Shame is the Name of the Game

Thank you, Kevin H., San Diego, CA for your review of Purple Room in Palm Springs, CA.

Because H. is a pretty common last name, I hesitate to say this is some sort of "dad who remarried an evolved, much younger woman, travels to Palm Springs to try to make amends with his gay son (of whom he wasn't at all supportive) by randomly showing up at his thriving business expecting to be treated like a king, only to be butthurt when his bare-minimum efforts don't work out" BUT, that would totally make sense to me.

Honestly, though, it doesn't matter what the scenario is; there is something so satisfying about having the opportunity to shame someone for complaining.

"You still would not have been able to get in as the show was sold out."

Ouch.

"Poor planning on your part does not merit a one star review."

LOL.

"Shame on you."

Michael H., I bet that felt really good. Even better if he was, in fact, your shitty dad. Even better if this had been face-to-face, in what I assume is every gay man's dream scenario, like the moment Gretchen Wieners can finally tell Regina George:

... but sometimes I let my imagination run a little rampant.

Kevin H., one out of five stars for you.

Michael H., five out of five stars for you.

See you next Tuesday.