As I write this, it is a Tuesday afternoon, and I’ve got stuff I should be doing. The garden needs attention, I’ve got laundry to do, my mother has hinted that she may need help with something-or-other, and I probably should consider getting exercise at some point. Instead, I am booting up Hulu and watching Glee for what I think may be the seventh time in a week. Because I, like everyone else, am totally addicted.
Now I could blame this addiction on a lot of things, like how Jayma Mays is utterly fantastic in everything she does, or my burgeoning and unstoppable crush on Finn (no matter what my best friend claims, I saw him first), or even the wildly quotable lines (“chicks don’t have prostates — I looked it up”). I could blame it on being part of the television hive mind or drinking the collective Kool Aid that’s been passed from television nerd to television nerd faster than mono at a kissing booth. But I’m going to go out there and say what I’ve been keeping inside for far too long: the reason that I, Julia Hass, love Glee is because it’s got musical numbers and I am a musical nerd.
Maybe it’s because I have British friends so this becomes ten times more hilarious, maybe it’s because I’m enchanted by John Oliver’s dimples, or maybe it’s just that I find it so gosh-darn adorable when other countries try to have scandals, but I thought that last night’s second segment on the Daily Show was beyond fabulous.
This is not to say I don’t usually pee my pants laughing over Jon Stewart, because I do. But I’ve found that the more I get involved in politics and understanding on a “why yes I do watch White House press briefings sometimes, stop laughing at me” sort of way that the oversimplifications that used to not bother me are now starting to rankle.
Both of my siblings and my best friend would really, really like it if I could stop laughing and then turning to them and going “okay, that was funny, but let me explain to you all the ways in which Jon oversimplified the matter and how in fact this falls in murky waters so far as checks and balances go…” And I would like it to. But alas, those days are gone. My inner politics geek has reared it’s ugly, egg-shaped head, and I cannot go back to my dreamy innocence.
I, Julia Hass, have to confess something — I hate Adam Lambert.
Total shocker, right? I mean, especially considering the title of this post. But for me, this actually is pretty shocking. Because if you’ve known me for, say, a week, it becomes self-evident that I’m about 90% a secret gay man, and the other 10% is the biological structures that make me actually a girl. And as an undercover homosexual, I should tell you that there seems to be a pretty strong consensus among my not-quite people, which is this: Support Adam Lambert or you are not one of us.
He is everywhere in the internet gaytopia. Before the whole Perez Hilton/Miss California scandal, he was the hot topic du jour on sites like AfterElton (where he has won Gay of the Week an unprecedented five times and counting). Neil Patrick Harris (probably my favorite gay, and also one of my favorite people, ever) has publicly said that he and his partner both love Adam and are rooting for him to win. AfterElton isn’t even pretending to be impartial — their American Idol livechat is subtitled “Don’t forget to vote for Adam Lambert!”
Ever since the pictures of Adam came out where he’s in makeup and molesting some other dude with his tongue came out, it seems like everywhere I turn it seems like scores of gays and friends of gays are coming out of the woodwork, going on and on about how great Adam is, how he’s so innovative and original. And seriously? Are we listening to the same person? At all? Because I’m talking about Adam Lambert, that pitchy, consistently off-key screaming dude. You know, the one whose hair makes people cry? (I have heard it described as “bad lesbian hipster hair,” which I do not necessarily endorse as a descriptor — I’m just putting it out there.) The one whose clothing gets more heinous and his eyeliner gets thicker and more raccoon-like as the weeks progress. That guy.
Dear Marshall Eriksen,
Look, I know this is weird because you’re kind of married, but I think you should know that I’m in love with you.
It would be enough for me if you were an environmentally-passionate lawyer, but I forget until I marathon old episodes how friggin’ cute you are. You sing everything you do! I don’t find that annoying, I find that adorable. Mostly because I do it too. If you could please write me heartfelt letters from the beyond, make amazing charts about all of my favorite songs, and form a family band with me, that would be amazingly swell.
I already have plans for our first date. See, you like to eat, and I like to cook, but I hate to eat what I’ve made right after, so Marshall can do it for me. After that, we could make up games that you could win, and you could drive me home in your resurrected Fiero singing along to The Proclaimers at the top of our lungs.