There's a game we'd play as teenagers where you'd pick a person in your group and pretend that everything they said for the next five minutes was really about sex. It's a load of sophomoric laughs and cheaper than a movie. People have been venting in a wide variety of online newsgroups. As you read this, there's a good chance I'm covering Norman Jewison's Film Fest picnic, listening with all the interest I can muster as an actor or writer fills me in on his or her latest career move above the din of the madding schmooze.
People do blame the media.
And frankly, there are some things we should own up to. I've become a fan of Dominick Dunne's column in Vanity Fair, wherein he more or less writes what's been going on in his life, diary-like, covering hot media topics that intersect tangentially with his own life like junctions on a train line. Captain Morgan is setting off everybody's gaydar. Pride Week 2001, the best excuse for a party 'til Caribana, is now a week-old screaming memory. Um, no, Tom and Drew are pregnant and Julia is the surrogate.