Thursday, March 19, 2015
The Return of the Legend of Nastybabyboy
Nastybabyboy continues to be 1 of my favorite dudes on the web. He's fun, flirty, and seems pretty fearless. Love him :)
Truthful Phone Calls
Do you ever really say what you're thinking one hundred percent of the time over the phone? First of all, I hate talking on the phone. There's an unwritten law when people talk on the phone that the conversation will go like this: I tell you some cool stuff that's been happening in my life, you tell me some cool stuff that's been happening in your life, we both agree we need to talk more often, and then we hang up and go back to our pretty much totally uncool existence. Unless your friend DOES happen to be cool in which case my sympathies cuz that must be frustrating as fuck. But my point is: in this preordained strokefest, where could you possibly find time to fit in the fact that you cried yourself to sleep the previous night because you found a gray pubic hair and you weren't quite ready for that shit? Or maybe my friend found out that his 12 year old was planning to kill him and he's obviously worried. But are you going to tell somebody that whom you only speak to over the phone every 6 months? Probably not. By the way, both of these things may or may not have happened. That's not the point. As someone who prides himself on not being a hypocrite and wearing my heart on my sleeve, I find the false cheeriness of phone calls sort of offensive. That's not to say I always need to have honesty. Unless I already lust after my friend I don't need to know that he jerked off with the same hand he used to dial the phone. But too often I find myself saying "I'm fine" when I'm really not. Or "Yes let's get together" when I know damn well this person can't be trusted to commit to a breakfast cereal let alone complicated plans to hang out several weeks from now. I guess I'd prefer a happy medium where we COULD be honest if we wanted to without being embarrassed. Maybe its just me and my weird sense of male upbringing that taught me never to show emotion or admit that I need help (though I have done both on occasion and often when it was required). Even recently though this doesn't relate to a phone call but a straight male friend hurt me pretty bad by standing me up. I know he didn't mean it and I know it was silly but I was truly upset. But because he was straight and I didn't want him to read into my feelings I kept them to myself. Yet here I am a month later still hurt by that silly little incident. I guess the take-away is that feelings are very complex and I hate having to disguise them over a phone call where we both talk about everything but what we're really concerned about. But I suppose the opposite could be incredibly uncomfortable as well.
"Hi Sally, how are you?"
"Awful. I've had diarrhea for six days. I can barely leave the house."
"Oh my God. I'm so...sorry. Are the kids doing all right at least?"
"Kevin is doing amazing. He took first place in the county spelling bee. I'm so proud of him. But he has ADHD so we've got him on a Ritalin cocktail. Karen...she shit herself on the school bus yesterday (sobs erupt). I just don't know what to do with her. I'm speaking to a priest now. But enough of my problems (blows nose loudly). How are you?"
"I can't say anything better than I'm maintaining. Even when my husband is in the room I'm so lonely I want to die. Essentially my pillow is so wet from the tears that I feel like I'm sleeping in a water bed every night. You know, the usual."
Honestly, I REALLY don't want to have that phone conversation either. But I will try to tell people important things like "I miss you" or "I love you" or "You hurt me" or "I am hurting" when it is required. I'll just shoot for that happy medium in between soul-baring/crushing honestly and pointless blather. Be back later I have to go make a phone call to my friend.
"Hi Sally, how are you?"
"Awful. I've had diarrhea for six days. I can barely leave the house."
"Oh my God. I'm so...sorry. Are the kids doing all right at least?"
"Kevin is doing amazing. He took first place in the county spelling bee. I'm so proud of him. But he has ADHD so we've got him on a Ritalin cocktail. Karen...she shit herself on the school bus yesterday (sobs erupt). I just don't know what to do with her. I'm speaking to a priest now. But enough of my problems (blows nose loudly). How are you?"
"I can't say anything better than I'm maintaining. Even when my husband is in the room I'm so lonely I want to die. Essentially my pillow is so wet from the tears that I feel like I'm sleeping in a water bed every night. You know, the usual."
Honestly, I REALLY don't want to have that phone conversation either. But I will try to tell people important things like "I miss you" or "I love you" or "You hurt me" or "I am hurting" when it is required. I'll just shoot for that happy medium in between soul-baring/crushing honestly and pointless blather. Be back later I have to go make a phone call to my friend.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
Star of My Affections
Hey there young and handsome you should know the drill, won't you take that pill
and get famous.
It's a fleeting kind of fame though it comes with frills, and all the perfect thrills
of desire.
It's a sawboned affair, leaves you gasping for air
while you claw to the top, pristine cream of the crop
not the everlasting star of my affections.
Happy you can join the overachievers, once doubtful believers
in your life.
All the shiny and the bold, heads too big to uphold
from the haze there.
Leaves you on your knees, others do as they please
And your mournful despair, it gets lost on the air
as you fade from the star of my affections.
And I told you to breathe
but you didn't believe
that I meant what I said
as I cradled your head
but I did.....but I did.
Its all in the past, I told you this was meant to last
when our eyes met.
I can heal those wounds with something better that's bloomed
here in our touch.
It's a moment so rare, that it's almost unfair.
Better seize that chance, take my hand and let's dance
as the everlasting star of my affections.
And I'll give you my heart
for us never to part.
It's not much but it's mine
now it's yours to define
forever and ever...forever and ever.
All hail the star
because that's what you are
the everlasting star of my affections.
and get famous.
It's a fleeting kind of fame though it comes with frills, and all the perfect thrills
of desire.
