It was horrible. On Sunday I was sitting in the living room watching some very intelligent and inspiring television show, Family Guy I believe, when I heard the most awful of noises from the bedroom. It sounded like two cats in a pillowcase being electrocuted while being skinned alive. It was Mark watching the Miley Cyrus Bangerz Tour on the bedroom television. I don't know what's wrong with me. I know that I'm gay. I've almost driven off Lake Shore Drive while staring at all the guys on the beach too many times not to be. But when it comes to popular music I do not pray to the altar of the female gay icon. I don't like Miley Cyrus, and I really don't like Lady Gaga. I don't like the person Lady Gaga ripped off, Madonna, but not as much as I don't like Lady Gaga. Cher has never really done it for me either, her singing is just okay. I'm afraid I don't understand the appeal of these half talented singers. When it comes to music my tastes have always strayed from the mainstream gay culture. I'm not saying that other gay men don't like the same singers that I like, only that they don't go goofy over them. I have been a fan of Aretha Franklin since her first single in the 1960's. I love Emmy Lou Harris, her voice is so clean and clear. And then there is Laura Nyro. She's dead now, but I still listen to her music at least once a month. It helps clear out the crappy stuff rattling around in there. Now here is something that I don't usually admit in the company of gay men. I could not stand Judy Garland when she was alive and I still don't see what was so great about her. I didn't like anything she did. In my opinion she ruined The Wizard of Oz. In the early 1960's she had a television show for a little while. I remember clearly young Alan watching that show and wondering what the hell all those gyrations with her hands and arms were all about when she sang. Anyway, that's my rant today about ersatz gay icons. I'll just sit back now and wait for the letter from the International Gay Conspiracy revoking my membership card.