Are there really any new ideas?

Everyone likes to think that they are original. I know I do. But, if you look at the numbers, this may not be the case. I went to howmanyofme.com (Isn’t the internet great?) and found out that there are 319 people with my exact first and last name. Also, There are 138,087 Tyler’s out there. And, 701,057 people share my last name. This, of course, is only in the United States. (According to the U.S. Census Bureau–which I worked for one summer and would make an interesting story!) On top of that, I decided to do a search of how many people have ever lived on earth. No one really agrees, but, estimates range from 70 to 110 billion. If you just look at the earth’s current population of 6.6 billion, the chances of originality are pretty small. Somewhere, sometime, someone has probably already said what you think is originally yours. Somewhere, sometime, someone has already dreamed up what you think is your million dollar original idea.

Of course, unless you are Paris Hilton. I’m pretty sure she was the first person to coin the phrase “that’s hot.” She actually registered the phrase in February 2007 and has already sued Hallmark for using it. It’s interesting to see the phrases that people “own.” It’s important to remember that just because you trademark a phrase doesn’t mean you were the original one to say it. We just have this insatiable desire to be original. Paris, a blond with not much intelligence, who lives off her family’s name and money in Southern California, now that’s original.

Of course, there are more blatant forms of plagiarism than others. For instance, politicians seem exceptionally prone to plagiarizing one another’s speeches. I’m not talking about stealing an idea or theory. I’m talking about using word for word excerpts from each other’s speeches without giving credit to the other’s speech writer. Because, of course, politicians don’t even create their own original material. What an interesting society we live in.

But, I’m getting carried away here. I’m sure this topic has already been written on many, many times. I could do a search on it and come up with 1,000,000 hits. Or, actually 12,500,000–that’s how many hits there were when I searched “originality.” I guess it’s quite the popular subject these days.

I guess my point, if I have one, is that I don’t care. Does it really matter if I was the first one to come up with an idea? Not really. Does it make me less creative if someone came up with the same thought or idea before me, if I didn’t know about it? In my mind it was original. And, the important thing is that we all continue to think and attempt to create new ideas. Because, statistically speaking, the odds are pretty good that out of 6.6 billion people, someone will eventually have an original idea that will improve our lives.

That Ain’t Right – #2

I was just about to give up on this series this week. As soon as I came up with the idea, nothing happened. Literally. No one misbehaved. It truly rocked my world. I thought, “What is wrong with humanity? Come on people, give me the good stuff!” And then, I had one the worst trips that I’ve had in a long time. The trip started out bad enough. We had seriously delayed and canceled flights, but the passengers were totally understanding and actually…nice. There was a major snow storm in Chicago and it completely shut the airport down. Damn those Midwesterners, they can be nice even while sleeping on the airport floor. Nothing to write about.

Then, day 2 arrived. The gray skies cleared up and we were off to Long Island. I was exhausted from the first day, though, and my defenses were down. About halfway through our day, the shit hit the fan. We were in Tampa with a broken plane full mostly of retired Floridians. Nice. Those flights are fun on a normal day. No one can complain like a retired Floridian. And, when I say Floridian, I actually mean New Yorker. We were supposed to be going to West Palm Beach, which is about a 25 minute flight away from Tampa. We were delayed over 3 hours for a 25 minute flight. Nice.

Anyway, people (especially New Yorkers) are inherently mistrusting of airlines. Even if there is a hurricane bearing down on you, they think that you are canceling the flight for some other reason that you aren’t sharing. So, it should have come as no surprise when this little beefy red-faced New Yorker came huffing up the aisle only about 30 minutes into the delay.

“Can’t you put us on a different plane?”

Even though I have no control over anything, I responded, “Well, the only option would be the next flight which is in about 4 hours, you could take that one.” (I said it in a positive tone and with a smile, New Yorkers evidently don’t care for sarcasm.)

“I see a plane sitting over there at that gate, why can’t we take that one?”

With less of a smile, I said, “That plane is already in use. Maintenance is trying to fix this one.”

“I know you have planes sitting around for this type of thing, why aren’t you using them? If I would have known that this was going to happen I would have taken my men and found another flight!”

This guy was being a prick, so, too quickly I answered, “Ok, well if you go, be sure to take all your things.” I was testing the theory that New Yorkers like honesty. They want you to give it them straight. Today was not the day to test out theories.

“Nice attitude.”

Now, I had unleashed a monster. I knew that nothing I said would make him or his “men” happy. So, I just continued with the truth, “I have no control over what planes we use or where they go. This plane is being fixed and for now, we are still going to take this one. That may change, but, for the time being that’s what’s going on.”

“Well, you need to figure out what’s going on and get this thing going.”

I love this type of guy. It’s a lost cause. People treat me like I don’t know anything, but, ask me questions like I know everything.

