just about everything in Wade’s script is obvious – the piggish football coach who calls his players “girls,” the triumphant coming-out story, the gayer-than-Christmas dads. And as if slapping on more rainbow hues than a Rubik’s Cube wasn’t bad enough, “Tru Loved” feels fake, like a lot of the acting. Almost like it’s been lifted out of one of the cheesy, uncalled-for daydreams in the beginning. The homophobic jock instantly comes around when his buddy escapes the closet and everyone and their homophobic mother is gay (including all four of Tru’s parents, her new pal, a teacher, her boyfriend’s dad). It ends sweetly with a wedding – but would school staff who doesn’t even know the couple getting hitched really attend? It might have a lot of heart, and will probably be embraced for its clogged message cache, but you have to wonder where all the brain went. C-

If you saw the film, what'd you think? Did you feel all heart-warmed? Or ready to walk out like Ebert did? 

Also, read more Reel Pride coverage, including an interview with Michael Emerson (Ben Linus of "Lost"), in the latest issue of Between The Lines, out now. Or online tomorrow at www.pridesource.com. 

Mariah, I Love You – But Put The Boobs Away

No Marriage? No Taxes, Says Melissa Etheridge

One of my favorite rock chicks, Melissa Etheridge, spoke out about the recent passing of Prop 8 in California, where she lives with her longtime wife (or girlfriend? BFF? roommate?). Her words are profound, true and heartbreaking. 

Okay. So Prop 8 passed. Alright, I get it. 51% of you think that I am a second class citizen. Alright then. So my wife, uh I mean, roommate? Girlfriend? Special lady friend? You are gonna have to help me here because I am not sure what to call her now. Anyways, she and I are not allowed the same right under the state constitution as any other citizen. Okay, so I am taking that to mean I do not have to pay my state taxes because I am not a full citizen. I mean that would just be wrong, to make someone pay taxes and not give them the same rights, sounds sort of like that taxation without representation thing from the history books. To continue reading, click here 

Talking to Ben Linus – Uh, Er, Michael Emerson!

I love me some "Lost," especially Michael Emerson as once-creeptastic Ben Linus. Who knew the very queer-friendly actor played gay in one of the films being screened at the Reel Pride Film Festival next week in Royal Oak? I didn't until "Ready? OK!" – about a boy who wants to be a cheerleader –  showed up on my desk! His wife, the uber-sweet Carrie Preston (who played Felicity Huffman's sis in "Transamerica" and "Desperate Housewives" and currently stars in Alan Ball's "True Blood"), produced and starred in the film. They're definitely one of the nicest, most gay-amicable couples ever (Emerson was fired up about Prop 8's unfortunate passing), and I chatted with both of them today. Check out the story next week when we preview the film festival.  

OMG – IT'S RUTH FISHER!

"Six Feet Under"'s control freak mom, Ruth Fisher (played by the divine Frances Conroy), got the intimacy she so longed for in my absolute favorite series (still!). Tonight on "Desperate Housewives" Conroy played a lonely woman who got a little more than just a massage from Gaby's hubby Carlos. She got an orgasm. I can't even begin to tell you how geeked (so excited, in fact, that this is the first post with an all-capped title) I was when her name popped up in the opening credits. I missed you, Ruth! In honor of her playing another lonesome soul (she does it so damn well!), I had to reminisce on one of television's greatest mothers, one that could break your heart and make you laugh all in one scene. So, I dug up this YouTube video below. Breaks me into tiny pieces every time. 

To watch tonight's episode of "Desperate Housewives," head to www.abc.com 

Do Not Vote ... NOT!

Hilarious and empowering. Do it! Vote! 

Why Should You Vote for Obama?

'Cause Mariah is. Duh! 