It's a sawboned affair, leaves you gasping for air
while you claw to the top, pristine cream of the crop
not the everlasting star of my affections.
Happy you can join the overachievers, once doubtful believers
in your life.
All the shiny and the bold, heads too big to uphold
from the haze there.
Leaves you on your knees, others do as they please
And your mournful despair, it gets lost on the air
as you fade from the star of my affections.
And I told you to breathe
but you didn't believe
that I meant what I said
as I cradled your head
but I did.....but I did.
Its all in the past, I told you this was meant to last
when our eyes met.
I can heal those wounds with something better that's bloomed
here in our touch.
It's a moment so rare, that it's almost unfair.
Better seize that chance, take my hand and let's dance
as the everlasting star of my affections.
And I'll give you my heart
for us never to part.
It's not much but it's mine
now it's yours to define
forever and ever...forever and ever.
All hail the star
because that's what you are
the everlasting star of my affections.
Thursday, March 5, 2015
The Worst Dates Ever
Valentine's passed last month and, as usual, it got me kinda introspective. Considering last year my boyfriend dumped me 2 weeks before Valentine's, introspective was me getting off light. But I started thinking about horrible dates. We've all experienced them. You would think eventually the dating pool would shrink enough that you could at least get them over and done with but there always seems to be a new contestant vying for the title of worst date ever. Honestly, I've had my fair share, but at this point in my life I've gotten incredibly good at weeding out the crazies before the date even begins. And with age comes a certain brusqueness. Where years ago I might have continued with the date out of simple decorum, I've now come to the conclusion that time is too fucking valuable to waste on someone who will simply rob you of it without any payback. I'll end that shit before the appetizers come if I have to. I don't play. But here are a few of my candidates for worst date ever.
1) Lisa Runewicz. Picture it. New Jersey, 1986. Junior year of high school. You have me, looking kind of like a chubbier, "in the flesh" version of Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club. Except with hair spray. Lots and lots of hair spray. I knew my place in society. I wasn't cool. I would never be cool. But I was funny. Well read. And an all-around nice guy. I would never ever have thought of asking out anyone too far above my station. This was the era of Rush' Subdivisions, and for anyone who thought that song was exaggerated let me tsk tsk u right now. The Breakfast Club was not a work of fantasy. I wept like a baby when I saw that movie because it really spoke to my soul and what I was going through. I was 15 when it came out, and I knew all too well about societal castes and being unpopular. When Brian, the character played by Hall in the film, told of his failed suicide attempt, I understood the feeling. I'd already been pondering suicide for several years by that time. But I digress. It had taken me several years to gather up the courage to even ask a girl out. I knew I was gay by this point, but I was in a denial phase. I thought if I dated females like society told me I should then I could make it go away. So I chose Lisa, a semi-homely girl who played field hockey and, oddly enough, was obsessed with looking as much like Molly Ringwald as she could. She wore her hair shortish like Molly (though it was dark and straight, unlike Molly's ginger curls and waves), dressed in the same sort of short skirt/sleeveless blouse/leggings combo that Molly rocked all through her John Hughes phase, and, the piece de resistance, wore the same stylish fedora that Molly wore in Sixteen Candles. True, she played a sport so was at least 1 rung above me with my school newspaper cred, but she had never been anything close to popular. I figured at the very least we'd have a nice dinner and I could actually say I had been on a date. But to my surprise, she had caveats. She would go out with me, she said, but I wouldn't be allowed to tell anyone. It had to be a secret. We talked a few minutes longer, but I was already holding onto a pretty big secret, I didn't need anymore. I told her never mind. Happily, she seemed kind of shocked that I turned her down. Now, all these years later, I'm pretty shocked myself. I could have simply kept my mouth shut and probably got to at least second base if thats what I was really interested in. But it wasn't. And I'm proud, in retrospect, that I didn't ditch my integrity to gain some experience. You could argue that I got what I deserved by choosing what I thought would be an easily attainable girl who turned out to actually not want to date a chubby geek in a Def Leppard shirt. But fuck that. She was copying Molly Ringwald lock, stock, and fedora. How much goddamn status did she think she had to lose? I'm glad I never saw her again. So, in essence, one of the worst dates I've ever had never even got off the ground.
