Dear GayWay #7

Dearest Professor of T-shirt Acceptability Standards,

Is it ever okay for a less-than-buxom lady to shop in the boys or mens departments? If so, which items are allowed, and which are verboten? (I must confess to having purchased a men's Spiderman tee, in anticipation of my novel going viral and my getting invited to Comic-Con 2011).

A Naïve Nymphet


Dear Not So Innocent If This Is Who I Think It Is,

Why on earth would you even refer, even vaguely, to the boobies on my blog? Because I did just a few posts ago? Not. a. good. reason.

Actually, I think women wearing men's t-shirts looks terrific, especially V-necks (I have no idea why, I just like it). As long as we're on the subject, you know what I really hate? Women's t-shirts. I hate their scoopy necks with narrow collar bands, and those little cap sleeves, and the shaping in the center (I don't know what that's called in real life). Just wear a t-shirt. Women can also wear men's boxers, white oxford shirts, and slouchy cashmere sweaters. You may not, under any circumstances, even ironically, wear a men's necktie. I don't care how cute and fun you think that outfit will be (and spare me the but-I-have-a-cute-plaid-wool-schoolgirl-pleated-skirt argument), you may NOT do it.

Dear GayWay #6

Almighty GayWay:

We lowly peasants residing in another city ending in “apolis” seek your divine guidance about the prospects of trading ours for yours and relocating to the land of many lakes and bookstores.

When we visit your theatre enchants us, your mass transit and bike trails leave us jealous, and the apparent literacy and conversational ability of the everyday citizen impresses us. Real estate prices aren’t too frightening and options for good vegetarian fare seem more plentiful.

But what we really want to know is this: are we more likely to get laid?

Indy Jeffrey


Dear Sad and Lonely (I assume that's what "Indy" means in your land),

First, thank you for the deferential and entirely appropriate greeting. Your country must place a huge premium on respect for elders. And how exciting for the GayWay to hear from a faraway, developing land! How excited you must be at the prospect of emigrating from your sad existence to make a new life for yourself here in the land of gay enchantment. We are eager to welcome others to our lakes and parks and bookstores, and we have many social programs to aid your transition. The big city can be an exciting but scary place, but since you're from an "apolis" already, you're ready to make the leap.

Will you get laid? I wish I could answer that, but I would need much. more. information before making a judgment. You can send any pertinent supporting documentation to doingitthegayway@gmail.com. I can promise a thorough analysis of your attributes.

Dear GayWay #5

Dear GayWay,

Plaid. Yes or No?

The Tall One


Dear Tallness Isn't Your Problem; Blindness Is,

Did you not notice the blog masthead? Plaid is for all times, all occasions, all figures, all seasons, all orientations, all sentient beings. To disdain plaid is to be dead inside, or unnecessarily snobby. The GayWay deplores the snobbiness.

Dear GayWay #3

Do you offer comments on other blogs? Well, of course you do.

What do you think of the repurposing (trendy, new word at my place of work) of the French tablecloths as described in the August 5 entry to the Mason-Dixon knitting blog.

Signed,

Ruut de Bier


Dear It's Still Just Pop:

Again with the lack of salutation. Did you people fall out of the cradle of civilization and hit your heads?

Ms. Bier's letter illustrates a major problem for the GayWay: the need to, and complete lack of interest in, doing research for this blog. This Mason/Dixon civil war blog being a site in which I have little interest, I had to Google it, then find the relevant post, THEN judge it. I seriously could have made a gin and tonic in that time. The rest of you can avoid making a similar error by including a link in your emails to me. You can also send me pictures, attachments, and objets to doingitthegayway@gmail.com.

On to the heart of the matter. If I'm reading this right, lady buys tablecloth, lady has no need of tablecloth, lady cuts up tablecloth, lady remembers she can't sew. Good idea? I should confess that at one point I also had an obsession with table linens from days of yore. I would see them at tag sales, covet their clever graphic appeal, buy a few, and then realize that tables in France in the 1950s were evidently very different sizes and shapes than what we find now in modern America. So they would sit in a sachet-lined linen drawer, doing no one any good. At some point I got rid of them, because I didn't have the guts to cut them up and repurpose [I shudder at that word, bytheby.] them into quilts, gauchos, or manpurses.

