Confidential to Ash Fulk

Jesus Christ and Liza with a Z Almighty, what the hell kind of a gay are you? Just what sort of bowtie-wearing homosexual is unable to pronounce the word “palazzo”? We wuz mortified on your behalf. Shame on you, “pal.” No seersucker palazzo pants for you. And don’t try to claim that as some kind of bear you wouldn’t wear them anyway. Bears do not wear bowties. You wear a bowtie. Therefore you are not a bear. The syllogayism should suffice.

Richard Sweeney’s Wistful Missed Manhattan Connection

Ah, the wonders of Craigslist, possums....Click to enlarge and reminisce.

Amuse-Biatch Programming Note: The Formation of Team Rainbow

The video clearly demonstrates that, as usual in the gay community, it was the lesbians doing the organizing while the twinks were off somewhere procuring booze or making coffee for scary-looking tops with German accents.

Bravo wasted no time in trying to capitalize on Team Rainbow (somebody in marketing give Jamie Lauren a job, stat) with t-shirts. In response, and overcome by a bout of civic-mindedness, the Gals have offered a host of brilliant marketing suggestions to Bravo. And now we have put our nonexistent Photoshop skills to the test to join our voices with theirs, but this time to address ourselves to NBC itself. NBC, like all the broadcast networks, is in desperate need of a hit. Queer Eye for the Straight Guy is no more, and Heroes is on life support. So why not take synergy to the next level and greenlight Team Rainbow as a midseason replacement? Picture it: a trio of gays with super powers who travel back in time to prevent disasters such as the passing of Proposition 8 in California, Michelle Obama’s Election Night dress, and Madonna’s discovery of Kabbalah.

STARRING:

















(Although, for obvious reasons, My Little Pony hairbrush not included with action figure).

Think about it, NBC. Save the male cheerleader, save the world. (Oh, and need we mention that Richard Sweeney was, in fact, a male cheerleader).

“Teddy Bear” Tom Colicchio Believes in Speaking Softly and Carrying a Big Stick

We suppose it shouldn't be a surprise that when asked by the Rocky Mountain News, "If you could prepare a meal for any president in history, who would it be? And what would you serve?," Ursus Major Tom Colicchio should have picked the original Teddy Bear, Theodore Roosevelt.

As Colicchio puts it, "He was such a great outdoorsman, and . . . the dinner conversation would just be amazing. I could see where he would eat for four to five hours nonstop and it would just be a great night." He would have served Teddy a meal based on game--no mention of bear meat--and truffles.

All well and good and delicious, but somehow--without, of course, any evidence--we had always figured Tom Colicchio for a Democrat.

Tom Colicchio Turns 46; Feliz Cumpleaños, Papi Bear

A Noticeably Thinner Tom Colicchio on How to Outrun a Bear (Reputation)

We must confess, possums, that we are relieved our eyes are not deceiving us (always an issue when one's eyes are bigger than one's mouth). For some time now, at least since last year, we have noticed that Tom Colicchio has become less loveable--that is, there is less of him to love.

And now, Salon.com brings us the crushing realization that we might be ever so slightly responsible:

I have to ask you how you feel about being what's known in the gay community as a bear.

Whatever! [Laughs] It's fine. I'm very comfortable with my sexuality.

How did you find out about your status there?

You get little rainbow-colored bear things. They just show up in your mail one day, and you know you're an honorary member. No, you know, I read the blogs. It's kind of funny. I think my wife found it one day. She e-mailed me and said, "Tom, guess what? You're an honorary bear!"

Did you know what that was?

Yeah, I knew what it was. I'm in the restaurant business. I've got plenty of gay friends. I get a kick out of it. But I took it as someone saying, "You need to lose weight." I started running after that.

Poor Tom. And oh the irony of it. The bear movement was in part supposed to tackle the crippling body fascism that plagues the Gays, but in Tom's case it has had the opposite effect. And to think we might have been unwitting agents of Muscle-leanies' Black-Teeshirts! Oh the shame of it! So, for the record--Tom, possum, we were not calling you fat.

And possums, do read the rest of the interview, where Tom pegs Ilan Hall as "immature" and discusses the pressure (or lack thereof) to crown a female Top Chef.