2) My very first boyfriend was named Christian. He was loud, fem, and unabashedly direct. He was also 6 foot 4 and a towering presence. The worst date with him took place at the very end of our relationship. But I'd be remiss at starting there without explaining about him and 1 of the very best dates I ever had. I actually met him at a party that a friend of a friend dragged me to. I was ditched within the first 5 minutes and left to my own devices which was terrifying both then and now, but this was my very FIRST queer gathering so it was doubly frightening. Christian found me by myself at the party, talked to me for hours and made me laugh, and we made plans to go on a date several nights later. We went to see Independence Day, of all things. Great movie and since it was our first date we actually watched the movie and didn't mack all over each other during the quieter moments. Afterward, we went back to my place to drink some beers and chill. Keep in mind, we were both young and horny, so without much ado after walking through the door we were naked and writhing on my living room floor. It was pretty glorious, if I can toot my own horn a bit. But afterward, as I put my head down against his chest and listened to him breathing, his body began to shudder slowly. And then harder. Until he broke out into quiet sobs. I raised my head in alarm. It was pretty disturbing to have somebody break down into hysterics five minutes after you just fucked them what you thought was silly. But as I stroked the side of his face and asked him what was wrong, he wiped his tears away and I could see that they were not tears of pain, but of joy. You see, I neglected to mention that Christian also had a very large red birthmark running right across half of his face. It was, of course, very noticeable, but it hadn't given me a second's pause when I first thought about dating him. He was handsome and funny no matter what. But I hadn't realized just how much that birthmark had been holding Christian himself back. When I asked him why he was crying, he said "I didn't think anyone would want to do anything but fuck me. I didn't think anyone would find me attractive. You're so special." And boy, did I feel special after that. The moment passed but we stayed there for a while with out naked bodies intertwined watching tv and shooting the breeze until the wee hours. And that ended up being one of my most special dates. But fast forward six months, what seems like an eternity when you're young and gay. By that point we were both getting on each other's nerves. We knew it was over but neither of us had the balls to officially break it off. But the last straw came that summer. My Aunt owned a massive house where she would frequently host us during visits to Long Beach Island. It was right on the bay, so we could swim there or in the ocean, and they had just bought a jet ski. I'm not sure if I actually invited Christian along hoping the semi-romantic setting would calm things down between us a little or if he barged his way into the invite for far more selfish reasons. But by the 5th hour of our first night there I was aware that this was going to be one of the worst dates in my life. We actively hated each other and were mostly not even talking. But worse, it was MY family's house and Christian was roaming around riding the jet ski, eating up all of the food, and generally acting like it was his house to invade. Essentially, he was using me for the weekend away. That night I got my revenge, and though the date was bad, I did get one positive out of it. I suppose guilt or simple horniness made Christian ask me for sex that night. And after several months of actively seeking it, I hate fucked the shit out of him. With every thrust I imagined I was shoving a bushido blade into him. And it did feel good and give me some sense of payback, even though he ended it several days afterward. Unofficially, of course. The gutless weasel simply stopped calling me because it was easier than actually saying the words "Its over." But that weekend was hell, which is why it made this list.
3) Curiously, my next long term boyfriend and my last worst date (on this list, anyway) follows a similar formula to the previous one and also involves a lovely but surprising first date and ended in a pretty devastating one. His name was Chris as well. Weirdly, I dated three boyfriends named Chris right in a row. It was pretty mind blowing. But this Chris was a polar opposite to the last. Shy, closeted, and a virgin, he was sweet and caring but required a lot of patience since every touch or romantic word made him freak out. Our first date was to go see Titanic. Yes, you have discovered a pattern here. I love movies so that will always be a preference when going on dates. And if I can find someone who is as obsessed with them as I am its usually a good sign. In any event, we went to see Titanic. I had seen it already and loved it. He hadn't. By the time the ship is perpendicular and about to go down and that chick lets go of the railing and falls and bounces off of the propeller, he was a sobbing mess. And by the end, he was still sobbing. And when we got to the car. All he could manage for twenty minutes in between wracked sobs was "Those poor people." But I hugged him for a long time. And we made out. And then went to the shore where we lie under the moonlight and told stories about our past and laughed. It was actually pretty beautiful. So my first date with him began as a source of comfort. Actually, our whole relationship was me acting as a source of comfort for him so he could find himself, be comfortable, and be proud. I never got to see the fruits of my labor however. I never even got him to take his underwear off if I recall, even though we dated for about six months. I had the patience of a saint, as I think about it now. Six months later, we were doing fine or so I thought and he was becoming more comfortable being gay with every date. It was New Year's Eve. We were having a massive party at my apartment and I was excited because it was the first time he would be meeting my extended family and all of my friends. He was incredibly nervous. So much so that after just two hours and countless drinks, drunk and extremely nervous, he ran out of the apartment and got into his car and drove away heading the 25 miles to where he lived. I was running after him in tears, screaming for him to stop because he could barely walk without teetering let alone drive a car. And as he sped away I just stood there in the cold sobbing, my friends hugging me as I worried whether or not he would survive the trip home let alone be ok with calling me his "boyfriend". I went to bed with my eyes still wet. And didn't hear from him for several days. At which point I received a Dear John letter from him in my mailbox. I was absolutely crushed. To make matters worse, several months later, still reeling from the break up, I was walking through Penn Station in New York City when I saw him walking hand in hand with an attractive man he was obviously dating.
I don't begrudge life throwing me the curveballs of these awful dates. I sometimes begrudge the people involved for helping to cause them. But if I'm being generous, they helped to shape me into the person that I am today so I can only be so upset. That seems to be the healthiest way to look at it.
