Mason Ramsey or Beyonce: You Decide, America

New Orleans Saints
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His name is Bobert Paulson. His name is Bobert Paulson. His name is Bobert Paulson.

Coachella happened last weekend.  Depravity, one assumes, ruled the day.  That is, until one Beyonce and her “Bey Hive” arrived on scene and, according to those “in the know” she “changed everything.”

But did she?  Was she even the most significant arrival in that debauched land known as California?  From what I understand, another distinguished guest was on hand: Mason Ramsey.  If you are not familiar with the young man in question, by God you should be.  Please, enjoy:

Well, Mason may not have “gyrated” at Coachella, and worn his sexuality like the world’s most thinly disguised “armor.”  No, he may not have all the sex appeal of Beyonce Knowles, nor her star power born both from her substantial talent but her marriage to a “Mogul” husband “Jay Z.”

But what Mason does have is heart.  And a voice.  Goodness, that voice.  Like the last red wolf ever to cross the border from Mexico into Arizona letting out a howl knowing that his likeness won’t be seen.  Justin Bieber, a young man with his own troubles, but who knows a thing or two about being a child in the spotlight, called his Coachella performance one of the coolest things ever to happen at that venue.

Well, America who are we?  Are we Beyonce?  Or are we Mason?  Can we really have it “both ways?”  Maybe we have to.  Maybe we have to at least try.  But I think first we have to start with the questions.