From Queerty comes a link to a story about the Fair Housing Councils of San Diego and San Fernando filing suit against Roommates.com because they feel ads seeking gay roommates are discriminatory against non-gays. Fuck yeah, they are. If you're a landlord, you can't disciminate. If you're inviting someone to live with you in your home, you sure can. Even in college you can get transferred out of your dorm room if you hate your cohabitant intensely enough.

It reminds me of when I was first searching for a roommate after moving to New York in 1992. I didn't have much cash so I started my search on the outskirts, namely places like Weehawken, New Jersey (where I wound up living for eight months of quirky hell). While canvassing Hoboken, I remember calling up one ad and asking some questions. The space had two or three young guys looking for one more. I finally had to work up the courage to ask, "I wanted to let you know that I'm gay—would that be an issue of any kind?" The guy said, "Well, none of us are that way and we have girlfriends and stuff so it probably wouldn't be something we'd want to, you know..."

I knew.

I then went to see a space whose owner told me it was fine. I got there and he was this incredibly hunky Italian-American cop. He was friendly but reserved, then said he had no issue at all with homosexuality, and that his girlfriend or fiancée's brother was gay and nothing bothered him and, and, and. It was all very fuck tha police, except like...no, really. But he wanted to let me know he had a gun in the house. I can't believe I was more freaked out by the gun than I was turned on by the rather arresting porn-vid-in-the-making situation. I passed on living with him, and for a long time after could barely live with myself, let alone with the roommate I chose.

I did live with a gay guy, and I later lived with others, but I've lived with straight women and straight men, too (no lesbians yet, and my time is running out for new living situations). Honestly, I think it's significantly more of a burden for someone who is gay to find an accepting host than it is for someone who isn't gay and isn't about to live with one to find a seemingly non-gay border. For that reason, I think the Fair Housing Council needs to take into consideration the fact that all they're doing is inconveniencing people seeking and offering housing by suing a business catering (in part) to an already put-upon faction in the name of equality.

Who could ASK-FOR-MORE?

I love this fan photo from one of my favorite Madonna sites, Madonnalicious, taken at the London premiere of Arthur And The Invisibles. What's mysterious about it is that the camera shake has invented a backstory involving Lourdes and her: (A) hereditary shape-shifting abilities, (B) eerily visible identity crisis and/or (C) place in her mother's world as just another flickering flight of fancy. Or (D), I've just always loved psychologically reading into blurry photos. (By the way, the mean title for the post would be, "I am NOT-ONE-OF-YOUR-FANNNS!")

Feelin' good from my head to my shoes.

According to its rather anemic MySpace (considering what a buff, well-developed print mag it is), Attitude is back—and the nude McFly cover and layout will see the light of day. I think it was originally the January issue, and now is being called February. I hope it lasts. More pictures after the jump.

First Daniel Radcliffe and now McFly. I guess I picked the wrong day to stop ogling British totty.

Just after I got finished laughing heartily at Daniel Radcliffe sending up his image by attempting to seduce Ashley Jensen on Extras—including a scene where he makes the international finger-through-circled-fingers gesture for intercourse to prove that he's "done it" before—now here he is pulling a right proper rabbit out of his hat.

Hi-res images of Daniel Radcliffe nude (shot so you don't see his John Thomas) in his play Equus are magically appearing in every in-box across the land, or at least in the in-boxes of Potter fanatics and gay guys. He's only 17, and while there is a fake "uproar" being discussed, a quick visit to some Potter sites like Mugglenet and The Leaky Cauldron suggests that his mostly grown-up fans are, erm, firmly behind the young thespian's full gallop into the theatre world. Tons of hi-res "dirty Harry" pix after the jump.

The main reaction to Harry Potter naked is pro, with a fascination—or revulsion—for his body hair. He'll be a bear before ya know it! The male body is just like chia pets, girls. A sampling of Mugglenet comments (all SIC):

"Woot!! He kinda looks like Frodo in the second pic, doesn't he? Is there something wrong with his belly button? Or is that just my eyes going out of focus.....?"

"*spazzes*"

"Is that real facial hair? I thought there was a spell for removing it. Woot!!"

"[M]an, he has got a nice body =) lol I'm not infatuated and I don't love him or anything, I'm just stating the truth."

"Ok, does this have to go on the front page? I know, it's his choice and everything, and he's an adult, but I just don't see why all the actors have to go naked for a role to prove thier acting chops. I don't see the reason."

