Luckily, I already am. God, am I white. That's after weeks of struggle in the tanning salon in that shot to the left. But Margaret Cho is not, and I just stumbled upon a mildly heart-breaking post on her blog by that title. Opens like this:

I would love to be white. Not forever, but perhaps a weekend. Don't you ever get sick of being a minority?

God. That's how I feel like being gay sometimes.

Like after writing the last part of that last piece. Just a break sometimes. Not have to worry about it. Just be normal, like everybody else.

Not that I feel abnormal that much of the time, but that's because I did exactly what I swore I never would when I started facing up to my urges in my 30s. I gradually surrounded myself almost exclusively with gay people or gay-friendly. Probably too many of the former, too few of the latter. Because I don't want to get up every morning and deal with, it's just easier just to be normal, most of the time.

But then I venture into that other world, or I write stories for all the straight people, or consider the content of my blog and how I don't want it to be too gay, do I, or I'll scare off all the straight people, even though God knows I lost that battle a million years ago.

Here was my favorite part of Margaret's piece, the end of the last paragraph:

I have posed this question to other minority artists, and get stumped by answers like "No, not ever have I ever wanted to be white." And I just don't buy it. Why would you not want things to be easier?

Me neither. I just don't buy it.

I'm perfectly happy being gay most of the time, something I never thought I would be comfortable with. But even though I don't notice it most of the time, it is a freaking load to carry around with me everywhere, and it should would be refreshing just to set it down every now and again.

Just for a weekend.

I watched Eyes for the (fourth?) week in a row tonight.

Not a fluke. Definite keeper.

Really don't feel like going into it all, trying to unravel it. It's just got it. Clever scripts, interesting characters, great tension between them, lots of smiles, the good kind that go on and on and on.

OK, that's what I was sort of mentally composing during the final commercial break. (I don't watch them, thanks to tivo, but they are natural pauses, and I do use them to take my breaks, or sometimes just to sit and reflect.)

Then, in the final two minutes of the show, the kinda studly FBI agent who had guest starred briefly in this episode dropped by to thank one of the lead characters for his help on the case--the slick, sharp, ultra-cool black guy with the shaved head. And studly asked leading character to dinner, "If you're free."

"Free?"

Nervous laughter on both sides, hemming and hawing . . . "Single, available . . . unless I've got the wrong idea entirely, then--"

"How about Friday night."

Nice. Didn't see that one coming. (And I did the dio from memory, so it may not be precise--though I watched it about eight times, cause it was just so irresistable.)

God, is it nice to see a couple gay guys depicted as normal guys, particularly in hardass professions. They don't all have to be queens.

(And those poor anti-gay crusaders. They're right, you know: that gays are waging a battle of acceptance, and using the media to do it. Of course they're just using the media to depict reality. There are studly gay FBI agents out there, and there are cool gay private detectives, and I'm sure plenty have dated before. Does anyone actually doubt that? For the first half century or so of television, they conspired to hide that. Nice to see them opening up and showing the real world now and then. Even on a silly cop show.)