Reviews: LaBelle, Lucinda, Lee Ann

LaBelle, “Back to Now”

Even with modern brush strokes, the feisty soulful triad – Patti LaBelle, Nona Hendrix and Sarah Dash – is more back to then versus now, resuscitating the classic funk they were known for in their heyday. The ladies behind 1975’s “Lady Marmalade” restore girl-power in “Truth Will Set You Free,” a gritty funk rocker given the Lenny Kravitz treatment (he produced the track). It’s a rare blazing moment during the 10-track album, which features lead single “Roll Out,” a lazy Auto-Tuned vocal number. The disc mostly dabbles in mid-tempo slow burners, like stale-as-old-bread but earnest “Tears for the World” and a lovely Rosa Parks tribute “Dear Rosa.” “Candlelight,” the reunion opener, is one of the best cuts, reaching above-cloud heights and immediately proving the capability of the group’s lung power three decades later. Solo projects told us so, but LaBelle’s voice is a firecracker – exploding with raw emotion so frequently during “Back to Now” it’s remarkable that the live 1973-recorded grand finale, Cole Porter’s “Miss Otis Regrets,” bursts with so many rocketing runs it should be a fire hazard. B-

Lucinda Williams, “Little Honey”

Happiness: It’s an epidemic, and it’s threatening the musicians we expect to listen to and then go, “My life doesn’t suck that bad.” It got Mary J. And now on her latest “Little Honey,” Lucinda Williams, our longtime lifeline for tissue-needing tunes, is at peace, in love and having hot sex. She rocks harder, too, than on “West,” her last sublimely hyper-dramatic affair. “Honey Bee” is an ooh-la-la, surefire growler dripping with sexual innuendo (“Oh my little honey bee, I’m so glad you stung me/Now I got your honey all over my tummy”). She offers a fame cautionary tale on “Little Rock Star,” a grand rip-roaring rocker that perfectly highlights her beautiful, cracked-around-the-edges voice – and lyrics that Amy Winehouse would benefit from digesting. And when Williams goes softer than air, like on the heart-piercing “If Wishes Were Horses,” or records a did-me-wrong mini-drama (“Jailhouse Tears”), we’re reminded that even smiley Lucinda can make our life seem peachy. B+

Lee Ann Womack, “Call Me Crazy” 

Some might call her crazy, but following in the footsteps of her last album, the right-on “There’s More Where that Came From,” was actually a genius idea. The Queen of Curl-Up-And-Cry Country Ballads – best known for her picker-upper pop-crossover “I Hope You Dance” – revives the ’70s country vibe of “More,” but some of it goes down harder than the whiskey her careless man drinks on “Last Call.” As the sublime first single, “Last Call” is laced with ominous guitars and, marked by a clever zinger in the chorus (“I bet you’re in a bar – ’cause I’m always your last call”), is the album’s shiny star. “New Again,” a Dolly Parton “Coat of Many Colors”-like beauty, and “Have You Seen that Girl?” are pretty, and Womack shows off her always-emotive connection to the song’s melancholy words. But “I Found It in You” is too soggy (it makes Hallmark “poetry” look like Emily Dickinson) and abuse-parable “The Bees” is a misfit, which means “Call Me Crazy” might not stir as much buzz as its A-earning predecessor. But it’s almost solid-bee work. B-

For more reviews, including Ryan Adams and the Cardinals, Robin Thicke and Jennifer Hudson, check out this week's issue of Between The Lines on newsstands or at www.pridesource.com 

Touch Aretha's Body

I have no words. 

'Gay People Don't Choose to Have Tooshie Sex'

Those are the words of slippery-mouthed Chelsea Handler, who I spoke with several months ago (check out the interview here), in one of the funniest anti-Prop 8 PSAs. Thoughts? 

Rufus Pleases Royal Oak Crowd With Moody Solo Set

At times, during Rufus Wainwright’s solo show Oct. 18 in front of an intimate crowd at the Royal Oak Music Theatre, the theatrical-voiced charmer made Tori Amos look like Mary Poppins. Stripped of musical-flourishes that stamp the crooner’s catalog, the almost two-hour double-encore show shifted attention from Wainwright’s bigger-than-earth sound to melancholy lyrics of yearning, ache, passion, and a lot of true-life situations that could’ve benefited from a Xanax. Or three.

He was often mesmeric – with an operatic voice as perfect as the Mona Lisa, how could he not be? – even sans band, family (Martha Wainwright and his mother, Kate McGarrigle, have been known to join him), and a fancy-schmantzy stage (the glittery scarf more than made up for that).

