What if the world was crazy and I was sane?
Would it be so strange?
I can’t believe that I’m alone in saying the things I’m saying.
I am part of you. These are universal truths.
We’re all part of the light that flows through everything.
—Cher, "Different Kind of Love Song"

I realize that I couldn’t be any more gay, starting out my final Weekend Beach Bum column of 2006 with lyrics from a Cher song. But I couldn’t resist. Last night, I worked on a Cher mix for a drag sister, and I remembered how much I love this song, how the lyrics have always spoken deeply to me. I’m not sure what it says about me, that I’d rather quote a dance mix than a religious text or a classic work of literature. It probably says that it’s time for Anita to hang up her heels and Eric to renew his library card, or at least watch more History Channel and fewer "Golden Girls" reruns. Still, the simplest of pop songs can hold the simplest of truths in their lyrics. And that’s what I think life should be—simple.

Everywhere you look these days, the world is in a state of near-chaos. We’re fighting a war in Iraq we can’t seem to get out of. We lock up "suspected terrorists" for years without evidence or trials. The blasts of Middle East suicide bombers light up the night sky like tiny, sad, exploding stars. The political landscape is cluttered with corruption, big bribes from big corporations, and countless charlatans who lecture on how everyone else should live their lives, while turning a blind eye to their own hubris and hypocrisy. The political powers-that-be would rather see our soldiers fall in a pointless battle than same-sex partners make a loving, lifetime commitment and adopt children in desperate need of good homes. We care more about "Dancing with the Stars" than we do about dealing with pollution. We tune into prime time and turn off our brains. We side with the people most like ourselves and turn different people into monstrous "others" unworthy of respect and rights.

Despite the depressing state of today’s world, I’m still hopeful. You can actually see signs of progress if you scour the daily news hard enough. Those crazy liberal Democrats have finally regained some political clout, and they’ve proposed a timeline for getting our troops out of harm’s way in Iraq. The Democrats have proposed some bold goals for their first days as the Congressional majority, and they’re bound to accomplish at least a few of those aims. They may even get the minimum wage up, initiate some progress on global warming, and force President Bush to nominate a sane American Ambassa-dor to the United Nations. South Africa has extended marriage rights to same-sex couples, and Mexico City has granted civil unions to its rainbow citizens. The Hollywood sign is virtually turning pink, with stars like Neil Patrick Harris, T.R. Knight, and Lance Bass bursting out of the closet. Miss Cleo came out, too, but I’m not sure we want her in our camp. Maybe she can peer into her crystal ball and tell us where this crazy world is headed.

Cliché as the notion is, I truly don’t understand why we can’t all just get along. If there is a God, how is it possible that He or She created us with so much diversity, intending us to fight like there’s no tomorrow, or like we don’t want a tomorrow? When God made so many different skin colors and gender variations, did God make a mistake? Was it some kind of cosmic joke or competition, to see who could capture the most power and come out on top? As wacky as it sounds, several years ago, an "intuitive reader"—much more reputable than Miss Cleo, I assure you—told me that my soul comes from a very culturally advanced planet, and that is why I can’t understand all the stress and strife here on Earth. I’m starting to believe her. I’m also starting to consider gorging myself on Reese’s Pieces, constructing an interplanetary telephone out of a fork, an old record player, and some fishing wire, and phoning home. "Drag Queen phone home, Drag Queen phone home...." With my luck, I’d dial the wrong number and get beamed up into a saucer filled with members of the Intergalactic Right Wing Republican Caucus.

I think it’s time for the divas of the world to take over as our leaders and straighten out some things. The American political body would consist of a board including Cher, Bette Midler, Dolly Parton, RuPaul, Bea Arthur, and Tina Turner. Our new leaders won’t meet in the White House or the Capitol Building. They’ll congregate around a campfire at an undisclosed location to avoid the probing lenses of the paparazzi. Old white men have screwed up the world for centuries. It’s time for some new blood and some fresh faces, even if some of those faces have had quite a bit of work done. Cher’s face will just have to keep its distance from the heat of the campfire flames. Presiding over this who’s who of sensible female minds will be Judge Judy. She’ll get things done, and she won’t let politicians pee on her leg and tell her it’s raining. World policy will be developed while the divas snack on s’mores and roast tofu hot dogs. Cher will close each conference with a rousing rendition of "Different Kind of Love Song"—backed up by hot male dancers clad only in 2(x)ist tighty-whiteys and feathery angel wings, of course.