Divinyl New Couple: Is Tom Colicchio Cheating on First Husband?

Possums, we saw it the first time, and we are seeing it again: when Tom Colicchio breaks out the gay hat, there's trouble a-brewin'. Remember this little gem from last season?
















As we said last year, the greatest problem with this look for Tom is that the hat, as Lisa Fernandes might have put it, squeals, "Great, bitch--have fun on the bottom."

Is the great subtextual narrative arc of Top Chef now about Colicchio's journey of self-acceptance? As with the zoo episode and the poll anointing the head judge as a bear, there's an argument to be made that Bravo conceived this particular episode only so that Tom Colicchio could sport a Bears jersey. Is it just, as Edina Monsoon used to say, "Mummy's little joke, darling," with Bravo having a snigger? (This week's most-ridiculous-ever, Divinyls-referencing poll--in a game of touch football, would you rather touch Padma, Tom, or yourself?--would seem to suggest as much. Mind you, it also suggests utter contempt for the audience.) Or is Bravo trying to nudge Colicchio over the edge? Of course, Tom does himself no favors by proclaiming Chicago as the kind of town where "sausage is like a religion."

Because, as Miss Xaxa is quick to point out, by way of warning, "In that case, you might well find God while on your knees."

Democracy at Work: America (or at Least the America Comprised of Bravo's Homosexual and/or Female Viewers) Speaks, Says "Woof!" to Tom Colicchio

Oh possums, this would make Alexis de Tocqueville so very, very proud.

In a year when the voice of the American people is being listened to as never before, Bravo has listened harder and longer, er, what were we saying?

At any rate, as you all know, possums, if you have been with us for any amount of time, we have been all over this "bear" thing since we first started watching Top Chef during Season 2. So it was with no little delight that we greeted Bravo's poll of its viewers as to what animal Colicchio most resembled.

But it took our pal Lesley at Eater LA to put her finger on it: "It's almost as if the whole animal theme was conceived just so they could run this poll."

We couldn't have put it better ourselves. Still, Bravo, how about a little more attention for Manuel Treviño? There is an untapped bear in your midst.

The 12 Days of Bitchmas -- Day Nine: Ted Allen: Lucky Bitch, “Rice” Queen, Master Bear Baiter? Plus, Tom Colicchio’s ‘Wichful Thinking

Possums, one of the things we are looking forward to in the new season of Top Chef is the return of judge Ted Allen, a glitter-bespattered, cannibal gayrdian angel to this blog (and pictured here with his boyfriend, Barry Rice). (Ted, possum, we had no idea he looked like that; who can blame you for being a Rice queen?)

However, we have not posted this photo merely to publicize our very gay flouting of the Tenth Commandment (“Thou shalt not covet… thy neighbor’s [ahem] wife, nor his [ahem] manservant,… nor his [ahem] ass…” Exodus 20:17).

No, possums. We have posted this photo as Exhibit A to prove that, notwithstanding his protestations of ignorance, Ted Allen is a bear chaser.

The admittedly farfetched importance of this fact will become apparent all too quickly.

(Oh, and by the by, possums, does Barry Rice remind you of any other shaven-headed, barrel-chested, fortyish man with a penchant for dark suits and unbuttoned shirts?)

What with his being our cannibal gayrdian angel, we took umbrage on Ted’s behalf when we read this interview with Tom Colicchio. When asked, “Who is the most enjoyable judge to have sort of by your side at the judging table?” Tom replied, “I’m always more comfortable when Gail [Simmons] is on my left. I mean, she’s not a guest. I know I didn’t answer the question. But that’s when I’m most comfortable.”

Alright, fair enough. But then, when asked, “Will Ted [Allen] and Gail [Simmons] ever be at the judging table at the same time?” Tom replied, “I think the world of both of them. I just - I like it when Gail is on my left and Padma [Lakshmi] is on my right. It’s a nice little sandwich I have going there.”

Ah, Tom, spoken like the creator of sandwich shop ‘wichcraft. But if that sandwich has a name, it is surely ‘Wichful Thinking. (A Gail-Padma sandwich wouldn’t even need meat; the Cubans, after all, refer to lesbian sex as a “pan con pan” (bread with bread). Not every midnight (medianoche) has to have a pickle.).

