It’s not something that I’m ashamed of, just isn’t something that I go around telling everyone. Yes. I have both male and female genitalia, but I consider myself a female. It’s just a little bit of a penis and really doesn’t interfere much with my life. The reason I haven’t talked about it is that it’s not a big deal to me. Like come on. It’s not like we all go around talking about our vags. I think this is a great opportunity to make other multiple gendered people feel more comfortable with their bodies. I’m sexy, I’m hot. I have both a poon and a peener. Big f*cking deal.

Check out Bossip's post for the video evidence that sparked Gaga's release.

The show's premise: Take a well-off big guy (330 pounds) and have him date 20 big gals (ranging from just under 200 pounds to just under 300), narrow them down to one, and propose to her at the show's end. The Bachelor/ette franchise revealed the full spectrum of thin contestants attracted to this kind of show–people who take their dignity lightly and "true love" way too seriously.

More to Love, which essentially pairs addicts with other addicts, presents a different kind of contestant participating in a very new and special kind of spectacle.

The women spend most of their confessional time crying or wiping at tears, not because of what's happening on the show, but because of what's happened to them prior to the show.  They all have similar stories about weight-related anxiety, depression, isolation, and rejection. Most of them have stories about "losing" a guy to a skinnier friend or adversary. An oft-repeated line is "Guys never give me a chance" or a variation thereof.

It's heart-rending stuff if you've ever been fat, because you know that underneath all the sad stories is the conviction that fatness is forever.

Whether or not that's actually the case–and yes, evidence suggests that some people are genetically predisposed to obesity or plain old chubbiness–More to Love says it is, and then says the only thing the contestants need to feel differently about being overweight is to have a lover, preferably one whose weight mirrors their own. The two overweight people paired, all their individual anxieties dissipate.

If feeling better about everything is that simple, why has no other reality show place such an insanely high value on romantic relationships? Even the shows after which More to Love is modeled frame marriage as the last piece of the puzzle, not a magical fix-all.

Because it's not that simple. And despite the show's many other flaws–the women don't have a lot of practice fighting over guys, and are thus really bad at being catty–More to Love works so hard to make it seem simple that it glorifies what the show's contestants don't like about themselves; in particular, the rationalized over-eating and sedentary lifestyles that got these gals and guy into a situation where they feel they can't find love without going on a reality TV show.

If the source of the contestants' hardships were something more openly maligned–anorexia, meth, furries–FOX wouldn't have touched the concept. But being heavyset resides in a strange cultural limbo. Public health advocates call obesity a "killer," but unlike tobacco, we're not supposed to comment on or disapprove of fatness.

Case in point: Bachelor Luke Conley,  "a 26-year-old former college football offensive lineman" and a "successful sub-contractor and real estate investor," repeats the phrase, "I love to eat" so many times in the premier episode, and the women coo so admiringly everytime he says it, that you'd think More to Love is a show about binge fetishes.

In short, the Biggest Loser has a much healthier premise, but More to Love is easier to swallow.

Wednesday (tomorrow!)-Friday will feature more sex than you can handle (including an interview with my grandmother about getting it on in the nursing home).

In other words, if you leave now, you'll miss dessert. And it's blueberry pie a la mode. And I'll spoon-feed it to you if you promise not to leave me.

See you tomorrow!

In the backwaters of Central Florida, they call this "making a woman honest." Or maybe it's "making an honest woman." Either way, Ghostface Killah is upsetting lots of people with this hip-hop interpretation of relationships, titled How To Be A Huge Dick.

What say y'all?

(Via the Awl)

They're both southern: Comedian Tig Notaro was born in Mississippi. Indigo Girl Amy Ray was born in Georgia.

They do their hair the same way: It almost looks feathered, could just be cowlicks gone wild. Tig's hair is shorter, but it's nothing a few extensions and some mousse couldn't take care of.

Lesbianism: Ray is a lesbian. Notaro played one on the Sarah Silverman Program.

Why this matters: Ray's third (?) solo album Didn't It Feel Kinder came out this time last year. I didn't buy the album because someone said it was soft and I'm still very much in love with 2005's hard-rocking Prom. Several tracks on that album (see: "Put It Out For Good") still give me goosebumps and sometimes makes me wish I was in a high school marching band, even though none of the songs on Prom explicitly reference marching band. (Implicitly, Amy Ray probably considers herself a marching band demi-god.)