He opened on piano with “The Art Teacher,” dramatically tossing his shaggy ‘do from side to side and wholly connecting – he often shut his eyes, letting the music consume him – with his emotive, dreamy music. Between pre-eminent gems like “Beauty Mark,” “Little Sister” (which was dedicated to all the sweet Midwestern women) and “Poses,” he performed songs from his embellished latest “Release the Stars,” including originally grandiose-sounding “Going to a Town,” a protest song about American crises. It pleased on just piano, but felt like a “Wheel of Fortune” puzzle: Who else was filling in the strings and Martha’s background vocals?

He kept the chatter brief and light, talking about his time at Interlochen’s art camp where he was turned on by the uniforms (“I didn’t practice much,” he joked), and sarcastic. “I know I wrote so many great songs – and I sing so many great songs,” he quipped in response to several rude hecklers who apparently thought he was a deejay. During “Greek Song” he referenced downtown Detroit since, ya know, we’ve got Greektown – and lots of Coney Islands. And, as if this was a surprise, he’s voting for Obama and so if you’re not, “join the party,” he said.

Sending the audience into a frenzy with encore songs “Cigarettes and Chocolate Milk” and “Hallelujah,” he had me at “11:11,” a song about Sept. 11, where he made a guitar boo-boo and interjected with “Oh, shit!” Swearing in the middle of such a consuming song? Only Rufus can make that cute.

Betty White: Be My Grandma!

Betty White calls Sarah Palin "one crazy bitch." I love this woman! 

Effing Obsessed!

Fifty-two listens later (after just downloading it yesterday), and I still can't get over "Already Home," a sublime country-pop heartbreaker by Brandi Carlile (love her!) and Ha*Ash, a Latino pop duo. Brandi kills it, especially with those first few lines ("Packed my bags and kissed your cheek/Turned around so I didn't see you cry"), and I'm totally into how their voices go together like peanut butter and jelly. Totally sounds like something Chris Daughtry or Carrie Underwood could've done, but these gals perfectly capture the unshakable pain of letting someone go, and then regretting it. Thoughts anyone?

 

'Another Gay Movie' Sucks ... In a Bad Way

Like Clay Aiken, some people – and some things – don’t need to come outta the closet. “Another Gay Sequel: Gays Gone Wild” should’ve been locked in there. As someone who was so over the first film’s recipe – throw “American Pie” in blender, mix with fairy dust and wah-lah! – just a few minutes in, my expectations for the insanely disgusting, totally unfunny and always utterly disturbing flick were as high as that of a one-night-stand. Which the film has plenty of, by the way. In fact, that’s pretty much the plot, and I use that word loosely – as loose as the horned-up quartet in this movie.

Andy, Jarod, Griff and Nico (played by Jonah Blechman – the only unlucky actor from the original to reprise his role, and the transitions are handled well in an opening sequence) head to Fort Lauderdale, Fla. for spring break, entering the “Gays Gone Wild” contest – and whoever can get the most action comes (excuse the pun) in first place. RuPaul is the statuesque co-host Tyrelle Tyrelle, along with Sandi Cove (The Lady Bunny), and queer blogger Perez Hilton plays, and steals, every scene he’s in. Like Paris Hilton does in every film she’s been in (which are?).

As a religious zealot (converted while blowing a priest in the bathroom on “TransAmerica” airlines), Hilton pops up way too often, turning every scene into something more disastrous than Amy Winehouse. Worse, though, is the film’s awareness of the stereotypes it plays on and tries to elicit laughs from: Gays are slutty, and gays get STDs. Funny? Not so much.

Perhaps the most glaring – and head-shaking – moment comes when one of the guys (whose name I can’t recall since none of the characters, besides Nico, were more than hot, nice-assed, nice-chested, and without any other redeeming qualities) re-imagines his slutty ways as a “Dawn of the Dead” sequence: He’s being chased by a bunch of dead guys he’s slept with. First thought? AIDS – which, especially with the rising HIV infection rate in youth, isn’t funny. At all.

