Image provided by: University of Oregon Libraries; Eugene, OR
About Just out. (Portland, OR) 1983-2013 | View Entire Issue (Dec. 20, 2002)
# 2Û.2ÛÛ2 HUMPH ▼ 2002: The year in review Notes from the Marchive E S o m onij positions S o little time hours mon-thur fri-sat sun 10am 11pm 10am - 12am 12pm - 9pm Kama Sutra Kits SM Tools Club Wear Lingerie Videos Toys : S PA RT A C US X 300 SW ight hundred words. That’s all I get. Eight hundred lousy words to transport you to places you’ve never been, like the set of a gay pom movie or Liza Minnelli’s bridal registry or the inside of my pants. But the stories don’t end there— life isn’t lived in 800-word increments. So with another year coming to a close, I thought now would be a good time to follow up on some of those stories. For instance, I didn’t have enough room to tell you that when Tino Lopez, the star of Pomstruck A/, couldn’t deliver the goods on com mand, the director turned to the crowd and usked if anyone wanted to be the stunt ejaculator. I was this close to saying yes, but I started to worry about what would happen if I couldn’t finish, either. In retrospect, I’m sorry I didn’t go for it; I could have gotten a whole other col umn out of it. In other news, you’ll be pleased to know that my house no longer smells like dead fish. After numerous attempts, the stench was neu tralized by a deodorizer. Now my house smells like a dead fish wearing Right Guard. It’s all about progress, not perfection, I tell myself. Speaking of progress, four months after their wedding Liza and David finally got around to sending me a thank-you note for the butter spreader I bought them at Ttifany.com. Eighty bucks I spent on that sucker (including tax and shipping), and what did I get in return? A laser- printed form letter on copy paper— no water mark, no embossed monogram, nothing. That’s it, those two are off my Christmas list. From now on, I’m only buying for Loma and Joey. And I still haven’t gotten a fruit basket from Rosie O ’Donnell either, despite the fact that I’m absolutely certain she came out of the closet because of pressure from the Great Bo inking Boycott. My call to queer people everywhere to abstain from sex with closeted celebrities has been something of a nonstarter, I’m sorry to report. But it’s only a matter of time before word gets out. After all, just a year ago this column was only running in three papers. Now it’s in 12.1 tell you, The Gospel is spreading faster than herpes at a bathhouse. My homage to the well-endowed was certain ly a big hit (pun intended). The ever-priapic Jonathyn Andrews told me that visits to his Web site, JonathynAndrews.com, tripled after I mentioned it in my column. When he asked how he could repay me I told him he should simply endorse his organ donor card over to me. that the first person who recognized me was a gay pharmacist filling my prescription for anti-depressants. I couldn’t very well say they were for someone else; my damn name was on the bottle. One of the consequences of being a public figure (however minor) is that people feel compelled to say to your face that you suck. One guy crossed an entire room just so he could tell me: “Y’know, I love your columns. I mean, some of them are lame, of course, but for the most p art....” A t least he didn’t call it my “little column,” like my friend Jon does. No man likes being told his column is little. One sure sign of success is the increase in hate mail. W ho knew losing 60 pounds would piss so many people off? But I absolutely refute the notion that I am fat- phobic. I do not harbor an irrational fear of fat people; I do, however, harbor an irra tional fear of complex carbohydrates. So just because I’m shallow and vain enough to loathe my own fat doesn’t mean the sentiment extends to yours. Frankly, I’m too self-absorbed to notice what the rest of you look like anyway. I don’t try to piss people off; I just seem to come by it naturally. I thought I was reaching out to female readers when I wrote about my musical version of The Vagina Monologues (Vagina/ The M usical). But the best-laid plans of mice and M arco often go astray. One woman wrote to say my column was “the M O ST disgusting, insulting, hurtful, misogynistic writing I have ever seen in ANY publication, let alone a ‘gay’ publication.... Marc should write only about that which he is familiar with: the toilet bowl.” Sh e’s got a point: I’m the perfect person to write about toilet bowls. Thanks for the creative input, and look for the whole poop in 2003! I just hope I can limit myself to 800 words. And that, my friends, is The Gospel According to Marc. O f course, with increased awareness o f the column ' comes increased awareness of me, 12th ave. 503.224.2604 too, which should be thrilling, except Send your other column ideas to M arc AciTO at marcadtc@attbi.com. * 4