So if you're asking permission, Ms. The Root of All Evil Is Beer, I say cut up every charming piece of fabric you have, and by all means, make me a quilt. I am grateful in advance.

Dear GayWay #2

A GayWay Query:

Or maybe it's a queery? (ba dum CHA!)

My question for The Grand Wizard of Glittering Gayness is, if you insist on a big, sharp blade for chopping fresh, flat-leaf parsley (DUH!), then why was that paring knife you gave me to cut limes for our margaritas so goddamn dull? :) Wow, there were a lot of commas in that sentence. Which ones did I need and which were superfluous? That's a serious question, by the by.

Signed,

Hunting for a Hone


Dear Ho Hunter,

First of all, your letter didn't include much of a greeting. It pains me to experience the death of the art of letter writing so viscerally, right here on my very own blog. The recipient of a request is more likely to be amenable to said request if greeted warmly and submissively.

Second, impugning the knife quality of the the GayWay household is hardly the road to everlasting friendship. I will overlook it this once because you make really good margaritas. You should also know that the elderly couple upstairs likes to sharpen our knives. We humor them because occupational therapy seems like a great way to ward off senility. You see, our neighbors' children are scattered all over the globe, which means we're stuck taking care of them if they lose their marbles. A dull paring knife seems like a reasonable trade-off.

Finally, you really only need one of the commas, especially if you completely reword the sentence as I did while reading your first draft. I'll accept your revisions until close of business tomorrow; I can't promise full credit after that.

Dear GayWay #1

Dear Sir GayWay:

I've been reading this blog ever since the very beginning, but have been too shy to post until now.

(I'm even not sure how to address you. What is the proper honorific? Do you prefer Lord? Or Reverend? Or Your HighGayness? I don't want to offend.) (I already know to approach and retreat from your throne by never turning my back.)

I made a rice dish over the weekend, and it involved a lot of suffering because of the chopping of Italian parsley. A lot of suffering. And I can't say it added anything except green speckles. Much too much suffering for the payoff. (Though I was delighted that it wasn't cilantro.) (Of course, if it had been cilantro we wouldn't be having this conversation, due to the putridness.)

It seems like you would know about this, and you also seem to Know People who would know about this. (Like that Crafty Lass—she knows stuff.)

How do we chop Italian parsley? Do we use a scissors? Do we use a knife? Do we go one leaf at a time? Do we use or discard the stems? Do we pluck the leaves and roll them up like a little cigar against our thigh like we did that one summer in Cuba?

Can I just go to Penzey's?

Signed,

Doubting Every Blink


Dear Doubting E. Blinker:

My heart is filled with pride that you are out in the world, snipping the fresh grasses and plants to enhance your simple peasant fare.

(And you may call me whatever you'd like, all of you, until you cross a line. You will know it, believe me.)

My own beautiful herb garden features a bouquet of beautifully growing Italian parsley. I disagree that there is no taste there: when people don't taste the parsley, they are not using enough, or they are using some dreadful dried variety (your request to go to Penzey's is denied; last time I checked, the joint had no greenhouse out back to supply you with plantlings). If you've had a good tabbouleh, you know how important the parsley can be.

You are correct, of course, to be using the Italian flat-leaf parsley. The curly-leafed parsley, of supper club fame, tastes as if cilantro and mint had a love child and forgot to wipe off the bitter afterbirth.

Chopping the parsley couldn't be easier. Simply trim off the particularly large and woody stems, bunch the leaves on a cutting board, and use your very best knife skills with a large, sharp blade. You should be able to get a nice uniform chop, from very fine to rather coarse, depending on the requirements of your recipe.

As for Crafty Lass's opinion, I don't give a rat's ass. She has her own blog, and a perfectly lovely one, but I'm sure she's busy trying to figure out how to make honeydew foam for her hoisin-spiced pineapple pancakes.

I hope that I've been a help to you. I would remind all my readers that their questions, regarding cooking or other essential elements of life, can be answered using the simple form found on this page. And, if you think perhaps you don't have it in you to compose so, ahem, comprehensive a missive as did Ms. Blink, Polonius reminds us all that

Therefore, since brevity is the soul of wit,
And tediousness the limbs and outward flourishes,
I will be brief: your noble D.E.B. is mad.