In an unfortunate turn of events, football star, Michael Vick, canceled his book signing schedule and a book tour that would take him to Atlanta, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania. Whether or not he will be signing books in other states is unclear.
The reason for the cancellation was that Vick has allegedly received death threats that stem from his involvement with dog fighting. After serving time in prison for this he’s been outspoken about his mistakes, rectifying his mistakes, and he’s supported the Humane Society. The book he wrote is titled, “Finally Free,” and the canceled book signings were to be held in Barnes & Noble stores.
Vick spokesman Chris Shigas said the threats, first reported by McManus, were “very disturbing.” Since his release from prison, Vick has spoken publicly at Humane Society events. ”We understand that a lot of people out there will never forgive him,” Shigas said (via Philly.com’s Les Bowen). “But at what point do we say a line has been crossed?”
We’re living in interesting times. I’m a dog owner, one is a rescue. I’ve been involved with local Humane Society organizations since I was in high school…before it became the chic thing to do. I have never been to a dog fight, I know nothing about dog fights, and I don’t plan to ever know anything about dog fights. But I do think it’s interesting that people who are so concerned about dogs and keeping them safe from harm would threaten the life of a human being. If there’s something humane in that, I’m missing it. It would be nice to see a follow up on this, and to learn that whoever made these death threats was found and prosecuted to the fullest extent of the law.
Joan Rivers’ Lesbian Kiss
I wrote a post once about how I sometimes find it offensive when comedians joke about gays in a way that promotes the same old stereotypes, and that gay men aren’t pet poodles for straight women. However, I’m not without a sense of humor and I often laugh at these jokes if they’re done right. I have many friends who are straight women and they don’t treat me like a pet poodle. I even make these myself sometimes…I’m all for self-deprecation. I write erotic romance and if you can’t laugh at sex sometimes what’s the point? Sometimes sex is funny.
Recently, Joan Rivers had a scene on her reality show, “Joan Knows Best,” where she kissed a lesbian, and this time she nailed it. Not only did she redeem herself, she did it with humor and the attitude that there’s no shame at all in a lesbian kiss.
Joan Rivers’ self proclaimed “lesbian” kiss and Rivers’ Costco book ban dominates the new season of Joan Knows Best premiere tonight on WETV. Joan Rivers makes out with a lesbian in a on-screen kiss tonight.
You can read more here.
The underlying message here is shame. Once you take the shame away from being gay there’s nothing left to worry about. And Joan Rivers did it with comedy this time.
Being that “He’s Bewitched” has been on the bestseller list again at Ravenous Romance, I thought I’d post an excerpt that’s never been published before for free. As readers, we do get good excerpts at places like Allromanceebooks.com, but I think readers like more sometimes. So I try to pick out interesting things in the book and do them here on the blog.
This is a scene from the book where the main characters are taking a road trip in a vintage 1962 Lincoln Continental to Provincetown….as some gay friends I know refer to it: The Holy Land. A good deal of this book was written with parody and sarcasm and it wasn’t meant to be taken as seriously as other books I’ve written (thank you to one book reviewer, Gerry Burnie, who got it a long time ago). But I did make a few points I feel strongly about. And all the sex scenes at the infamous dick dock are based on experience. There are those who would lead us to believe there is no dick dock in P’town. They are lying.
They left Manhattan after eating large breakfasts in a crowded restaurant in the West Village. Michelle directed him out of the city, along the busy Henry Hudson Parkway. She wore a white cotton dress, and her hair was pulled back in a French twist; a few thin strands fell from the sides and blew back because the top was down. Eloise’s tight, sprayed hair never moved, but she wore a scarf anyway. She sat up front with Brett. In the backseat were Rhys, Michelle and Tag. The little designer dog carrier sat between them in front of the rear fold-down arm rest. “Watch the signs for the Merritt Parkway, Brett,” Michelle said. “I will,” said Brett. He’d been driving this route all his life and knew all the short cuts to Cape Codby then.
He wasn’t speaking much that morning. He was concentrating on how well Michelle and Rhys seemed to be getting along in the back seat. While they laughed and joked about a book they’d both read, he watched the road and hunched forward to change lanes. Michelle’s face was animated and bright, and her arms, waving around in the rear view mirror, went up every time Rhys said something clever and funny.
There were times when he felt guilty about his relationship with Michelle. They were as close as brother and sister, but sometimes he felt as if he’d let her down. She would have been the perfect fag hag if only he’d been the flamboyant, limp-wrist type who loved chick flicks and shopping. But his idea of shopping was walking into a store and buying the first outfit he saw on display so he could get out fast. And his idea of a good movie was usually an action adventure film starring Bruce Willis. When they saw “Brokeback Mountain” together (she’d dragged him there), she was so excited that a gay film had finally hit the mainstream she couldn’t stop bouncing and chattering in the ticket line. And he just stood there and smiled, nodding his head and agreeing with everything she said. And after the movie, when she’d raved about how well they’d treated the subject, he smiled too. But he didn’t agree with her. He saw fatal, fundamental flaws that only a gay man would notice.
The Merritt Parkway was smooth and simple. But I95 North was stocked with traffic when they reached New Haven. The endless road construction was still going on. In the afternoon sun, you could see waves of heat rippling up from cars; an impatient idiot in a large SUV kept dodging in and out of lanes. It was stop and go for a ten mile stretch, and after that you could barely do 50 miles per hour. So Brett got off 95 and took a short cut up I395 North toward Providence.
When he finally passed through Providenceand reached The Fall River Bridge in Massachusetts, he took a deep breath and sighed. Depending on conditions, The Cape was usually a four or five hour drive from New York. And when he reached Fall River, the trip always seemed to go faster. He knew he was close to the bottom of The Cape; he could actually smell the salty, ocean air. He’d never actually been in Fall River, but he loved it just the same because it meant he was almost home.
Then halfway across The Fall River Bridge the rear end of the car started to bounce and wobble. It was the same bouncing that had happened in Maryland when the tire had gone flat in Martha Falls, but now it was even worse. Eloise had been dozing. She jumped up and pressed her palm to her throat. He slowed down and inched to the far left lane. Good thing the left lane was closed for construction work (even though there didn’t seem to be any work going on), because the old Lincoln didn’t have automatic flashing lights. Thankfully, it was safe there and they wouldn’t slow down the flow of traffic.