Gay Blood

This week, the the U.S. Department of Health and Human Services is meeting to decide whether gay men should be allowed to donate blood. (See article.) Since the 1980s, they have been banned from blood drives because it would endanger the public.

This could not make more sense. For one thing, gay men drink blood, and though many of them live on the West Coast and are therefore vegetarians, they have notoriously poor will power and are known to binge on hemophiliac children in the middle of the night. (See below)


For another, allowing gay blood to enter the general public's bloodstream would quickly lead to an epidemic of sexual disorientation. Before you know it, people would be cracking snarky jokes, collecting Broadway trivia, and paying far too much for hair products.

Mercifully, the Dept. of Health and Human Services has promised not to thrust us into gay men's clutches altogether. Men who wish to donate blood may not have been intimate with another man within the last 5 years. This ensures that we need only worry about unattractive gay men, of whom there are few.

White is the New White

Dear Bill Cunningham,

Enough! Day after day, I have created outlandish outfits and wandered the streets, looking what can only be described as terrifyingly whimsical. I have alarmed dogs, fascinated babies, and provoked complete strangers to ask me if I am "Lady Gaga or something." Yet somehow, I always seem to escape your notice.

The week that I sewed an eighteenth century redingote out of handspun recycled Coke bottles, for example, you decided that cardigans were chic. I wear organic fair-trade linen, and it's fur. I wear fur, and it's aluminum foil. Last fall, you specifically told me to "let myself go" and have fun with color. "Release the security blanket" of black and embrace the colors of nature through your clothes, you said. I obeyed.

I had never felt more exhilirated or childishly free.

But now, Bill Cunningham, you have gone too far. White? On Memorial Day weekend?! It's insulting. Particularly when I had a perfectly good eggshell sundress picked out but thought it would strike you as too obvious.



Bill Cunningham, we're through.

I give up.

Henceforth, I will just dress like this.



Sincerely,

The Jaded Heifer

P.S. Leggings are not "stems," and shirts are not "flowers."

P.P.S. Buy a car.