JP rocking his Houston Rockets cap like nobody’s business during last night’s Lakeshow victory. (For the record, it was a very close game vs. our boy’s hometown team.)

I swear, somewhere in the world it must be illegal to lust over someone who looks like he’s fresh out of his high school theatre club. I mean, really.

ELWOOD vs. JIM vs. SHELDON

“Elwood has such warmth, and wants nothing more than to connect with other people, whereas my nine-month-a-year job is a character who says things like, ‘If you don’t mind, I’d like to stop listening to you and talk now,’” Mr. Parsons said. “The jump-out-of-bed happiness I feel transcends any nerves about taking on a history-laden role. Now, would it have been preferable to take on a role that had not been created before? God yes. But breaking in a new role takes more time than I’ll have until my time on TV comes to an end. And when it does, I hope I’ll be back for longer.”

Healy, Patrick. “Stalked by Shadows (and a Rabbit).” The New York Times. 23 May 2012.

Are the Internet vultures still talking about that facepalm-worthy non-issue?

Oh, the humanity. It was nothing but a simple affirmation of an already known truth that anyone who cared enough to Google his name long before this craziness began would’ve already known. Nothing but a very private man making a rare choice to share a wee bit of personal information publicly, in an effort to articulate the resonance between art and life, sans the unnecessary bells and whistles for the world to fucking feast on.

The right to privacy isn’t synonymous with being in the closet, the same way as the benign assertion of a known fact isn’t tantamount to one coming out — especially if he wasn’t in to begin with.

If straight celebs are afforded the right to a private life, then why the hell is it so difficult to let famous gay people be? To quote CultureMap Houston’s Sarah Rufca: “Demanding that gay celebrities talk about their sexual orientation while leaving straight celebrities their privacy is a weird double standard.” Amen.

In the midst of sundry ulterior motives [i.e., bloggers and “writers” (I use this term loosely) who pounced on a nondescript sentence on an otherwise significant article about an actor’s burgeoning career and made a whole piece about it (pathetic); certain LGBT pressure for public awareness without any regard for one’s privacy (the noble end doesn’t justify the selfish means, EVER); hapless Seinfeld wannabes who poked fun for the sake of a semi-hilarious Twitter one-liner (I’m looking at you, Zach Braff); braggarts who sadly believe that a functioning “gaydar” deserves a social media shout-out and a medal to boot (dreaming big, aren’t we?)], what some people seem to have forgotten is that none of us have a clue as to where gay celebrities are coming from, how they feel, and what their E! True Non-Hollywood Story is. JUST LIKE STRAIGHT PEOPLE, YO. We therefore have no right to wield our gavels at them, in any way, shape, or form. People on the opposite end of the spectrum who overcompensate for whateverthefuck emotion they may be having by suddenly swooning over a gay celebrity (and their partner) like they’re tiny lapdogs in designer pet carriers don’t help as well — pray tell, what does sexual orientation have to do with exponentially upping ANYONE’S likeability factor?

The truth is, even in this age of higher understanding and watersheds like the Prez of the Free World supporting same-sex marriage, we will never be fully evolved human beings unless sexuality isn’t considered Google-worthy news anymore.

As for our talented, grounded, beautiful man who’s currently getting raves as Elwood P. Dowd on Broadway … as much as the crazy ass fangirl in me yearns to learn more about his life, would I like him to be akin to the Kourtneys, Kims, and Khloés of the world? OH, HELL TO THE NO. He’s been admirably private thus far, and I hope he continues to live as such. And at the end of the day, despite whatever backlash and bullshit, I wish him nothing but peace of mind. He belongs to that endangered species of refreshingly humble celebrities in decadent old Hollywood — the kind whose idea of a good time is staying with his little sister in Houston and spoiling his nephews, in lieu of trashing a Four Seasons Presidential Suite; or keeping in touch with a handful of old friends under a pseudonym on his über private Facebook account, as opposed to colleagues who thrive on constant ego massaging from fans on their public Facebook pages.

Yes, without a shadow of a doubt — or a rabbit — human beings like Jim Parsons deserve their right to a private life, and nothing less.