July 1, 1999

It's Ricky Martin's world--and we just mambo our way through it.

I'm not blind; I've noticed his meteoric rise to super-stardom over the past few months. But his fiery ascent was never more crystal to me than last night during my drive home, when I was flipping through the stations and discovered "Livin' La Vida Loca" on our local "Lite F.M." station.

That's right: sandwiched between the Elton John, Celine Dion and REO Speedwagon was Ricky Martin shakin' his hot Latin buns all over my radio. I shudder to think of the middle-aged housewives cooking dinner for their balding and overweight husbands of twenty years, idly listening to the radio in the kitchen when all of a sudden--BAM. Ricky's steamy sexiness is pouring into their ears like hot maple syrup. Can you say "instant orgasm"?

Which brings me to the question that just won't escape my mind: is Ricky Martin gay? Everyone I've asked responds with a resounding "yes." And how can he not be? He's a great dancer, super-neat and mega-attractive--all the trademark ingredients of your standard-issue young gay male of the late nineties. Also, like so many gay men, he makes us out-of-shape and lazy straight jamokes look like poopy crap in the eyes of most women. I've got enough to worry about without getting cajoled into salsa dance classes just so I can compete with some latin pop superstar for my lover's affections.

I'm just waiting out the powerful irony that will descend onto the pop music scene when it is finally revealed that Ricky Martin is gay. All those nubile teenyboppers and their forty-something mainstream moms, drooling over Ricky's every gyration on VH1 and MTV. Little do they imagine that if their moment of moments ever came to be--if their dreams ever exploded into the tiny mindset of reality--they'd have Ricky Martin pinned down naked on their beds, and ABSOLUTELY NOTHING WOULD HAPPEN. It sure sounds like a far cry from "la vida loca" to me.

Personally, I can't wait for Ricky to come speed-shuffling out of the closet--just one less gorgeously hot fish swimming around in the heterosexual dating pool. He can be as gay as he wants to be, and I'll be thrilled, because in the long run, it just means more pootie for me.