1) Lisa Runewicz. Picture it. New Jersey, 1986. Junior year of high school. You have me, looking kind of like a chubbier, "in the flesh" version of Anthony Michael Hall in The Breakfast Club. Except with hair spray. Lots and lots of hair spray. I knew my place in society. I wasn't cool. I would never be cool. But I was funny. Well read. And an all-around nice guy. I would never ever have thought of asking out anyone too far above my station. This was the era of Rush' Subdivisions, and for anyone who thought that song was exaggerated let me tsk tsk u right now. The Breakfast Club was not a work of fantasy. I wept like a baby when I saw that movie because it really spoke to my soul and what I was going through. I was 15 when it came out, and I knew all too well about societal castes and being unpopular. When Brian, the character played by Hall in the film, told of his failed suicide attempt, I understood the feeling. I'd already been pondering suicide for several years by that time. But I digress. It had taken me several years to gather up the courage to even ask a girl out. I knew I was gay by this point, but I was in a denial phase. I thought if I dated females like society told me I should then I could make it go away. So I chose Lisa, a semi-homely girl who played field hockey and, oddly enough, was obsessed with looking as much like Molly Ringwald as she could. She wore her hair shortish like Molly (though it was dark and straight, unlike Molly's ginger curls and waves), dressed in the same sort of short skirt/sleeveless blouse/leggings combo that Molly rocked all through her John Hughes phase, and, the piece de resistance, wore the same stylish fedora that Molly wore in Sixteen Candles. True, she played a sport so was at least 1 rung above me with my school newspaper cred, but she had never been anything close to popular. I figured at the very least we'd have a nice dinner and I could actually say I had been on a date. But to my surprise, she had caveats. She would go out with me, she said, but I wouldn't be allowed to tell anyone. It had to be a secret. We talked a few minutes longer, but I was already holding onto a pretty big secret, I didn't need anymore. I told her never mind. Happily, she seemed kind of shocked that I turned her down. Now, all these years later, I'm pretty shocked myself. I could have simply kept my mouth shut and probably got to at least second base if thats what I was really interested in. But it wasn't. And I'm proud, in retrospect, that I didn't ditch my integrity to gain some experience. You could argue that I got what I deserved by choosing what I thought would be an easily attainable girl who turned out to actually not want to date a chubby geek in a Def Leppard shirt. But fuck that. She was copying Molly Ringwald lock, stock, and fedora. How much goddamn status did she think she had to lose? I'm glad I never saw her again. So, in essence, one of the worst dates I've ever had never even got off the ground.
2) My very first boyfriend was named Christian. He was loud, fem, and unabashedly direct. He was also 6 foot 4 and a towering presence. The worst date with him took place at the very end of our relationship. But I'd be remiss at starting there without explaining about him and 1 of the very best dates I ever had. I actually met him at a party that a friend of a friend dragged me to. I was ditched within the first 5 minutes and left to my own devices which was terrifying both then and now, but this was my very FIRST queer gathering so it was doubly frightening. Christian found me by myself at the party, talked to me for hours and made me laugh, and we made plans to go on a date several nights later. We went to see Independence Day, of all things. Great movie and since it was our first date we actually watched the movie and didn't mack all over each other during the quieter moments. Afterward, we went back to my place to drink some beers and chill. Keep in mind, we were both young and horny, so without much ado after walking through the door we were naked and writhing on my living room floor. It was pretty glorious, if I can toot my own horn a bit. But afterward, as I put my head down against his chest and listened to him breathing, his body began to shudder slowly. And then harder. Until he broke out into quiet sobs. I raised my head in alarm. It was pretty disturbing to have somebody break down into hysterics five minutes after you just fucked them what you thought was silly. But as I stroked the side of his face and asked him what was wrong, he wiped his tears away and I could see that they were not tears of pain, but of joy. You see, I neglected to mention that Christian also had a very large red birthmark running right across half of his face. It was, of course, very noticeable, but it hadn't given me a second's pause when I first thought about dating him. He was handsome and funny no matter what. But I hadn't realized just how much that birthmark had been holding Christian himself back. When I asked him why he was crying, he said "I didn't think anyone would want to do anything but fuck me. I didn't think anyone would find me attractive. You're so special." And boy, did I feel special after that. The moment passed but we stayed there for a while with out naked bodies intertwined watching tv and shooting the breeze until the wee hours. And that ended up being one of my most special dates. But fast forward six months, what seems like an eternity when you're young and gay. By that point we were both getting on each other's nerves. We knew it was over but neither of us had the balls to officially break it off. But the last straw came that summer. My Aunt owned a massive house where she would frequently host us during visits to Long Beach Island. It was right on the bay, so we could swim there or in the ocean, and they had just bought a jet ski. I'm not sure if I actually invited Christian along hoping the semi-romantic setting would calm things down between us a little or if he barged his way into the invite for far more selfish reasons. But by the 5th hour of our first night there I was aware that this was going to be one of the worst dates in my life. We actively hated each other and were mostly not even talking. But worse, it was MY family's house and Christian was roaming around riding the jet ski, eating up all of the food, and generally acting like it was his house to invade. Essentially, he was using me for the weekend away. That night I got my revenge, and though the date was bad, I did get one positive out of it. I suppose guilt or simple horniness made Christian ask me for sex that night. And after several months of actively seeking it, I hate fucked the shit out of him. With every thrust I imagined I was shoving a bushido blade into him. And it did feel good and give me some sense of payback, even though he ended it several days afterward. Unofficially, of course. The gutless weasel simply stopped calling me because it was easier than actually saying the words "Its over." But that weekend was hell, which is why it made this list.