But back to our umbrage. Tom, Tom, Tom, we didn’t think it possible, but is there just the teeniest implication that you’re uncomfortable when Ted is sitting at your left? Is there a soupçon of gay panic in the rhetorical mayonnaise that binds that sandwich? Or have we completely lost our minds and given in to our most conspiratorial urges? Wait, don’t answer that.

Tom, just because Ted is a bear chaser and you look like his boyfriend doesn’t mean he’s going to cop a feel. There’ll be no wire hangers and no soap-dropping at the judges’ table. Fear not.

And anyway, Tom, why won’t you be one of Teddy’s bears? Is it because Teddy once said he’d “like to see you cooking in stilettos and a teddy?” Or is it because Ted once publicly declined to eat you? And what, pray tell, is wrong with a Manwich? After all, even with Gail and Padma, a sandwich is a sandwich, but a Manwich is a meal.

Bearly There: A Friday-Light Tribute to Tom Colicchio, Howie Kleinberg, Joey Paulino & Dale Levitski

Amuse-Biatch Photoessay: Brave Newark: Tony and Tom Go to Ibiza After Their New Jersey Civil Partnership Ceremony

Possums, remember that Looney Toons episode featuring Bugs Bunny, Elmer Fudd, and a planeload of hats?

The point was to show that the hat could make the man. In this case, however, it has unmade him.

Tom, Tom, Tom, tsk, tsk, tsk. There's a reason La Cage aux folles wasn't set in New Jersey.

En plus, the hat makes Tom Colicchio, of all people, look like a bottom. If we squint, we can practically make out the speech bubble over Tom's head: "Honey, whaddya mean you didn't pack the suntan lotion?"

The Burly Gay Men of America Wish Thomas Patrick Colicchio* a Happy 45th Bearthday

That's one hell of a birthday spanking coming your way, Tommy Bear. With 45 blows to deliver, Padma may just have to get herself a new wooden spoon.**




* Thomas Patrick?!?! If it weren't for that "Colicchio" we'd never believe that he wants his mother's red sauce as his last meal.

**Though it is the Feast of the Assumption, we're not assuming anything untoward; we're just referring to Padma's habit of spanking Tom with a wooden spoon during Bravo promos.

The Burly Gay Men of America Find Padma Delicious, Too

Marcel Vigneron Has a Beard (and It's Not Elia Aboumrad)

Possums, when faithful Amuse-Biatch reader Melanie sent us this photograph of Marcel Vigneron on an Alaskan fishing trip, our first reaction was, "Ooooh, how butch."

Our second reaction was, "Dear Lord, even Marcel's become a bear. Does that mean the trend's as dead as foam?"

We just wish we'd had this picture to illustrate this post last season. Still, better late than never.

At last, the Wolverine transformation is complete.

Howie & Joey: Can This Bearriage Be Saved?

It always starts with something small, doesn't it, possums?

On last week's episode, we thrilled when Sara Mair wanted to buy tricolor fusilli for the Bertolli challenge, and Howie had a mini (queeny) meltdown about how it was the "cheesiest, corniest" pasta that you would see "on buffet tables" in "every schlock house" in the country. Meow!

So what did Howie's Bear life-partner, Joey, insist on for his team? Why, tricolor fusilli, of course. That's when we knew this bearriage was in trouble.

(Naturally, Joey's teammate, Hung, wanted penne (yes, there's a cheap and easy bisexual joke in there about how "pene" is Italian for "penis," and yes, "penne" means "feathers," and let's not forget pájaros and The Birdcage, but we're too lazy to flesh it out).

Oh, and while we're at it, we were disheartened that italianissimo Joey couldn't even pronounce orecchiete, which he rendered as "oh-reh-CLEH-tee." Tsk, tsk, Giuseppe.

And since we're digressing, we must mention Miss XaXa's chortle when she heard 5'6" Howie saying, "It's a no-brainer for me that shrimp is the way to go, because everybody loves shrimp." Well, at least we know Joey does.)

