Justin came out on Ugly Betty last night, and this is one of the sweetest, most subtle handlings I've seen on TV. If you want to catch up on the story line, check the four previous videos documenting the lead up to last night's episode by clicking this video and seeing the previous videos uploaded by this same user.
The writers, producers, ABC, and of course, Mark Indelicato all deserve a lot of credit for something so beautiful:
By Jeff Walsh
This past Saturday, Gavin Creel was in New York City, talking to me on the phone.
18 hours after this interview, a car picked him up early in the morning, and took him to the airport, where he boarded a jet to London. In a few weeks, he and the rest of the Broadway tribe of Hair will open the show in the West End. Creel was Tony nominated for his turn as Claude, the conflicted hippie who has to decide what's important for him as the summer of love overlaps with the Vietnam War.
I reviewed the show back in January, but didn't realize at the time that Creel was openly gay. Having figured that out at some later point, we had a few interview attempts, but our schedules weren't lining up.
With the clock ticking on how long Creel would be on American soil, before bringing his magical show of peace and love to London, we finally made it happen. Here's what we said:
By Jeff Walsh
I was surprised to find out that, despite watching the show for many years, I've never interviewed a Project Runway contestant for Oasis before. This year, I was interested to talk with Jay Nicholas Sario, who lives in San Francisco, works for The Gap, and as of this writing, is still going strong on the show. We set up the interview recently through the show's publicist, only to discover that we work within a block of one another. Jay jumped on the phone call just as my automated corporate teleconference voice announced that the call was being recorded. He immediately jumped in.
Oh no... I'm nervous!
But there's no video?! They video'd you on Project Runway. This is just audio and it's not even going to be broadcast.
*inspired by the song "Lover's Spit" by Broken Social Scene.
Golden red, your arms were a sinewy fence around
my form as we sat on the fire escape overlooking
a schizophrenic town.
Your lips tickled my cheek and I stroked the back
of your head, twisting
my fingers in your burnt wheat-colored strands.
"Remember when we used to get excited over
the smallest things," I asked.
"Like kissing awkwardly and
stumbling through doorways,
dragging in the scent of fresh
cut grass and angel's sweat?"
"Yeah," you said. "But let's play it out again,
baby, before Philadelphia
Thanks to all who read and left notes for my first journal entry, it's great to know that people here understand and care.
I've decided, with the urging of my brothers, to write a separate journal about how each of us met, which will lead to how we ended up being brothers.
I was three when my mom died, and honestly I don't remember her much. Fortunately we have lots of pictures of her, but otherwise she's just an illusion to me.
This will likely "strike home" for more than just a few Oasies™. The longing to be important in the life of another is well portrayed!
Let me tell you, my step-mother was a nasty piece of work. Greedy, manipulative, conniving and evil. She had given birth, the result of her first trap, to a male reptile two years younger than I. A boy who would live his life just as protected and probably even more swaddled outside of her womb as he was when he was still at the larva stage of his development.
Hey everyone. I'm back again. I've been pretty sick. I will probably get surgery in the next month or so. I hope it'll make me better. I might have to stop dancing for awhile. It's pretty depressing. I'll live though.
In the summer, the weed will ascend through the air, drifting in the comfort of the breezes that puncture the heat.
To avoid wilting, dig through the basic soil and lift the vegetation. Separate the roots and hold the leaves in the heat of the sun. As the acid pours from a cloudless sky, allow the plant to metamorphose and play with imaginary letters in a disillusioned Heaven.
As the music stops, pull the television chord and allow the Earth to choke to death.
The needles and discs of PVC were the harbingers of transcendence.