There’s also a nasty bit involving a dad telling his son to follow his heart, not his hole, and then, in front of his son, sticking a butt-plug up there. And the sex noises? They sound like the sound of a kid having fun on a Slip ’n Slide. Both might’ve been kinda funny on the page of Todd Stephens’ script (he also directs), but to see it on film, I couldn’t stop ew-ing. At the end, “Another Gay Sequel” alludes to a third in the series – something involving space (please let it get lost there!), and the film, which is as cohesive as a drunk driver, also tries substituting aw for ew. But with an hour-and-a-half of gags involving barf, ass toys and mistaking super glue for lube, I pulled out long before. D-

Celine vs. Mary

Janet Jackson might’ve bailed on us when she rescheduled her Saturday gig for Oct. 28, but that semi-sexy (and really, really uncomfortable) feeling we’ve come to expect from her soft-core musical porn was satisfied by ... Robin Thicke? The soulful dude masturbated his mic, cooing lines like, “You’ve been a bad girl. Someone’s gonna have to teach you a lesson,” during his opening set for Mary J. Blige, one of two divas who performed over the weekend. Between her self-help banter, and seeing Celine on Friday, I was part of two shows where I was merely a subatomic fleck among a crowd so estrogen-heavy I was worried I’d be subconsciously converted. 

To read about what went down (or, during Mary's show, up), check out Between The Lines on Thursday. In the meantime, check out these Celine clips of her performing at the Palace: 

The Good ...

The (Hilariously!) Bad ...

Briiiiitney!

Spank me. First, I neglect my blog (yes, I'm long overdue for a post – but I've been busy writing for Out magazine's Popnography.com). Second, I kinda-sorta like Britney's "Womanizer." Yeah, it sounds like a lost track from "Blackout," and I didn't come close to peeing my pants, but the overly repetitive song sticks in your noggin like gum in your hair. So, yes, with its knee-jerk synth beat in overdrive and that creepy deep-like-Barry-White voice, it's also semi-annoying, but like fantasies of getting thrown down on the bed by Usher, I can't get it outta my head. 

'What It Feels Like For' ... Madonna's Brother

A few weeks ago, I spoke with Madonna's brother. Here's part of the story, which is in the current BTL (and at www.pridesource.com): 

“I don’t hate my sister,” Christopher Ciccone – commonly, as he says, introduced as Madonna’s brother – so candidly tells us, as if his tell-almost-all memoir would lead us to believe otherwise. And it probably has. Word was, prior to dropping in mid-July, that Ciccone’s book chronicling his move from Rochester Hills to help his big-dream-destined sister achieve superstardom was being published to stab her in the back for all – and we’re talking a lot, according to best-seller “Life with my Sister Madonna” – she put him through. Not true, says Ciccone, 47.

“That was never my goal,” he reveals from Los Angeles. “I could’ve written that book when I was angry, but I have my own self-respect. I would’ve had to face the world after writing that book. I would’ve been on the defense. Constantly. And I would’ve had to face myself every day, and I don’t feel that way about her.”

The question is: Should he? According to his diva-dishing memoir, Madonna made him her garbage can (spitting throat lozenges into his palms before she hit the stage), used him as a gay PR tool by outing him to the Advocate in 1991, and staged a scene at their mother’s grave – inviting an upset Ciccone along, too – for her documentary “Truth or Dare.”

He vowed, early on in his career as Madonna’s dancer, dresser and confidante, to never talk to the media about her, to lie to protect her, to be there whenever she needed him. But like the gay icon’s ever-evolving career, Ciccone’s in a different place. A place of peace with the past. A place where he can finally tell his story without feeling angry. A place where he can now be known as more than simply Madonna’s brother.

So Friggin' Infectious!

If I could whistle, I'd do it to this song.

Life After Death

Without a question, "Six Feet Under" is my favorite show. Ever. I'm still not over the fact that it ended – and my second family (yes, I'm that obsessed) is dead. That's why I was like a kid at a carnival when I was able to chat with Alan Ball, the creator of the edgy HBO drama, which – sadly – completed its five-year run in 2005. Now, he's got a new series, "True Blood" – and though it, after watching the first two episodes, trumped "SFU," it's definitely worth sinking your teeth into. Here's a taste of my article, out Thursday. 

When Claire Fisher drove into her family’s future during the series finale of “Six Feet Under,” fans of the five-season-running HBO drama likely wept much like they had lost someone in their own life. Alan Ball did – and then he quickly moved on.