We shuddered as we imagined the scenes that would take place when Howie & Joey invited Andrew & Aaron and Rob & Peter and Tom & Tony for Sunday brunch at their place and Joey insisted on serving pasta salad made with tricolor fusilli. Possums, the Fiesta Ware (Joey's, of course) would fly. And that would be part of the argument, too, Fiesta Ware vs. simple, sober plates from Armani Casa. Oh, and the doilies Joey would insist on for the couches ("But Howie, Pooh Bear, we can't have you sweatin' into the velour")! And Joey wanting to stay home and watch Beaches one more time while Howie wanted to go out and see The Bourne Ultimatum, or stay home but watch UFC death matches. It's too, too tragic to contemplate.

Has it really come to an end?

Our pals Doug and Maddy at the Miami Herald's Top Chef blog bring us the scoop. Maddy, who interviewed Joey, found him in a heartbreaking condition, "drinking a Gatorade and smoking a Newport." So that's what grief tastes like, Gatorade and Newports--why didn't The English Patient tell us this?

Maddy then discovered that Joey and Howie have not spoken at all and Joey asked for Howie's email address. Indeed, Joey, who lives in New York, didn't even know that Howie was in New York too! The outrage! Howie, of course, was consorting with Alfred Portale, the man Joey himself likened to Michelangelo, and we all know about Michelangelo, don't we?















Is it any wonder that, as Maddy reports, Joey may be turning into one of the Ungay?

First, Joey suggests, he may have tried sexually harassing Padma Lakshmi: "Padma is Padma. She is beautiful. And I said that on a few occasions. I'm not afraid to speak my mind. That's me - I'm very open. If you hold back, you're gonna tear your insides apart."

And now? The coup de grâce! "I just started dating a wonderful girl. She's in the insurance business." Madonna, ma come mai?!

First of all, this proves, if proof were needed, that straight women have lower, or at least different, standards than the Gays. Secondly, insurance business? Aren't these people supposed to know about risks?

But wait. Hope is not entirely lost. Joey "still ha[s]n't opened that bottle of red that Howie got from Maria Frumkin for winning the elimination challenge."















He hasn't opened the bottle. Doesn't that tell you everything, possums? It's as if that bottle held not delightfully rotten Argentinean grapes, but a message, a liquid billet doux. Insurance girls, Alfred Portale and Padma Lakshmi be damned. We still believe in love.

Arrivederci, Moaner, and Ridi, Pickle-accio: Joey Pickles Gets Canned in Vlasic Operatic Combo of Passion and Low IQF

Possums, we're not sure that Puccini, Leoncavallo, or Scorsese could have done any better.

Yes, possums, last night Joey "Pickles" Paulino was pykagged and sent home, thus bringing to a tragic end the verismo opera that has been the ursine, culinary Brokeback Mountain of our jaded media age.

(On the plus side, maybe now he can get that huge mole on his neck checked out; indeed, if he doesn't wince at the irony, perhaps he could just get it frozen off. We could swear it's been growing, and since the first episode we have been concerned that it might start eating his face or talking to him, like the pimple in that disturbing episode of Family Guy that we've never been able to forget.)

But back to the tragedy.

So much of opera is about Fate and its vagaries, and in our day and age there is perhaps no better symbol of the fickleness of Fate than the Top Chef knife block. It can spell success--the equivalent of drawing the Sword in the Stone--or lead to racking, manly sobs.

Which is exactly what it did this time around, as the cheftestants (term used courtesy of Television Without Pity) drew knives to determine who their team mates would be in the Elimination Challenge: to create a Mediterranean-style, easily reheatable frozen meal.

In an operetta, or in a novel by Gordon Merrick (Barbara Cartland for the Gays), the knives would have decreed that Bear life partners Joey and Howie (the debate as to whether it should be Kleinberg-Paulino or Paulino-Kleinberg has yet to be resolved) be on the same team.

Indeed, no one appeared to recognize this more clearly than guest chef Rocco DiSpirito, who wisely observed that Joey needed "to be pounded" (!!!). And, as Howie amply demonstrated, he's definitely the man for that. Imagine, then, Howie's distress at being paired with a woman, and Joey's disorienting grief at losing Howie to a woman and being stuck with a shifty bisexual for a team mate. As anyone who has ever lived through this will tell you, it always ends in tears.

