|'Tis the season|
I have described a large group of hunky young men (and a few women) stripped down to very little and coated in lard, climbing each other as they attempt to scale a really phallic object (the Herndon Climb) as a tribute to Ty Herndon, the once-promising young country singer busted while cruising for sex in a public park (while on his way to perform at an event for police officers because irony) who ran as deeply into the closet as he could (he became a Christian music artist) in an attempt to salvage his career (note: Herndon lived in Dallas TX and could easily have sustained a career performing regional mainstream country venues as well as gay events around the world) and today I wondered "what if the real Herndon is some amazing dude who doesn't deserve such never-stale humor tarnishing his legacy?"
I checked. He wasn't.
He was an honorable sea captain, going down with his ship during a hurricane in 1857, the largest loss of life in a US commercial vessel up to that time (more than 400 passengers were lost). His daughter would have been first lady of the US had she not died before Chester A. Arthur's inauguration.
Totally upstanding 19th century sailor, and I refuse to believe my gay humor impugns his or his family's dignity in any way.
It's so efficient when I'm allowed to evaluate myself for issues of taste.