3) Curiously, my next long term boyfriend and my last worst date (on this list, anyway) follows a similar formula to the previous one and also involves a lovely but surprising first date and ended in a pretty devastating one. His name was Chris as well. Weirdly, I dated three boyfriends named Chris right in a row. It was pretty mind blowing. But this Chris was a polar opposite to the last. Shy, closeted, and a virgin, he was sweet and caring but required a lot of patience since every touch or romantic word made him freak out. Our first date was to go see Titanic. Yes, you have discovered a pattern here. I love movies so that will always be a preference when going on dates. And if I can find someone who is as obsessed with them as I am its usually a good sign. In any event, we went to see Titanic. I had seen it already and loved it. He hadn't. By the time the ship is perpendicular and about to go down and that chick lets go of the railing and falls and bounces off of the propeller, he was a sobbing mess. And by the end, he was still sobbing. And when we got to the car. All he could manage for twenty minutes in between wracked sobs was "Those poor people." But I hugged him for a long time. And we made out. And then went to the shore where we lie under the moonlight and told stories about our past and laughed. It was actually pretty beautiful. So my first date with him began as a source of comfort. Actually, our whole relationship was me acting as a source of comfort for him so he could find himself, be comfortable, and be proud. I never got to see the fruits of my labor however. I never even got him to take his underwear off if I recall, even though we dated for about six months. I had the patience of a saint, as I think about it now. Six months later, we were doing fine or so I thought and he was becoming more comfortable being gay with every date. It was New Year's Eve. We were having a massive party at my apartment and I was excited because it was the first time he would be meeting my extended family and all of my friends. He was incredibly nervous. So much so that after just two hours and countless drinks, drunk and extremely nervous, he ran out of the apartment and got into his car and drove away heading the 25 miles to where he lived. I was running after him in tears, screaming for him to stop because he could barely walk without teetering let alone drive a car. And as he sped away I just stood there in the cold sobbing, my friends hugging me as I worried whether or not he would survive the trip home let alone be ok with calling me his "boyfriend". I went to bed with my eyes still wet. And didn't hear from him for several days. At which point I received a Dear John letter from him in my mailbox. I was absolutely crushed. To make matters worse, several months later, still reeling from the break up, I was walking through Penn Station in New York City when I saw him walking hand in hand with an attractive man he was obviously dating.
I don't begrudge life throwing me the curveballs of these awful dates. I sometimes begrudge the people involved for helping to cause them. But if I'm being generous, they helped to shape me into the person that I am today so I can only be so upset. That seems to be the healthiest way to look at it.
Wednesday, March 4, 2015
Anonymous Hottie Ahead
Friday, February 13, 2015
3 Books
I've always been a voracious reader. Admittedly the internet has curbed this somewhat. Whereas I used to read an average of 3 books per month, now I'm lucky if I read 3 books per year. But I am always reading SOMETHING. Whether it be a political blog, a movie review, a graphic novel, or the few magazines to which I am a dedicated monthly subscriber. Reading has always been 1 of my biggest passions. Someone asked me recently what was the 1 book that affected me the most deeply. I couldn't really narrow it down to 1 when they asked me, and I'm not going to do that in this blog either. Instead I decided to talk about 3 books in particular that helped to shape me into the person that I am today. They will not be the "best" books I've ever read, simply a few of the titles that affected me. First up is a strange choice which will probably have you scratching your head in confusion, but let me explain...
When I was 13 my Nana took me and my brother to the Garden State Plaza Mall. This was looooong before the hip remodel it got in the 90's. It was still a fabulous slice of 80's awesomeness with a Woolworth's with an old fashioned lunch counter where you could get a grilled cheese sandwich and a milkshake for probably $3. On this particular day, my Nana allowed my brother and I to spend a small amount on whatever we wanted. Normally I would buy some comics from the comic shop or an action figure from Toys R Us. But recently I had gotten much more into reading, so I always wanted to hang out in the book store. I'd also begun writing a few years earlier, so the two went hand in hand. Every cool book I read was inspiration for my next story. I'd also begun watching General Hospital with my Mom and actually found it to be pretty exciting. These were the days when daytime soaps had the craziest batshit storylines. Nothing like the garden variety, but no less fascinating, melodrama of today. Luke and Laura fell in love while they stopped the evil Cassidine from taking over the world with his freeze machine (General Hospital). Clint bumped his head and went back in time to the Old West version of Llanview (One Life to Live). I mean, this shit was loopy. I only watched General Hospital, but I saw this book called Soap World in the store and became fascinated with the fact that sooo much had happened on the show before I started watching but most of the characters still on it were related to the original people. I still find that fascinating today. I've long since stopped watching General Hospital, but now I watch a Clif Notes version of Days of Our Lives to follow the coolest gay couple in daytime, Will and Sonny. And Days, in particular, is a show that all started with 1 family, the Hortons. And the Hortons are still 1 of the main focuses. I like that. I like the sense of history and nostalgia already built in. And this book detailed every soap that was on the air in 1983, which was a hell of a lot more than what is remaining today. It told detailed plotlines from start to present. Who had an abortion, who killed who's husband, who had an affair when they should have been minding the baby. It was pretty awesome, actually. But the capper was when I was looking through the General Hospital section I saw a pic of a very young Mark Hamill aka Luke Skywalker himself from when he did a stint on the show that I hadn't even known about. I decided to get it there and then. As I think back on it now, I cherish the fact that my Nana didn't even think twice about me reading the book. There was no "Oh thats not fit for someone your age" or "That's not a book boys want to read". She was happy I was reading and happy it concerned 1 of her favorite shows. I can't say the same for my friends. Sometime later when they found out I was an avid watcher of soaps (after eventually adding Dallas and Dynasty to the mix), they invented a fake disease which they said I had contracted that caused me to watch feminine shows. They called it "TremuaSHAWitis" which sounds stupid and should have been laughed off with a "Fuck you" but I remember it hurting at the time. Of course these were the same "best friends" who would later ask me to not talk or hang with them in school anymore now that they had joined the track team, though it was ok for me to talk with them on the phone. But I digress. The book was fun and frothy, and I perused it all summer and later that year, began writing my own soap, THE INTRIGUE ADVENTURERS! Yea it was pretty cheesy...
