in 1991, thirtysomething was going strong on tv, meg ryan was still bearable, and being 30 seemed a million years away. 1980s retro hadn’t hit yet and i was dating this guy primarily because he had air conditioning and lived downtown, plus the whole crush thing. he looked like john ritter, did aerobics and read “what color is my parachute?” like it was the bible. (p.s. his parachute was torn) so in my low rent west philly apartment with wall to wall linoleum where when it rained water leaked down the wall over an electric socket, i frenched a man with the shades thrillingly open. then I laid back on my futon and let “mistah do his business" color purple style. business=grinding.
it was more a queer nation activist, scare the neighbors thing than about my actual pleasure. that was reserved for falcon videos with my favorite 1980s porn stars (i love you luke bender!) and the voyeuristic joy of my ivy league university locker room. i’d lost my mental queer virginity 10 years earlier when this kid spencer and me were playing with his pet mouse and spencer mesmerized me by letting the rodent crawl up one leg of his adidas shorts and out the other over and over again. i hadn’t wanted to be a mouse that much since i'd read beverly cleary’s classic tale “the mouse and the motorcycle.” vroom!
i've definitely not been posting as much lately. at first i thought it was because of blog block. then having nothing to say about the world, which would be called more generally world block. but since i always have something to say about just i everything, i ultimately realized it's just been because i've been devoting my energies elsewhere - shopping, social life, netflix, career. so i don't lose the "now" in ultranow, i am giving my blog a promise ring to keep it fed, and you all too. the promise ring is made of tinfoil, because i'm cheap, or at least am again after all the shopping i've been doing. here's some stuff that's been stuck in my brain.
the lindsay lohan "it's not mine!" excuse around the cocaine in her pocket is infinitely implausible. since when has she done anyone a favor? plus this guy in line at a safeway i bought vinegar and a protein bar at said to what i reasoned was his aa buddy that the holding it for someone else deal is totally 6th grade. then he tried to flirt with this woman by saying her dove bar looked good. she tried to unflirt with him by denying his existence.
whoopi goldberg is a horrible choice for the view. she hasn't made me laugh since the color purple. shoulda gone with kathy griffin, babs. whoopi will never get the youtube hits needed to to to...what do youtube hits do?
i'm going to take some graphic design classes at night because that's what night is for because day is for work. i'm totally going bilberry, blueberry and carrot-tastic so my eyes don't fry. when you get older, your lenses get stiffer so it's harder to transition from near to far and back. it can cause strain. and i'm oooollllllldddddd. though i'm still generation x. that won't ever change. now i'm mid to late 30s is all. still have time to be the next grandma moses. plus phyllis diller didn't start comedy until 37, or at least didn't get paid for it until then.
in the back of my head, i think i read somewhere that there is going to be a new fame movie but i'm scared to try to confirm it. fame is nothing without gene anthony ray, so they shouldn't fucking bother. you just know an american idol castoff will be cast and ruin it.
ratatouille is a fine movie, if you like excellent animation, tight action, hordes of rats which when swarming are rather nauseating but when in small groups or as individuals are serviceably cute, and about 40 different morals jammed into the mix. for my book, that's 41 too many. i think i'm going to get a beta. need some life in this apartment, beyond the judy blume books i've been taking out of the library. did i ever mention i dream of being a children's book author, or more specifically a published children's book author, or more specifically judy blume or roald dahl or judy dahl or i guess me because they can't write what i write either. although i swear i would've come up with a book called fudge-a-mania too, just like judy did.
here's the perfect beach read, if the beach is strewn with hypodermic needles. john meyer was (un)fortunate enough to have dated judy garland just months before her o.d., which for judy could also easily have stood for overdone. she was too much in the best sense. heartbreaker is a memoir by someone who treasured, feared and survived his time with the legend. john meyer was as addicted to her as she was to pills/booze/attention. i started this book slow, as it's told in excrutiating detail, some might say a level of detail improbable in its precision. do you remember full conversations from 35 years ago? john meyer does.
