High Society on the Mag Mile

I'm sitting in the Starbuck's on Division/Dearborn in Chicago and they're playing "I Love You, Samantha" from 'High Society.' Ah, a latte and a little Cole Porter. It's lovely. How lame does that make me? And do I really care?  Super lame and no, I don't. 

It's 47 degrees here. I saw people wearing gloves on Michigan Avenue! Pussies. I chose to put my hands in my pockets like a real man. Well, actually, like a real lesbian. For years I have observed that approximately 9 in 10 lesbians always have their hands in their pockets. Trust me.  Take it to the stereotype bank.

The Shan's new life officially begins this Sunday as I am move into my apartment. For the first time since Feb., I will have a permanent mailing address and a bed of my own. So long, Oak Lawn! Onward and upward.

PART II

Hours later at Starbucks on Clark/Belmont (hey, I paid $10 for one day of internet access, I'm getting my money's worth) and I am surrounded by a group of about 10 big, black drag queens. I wonder if I could teach them to sing, "I Love You, Samantha."

I'm the Real Shady

There's a new Girls Gone Wild video installment called Finally 18. It's purchased by guys who don't object to the free bonus video, Pssst...Still 17.  My inner feminist finds these spanker vids deplorable, filthy and wrong. And my inner lesbian agrees, until she begins to powerfully desire a sneak peek.  It's at that point I'm forced to confront the fact that I'd watch the bonus video. On a loop. In public. Against my will.