10:15 a.m. - 08.20.2003
Spider Hunter D
Seeing as how NBC is the only channel I get, I'm painfully aware of them pushing their last airing of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy before Will & Grace.
Now, I'm all for the current liberalization of network TV. And why not? TV should be a (somewhat) accurate representation of society. But are we going to just let everyone forget about the unsung heroes and pioneers of liberal network TV?
Of course, I'm speaking specifically here of Jim J Bullock of the hit series Too Close For Comfort.
It's funny to look back now and realize how blissfully unaware we were back then of Monroe. (Or at least I was.) Jim J/Monroe has to be by far the fayest, gayest man that ever walked the face of the earth. And the show was set in San Francisco, and Monroe was a single man who never really dated. And yet, we were supposed to believe that all of this was due to the fact that he was just the "wacky neighbor".
It's kind of sad and derogatory when you think of it. For all intents and purposes, he's the same character as Jack on Will and Grace. He's the pure comic relief simply because he's the most girly of gay men. (I don't know the PC term).
Jack's the funny fairy because he's out of the closet, and we love to see him be so flagrantly gay. But Monroe was in the closet, at a time when half of us didn't even know that a closet existed. So all the tell-tale signs are what made him the funny, wacky guy. He seemed to be the most in-you-face flamin' at a time when there was a big row over Jack Tripper being a straight man simply acting like a gay man.
I don't know why any of this popped into my head (again, all I get is NBC) but I salute you Jim J and your trail blazing wackiness. If we dig a little deeper into our lexicon of wacky sitcom side-kicks, maybe we'll start to learn some things about the Barney Fife's, or Lenny & Squiggy's in days of yore.
***
I don't know why but my bathroom has recently turned into Shelob's Lair and I have become Spider Hunter D. Spiders are coming out of the woodwork. And big ones. Forcing me to get medieval on their ass.
Lately I've been donning a loin cloth and a really fierce and manly looking mud mask to venture into the bathroom Predator-style to perform a little arachni-murder.
First I sit around in a drum-circle of one and play some tribal drum tunes. That gets the spider's attention. They know I'm coming. Then I really hit 'em with the goods. I blast Wagner's Ride of the Valkries from my stereo and kill the lights to the apartment. I then light my torch (a beautiful Glade scented candle - Hawaiian Mist I believe) and slowly enter the bathroom, or what I have taken to calling "the killing fields".
Once inside, it's hammer time. My technique, you ask? It's very simple actually. My spear happens to be a generous wad of toilet paper, and their deep, dark hole in the ground in which I send them to eternal rest happens to be the toilet bowl, which I promptly flush. I find this instinctive, animalistic means of "bringing down the kill" to be the most effective.
Don't look at me like some cold blooded killer! It's either that or stand up on the toilet seat and scream like Monroe from Too Close For Comfort.
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