Gone was the possibility of Joey singing to Howie, “Sì, mi chiamano Joey,” and of Howie taking Joey’s hand after an hour of packing frozen pasta and singing, “Che gelida manina! Se la lasci riscaldar.”

Instead of Baz Luhrmann, we got Cavalleria Topcheftiana, a tragic tale of deplorable misogynist fury, smoking, family (plane tickets to Italy promised to la mamma and la sorella), hubris, cosmetic procedures, polo shirts, and meatballs (the latter four also being prominent themes in the Jeffrey Chodorow-underwitten production of Roccopera!).

We did love the Judges' Table duet, as beautiful as the one in Bizet's Les pêcheurs de perles, about who's more-Italian-than-thou. Here are some of the lyrics:

Tom: Truffles aren't Mediterranean!
Rocco: Oh yes they are! I'm not your bitch, bitch.
Tom: Oh yes you are! And truffles are not Mediterranean because I say they're not. And what I say goes, because I have many successful restaurants and you're just a blow-dried, tinted, Botoxed, gay-skinny has-been.
Rocco: Well, if you were expecting me to be Padma and parrot everything you say, you've got another thing coming. And I may be blow-dried, but at least I have hair. And truffles are, too, Mediterranean. Anyway, Mr. Mediterranean, aren't you from New Jersey, and isn't your name Tom? I at least kept my ethnic name.
Tom: That's about all you kept, and now you sell tv dinners, and pose on tv with a blank cardboard cut-out that might as well stand for your soul and your reputation. And seriously, an online cooking show? And showing your face on an NBC affiliate after what happened with The Restaurant? Wow. No dignity, man. Oh, and I repeat, truffles are not Mediterranean, even though the most famous ones come from Italy and Italy is a Mediterranean country, because I said so, and I'm Tom Colicchio, and no one contradicts me on my own show.

Trust us--in Italian, with all those vowels and all that music, and the voices blending, it's lovely, swooning stuff.

Yet all the loveliness was for naught. Hung was unable to give Joey the pounding he so desperately needed, as a result of which nothing was Individually Quick Frozen, and Joey was out and separated from his bear. Attired by the genius costume designer in the suddenly poignant "Italia" shirt, Joey sobbed and promised (threatened?) that this wasn't the last we'd hear of him, the kind of verbal rose bouquet that usually comes wrapped in a restraining order.

Not surprisingly, Joey tells New York Magazine, with that heartbreaking admixture of candor and circumlocution, "I became emotional because I was going to miss a lot of people."

Just reading that, we hear the plangent chords of Gustavo Santaolalla's Oscar-winning guitar score in our heads, and we envision an "Italia" shirt snugly encased inside a sweat-stained (and we mean sweat-stained) chef's coat smelling of pork and hung on the door of the walk-in at the Café des Artistes.

Sorry, possums, we made ourselves all verklempt there for a second.

At any rate, just be careful, Joey, possum. To paraphrase the great Italian philosopher M. Ciccone, you're frozen out when your heart's too open.

Before He Dies, Daddybear Tom Colicchio Would Like a Final Taste of Spatchcock (Deboned, Of Course)

No doubt mortality, possums, is the last thing a chef wants to contemplate when opening a new restaurant.

And yet the true bear knows no fear. Thus, as Tom Colicchio was in the process of opening the Los Angeles outpost of Craft, he took the bull by the horns and answered the Village Voice's questions about what his fantasy last meal would be.

He ultimately opted for his mother's Italian-American "gravy," but not before waxing poetic about lamb's brain, mentholated fish bones, tapioca pudding, and, of course, "double [cooked] deboned spatchcock [a game bird] with braised daikon."

Naturally, we all knew what spatchcock is, so our minds didn't automatically go into the gutter, n'est-ce pas?

Tom Colicchio Forced to Bear the Male Gays; Andrew Sullivan and Laura Mulvey to Be Held Accountable

Well, possums, as no doubt he's been often told, Andrew Sullivan has a lot to answer for.

The National Post, a Canadian newspaper, makes the self-described bear and "conservative" gay columnist responsible for giving bears "an aura of credibility and ma[king] them feel a little less marginal." (Heck, we'll even go so far as to blame him for the appearance of bear porn on Conan O'Brien.)