I couldn't draw for shit. Every character looked the same except for their hair (though I at least knew enough to scribble on Michael Jackson's face so that he appeared to be of a darker complexion). Luckily my works of art only adorned the cover. Note also I copied the comics code authority seal and also patented my own logo: A STEVEN SHAW EPIC! They were fun times. I had kidnappings, affairs, murders, plots to take over the city of San Francisco, and much, much more.
Yes, I'm counting a comic as a book. It certainly meant as much to me at the time. I'd been reading comics for a while by then. This wouldn't be the comic that got me started. That distinction would fall on The New Teen Titans #1. I loved team books (still do) and that 1 was drawn by 1 of my favorite comic artists ever, George Perez. Plus the heroes were pretty close to me in age so it was easy to get caught up in their problems. But Avengers was, is, and always will be my favorite title. There were all the heavy hitters of Marvel in one spot: Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, The Scarlet Witch, Vision, Hawkeye. And the team was always changing so you always had new characters to grow to love. Plus they weren't averse to featuring soap opera elements in their stories, which I loved. Ms. Marvel was still a fairly new character at this point and a new addition to the team who'd been doubting herself ever since she joined. In this story, the 200th issue of the original run which started back in 1963 (the same year as Doctor Who, the Kennedy assassination, and the death of Marilyn Monroe), Carol Danvers suddenly becomes pregnant. Within a matter of days, she gives birth to a child which grows into a startlingly handsome space entity who I assume wants to rule the world (its been decades since I have read it) and a fierce battle ensues. If I remember correctly (talking about it now I see I'm going to have to buy a copy because its making me want to read it again), by the end of the story the entity falls in love with Ms. Marvel (technically his "mother") and whisks her away to an uncertain future. Ms. Marvel as a character would go on to have an amazing history getting amnesia, losing her powers, gaining new ones, joining and leaving several teams, until once again she was a powerhouse in the Marvel canon. The Avengers was being drawn at this time by another of my favorite comic artists of all time, John Byrne. But oddly enough, if I'm correct, George Perez was brought on to draw the anniversary issue. And it looked amazing. Perez has a way of filling every minute space of page with something intricate and fabulous to look at. He is a genius. And I was hooked. My interest in comics has waxed and waned over the years (its so goddamn expensive now to follow anything faithfully), but it all started as a passion with this issue. And it will never go away, thankfully.
I notice nobody ever puts It near the top when they list Stephen King's best work. Everybody loves the other heavy hitters: The Stand, The Shining, Carrie. Those are all awesome. But this was the one that did it for me. I was always into horror from the time my Dad woke me up in the middle of the night when I was 7 to watch The Thing From Another World on tv. Remember, this was looong before videos and 24 hour movie channels. Plus this was also the first massive book I chose to read on my own. It was over a 1000 pages. It was a fucking doorstop. But people had told me good things. I started to read the story of a group of people who were raised in Derry, Maine and who had all gone through something extraordinary there when they were children. If you haven't read the book before, without giving too much away, it concerns an evil being called Pennywise who appears to people usually as a clown, just before murdering them horribly. It is the story of what happens when Pennywise returns after a long absence and the children, now grown, who once vanquished him have to return to Derry and face their fears so that they can defeat him once and for all. Its packed with scary stuff, a heavy sense of nostalgia (which in case you haven't guessed already I absolutely love), and disturbing scenes. Luckily I do not suffer from coulrophobia or I might not have been able to finish it. It is an amazing book. Thinking back now, this was a time when queer novels were not easily obtained from the book store, let alone the library which were almost always rainbow free. And pre-Amazon or Ebay, you were out of luck if you couldn't travel to a big city to check out a gay bookstore. And I remember very clearly It having several queer themed passages in it. In retrospect, they're probably not very flattering. Pennywise's first victim upon returning is a man coming from a night out in a gay bar, and if I recall he is being gay bashed at the time. And the other scene involves two of the bullies who torment our heroes as children. When they are alone in the woods together reading dirty magazines, the older bully begins to masturbate his friend. The reaction is immediate and I'm sure (though I can't remember verbatim) "faggot" is thrown around quite insultingly, after which the older boy is killed by Pennywise. Its startling to me as I think about it now that a subliminal message from this (probably not the intended one) is that gay sex equals death. Luckily at the time I didn't see it that way. All I could think was "Holy shit the dude just started jerking off his friend that's hot!" I was always puerile, I guess. But beyond that, It is still an excellent read. Maybe one day soon I will pick it up again.
