Greetings gays and allies. I’m writing to you from the confines of my bedroom. My dear roommate, bless him, just illegally downloaded a copy of some Mark Wahlberg vehicle and I am typing against the strains of straight copulation blaring from our wall-mounted dumb box. So you must forgive your writer if they are under some degree of distress.
Recently I had a disturbing conversation over an otherwise idyllic car ride to Fire Island and no, we weren’t just just complaining because we were exactly one day late to see Liza Minnelli perform at Cherry Grove. Far worse, one of my companions suggested to your sensitive critic that Instant Netflix was a thing of the past, observing that services like Hulu and Hulu Plus and something else with a seemingly irrelevant name were the way of the future. Disoriented (and somewhat dissatisfied with the healthy snacks my generous hosts had packed) I was left to wonder: what is this all really worth? Is our Homoflix a thing of the past? Is anyone even reading? Watching? What is my life for?
Enter Lip Service, a relatively new addition to our site of criticism and a welcome relief from the thirty minutes of Kate Clinton – she’s a got a “new” special according to IN which means enough Bush jokes circa 2005 to make us all regret the invention of the double entendre – I subjected myself to before deciding I was not in fact suicidal, just desperate.