And last week's edition of "Watch What Happens" certainly proves the increasingly mainstream aspect of being a bear, as a visibly mortified Tom Colicchio was informed by a viewer from Guerneville, California--though we can hardly believe it was the first time--that he is "an icon in the bear community."

(This is the equivalent of being told by a resident of Amsterdam that you are an icon of legalized pot and prostitution; in other words, they know from bears in Guerneville.) Not that we're surprised; we've been calling Tom Colicchio a bear for a long time.

There was knowing laughter in the studio after the question, and no laughter more knowing than that of Ilan Hall. So Ilan knows the definition of a heretofore marginalized segment of the gay community? Well, color us and Lalalina gobsmacked.

Despite showing umpteen inches' worth of Tom Selleck-lite chest hair, and despite being the New York-resident, Sarah Jessica Parker-befriendin', Hairspray-watchin', Madonna-lovin', Diana Ross-worshippin', Kathy Griffin-greenlightin' cheerleader of the gayest network on television, Bravo VP Raggaydy Andy Cohen, sporting an expression that said, "Bear? Qu'est-ce que c'est?" turned it over to Ted Allen, much as President Bush might turn to dominatrix-boot-wearing Condolezzie Rice and say, "Hey, Condi, this here question's about Eye-ran and nukular disarmament, so why dontcha take it."

Ted Allen's natural modesty and low-key charm gave way almost to maiden-aunt frisson in his role as Secretary of State the Obvious, as in "My understanding of the bear community, which is extremely limited." Goodness gracious, as if one might call him Goldilocks if his understanding of bears were anything but extremely limited. Why so afraid of the bears, Bravo queer guys? Your honeypots are undoubtedly safe.

Ted did go on to define bears as "gay men who appreciate…muscular, strong, really masculine, burly men. So apparently, the burly gay men of America find you delicious, Tom." (Just one thing: except for the burly part--gay men being by and large horribly vicious body fascists--Ted's definition would seem to make every gay man in America, and Hung Huynh, a bear.)

Judging by Tom's giggly, uncomfortable reaction, maybe Colicchio's the bear they're all afraid of. We found it particularly delicious, if that's the term, that on a show so heavily based on objectifying Padma Lakshmi, the male gaze should have turned the tables and its red-hot rays on Colicchio himself. Is it any wonder Tom was voted the sexiest judge by the viewers, beating both Padma and that Tit-anic Iceberg, Gail Simmons? (That's not meant as a slam against Gail; we are huge fans of buxom women with a touch of frost.) In other words, the audience for Top Chef must include an awful lot of women and gays.

Now, let's flesh out, as it were, Ted Allen's definition. The Los Angeles Times defines bears as "burly guys who identify with a masculine style and who shun the popular image of homosexual guys as smooth, hairless, Calvin-Klein-ish blond young men," and records the Linnaean ingenuity of the homosexualist when it comes to men:

"Thin bears are called 'otters.' Younger guys are 'cubs,' East Asian guys are 'panda bears,' and gray-haired gents are 'polar bears.' For aficionados of the bear physique, the ideal male body is that of Tony Soprano (especially in the show's recent seasons, when the mob boss puts on weight)."

The National Post adds that: "A Wolf is simply a more aggressive version of an Otter. As for a Chaser, he's a guy who definitely isn't a Bear, but loves Bears."

And so with that handy taxonomy in our back pocket, let us take a look at Top Chef.

Why, the set of "Watch What Happens" was o'errun with bears. In addition to daddy bear Tom, there were Big Gay Dave from Season 1, aka Peroxide Bear, Cry-Bear, or Care(Too Much) Bear, and Michael "Beer Bong" Midgley ("Bear Bong"?) from Season 2. Ilan and Raggaydy Andy (Jews with chest hair! Who knew?) could at least qualify as otters.

Season 3 has Joey Paulino aka Joey Pickles the Eyetalian Tantrum-Throwing Bear™, Howie Kleinberg (Sweaty Bear), and Dale Levitski (he of the tantalizingly shiver-inducing "caveman hands," who claims not to have gotten the gay shopping gene). And let's not forget Norman Van Aken.