When I was 13 my Nana took me and my brother to the Garden State Plaza Mall. This was looooong before the hip remodel it got in the 90's. It was still a fabulous slice of 80's awesomeness with a Woolworth's with an old fashioned lunch counter where you could get a grilled cheese sandwich and a milkshake for probably $3. On this particular day, my Nana allowed my brother and I to spend a small amount on whatever we wanted. Normally I would buy some comics from the comic shop or an action figure from Toys R Us. But recently I had gotten much more into reading, so I always wanted to hang out in the book store. I'd also begun writing a few years earlier, so the two went hand in hand. Every cool book I read was inspiration for my next story. I'd also begun watching General Hospital with my Mom and actually found it to be pretty exciting. These were the days when daytime soaps had the craziest batshit storylines. Nothing like the garden variety, but no less fascinating, melodrama of today. Luke and Laura fell in love while they stopped the evil Cassidine from taking over the world with his freeze machine (General Hospital). Clint bumped his head and went back in time to the Old West version of Llanview (One Life to Live). I mean, this shit was loopy. I only watched General Hospital, but I saw this book called Soap World in the store and became fascinated with the fact that sooo much had happened on the show before I started watching but most of the characters still on it were related to the original people. I still find that fascinating today. I've long since stopped watching General Hospital, but now I watch a Clif Notes version of Days of Our Lives to follow the coolest gay couple in daytime, Will and Sonny. And Days, in particular, is a show that all started with 1 family, the Hortons. And the Hortons are still 1 of the main focuses. I like that. I like the sense of history and nostalgia already built in. And this book detailed every soap that was on the air in 1983, which was a hell of a lot more than what is remaining today. It told detailed plotlines from start to present. Who had an abortion, who killed who's husband, who had an affair when they should have been minding the baby. It was pretty awesome, actually. But the capper was when I was looking through the General Hospital section I saw a pic of a very young Mark Hamill aka Luke Skywalker himself from when he did a stint on the show that I hadn't even known about. I decided to get it there and then. As I think back on it now, I cherish the fact that my Nana didn't even think twice about me reading the book. There was no "Oh thats not fit for someone your age" or "That's not a book boys want to read". She was happy I was reading and happy it concerned 1 of her favorite shows. I can't say the same for my friends. Sometime later when they found out I was an avid watcher of soaps (after eventually adding Dallas and Dynasty to the mix), they invented a fake disease which they said I had contracted that caused me to watch feminine shows. They called it "TremuaSHAWitis" which sounds stupid and should have been laughed off with a "Fuck you" but I remember it hurting at the time. Of course these were the same "best friends" who would later ask me to not talk or hang with them in school anymore now that they had joined the track team, though it was ok for me to talk with them on the phone. But I digress. The book was fun and frothy, and I perused it all summer and later that year, began writing my own soap, THE INTRIGUE ADVENTURERS! Yea it was pretty cheesy...
I couldn't draw for shit. Every character looked the same except for their hair (though I at least knew enough to scribble on Michael Jackson's face so that he appeared to be of a darker complexion). Luckily my works of art only adorned the cover. Note also I copied the comics code authority seal and also patented my own logo: A STEVEN SHAW EPIC! They were fun times. I had kidnappings, affairs, murders, plots to take over the city of San Francisco, and much, much more.
Yes, I'm counting a comic as a book. It certainly meant as much to me at the time. I'd been reading comics for a while by then. This wouldn't be the comic that got me started. That distinction would fall on The New Teen Titans #1. I loved team books (still do) and that 1 was drawn by 1 of my favorite comic artists ever, George Perez. Plus the heroes were pretty close to me in age so it was easy to get caught up in their problems. But Avengers was, is, and always will be my favorite title. There were all the heavy hitters of Marvel in one spot: Captain America, Thor, Iron Man, The Scarlet Witch, Vision, Hawkeye. And the team was always changing so you always had new characters to grow to love. Plus they weren't averse to featuring soap opera elements in their stories, which I loved. Ms. Marvel was still a fairly new character at this point and a new addition to the team who'd been doubting herself ever since she joined. In this story, the 200th issue of the original run which started back in 1963 (the same year as Doctor Who, the Kennedy assassination, and the death of Marilyn Monroe), Carol Danvers suddenly becomes pregnant. Within a matter of days, she gives birth to a child which grows into a startlingly handsome space entity who I assume wants to rule the world (its been decades since I have read it) and a fierce battle ensues. If I remember correctly (talking about it now I see I'm going to have to buy a copy because its making me want to read it again), by the end of the story the entity falls in love with Ms. Marvel (technically his "mother") and whisks her away to an uncertain future. Ms. Marvel as a character would go on to have an amazing history getting amnesia, losing her powers, gaining new ones, joining and leaving several teams, until once again she was a powerhouse in the Marvel canon. The Avengers was being drawn at this time by another of my favorite comic artists of all time, John Byrne. But oddly enough, if I'm correct, George Perez was brought on to draw the anniversary issue. And it looked amazing. Perez has a way of filling every minute space of page with something intricate and fabulous to look at. He is a genius. And I was hooked. My interest in comics has waxed and waned over the years (its so goddamn expensive now to follow anything faithfully), but it all started as a passion with this issue. And it will never go away, thankfully.
I notice nobody ever puts It near the top when they list Stephen King's best work. Everybody loves the other heavy hitters: The Stand, The Shining, Carrie. Those are all awesome. But this was the one that did it for me. I was always into horror from the time my Dad woke me up in the middle of the night when I was 7 to watch The Thing From Another World on tv. Remember, this was looong before videos and 24 hour movie channels. Plus this was also the first massive book I chose to read on my own. It was over a 1000 pages. It was a fucking doorstop. But people had told me good things. I started to read the story of a group of people who were raised in Derry, Maine and who had all gone through something extraordinary there when they were children. If you haven't read the book before, without giving too much away, it concerns an evil being called Pennywise who appears to people usually as a clown, just before murdering them horribly. It is the story of what happens when Pennywise returns after a long absence and the children, now grown, who once vanquished him have to return to Derry and face their fears so that they can defeat him once and for all. Its packed with scary stuff, a heavy sense of nostalgia (which in case you haven't guessed already I absolutely love), and disturbing scenes. Luckily I do not suffer from coulrophobia or I might not have been able to finish it. It is an amazing book. Thinking back now, this was a time when queer novels were not easily obtained from the book store, let alone the library which were almost always rainbow free. And pre-Amazon or Ebay, you were out of luck if you couldn't travel to a big city to check out a gay bookstore. And I remember very clearly It having several queer themed passages in it. In retrospect, they're probably not very flattering. Pennywise's first victim upon returning is a man coming from a night out in a gay bar, and if I recall he is being gay bashed at the time. And the other scene involves two of the bullies who torment our heroes as children. When they are alone in the woods together reading dirty magazines, the older bully begins to masturbate his friend. The reaction is immediate and I'm sure (though I can't remember verbatim) "faggot" is thrown around quite insultingly, after which the older boy is killed by Pennywise. Its startling to me as I think about it now that a subliminal message from this (probably not the intended one) is that gay sex equals death. Luckily at the time I didn't see it that way. All I could think was "Holy shit the dude just started jerking off his friend that's hot!" I was always puerile, I guess. But beyond that, It is still an excellent read. Maybe one day soon I will pick it up again.