“It didn’t take me time to move away from ‘Six Feet Under,’” the out creator says during a conference call with LGBT press. “When we ended the show, I was ready to end it. … All of us who worked on the show sort of grieved the show as the show itself was ending. And it was really sad, and everybody was hugging and crying.”

When his tears dried, his eyes sucked up every page of Charlaine Harris’ “Southern Vampire Mysteries” – and he was wholly enthralled by the author’s entertaining take on vampires. Plus, the shift from something as real as death to the totally unreal world of vampires in his new HBO series “True Blood,” which airs at 9 p.m. Sept. 7 on HBO, was like taking a dip in a pool on a warm day. There are still deeper themes, but the human condition – which Ball has often tackled in “Six Feet Under,” movie “American Beauty” and his latest film “Towelhead” – veered toward something far less dramatic (but equally edgy) and, well, less human.

“I got so sucked into this world,” he recalls. “Each chapter ended with a cliffhanger, and I would end up reading seven chapters when I had basically said to myself, ‘I’m only gonna read one chapter, ’cause I have to get up tomorrow at 6 a.m.’”

Cyndi, Marry Me Already!

Much to my surprise, Cyndi Lauper, who I interviewed before the True Colors show in Michigan, sent me a signed photo of her! I practically creamed my pants in my office. I still might.

Meth Is No Laughing Matter ...

... but this video, starring Pushing Daisies star and Broadway veteran Kristin Chenoweth, is absolutely hysterical. 

See more Kristin Chenoweth videos at Funny or Die

While in Chicago ...

... I ran into an old friend. 

Stand Up (With Mary, Mariah and Melissa)

Some things can be helped with assistance from Wellbutrin. And sometimes all it takes is a diva duo (Mariah Carey and Mary J. Blige), some wannabes, like Fergie and Leona Lewis, and cancer-cured rockers like Melissa Etheridge and Sheryl Crow to lift us outta a dark hole. "Just Stand Up," which'll be performed during the "Stand Up to Cancer" TV special Sept. 5 on the three major networks, is a Hallmark card at its very best. And here, on the charity single that supports cancer-research-raising Stand Up to Cancer, there's enough inspiration – and talent – to make me wanna download the single, with proceeds going toward cancer research, when it hits iTunes on Sept. 2. How about you?

Dolly Parton = Big Blast

Dolly Parton sashayed onto DTE Energy Music Theatre’s stage squeezed into a blue-silver sequined gown – but she didn’t need it. She sparkled louder than any shiny dress, like this one, which made her busty chest look like two disco balls.

And on her winding-down “Backwoods Barbie” tour, which brought the peppy, pint-sized singer (and a club-capacity gay gaggle) to Clarkston yesterday, she brought her big voice. Her big laugh. Her big heels. Her big wigs. Her big hits. And, her big ...

Yes, there were many larger-than-her-cup-size moments for the queer-loving country crooner’s Michigan stop, and if you opted out of all the behemoth-ness, here’s what you missed:

Homo Frenzy

You can’t top Dolly when it comes to drag – but you can try. And some proved they will always love her by attempting to be her. Two wannabes were Dolly-ed up, and one, with the pink jacket and leopard get-up, looked remarkably like the Smoky Mountain songstress’ ensemble on the cover of her latest, “Backwoods Barbie.” At least the 62-year-old knows her fan base (who, by the way, was overwhelming women, and gay men who wouldn’t have screwed up one word had they been part of Dolly Parton night on last season’s “American Idol”). After wrapping “Jolene” she suggested changing the title to “Drag Queen,” and then she sang a few lines: “Drag queen, drag queen, drag queen, drag queeeeen.”

The Corny Factor

As cheesy as it was to see Dolly turn ‘80s staple “She Drives Me Crazy” into a twang-tossed number (and wrapping it with a hip-smackin’ throw-down), it was also non-debatably like listening to the Spice Girls: Not really rewarding, but always, for reasons we don’t wanna admit, an eleven on the one-to-10 Happy Scale. The only thing that could best that? Seeing her instrument assistant do the hoedown on “Thank God I’m a Country Girl,” where he two-stepped in suspenders, exposing his bare, chiseled chest. Ah, thank God I’m a (gay) country boy.

