Common Sense	Common Sense Archive

A friend and I were chatting about the Pope (the one in Rome). Not just the current occupant of the throne of Peter, but the run of the current lot of them. More specifically, we were discussing the Pope's wardrobe. Apparently, in his official appearances, he must wear articles of attire in colors fitting the liturgical season-- some green, some white, maybe some other color.

I'm not an expert in these matters-- and, let's face it, a person has only so many active brain cells. But I did wonder: do Popes ever get measured for an inseam? Do they ever wear trousers? I suspect I have seen more pictures of the late Katharine Hepburn in slacks than I have of any of the more recent Popes. (What was Hepburn's inseam? The measure of a Star!)

A

View our poll archive

ll this talk of religious garb made me think of that great photo of the late Francis Cardinal Spellman. It ran in the New York Times. Spellman, a religious role model to many in New York, was photographed standing in front of St. Patrick's Cathedral-- his digs-- all done up in his top-line threads, including white gloves, with his numerous rings on the outside of his gloves. He was blessing a crowd or a parade (not the gay one; that came later) and looked fabulous.

Why doesn't Oliver Stone make a great movie about Cardinal Spellman? Or, even better, John Waters. Alas, Divine being dead, Waters would have to come up with someone of comparable capacity to fill that slot.

How can you measure things? There are machines on Mars still actively scoping out the territory, a quite remarkable achievement. I'm more interested in measuring the utility of things of concern to me. This is a finite list. How do you measure good writing? By the yard-- as in the case of Kerouac's famous book? Or by the voice? What did it mean when we were told to "measure up"? (Does anyone ever "measure down"?) I have no doubt that we are an over-quantified world-- checklists, exams, endless forms, exit interviews, massive volumes of information about our every purchase, our every keystroke on the computer, histories of every place visited on the worldwide web.

But in the end, how quantifiable is human behavior? In the case of an either-or option, like elections, it is easy to gauge. That's why exit polls can sample so few voters and, usually, predict the outcome.

I had a friend who had served in the US Army in the 1970s; he was stationed in Germany at the time. He did something with Army Intelligence-- he was never very specific about his posting. He told me that his director had instructed him-- this was hours before the polling stations had closed in the USA-- to prepare the base for a visit by Vice-President Elect Walter Mondale. At the time, I thought this very scary. How did they know?

In Gore Vidal's great play, An Evening with Richard Nixon, he uses a funny theatrical gimmick: the voters are dragged out on occasion (standing on one of those dress racks you used to see moving the product up and down the streets of Manhattan) and then, as quickly, moved off stage again. I can't imagine moving in the world of the American political class. Is there any oxygen there? Do they measure up?

What are the measures in our community? The problem with the word "measure" is that, when you check it out in your dictionary, it is revealed as repository for so many referents. Can't our language have more specificity? How many words in Greek do they have for "love"? Our community is vast, newly constituted-- in the organizational sense-- and still, even after all these years, filled with the hard-to-assimilate.

I don't want to seem ungenerous, but I've always had an affection for those who have not fit so easily into the diorama of our democracy. The tent has gotten a bit bigger over the years, but some are still outside the flaps. I will not list the categories into which some of these folks have been listed, as that is simply another way of measuring normalcy, but if you use your imagination, you will know to whom I refer. It's all about certain selections. Red Rover, Red Rover, Let Butchie Come Over!

Why was the game of "Musical Chairs" played when I was a child? What was the point? Do elementary schools still have the children compete to sit down? Is this to get them to Measure Up? Darwinian survival-of-the-fittest as a life lesson at age six? As memory serves, the little gay boys and the dumpy girls were the first to get cut-- and the last to be called at Red Rover. Is there not a better way? Must the children's games presage the rat-race that awaits us in our adult years? Aren't the trashy so-called reality TV shows of today just a semi-grown-up version of Musical Chairs? Do we never become adults? It's no wonder there was a social revolution in the 1960s and 1970s, and about time. Well, in at least part of the country, the beachhead cities and university towns.

Measure Up? In gay life, there has always been that gap between Desire and Reality. I recently had a vivacious young African-American lesbian come by my bookstore. She told me she had been looking so long to find a place like this. She looked at the shelves of books-- clearly they didn't interest her. "Is this all there is?" she complained. (I didn't put on the Peggy Lee number, but I could have.) "For now," I told her. "But in time I want the world!" She was more interested in T-shirts 'n' stuff, and that's fine, but but but.

My inseam measures 27 inches. I have short legs. Everything else about me is full of contrary dimensions, for which I have always been grateful.

Author Profile:  Mitzel
	Mitzel was a founding member of the Fag Rag collective, and has been a Guide columnist since 1986. He manages Calamus Books near Boston's South Station.
	Email:	mitzel@calamusbooks.com
	Website:	calamusbooks.com