"Merlin's beard, people! He's just naked! Guess what? I'm naked under my clothes! So is everyone else. I will admit though, he wears the naked look quite well, and this is coming from a lesbian!"

"The big tufts of hair on his body..that isn't his, is it? because if it is, that's gross."

"ok I'll just follow everyone else *drools and faints* No really, I just showed my MOTHER these pictures. She said 'he looks naked!!!' And I was like 'Because he IS!'

"Holy. G-d. *flatlines*"

It's interesting to compare England's restrained response to Daniel going full monty live, in the flesh, night after night—boys! boys! boys!—compared to America's slightly more histrionic response to what is by all accounts a very tastefully filmed and well-intentioned scene in the still-unsold indie flick Hound Dog in which 12-year-old Dakota Fanning's character is raped. "It's call acting," Dakota has said. Sure, there are ways to exploit children sexually under the guise of art (Pretty Baby and Blue Lagoon both spring to mind), but for the most part, I think accepting that sexual themes are a part of life and integral to many amazing artistic works is something mere muggles often can not grasp.

Of course, they did release an awful lot of nearly bare-assed Daniel Radcliffe photos.

Lies in your eyes.

I used to be so obsessed with eBay, never more so than back in the day when I had a dial-up and a dinky Mac—and I would search for (and overbid on) Madonna items all night long. When it became easier, I lost interest, like so many collectors I used to bid against. I still buy things that catch my eye, but I'm now a sporadic collector whereas I used to be by any definition a "completist." To be a completist, you have to be a competist, and it was not outside the norm for me to deceive, omit, mislead, flummox or thwart anyone who stood in my way of acquiring a piece of Madonnabilia that I just hadda have. I'm exaggerating—I was always too honest and had too much of a conscience to be truly ruthless.

Which I guess is a quality in Madonna that I must find appealing.

One recent acquisition is a smart little color catalog from an exhibition held in the not-so-distant past at the Martini Gallery in Russia. It was an entire show themed to Madonna as imagined by Russian artists. "Madonna In Art," it's called, but bears no relation to the 2004 Mem Mehmet book of the same name. Some of the work is nothing more than Warholian replication, a style that was so stunning and brilliant when Warhol invented it...40+ years ago. But some of the images take me back to the days when I was such a crazed fan that I'd spend hours doodling Madonna on every available surface. I still have every doodle (one of which is reproduced here, small...and yes, I know my Madonna Ciccones often looked like Bette Davises), but they weren't as cool as the illustration that decorates the top of this post, which is straight out of the Russian catalog.

I think I might've sprung for this collectible as a shorthand way of visiting that period of my life when I had more time and energy to wannabe a wannabe.

I suppose Republican hawks (like Democratic Senator Joe Lieberman) would try to figure out a way to accuse the troops of not supporting the troops even after viewing this TV spot—anything to protect our lemming-in-chief.

In 1991, I visited New York for the second time. I'd come in 1988—I shit you not—specifically to see Madonna in Speed-The-Plow, which led to an eye-popping trip that made me want to return ASAP. It took a few years, but I got my chance when my boss, a literary agent, brought me for a major book convention. I don't remember what it was, but I met macho adventure writer Dale Brown, who undressed me with his eyes. (Or, wait, maybe I was walking around naked in my mind?)

In my off-time, I wandered the Village (it was sooo cool then), and was ecstatic to encounter the now-infamous OUTpost/Queer Nation installations that consisted of Xeroxed Absolut Vodka-type ads outing several major celebs. "ABSOLUTELY QUEER" they screamed of Jodie Foster, Merv Griffin, Ron Reagan, Tom Selleck (he sued), Whitney Houston, Debbie Reynolds, Sherman Helmsley, Greg Louganis, Olivia Newton-John, John Travolta and...James Baldwin (just to stack the odds, I guess). Others were named, but I forget who and/or can't figure them out from my pictures. (I'd also forgotten that at least some straight stars were also "inned," with Paula Abdul and Mel Gibson identified as "ABSOLUTELY HET.")

"ABSOLUTELY" fabulous.

I admired the project. I admired outing. I still do. I just don't think whether you're gay or not is a personal issue when stars are happy to chat about every other, much more deeply personal, aspect of their lives, and I'll never agree that the fact that someone's gay is any more damaging a factoid than some of the horrifying stuff printed on a daily basis about straight stars.