Decades-Spanning Classics

Whether performing new “Backwoods Barbie” songs, like the churchy showstopper “Jesus & Gravity” and sassy “Shinola,” or time-warping into her five-decade catalog for “I Will Always Love You” or set-launcher “Two Doors Down,” nothing was artificial about that voice – which at times could tug tears from even The Rock, sound like Little Girl Dolly (or like she sucked in too much helium) on “Puppy Love,” or just plain woo with an almost-acoustic “Little Sparrow” and an a cappela multiple-part harmony on “Do I Ever Cross Your Mind?” Her flawless pipes weren't the only instrument she put to use; she played the acoustic and electric guitar, a rhinestone-encrusted autoharp, a bedazzled piano and a tin whistle and tambourine – like she didn’t have a 11-piece band behind her.

The (Self-Deprecating, Sex, Boob) Jokes

She’s recycled some of the same hokey jokes for years – “It cost me a lot of money to look this cheap,” but, like her, they never get old. Some of the biz’s best stage banter belongs to the quippy charmer, like when one fan shouted, “I love you, Dolly!” and she quickly zapped back with, “I love you, too! But I thought I told you to stay in the truck?” She also ripped on herself plenty of times, remarking that she wouldn’t run for president (because, “we’ve had enough boobs in the White House”) and asking the audience, when she returned for the show’s second set in a frayed lime-green gown: “Do I look like the Geico frog?” Even if she doesn't know her reptiles (it's a lizard, Dolly), she's like a puppy – impossible to resist.

Chris Azzopardi is the entertainment editor of Between The Lines. To reach him, send an e-mail to chris@pridesource.com.

A Good Day ...

... is one with free booze. Like today, when Skyy sent me their new all-natural grape-flavored Vodka (in a very-lumber-smelling wood case), one of several (the raspberry sounds delish) they're now selling. I'll let you know how it is. After work. 

Melissa Brings Down the 'House'

When Melissa Etheridge tells you that love can cure cancer, like she did during her “Revival Tour” yesterday at a packed Detroit Opera House, how can you argue with her? She’s lived it. And even if she’s wrong, music could very well do the job. It was, at least, strong enough – despite being marred by a muddy sound mix and an under-amplified Etheridge – to do so on Sunday, when the rocker stood front and center on a behemoth rug in a jogging outfit and shoulder-length hair among a mudslide of lesbians. And a few gay guys – who were likely as into Etheridge’s music as they were into her electric guitarist Philip Sayce’s quasi-queer look (do straight dudes really wear scarfs, and isn’t the whole hair-blowing fan a Mariah thing?), and irrefutable shredding skills, like on “An Unexpected Rain,” as he played his instrument much like a man who is nearing climax (which his face often mimicked). His hand was a yo-yo, sliding up and down with more energy than a can of Red Bull, and he wasn’t hesitant to break strings. 

But no matter how many times he briefly stole Etheridge’s thunder (and lightening) with his wicked solos, the night’s gusto was mostly the headliner’s, who ran through extended catalog staples, like the closing “Like the Way I Do,” the epic blues-infused “I’m the Only One” and crowd hand-clapper “Bring Me Some Water,” which made it clearer than Lasik-fixed eyes that these rowdy ladies needed some H2O to cool them off. 

For the complete review, pick up Between The Lines on Thursday, or visit www.pridesource.com

Can't Wait!

Oh, boy, the teaser trailer for Oliver Stone's new biopic on our (crappy) pres is out. Watch (and weep) below. 

So sad.

Billions knew Estelle Getty as the wise-cracking mama, Sophia, on "Golden Girls," and I'll always remember her as one of the women who taught me a thing or three about sarcasm. Today, Estelle died in her home at age 84. For years she'd been suffering from dementia, and little was heard or seen of her (especially when the girls regrouped for recent publication appearances). Tonight I'll whip out my "Golden Girls" DVD collection, and reminisce about a TV legend who helped – through the hit sitcom she was a part of – bring my mom and I closer together during our evening TV time. R.I.P Estelle. 

Check out a lovely eulogy here and post your favorite Sophia memory ...