but if you take it on faith that during his time with her his senses were so magnified he absorbed all that occurred because he just knew it couldn't last, then that same level of detail is just another layer showing what ironically is the truth about heartbreaker - that it's more about john meyer than judy garland. it's more about the lengths one man will go in reaching out to another human, in what at first may seem an act of sexist paternalism, but ultimately is an attempt to save and transform a life. and at the risk of sounding malthusian, not just any life. judy garland's life.
heartbreaker is a fine read. once i submitted to the ride which i knew would end in tragedy for all, i was able to embrace john meyer's experience and his sometimes poetic text. i appreciated when he veered from reportage into musings on what it all meant. as a bonus, this book in an oblique way, explains liza minnelli. separate from the facts of judy's life and of his time with her, heartbreaker is a glimpse into the life of musicians, with the most (only) fun parts of the book being extended narratives about arrangements, lyrics and patter. the books comes with a cd which will take you even closer to the action, but careful, judy wants your undying love and devotion and she'll steal it from beyond the grave if you let her. at least let her in through this book. who knows, maybe it will stir another stonewall? despite john meyer's semi-uncomfortableness with men of the fair sexuality. or maybe fruit was in common parlance back then.
as jerri blank of strangers with candy would put it “i've got something to say!” which is really just to hype this killer poetry book an old friend from philly named CAConrad sent me. see it’s his book cause he writes and stuff which is superneat. and his words are too. either superneat or superthreatening or both. the book is called Deviant Propulsion and here is my book report on Deviant Propulsion. this book is queer as in trickster as in different as in crazy as in intoxicating as in addictive as in lively as in lovely. i haven’t written a book report since about 1985 so the best way i can put it is the way he can put it.
from “Celebrities I’ve Seen Offstage”: “John Waters signing autographs Pegalina asked if she could bite his neck he agreed with a laugh which he soon regretted with a scream and asked us to leave we walked into The Rose Tattoo Pegalina announcing ‘I HAVE TASTED THE FLESH OF A GENIUS!’”
from “14 Conversations”: “MAN WITH CLIPBOARD: Would you please sign our petition to save dolphins caught in tuna nets?
ME: If I sign, does it mean I don’t care about the tuna?”
and then the poem titled with great clarity “For Straight Guys Who’ve Considered Suicide When the K-Y Is Enough”, an elegantly violent diatribe against straight boys who believe all us faggots lust after them, which even if it were true, we wouldn’t want it to feed their egos, right? my favorite of the moment is an untitled piece playing with time and perception which begins "keep emailing Cher's website". the character in the poem has his own reason for doing so. if you have one too, try firstname.lastname@example.org.
if you’re pro people and pro emotion and pro individuality and especially pro working class truthtelling delicious queer, this one’s for you for real and perfect as a gift for that stuck in a rut or stuck in the mud person who needs shaking up.
okay i've been avoiding brokeback mountain.
maybe it's the lines around the block, though that must have calmed
down by now. maybe it's everyone else talking about it so much. maybe
it's jake gyllenhaal's annoying sister maggie, who technically isn't
even in the movie. i've been going to my share of flicks lately and i
love ang lee movies - or more specifically i love the ice storm, hulk was pretty good, and i never saw crouching tiger, hidden dragon. the real reason i suspect is i've already had my fill of gay cowboys through my copy of the 1972 pulp novel gay vigilante, painfully excerpted here:
moved his hands over Holt's back, holding the young man to his body,
and Holt offered no resistance at all. "I'm human. I'm past thirty. I'm
tired. I've never really had anyone to care for, much less care for me.
I'm lonely, boy, I'm very very lonely. I've a need. And it doesn't seem
to go away ever. Last night I lay watching you for a long time, and
you're something splendid to watch. I could hear the cows lowing out
there, and the saloon noise and the pianos. I could hear the laughter
and the shouting, friends to friends. And I didn't have a friend. Then
I realized what I had lying right beside me. You were so peaceful, and
when you said that name, Troy,
it was wonderful, and when you said, 'Troy, I love you,' I knew maybe I
had a chance. It was up to you." He tilted Holt's head and rubbed his
nose against Holt's. "I think I love you. G-d knows I'd sure like to."