It's also important politically. Otherwise, you get people like Danny Bonaduce, who on March 31, 1991, was arrested on assault and battery charges for punching a transvestite prostitute and who within the year was making fun of the incident at comedy clubs, claiming he had no choice but to slug Darius Barney once he "realized" the chick had a dick. (I had the distinct displeasure of meeting him backstage before one of his shows in Chicago around the same time the OUTpost posters went up, only to be enraged by his virulently homophobic routine. I've only rarely ventured into comedy clubs since then.)

I bring this up because the debate rages on, as Perez Hilton mercilessly not only outs Clay Aiken again, but goes to great lengths to back up his assertion. He goes too far in some of his mean-spirited posts (and in his expectation that stars are sticks in the mud if they fail to "get" his humor), but Perez is right when it comes to this kind of thing. It's ridiculous and it's wrong when adults behave as if being thought gay is a revelation that they have feet of clay. It shouldn't be such a feat for Clay or any other grown-up to be honest about being gay.

When the "ABSOLUTELY QUEER" posters went up, The Village Voice reported on it, as did The Advocate and apparently The Globe mentioned Plaintiff Selleck. But now, 16 years later, there isn't that much documentation about the action. When Perez Hilton outs someone, even when he's just kiddin' around, it's read by well over a million people. A day. For that, I can forgive his misspellings and occasional excesses.

Chandra Wilson just won a SAG Award for her role on Grey's Anatomy (poor "Grey" wasn't even nominated) and ballsily thanked her 10 cast members "and the other one in rehab." Ouch! So delightfully unnecessary.

Here is her speech, which some interpret as warm support for Isaiah...but I don't see how.

For fun, here is MAD TV's hysterical send-up of Grey's Anatomy, in which Chandra's character does nothing but bark, "Hey, ya'll—time to do your rounds. Now. Now!"

This man has been more virulent than HPV this week.

After some false leads, Joe at JoeMyGod has finally tracked down the guy behind the (to me, always obviously fake) "The Bible Says (God Hates Fags)" video, a Dallas actor and comic named Joey Oglesby. Oglesby has so far denied it, but he must be a latent Donnie Davis, ’cuz he's definitely Donnie Davis. Now he should explain himself, because he doesn't appear to be a queer artist or activist and it will be interesting to see what his point was now that the gay blogosphere is so in love with his brilliance. (I'm not. I think the video was funny enough in an SNL way. Not brilliant. And his subterfuge was smart. Not brilliant—Lane Hudson lasted a lot longer!) Kudos to Joe for sniffing him out this Borat-loving boy.

The Book of Craig.

I could be off, but I think the original first line (or close to it) of the short story that became Boy Culture was, “I’ve forgotten every book that I’ve read.” I was so attached to the line that it was years before I remembered it'd been chopped out by the book’s editor at St. Martin’s Press. Makes sense—she was just looking out for her industry.

But it was as autobiographical a sentiment as any of the others in the novel. I’m the most ill-read English major alive. I went through a phase in junior high and high school when I read some classics to prove that I was smarter than you—Lord Of The Flies, Catcher In The Rye. But aside from that, though I enjoyed reading, I tended to read stuff well below my comprehension level. I mean, we’re talking about Thomas Thompson’s trashtastic Celebrity, John Coyne’s roleplaying horror tale Hobgoblin and some novel that was so sleazy it involved a teenage brother and sister tricked into having sex with each other as a form of hazing when their family moved into a new town.

Those books I remember.

I’m not as stupid as I claim; I do have favorite writers, favorite books. And I own a lot of books, including some that don’t feature pages of pouting adonises in black-and-white. But it’s safe to say that I have managed to avoid reading a lot of books one might consider unavoidable. That’s just laziness, I suppose. But on top of my natural disinclination to read books, I’ve also had to start with reading glasses recently and my day job is more often an all-day-and-all-of-the-night job. So I’ve hardly read anyone’s work in the not-so-distant past except for my own.

Just before the holidays, performance artist Craig Hickman sent me his autobiography, Fumbling Toward Divinity: The Adoption Scriptures (published in 2005 by Annabessacook Farm—also the name of a bed-and-breakfast he runs) with the inscription, “To Matthew Take care of your blessings!” It was unsolicited and did not seem up my alley—anything that embraces religion or spirituality makes me cringe. I warned Mr. Hickman that I might really dislike it.

But I didn’t.