We all have a gay mom. Not in that The Kids Are All Right/Annette Bening way. Everyone has a gay fantasy mom. My mother was the mother of perfection. I can’t find a single instance in my 40-something years where she made a bad choice. However, she’s not exactly Auntie Mame. Quite frankly, there’s a reason there are Mama Rose and Auntie Mame. Real moms aren’t fun.
It all started in about 1973 when Sonny & Cher were on the decline. My nuclear family sat every week and watched the antics of Cher and her nebbishy Italian hubby, Sonny Bono. Sonny was really a foil or even an afterthought. Cher was where it was at for me: sassy, skinny, brunette, and mildly ethnic—everything I wanted to be. Plus, she got to hang out with Chastity. I was pretty sure she was going to be my wife one day. Little did I know our paths… .
Then after a few years out of the Mooselight while she hung out with ruffians like Gregg Allman and Gene Simmons making disco albums, I rediscovered Mommy as an actress in Silkwood and Moonstruck and was hooked again. Her big moment for me was her rockin’ self-titled 1987 release with “We All Sleep Alone” and “Main Man.” She came back sans disco, rocking her ass off–and out. Mama was back.
And then Mama made that horrible hair infomercial… big mistake, and she knew it. After that she gave up on film for a while, partially because she was shamed by the hair thing, partially because her face looked like a Cher commemorative plate. Since then she’s done a great comeback tour, two strong dance albums, and now the brazil-liant Burlesque. I’m not sure if it will be good brilliant or bad brilliant. Either way, WIN/WIN. With Cher, you can’t go wrong. Go see Burlesque. You owe it to our collective gay mom.
You can hang with Moose at the Burlesque premiere party at Downtown Bar, November 24 from 6-9 p.m.