Well, fast forward about 4 hours. We are finally in West Palm Beach and everyone is finally getting off the plane. This guy has been such a jackass that other New Yorkers are actually apologizing for him. I gave up on even trying to please him. He had yelled at me, at the captain, and at our customer service agents. He was just trying to cause a scene. I may not have had the best attitude, but for that day, it was all I could do. This jerk just needed to get off the plane. Upon leaving the plane his wife approaches me and asks for my name and badge number. I give her my name and inform her that we do not give out any other personal informational.

I say, “You only need my first name and the flight number for your letter.”

She snaps back, “Why are you assuming that I am going to write a negative letter?”

“Well typically if someone who is clearly upset asks me for that information it isn’t for writing a good letter.”

“How do you know I am upset?”

“Are you serious? Everyone on the plane knows that you are upset.”

She snaps back again, “You’re a negative person and shouldn’t be doing this job.”

With all the restraint I could muster I say, “Thank you so much for your support. Have a great day!”

Momma said there’d be days like this.

"Butcha are, Blanche….ya are in that wheelchair!"

I’m quite an easy target when it comes to my lack of knowledge concerning gay history. I’ve really had to work hard to fill in the gaps in my knowledge. To be more specific, I’m especially lacking in the Bette Davis era of gay pop culture icons. (If you didn’t already know, the title of this post is from What Ever Happened to Baby Jane? starring Bette Davis)

Early on in Jeff and I’s relationship we were at our friends’ apartment enjoying a game night. It was a fun game night, really. We each were given a picture of a gay celebrity or icon to place on our forehead. Then we were to walk around the room and give each other clues as to whom was taped to each other’s forehead. It wasn’t long until I was the only one in the room still wearing his iconic crown of shame.

“She’s a brunette.”

“She played Rachel’s mom on ‘Friends.'”

“She starred in ‘That Girl.'”

“She’s on those St. Jude’s commercials.”

And it continued…

Finally, after much prodding they just “came out” and told me. Clearly expecting the light bulb to final light up, they exclaim, “It’s Marlo Thomas!!!!” I have no clue who Marlo Thomas is. And, I can only vaguely remember the pretty brunette that played Rachel’s mom. I say, “Seriously. I don’t know who Marlo Thomas is.” The next sound heard in the room was that of about 6 chins hitting the floor, followed by silence and disbelief. I think that Jeff was over in the corner crying with embarrassment.

Clearly, something was wrong with me. And, that’s when it happened. The first time, anyway. My gay card was taken away. To a room full of gay men and my straight friends Shahla and Rich, who both have “gay cards” in their own way, it was like finding a gold mine. Several years later they still joke about it.

Several weeks following the horrifying event, Jeff and I went back over for dinner. Immediately after we finished dinner, our friends Kirk and Jaime held a gay intervention for me. They made me sit and look at a stack full of pictures of gay icons. Actually, it was another game. Name the icon. And, I guessed about 75% of them correctly. Not surprisingly, I had trouble with the older ones. Bette Davis, Joan Crawford, Charles Pierce, etc. etc. The important thing is that, technically speaking, I passed. So, I received my card back. For the time being, anyway.

Honestly, I never knew what I was missing. Growing up in rural Iowa and then going to Bible college–I just wasn’t really ever exposed to these fabulous people. And, what’s worse is that I didn’t know anything about Harvey Milk or the Stonewall Riots. Fortunately, I have educated myself on these and other important moments/people in gay history. But, up until about ten years ago I had a gay IQ of about 2.

I knew 2 things in high school:

1) Guys gave me a funny feeling in my stomach.

2) I loved the Pleasantville High School Drill Team.

Those heavenly girls on the drill team squad rocked my world with their flashy sequined outfits and glitter-filled make-up. Of course, in 1988, boys weren’t allowed to be part of such squads. So, I sat on the sidelines in a bedazzled trance. I may not have had all the greats to look up to and imitate as a child. But, at least I had my drill team girls to give me the inspiration that was needed to create world-class flag and pom routines in the basement and front yard of my childhood home. And, if that didn’t earn me my “gay card,” then no amount of Bette Davis one-liners ever will!

***UPDATE***
Almost immediately after this post went up, I received an interesting comment that can be read below. Evidently, you can’t just say you have a gay card. You need to pay the “Fairy Gay Mother” a hefty price and she’ll be happy to send you one. Fun website. Not so fun prices. Clearly it is expensive to be gay.

Here’s me and “That Girl.”

Here she is now, my claim to shame, Miss Marlo Thomas!
Marlo Thomas

Miss America…LIVE!

Yesterday, Jeff and I made ourselves sick with the amount of TV we watched. I hate when that happens. I just didn’t know when to quit. I think this is how Jeff put it: “I feel gross.” And frankly, I did too. I think what really pushed it over the edge was watching Miss America…Live!, the culmination of a 4-week Miss America reality show and 2-hour re-creation of the Miss America Pageant.

