Netflix Totally Knows I'm Gay

I've been outed again. This time, it's to Netflix. Frankly, I don't think Netflix was surprised. In fact, I think she always suspected. I mean, looking back, there were signs. Take for instance, the Thanksgiving weekend rentals of "Nine Dead Gay Guys," "The Women," and "Wanda Sykes: Sick and Tired." I think she took the news very well. Maybe a little too well.

When she found out, she started acting like an over-compensating guilt-ridden mother who yearns to be her gay son's BFF. Or the fag hag that went to senior prom with her high school Tinkerbell and thinks that if she's nice enough to him, someday she'll "have a chance." Netflix is all up in my business, recommending fun things for us to do together. "Because you enjoyed "Priscilla, Queen of the Desert," "Mommie Dearest," and "Absolutely Fabulous: Season 1," we recommend "Chris & Don, a Love Story." Uh...okay...thanks, honey.

It's my own fault, really. I slipped up and started rating movies I'd seen prior to our intimate relationship. I think Netflix was in denial at first, recommending harmless hetero movies like "The Bucket List" or "The Dark Knight." But once she had caught me in bed with "Latter Days," and "Tales of the City," there was no denying it. I suppose I should be happy that Netflix is cool about it. I mean, I don't want want to hurt her feelings. After all, I really do need to catch up on all those Madonna concert videos.

So You're Cheap & Dirty?

If you haven't read Trip Advisor's 2009 Top 10 Dirtiest Hotels it's worth a look. The lengths people will go to to save a buck, or rationalize a nightmare experience is astonishing. "We had to sleep in our clothes and shoes to avoid bed bug bites, but the hotel was in a great location." WTF?

As with anything involving other people's misery, I found the comments and photos absolutely titillating. I also found myself wanting to jump in the shower with a wire brush and a can of Ajax to scrub the heebie-jeebies off of my skin. Among my favorites are "Wig in the Dresser" left by the previous guest of room 613 at the Continental Bayside Hotel in Miami Beach. And of course the aforementioned bed bug stories accompanied by photos of insect-ravaged arms and legs. Ewww. An in-depth read of the traveller reviews will regale you with tales of places like Hotel Carter in New York (ranked #1). "...they found a dead body in plastic bags under the bed on the 6th floor. "

My guess is that the co-pays you would spend on doctor visits and antibiotics after a night at one of these properties would outweigh the 100 bucks you just saved. If you need me, I'll be at the Four Seasons.

Not Just About Sex & Drugs

Speaking of travel, we recently returned from a Spring trip to Amsterdam, and I'd just like you to know - it's not all about quaint, "herbal" coffee shops and red-lit stores with live window models.

This compact little European city is steeped in history with an amazing art scene, scads of museums, and shopping, shopping, shopping. Despite the current economic climate, Amsterdam appears to be thriving. We certainly gave a boost to the Dutch beer and waffle industries while we were there. The one evening we supported the "coffee shop" industry resulted in a paralyzing, tear-filled giggle-fest, which I'm pretty sure had a direct effect on the space-time continuum. This was immediately followed by our support of the pizza and french fry industry.

Americans should really take a lesson from the Dutch. Life is not about driving the best car (certainly not the best bicycle), living in the biggest house, or weaing the most expensive clothes. The Dutch love to complain, but they channel their irritation of the weather, politics, floods and bike traffic into some of the most historically respected art on the planet - and I aint just talkin' about Rembrandt and Van Gogh. You will be hard pressed to find someone that does not speak English, even sprinkling their Dutch conversations with American phrases like "Okey-Dokey" and "Toodle-oo." Most speak better English than some Americans. The only disappointing part was that Gavin never got to see a "...dyke on a bike on a dike." Maybe next time.

xoxo

Rob