Today, Defamer reports that the relationship between DJ Samantha Ronson and Lindsay Lohan has finally been confirmed. If you're like me, then this is something akin to the report that "Tropic Thunder" has been released in the theaters. Like, didn't that happen ... a while ago? But, no. Despite tabloid pics of the pair kissing, holding hands or, in gossip patois, "canoodling," the relationship had not been confirmed until the pair's appearance on Monday night's "Loveline" radio show to talk about the recent shocking plane crash involving Blink 182 drummer Travis Barker and club wunderkind and Nicole Richie ex DJ AM.
At long last, what we all suspected: LiLo-Ro are a couple. OK. Relevant questions, as they occur to me: Do we care? What does this mean for Hollywood? What does this mean for gays and lesbians? And finally, are you gonna eat that?
So, here goes: Do we care? Yes, reluctantly. I don't want to care, I'd rather not care, because like every thinking, feeling being in this country, I've had enough of the pole-dancing, drunken-driving, cooter-flashing, liquor-chugging, fur-coat-stealing Lindsay Lohan to last me a lifetime. Two lifetimes, and the lifetime of my cat, to boot. And yet, there is significance in the fact that one of the most recognized faces in America, a woman who has been (at one time, at least) one of the most desired women on the planet, has acknowledged her romantic relationship with another woman. (Angelina Jolie did this as well, but before she was superfamous. Madonna and Sandra Bernhardt, meanwhile, never confirmed their supposed trysts.) So we care because it's culturally significant. Also because, forgive me for being presumptuous regarding things about which I do not know, we care because it seems that Lohan -- a gifted actress who had been tugged into a vortex of self-destruction -- seems happier, saner, healthier and more engaged than we've seen her since, oh, "The Parent Trap." We care because no one of any substance wants to see the lady flowers of young, promising celebrities in a tabloid glossy these days. Also, we should care because people have been surprisingly respectful of this, which bodes well for humanity.
What does it mean for Hollywood? Well, I hope it means that in the future, celebrities won't feel such suffocating pressure to suppress their sexual preferences. I hope it means that Ricky Martin drapes a rainbow flag around his bare shoulders and marches in the Castro Street parade wearing a leather codpiece. (Or not. Whatever he wants to do is what I hope he does.) It also means, probably, a boom in "lesbian chic," which is either irritating or inspiring -- or both! -- depending on your perspective.
What does this mean for gays and lesbians? Well, I don't know. My hope is that it's a good thing, a freeing thing, that it could feel liberating. But then again, it could also be cynically read as a P.R. stunt designed to titillate as well as to explain away Lohan's ridiculous shenanigans and revive a flagging career. As one friend wrote to me in an e-mail this afternoon, "I cringe a little in anticipation of the weepy 'I abused substances and crashed my car and flashed my cooter because I was repressing my true desires and it was upsetting' TV interview, though who knows, that explanation could be accurate." Maybe she'll pull an Anne Heche, and won't be gay a year from now. Only time will tell, I guess. I left my crystal ball in the trunk of the car.
Now, to the meat of this story: Are you gonna eat that? (I'm really hungry.)
UPDATE: This really is a banner week for gays in Hollywood. Clay Aiken has come out of the closet. Finally. Who will be next?