Since Ray is playing the Black Cat later this month (Aug. 16), Daemon Records sent a copy of Didn't It Feel Kinder to the office as a heads up. The bloggers were right–it's totally soft. I gave up listening to the whole thing after four tracks. Ellen Newman captures my sentiments exactly in her Amazon review (titled "Not catchy or rocking"): "[Indigo Girls] music is OK, but just not what I needed right now."

The album, even though it's just not what I need right now, got me thinking: Ray's been making music for 25 years. Has any other lesbian singer had a more prolific career? Also, the only lesbian biopic I can think of off the top of my head is are Boys Don't Cry and Monster. An Amy Ray movie would not make me scared of hookers or make me feel sorry for Hilary Swank. And it could have all these cool cameo appearances from Brandi Carlile and Sleater-Kinney and other Riot Grrrl folks.

Just throwin it out there! Also, welcome to my short tenure as the Sexist. I promise not to write about Amy Ray again.

"Movies," he parrots back to me without inflection.

I look from him to the other bike guy, who's suddenly very interested in stripping the wheel in his hands. I introduce myself as a writer from the City Paper and ask him about the movies again.

"Ugh, god," he says after he realizes I'm not only here for the movies, but I'm here to write about the movies. He cradles his face in his hands and mumbles something incoherent into his palms.

The shop is silent for a second.

"Yes," the man finally says. "This is the bike shop with the porn in the back."

But that's all he'll say. Clearly, bikes are his thing, not smut. Before going back to what he's doing, he points out that technically–technically–the porn is a separate business from Rollin Cycles. Hence the dirty white banner over the entrance that reads Video 2000. That's also why the movie section at the back of the store is cordoned off from the rest of the operation  by a graveyard of bike frames and tire carcasses. The man behind the counter (who won't give me his name) demands delineation.

But Charles–the heavyset man with the glasses who's currently cataloging DVDs and nonchalantly listening to our conversation–Charles "wouldn't be a business man" if he wasn't willing to talk about his video operation with a journalist.

"Hear that guys?" I say to the mechanics. "No such thing as bad press."

"Yeah. Right," says the guy behind the counter, aware, perhaps, that this is not an entirely accurate translation of what Charles just said. On cue, the other mechanic ignores me. (Later, as I'm leaving the shop, the mute mechanic will confide that he doesn't actually work at Rollin Cycles, and is there to use the shop's bike stand to replace his tire.)

"Exactly," Charles says, staring into the back of the mechanic's head before turning to me. "What would you like to know?"

Turns out, the shop sells and rents both adult and general release cinema. Some really good general release cinema, at that: Dawn of the Dead. Silence of the Lambs. A lot of Michael Douglas movies.

There are movies here that I would probably rent if I lived near Logan Circle and weren't in the 21st century and addicted to the convenience of Blockbuster Online. I look around a little more. An orange and black Ruskin Sport leans against what looks like the family section. A blue Iro frame with no wheels is propped up against the lower dramas. A Schwinn obscures a small portion of the extensive horror section.

Charles apologizes for the mess and explains that up until a year ago, Video 2000 was the only business in the building. But the market for in-store rentals, especially porn, which is cheaper and more accessible online, is disappearing. So he decided to let the surly mechanic out front, a friend of his, try running a bike repair store. The decision was a success, and they added sales after Fuji cut them a deal.

Then he shows me the porn room, which is respectfully separated from the two walls of general audience by a cheap red curtain. Inside the alcove are several racks of every-day porn: Pretty boys with pretty girls, pretty girls with pretty girls.

But there's a real drought of weird. Nothing for dwarf fetishists. No porn with pregnant actors. Maybe it's there, but I don't see anything for shitters, pissers, or frotteurs, either. Even the closest-but-not-quite thing to mainstream in the porn community–watchers of gay porn–get the short-shrift here. There's only a handful–literally, there are only 5 or 6 gay movies–of dudes on dudes. And you can just forget about chicks with dicks.

"Our customers are more heterosexual," Charles says, and adds that the few customers who buy gay porn normally buy a lot at a time, though he has no idea why. Also, gay porn costs him twice as much as straight porn, which means he has to rent a gay DVD twice as many times as a straight one to make his money back.

As we return to the front of the shop, Charles, who has been in the movie business for years, confesses that he doesn't think Video 2000 will be around much longer.

"It's dying," he says.

The surly mechanic looks relieved.