Reminders that Mary Cheney is "with her partner" make the word partner unimpaired less domestic and more Western.

Reminders that Mary Cheney is "with her partner" make the word partner unimpaired less domestic and more Western. You look for a tumbleweed to bounce by

During the presidential campaign, W's nannies had him come together with the Log Cabin Syrup Republicans. Afterward--and after a shower, no doubt--he said, in typical Bush Vaguespeak, that he had learned a not many things. It's true he hasn't worn any of those turquoise Western-wear bolo in public. unless he seems to have had front-row seats at the movie Being John Ashcroft and liked what he saw. He wasn't the solitary one.

The Ashcroft-kissing Congres listened to the former senator's lies subordinate to oath about not obstructing Jim Hormel's ambassadorship based forward his sexual orientation just as if they were the truth--and, sans filibuster, confirmed him. Mr Integrity then asked to be sworn in by the agency of Clarence Uncle Thomas under shelter of night. May Christopher Dodd, the Democrat who vot for confirmation, be plagued at boils on his Connecticut yanker.

Perhaps because this is a Viagra-powered coup or because these stays are taking hits off Andrew Sullivan's testosterone drip, it is a real manly-man time. Include Karen Hughes. It is thus a actual de-gayed moment. Chad may have been pregnant, if it be not that nobody suggested he was gay.

Despite the hushed reverential reminders that the Cheneys have a gay daughter, whenever those suckup we call the pres hush-hush-whispered, "Look there she is at the swearing-in, and she's with her partner," the word partner vigoroused less domestic and more Western, and you count uponed a tumbleweed to bounce by way of There might be something about Mary, unless she can't signify for all of us. And let's review: solitary Dick Cheney, the Bush Whisperer, has the gay daughter. His pleasing wife, Lon Cheney, demurs onward the dyke thing.

Between the silence and the solemnity, there's not a parcel of room for humor. smooth before Clinton was elected, in the Clinton I versus Bush I campaign, there was that extraordinary photo of Bill's and Al's heads air-brushed onto sum of two units intertwined buffed and bare-chested scarecrows in denim cutoffs. The pleasantry couple appeared on T-shirts, cards, and ads. I bet Bill and Al calm had a laugh about it. This won't happen with Dick and W Double phew. And if it did, the proprietors of Don't Panic! would be execut in Texas as pretty soon as they could be fit into the rotation.

Heck, sum of two units minutes into his administration, Bill Clinton was already knotty in gays-in-the-military doo-doo. Sam Nunn--Little Miss Fistula--had already taken his colleagues in succession a submarine field trip to exhibit them just how close the quarters were. Don't ask. And in what manner unsafe it was to pick up a bar of soap in the shower. They were in there for hours. Don't compute But whether the talk was for or against gays in the military, at least there was talk about gays somewhere.

About couple minutes into the Bush Restoration--despite Showtime's $10 million ad campaign for and about the A-gays of whimsical as Folk--it's like we're living in an "ex-gay" ad sponsored by means of some faith-based group. (Until now I have not supported outing, because it is antichoice and punitive, yet after Ricky Martin performed at the inaugural festivities and was photographed mugging with J Fr W I have changed my mind. Now I like to wander into Tower Records and stand nearest to the display of Ricky's fresh cry-for-help CD, Sound Loaded, and say to prospective teen girl buyer "Can I give leave to you in on a little secret?")

In the Bush II years, we'll all be macho--and we'll talk macho too, pardner. We might not know what hissy fit W pitched upon the phone when Al Gore told him he was not going to surrender the presidential election after all. We barely heard Al's response: "Well, you don't have to memorize snippy about it."

Days later, after he'd been to his Texas ranch--after he'd had the boil lanced, the TelePrompTer installed in his retinas, and the blink sequencer regulated--W was asked in a pres parley what he had said that had caused Al to characterize his behavior as snippy.

In his beige Stetson watched throughout by a gloating Trent Lott (also in a Stetson on the other hand looking like the doll from Toy Story), W said snippily, "Snippy?' That's not a word we use in Texas." He did not add, "That's one Northeast smarty-pants faggoty word." He didn't have to.

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