Greetings, bitches. My bad about being gone from the scene these past couple of days. I was off eating pork and getting wasted. Needless to say, it was fucking spectacular. I wrote a post earlier today about Tom Cruise and his wacky "You don't know the history of psychiatry!" bullshit, but then the shit just disappeared all of a sudden. Even though I'm sure it was just a matter of me accidentally closing the wrong tab in Firefox, I'm taking this as a sign from Elron the Magnificent and thus won't be rewriting that post. Sorry.
Anyhoo, this morning I also read this article about Luther Vandross in the Village Voice, nhjic, that started out just like any other old newspaper obituary but then turned into this huge discussion about him being teh ghey and a big time closet case.
Sez the tall Israeli-run media:
Though he never came out as gay, bisexual, or even straight, you had to be wearing blinders--as many of his fans, particularly female, must have been--to overlook his queerness. The sequined Liberace suits were a clue, as were the highly publicized bitch fights he waged on tour with Anita Baker and En Vogue. The dead giveaway for me was his admission that his high school grades plummeted because he was in anguish over Diana Ross leaving the Supremes.
Now granted, this comes as no surprise to me at all. You'll recall that just a few weeks ago, I speculated that he often struggled to fight back the urge to let loose his inner Sylvester by gorging himself on huge globs of grease-laden, cheese-covered meat. As usual, it turns out that I was Completely Fucking on the Mark.
A binge eater who swelled up if he lost a Grammy or a lover, Vandross rarely looked like the romantic lead his songs suggested.
Journalist Barry Walters tells the secondhand but probable story of how in the middle of the night Luther would seek phone advice from disco legend Sylvester, one of the few out gay black men in popular music.
Man, I'm right about these things so often I need to have a job working for the government.