Let me start by saying that I love beauty pageants. I grew up watching the Miss America pageant. And, I loved every minute of it’s plastic glory. I dreamed of saying:

“I’m Tyler Lee, a 5th grader majoring in music, and proud to be from Pleasantville, IOWA, the town where the name says it all and the state where the corn is tall! And, I want to be your next Miss America!”

I would sit in overly-eager anticipation waiting for the real Miss Iowa to take her turn at the microphone. I would sit and think, “Now she has a chance!” And, every year the title would go to some bimbo from Oklahoma or Texas or California. Oh, Miss Iowa often made it to the final 10, but the crown would inevitably go to someone who could sing “opera” or play the “violin,” never to Miss Iowa, who could only juggle flaming ears of corn. Have you ever juggled flaming ears of corn?

I didn’t think so.

And, I wasn’t disappointed last night to see that Miss Iowa was just as plastic as always–even after the 4-week reality series that was aimed at teaching the contestants how to be more real. I knew it would never work. Miss Iowa wouldn’t crack. She was totally a Stepford Wife. Minus the husband, of course. And, she was a finalist. But, alas, she didn’t win. But, she could have, if they hadn’t made this ridiculous push to make the contestants “real.”

I guess “real” to whomever runs the pageant means that girls wear jeans and tank tops, and that they are allowed to do their best stripper walk during the swimsuit competition. I kept on waiting for someone to drop it like it’s hot. Oh yeah, we also got to hear why they chose their evening gowns. Which, just made them seem more annoying and less worthy of the title Miss America.

I think what I always loved about the pageant as a kid was the fact that they didn’t quite seem real. I think that they called it “poised.” I would sit and wait for someone to mess up or trip or stutter. Then, I would think…Amateur. But, those days are gone. They’re all amateur. Except for good ol’ Miss Iowa. Tough as nails, nothing could wipe that smile off her face.

Here’s a great clip from the 80s. Do you remember when they would actually sing the opening song? This has everything that was great about the pageant…

The Wide-Eye Squint

Several years ago my friend Jaclyn and I were on TV. It was super exciting. We were roommates at the time, making a routine trip to the store. The camera crew was waiting for us outside with the news reporter pointing a mic in our faces demanding we answer his questions. Once we found our mark and the lighting “sweet spot,” we each began to share our New Year’s resolutions. Being blinded by the fame and glory that surely awaited me once it aired, I don’t fully remember what I said. I think it was something totally cute and adorable, yet important enough to make people question their own resolutions. Jaclyn told the world that she didn’t really make New Year’s resolutions.

I happen to think that I am totally photogenic. The camera loves me. It’s a problem really. Perhaps, a curse. Anytime someone points a camera in my face, I pose. “It’s like a gift from God, or something.” (Thank you, Drop Dead Gorgeous) It just always feels like I should turn my head slightly and pucker just a little. Or perhaps, give the wide-eye squint that I learned from Tyra Banks (ANTM). And, you know, sometimes I should give the camera my right side, it really is my better side. Ok, I am totally obsessed with modeling. Don’t get me wrong, I don’t actually think that I could or should be a model. I find it totally amusing. I’m just fascinated by the whole modeling world.

Perhaps, it’s the fact that none of it is real or attainable. I mean, seriously, normal people don’t look like models. And who decided that a morbidly thin girl with impossibly high cheek bones and sunken eyes was the epitome of sexy? Maybe, being part of the misfit clique in high school made me the way I am. It would be interesting to see if any of my misfit friends enjoy making fun of the modeling world the same way I do. There is just an arrogance about it that is totally hilarious to me. So, I make fun of it.

Some of my favorite movies and TV shows are based on this subject. Take, for instance, Zoolander. “Have you ever wondered if there was more to life, other than being really, really, ridiculously good looking?” It’s one of those movies that I could just keep quoting forever. And then, there is America’s Next Top Model or ANTM, as it’s fans refer to it. It’s funny to me to listen to the judges critique the contestants. It really embraces everything that I find funny about the modeling world. But, my latest obsession is Make Me A SuperModel. There is just something ultra-satisfying about watching pretty people fight over who is the prettiest.

However, the real gem for me this winter has been Crowned: The Mother of All Pageants. This reality TV show/mother-daughter beauty pageant/cat-fight contest has provided me with such laugh out loud moments of glee. I owe it big time for all of the material it’s given me. It puts me in my happy place. But, now I have completely digressed.

Oh crap. This post was going to be about New Year’s Resolutions. I was going to segue from my TV moment into my resolutions for this year. Fuck that. Oh yeah, I wasn’t gonna say fuck so much this year. Oh well, maybe next year.

How do you like my wide-eye squint?

Now, just a tilt…

Ok, now that’s too much…

…looks like my face is about to implode. I totally just cracked myself up with this
“photo shoot.” I seriously need to be on medication.