Cancel my subscription to Bowl of Shit magazine. I loved when they remorsed over the white American dipilatory fetish but today's Masters of Sex scene where Beau Bridges is electro-shocked to cure his desire for boytoys taking it in the seat praised by Bowl of Shit leaves me speechless. I get that in the 50s, queers were damaged humans but we know now that the love you take matters not what your preference is for cake. It's like the West Wing episode where Toby leads the charge to resist acceptance that a Korean War vet could die in a park and no one's there to recognize his valor and contribution. I candidly love the 50s because to be a boy who knew he liked girls and lived expressly for the next encounter, and there were many, I only know of one queer who was a teenage boy living in a home with a homo border who partook, if you get the picture. He thrived and somehow avoided the cataclysm cliched by shows like Masters. It's anomaly conquering perception but it played some role in my not seeing people as queers before ever finishing high school.

Watching the drip system drip and the monsoonal clouds grant us sanctified days on the meranda, I got mine - hope you got yours.