There was an episode of The Mind of the Married Man on HBO that I found particularly funny. Until now, that is.

In this particular episode, Mike the journalist for a Chicago newspaper (are you beginning to see the attraction), has to go through and delete programs off his TiVo (I'm assuming that's what he was doing, since I don't have one – hell, I'm just happy to keep my VCR from flashing 12:00 constantly). Seems he'd recorded a couple episodes of Will & Grace and the TiVo figured that, since he liked that show, he'd probably like Queer as Folk and every other gay-oriented program on television.

I think we all feel that kind of threat to who we are from time to time.

And I'm feeling that now. I'm laughing about it, but there's a nervous tinge to the laughter.

It all started early this morning. I caught a brilliantly done documentary on Ovation about Dusty Springfield – one of my all-time favorite singers. To be honest, I really didn't know a whole lot about the woman behind the music, but the music resonated with me so strongly. She was the quintessential blue-eyed soul singer, and I loved that layering of vocal talent with emotion and life that comes out in her recordings. Damn, that woman could sing.

Now I find out that, in Great Britain, Dusty Springfield was a gay icon. She's still a favorite model for drag queens – the way Dolly Parton is idolized in the States.

Now I'm thinking I should go through my CD collection and make some edits. You see, there are Show Tunes in there – the original cast recording from The Man of La Mancha, the Leonard Bernstein re-recording of West Side Story with Kiri Te Kanawa singing the lead, the original Broadway recording of Phantom of the Opera, Guys and Dolls, Camelot – some great Broadway music.

And there's Elton John in there somewhere, and I'm now afraid that someone will find that old, old cassette of Culture Club that I have stashed in a box somewhere. And, and, and. . . Well, I have Neil Diamond recordings. And, truth be told, if you look through my old LPs, you'll find Barbra Steisand and Bette Midler and Barry Manilow.

And I've directed friends -- particularly my friend, Joy, -- to watch So Graham Norton on BBC America.

Ah, to hell with it.

As my tastes have evolved, I listen to great vocalists, great musicians. If someone wants to draw a conclusion from that, let 'em. In the immortal words of Popeye the Sailor Man, `I yam what I yam.'

In fact, I'm going to dig out that CD of Dusty in Memphis – which is and will remain an absolute classic – and plop it in the stereo.

My life is an open blog.

More soon.