Breeder's Digest

Maybe it was the time we offered to carry her books for her. Or those flirtatious notes we passed back and forth during Social Studies. Or that first confused, yet tender kiss we shared under the bleachers during the big homecoming game. Whatever started it, Dear Breeder, we gays have been crushing on Stevie Nicks in a major way since high school. (Come to think of it, maybe it was that “leather and lace” four-way we had with Stevie, Mick Fleetwood, and a pre-op Christine McVie.*)

Window treatments for Target, by Stevie Nicks

Ask any ice skater or ballerina you know, and they’ll tell you one thing, in between puffs of a Marlboro Light: nobody twirls better than Stevie. Her signature move is so smooth and intoxicating, Dear Breeder, that for decades she’s managed to distract her legions of loyal fans from the fact that the words she speaks, sings, and speak-sings, on a fundamental level, are complete and utter nonsense. And yet, while spinning her various shawls on loan from the Marin County Retirement Home, our Stevie has really been spinning hay into lyrical gold, hasn’t she?

Polly want a mystical dream cracker of visions?

Whether it’s her classic use of the lyrical broken promise (“But the sea changes colors / But the sea does not change…” – see: “Edge of Seventeen”), her natural proclivity toward pataphor (“And if I was a child, and the child was enough / Enough for me to love, enough to love…” – see: “Gypsy”), or the mini-panic attack she seems to endure at the narrative climax of each song (“Oooooo-oooh-aaaahh / Aaaahh-oooohhhh” – see: “Every song ever recorded by Stevie Nicks”), the hypnotic combination of her words, music, and movements has been known to induce facial tics, hysterical pregnancies, and accusations of witchcraft among early settlers of this country. No wonder we gays adore her.

Artist’s rendering of Stevie Nicks’ sense of smell

We’ve followed her career and bathroom scales through many highs and lows, through solo albums and Fleetwood Mac reunion tours, through ill-chosen duet partners, and through the reconstructive surgeries on her septum which have no doubt left her bedroom sounding like an Amtrak station at rush hour. And, in spite of it all, we gays will continue to follow her career—whatever twists, turns, and twirls it may take—with the single-minded devotion of a crazed stalker.

That’s why we would like to appoint you, Miss Stevie Nicks, honorary deputy of the Breeder’s Digest police force. It doesn’t pay much, but it’s a post we hope you’ll accept. Whaddya say?

Officer Velveteen Petticoat, at your service!

We thank you, Stevie, and are truly honored.

*Obligatory reference to Christine McVie, professional footnote.

“I wanna pee with you everywhere. (No seriously, I can use either bathroom.)”

Tags: Gay, Lesbian, Music, Stevie Nicks

This entry was posted on December 28, 2008 at 7:01 pm and is filed under Gay, Lesbian, Music, Our Gay Crushes. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.