"I...I..." Holt started, his voice cracking against the morning quiet.
need to answer just yet. Think on it. Ride with me for a day or so. Get
to know me. I ain't no looker, but I'll treat you kindly."
"I know that."
"Will you think on it?"
Holt smiled and kissed Hammer's forehead. "I'll think on it."
"Hot dog! That's all I can ask," Hammer said. "Let me buy you some chow."
"I'd like that even more right now."
"You bastard!" teased Hammer, slapping Holt on the ass. The sound of it rang throught the room.
"The word is whore," said Holt, laughing even though his behind smarted like hell.
so i've been reading all about love: new visions by bell hooks and dammit if she isn't a powerful transformative writer. which i knew when i bought the book well over a year ago. which is why i've only skimmed it until now. finally i'm reading it. really reading it. ready to hear and know that i've been lying to myself about who i've been with, turning men into what i want them to be in my imagination and ignoring all reality as to who they really are. well none of that has worked in creating love. surprise. it makes me feel better for a bit then it all crashes. lying to myself about who i'm with and lying to who i'm with about who i am (if only by not being myself fully). i'm over it. done. but to get done, i'm going to remind myself of lies i've told myself about specific men. in every case, these lies just prolonged the agony. have you lied?
lie: he's introspective and mysterious truth: he's a quiet drunk (not that that's a bad thing but i don't want to date one)
lie: he's sexually adventurous and an entrepreneur truth: he's a prostitute (not that that's a bad thing but i don't want to date one)
lie: he's an excellent listener truth: he has nothing to say
lie: he's a poet truth: he's unemployed
lie: he's deep and complex truth: he's as deep and complex as anorexic nicole richie's non-existent shit
lie: he's made it to a good place in his life
truth: he's given up
lie: he's got a great sense of humor
truth: he laughs at my jokes and tells none of his own
lie: he loves me
truth: he wants my cock
lie: he loves me
truth: he's killing time until something better comes along
lie: he loves me
truth: he's cheating on me
lie: he loves me
truth: he's stalking me
lie: he's sensitive
truth: he watches oprah but he's a lout
lie: he's in naturally good shape
truth: now that he's with me he will never work out again
lie: he wants more than one night
truth: he wants less than one night then wants to go back to the bar to pick up someone else for less than one night
lie: he's the one for me truth: i haven't met the one for me yet
this last truth is the most important. this last truth is the one that makes me smile. on to the next chapter. damn you bell hooks! what the hell are you going to help me face next?
this is the book that needed to happen. whether it's pics of a boy's
madonna themed bar mitzvah, including him doing his own massively
rehearsed vogue exhibition in which he climactically takes off his
jacket to reveal the giant madonna head emblazoned on the back of his
dress shirt (yes he's gay), or the mystical appearance of a robot
butler (what?), bar mitzvah disco is brilliant, honest, revealing high
class kitsch. and though the title is bar mitzvah, girls (for whom the
term would be bas mitzvah) are featured as well. more at barmitzvahdisco.com.
right now they're soliciting catskills vacation photos so if you've got
them share them and maybe you'll make it into their next book. for
those not in the jewish know, first of all, let me suck your cock or
whatever's down there, and then here's a borscht belt wiki.
as for my own bar mitzvah reception, let me sum it up this way:
larry slack and his orchestra (holy rentedowned tux batman!) update: the larry slack himself e-mailed me in september 2007 that he and his bandmate's tuxes were all owned, not rented. sorry larry! as for my duds, i was in a department store bought suit, not a rented or owned tux. rock on, 13 year old pinstripe suit hell. wish i still had you so i could burn you.)
bubblegum blowing contest
musical chairs, with the girls as the chairs (pam cohen was sturdy!)
45 record giveaway (with such classics as burning down the house and safety dance)
new york, new york kickline (girls only unfortunately)
shadow tag in the parking lot
slipping away to egg the church across the street
involuntary investment in the u.s. government (i.e. savings bonds)
that one gay uncle
fatty grisly beef
of hebrew school classmates based on obscure in my own head popularity
contest belying the fact that even though i was at the very center i
was still the least popular ever