Season 2 had Frank Terzoli (originally dubbed the Bambino Bear), an older model of the Eyetalian Tantrum-Throwing Bear™ (discontinued after it threatened to beat a Cabbage Patch Doll so severely that its own mother wouldn't recognize the resulting slaw), as well as Bear Bong, Cliff Crooks (whom we dubbed Valrhona Bear oh-so-long-ago), and Lychee Bear Otto Borsich, a gentle breed. In terms of judges, just off the top of our heads, we remember Lee Hefter, Raphael Lunetta, Wylie Dufresne, and Ming Tsai.

So, you see, possums, we think we've made our point. Bravo is Lipton, and train wrecks, and bears, oh my!

Allora, Tommy, just accept the fact that you're a great, big hunk of bear meat. And don't worry. After all, like lobster, bear meat is supposed to be very low in cholesterol.

My Doppelgänger, Myself: Brave Howie Kleinberg Reveals His Ontological Crisis on the "Top Chef" Set

Sure, possums, both these men are red, gruff, overweight, temperamental, insecure, and possessed of regional accents and farcically outmoded notions of masculinity, but if you look closely, there are differences: one is slightly taller and has hair.

These are small details, but they are important, as cheftestant Howie Kleinberg will tell you. He has courageously broken his silence to discuss his painful struggle with a problem that has beset philosophers, Prague-based Jewish novelists, drag queens, science fiction visionaries and gay couples alike: nothing less than the nature of existence. As the bastard love child of Carrie Bradshaw and Jean-Paul Sartre might have put it, Who are we (in fact, are we?) when others can't tell us apart? Or, why do gay couples in long-term relationships always end up looking like twins?

As Howie told the folks at mediaVillage.com, it was thanks to Casey Thompson that his "relationship [with Joey Paulino] ... moved on to a level where we got the BS out of the way." However, "[a]bsolutely Joey and I butt heads,...because we have a lot in common... But we are not the same person." (emphasis added).

And why would it be necessary to stress this? Well, because "many of the contestants would actually confuse the two [Joey and Howie] when talking about one of them."

Take a moment, possums, to ponder the import of this. If people who lived with you for several weeks can't tell you apart from your vociferous Doppelgänger, what hope is there for you? When things have reached that point, when your life has turned into a paella whipped up by Philip K. Dick and Andrew Sullivan, it's time to abandon the leather bars and beer busts, and move to the suburbs with a pair of chocolate Labs, therein to restore a crumbling Victorian and hold barbecues for the other sets of burly twins.

Amuse-Biatch Now Pronounces Them Howie & Joey

It seems to us, possums, that rarely has one of Bravo's cross-promotional ideas worked out so well.

All night long, Bravo has been showing film clips and Jessica Biel's rack to promote the new flick I Now Pronounce You Chuck & Larry, which--would you believe it?!--is being released by Universal, as in NBC Universal, corporate parent of wayward, gay corporate child Bravo. That's putting the sin in synergy.

In the film, Kevin James (finally living up to his billing as the King of Queens) and Adam Sandler play two rough-and-tumble, average-Joe firefighters who pretend to be domestic partners in order to get benefits, so right away you know this is a fairy tale, in more ways than one, because, naturally, everywhere in this great nation of ours the Gays in their domestic partnerships get more benefits than straight married couples.

And what do we have tonight? Why, it's another couple of rough-and-tumble, average-Joe guys with thick accents coming together in a loving partnership. In true telenovela fashion, Joey Pickles and Howie Kleinberg, the two characters who started out bickering, ended up sharing love over a bottle of wine.

But it's more than a marriage of regional accents for the girth & mirth set. Indeed, despite their earlier clashes and savage animal exhortations to "be a fucking man," a cri de coeur and cri de cul that Jean Genet and Andrew Sullivan would have understood all too well, Joey Pickles ("Or is it Joey Gherkins?" Miss XaXa had wondered earlier) and Howie have everything it takes to make it as a successful gay couple: versatility.

First Joey was on top, with an "orgasm in your mouth" (hey, it's ok to do that if you're domestic partners), and then Howie was on top, doing what he likes to do best: pork. If that ain't beautiful versatility, we don't know what is. As Harold Dieterle put it on his blog (and Harold knows from loud, burly gays, having roomed with Big Gay Dave during Season One): "There was huge love and a lot of man-hugging going on."

Mazel tov, you two!