Tuesday, February 3, 2015
Why People Aren't Watching Agent Carter
I'm always leery when some Hollywood suit wants to make a television show, generally costing far far less, out of a multi-million dollar movie. For every M*A*S*H there is a Fast Times. Remember that show, a sitcom based on Fast Times at Ridgemont High? No? Know why? Because it was dreadful. It came out four years after the movie, could feature none of the bawdy content seen in the film (especially Phoebe Cates' boobs, not that I was lookin at em but certainly a ton of my straight classmates were), and involved absolutely no one from the movie in the creative process. Sure, it had Vincent Schiavelli and Ray Walston, but no Spicoli, no Damone, no Kashmir, no anything worth your time to tune in. Accordingly, it lasted all of seven episodes which is more than some get, but as a tribute to the excellent film it was based on it reeks of utter failure. Action and superhero movies are ALWAYS tough regarding this particular issue. The reason Captain America looks so good tranforming from 90 pound weakling into shield-baring bruiser on the big screen is because they have millions of dollars of CGI at their disposal to aid in the process. A prime time show usually has a big budget, but nothing close to what this would require. So what we're usually left with, unless they have extremely talented writers and creators at their disposal and some awesome world building skills, feels half-baked at best. At worst, God awful. I would term Marvel's Agents of Shield the latter. I tuned into the pilot fully expecting them to fail. And they did, as far as I'm concerned. Big time. They had world building, for sure. Marvel is very into world building since a ton of their characters and concepts are sold out to other studios so they are always desperate to create new things they can capitalize on in their own sandbox. I'm not knocking the MCU. In fact, I'm simply amazed by what Marvel has managed to do with their films. Some of my favorite comics and characters from my childhood have been brought to life with glorious results. The films vary in quality, this is true, but over-all you're never wanting for thrills, fun, or excitement. Agents of Shield had none of this. I fault the showrunners. And to be fair, it might have gotten better as the series went along, but I am an extremely stern critic for television shows. If you don't give me something to hook me the first time I watch, its almost certain that I won't give you a second chance. There are just too many quality shows waiting to be watched out there to spend 3 or 4 hours building up slight concern about why Agent Coulson is still alive. Which brings me to Agent Carter. The idea for this show started as a Marvel One Shot, one of the mini-films released on dvd with bigger titles. I was hooked immediately. I loved Hayley Atwell in Captain America anyway, but the writers took the topic of what it might be like for this courageous, intelligent army officer to return from war and find none of the applauds of her male counterparts. Instead, she finds sexism and is sidelined taking the coffee orders. I worried that Marvel would have the same problems with this show that they had with Shield. And to be honest, they did, but only just. The series picks up after the war. The macguffin that gets the plot rolling is the theft of Howard Stark's inventions. This leads to a complicated morass of criminals and super secret villianous organizations that can sometimes feel like you're going to be buried under exposition. There are Russian assassins, voice-boxless thugs, but most importantly, plopped squarely in the middle: Hayley Atwell. Simply put, she is awesome in this part. She's classy but tough, feminine but not fawning. And to see someone so accomplished be benched because she has breasts makes you mad. At least it did me. I rooted for her immediately. Along with her we have Dominic Cooper recreating the Howard Stark of the movies, and we meet the actual Jarvis, the first one anyway, the human one, Howard's butler. His Thin Man double act with Peggy Carter is fascinating to watch. Beyond that, the costumes and the set design and the period setting are all stunning. There is no other current show set in this period, which makes it unique in the television landscape right now. It also has a strong group of creators behind the scenes, though not the ones from the movies, definitely ones with a strong televisual pedigree. The two showrunners and the director of tonight's episode are all Law and Order: SVU veterans. So we're at the 4th episdode now, and the Howling Commandos have returned, and Peggy's private investigations have been discovered, and now I'm hooked. Yet this morning I read an article that broke the news that ratings are down and people aren't watching. Since I unloaded on Agents of Shield and am certainly guilty of being a harsh critic sometimes it is certainly possible that some people simply think the show is terrible. Hey, countless awesome shows have been canceled because they couldn't find an audience. Freaks and Geeks, anyone? But I'd like to posit a theory that makes me even madder than what Peggy faces in the show because it mirrors what she faces in the show some 60 plus years later. I think its a form of sexism. Peggy doesn't wear skintight spandex a la Black Widow. She doesn't have a complicated back story. She doesn't sleep around and use men to get where she wants to be. She, like Steve Rogers pre-serum, is an Everywoman who just happens to possess so many of the qualities that we as humans prize. The trick of the show, as with the character of Captain America, will be to watch her hold on to and strengthen her ideals in the face of pessimism and sexism. So far so good. The plot is still a little shakily complicated at times, but I'm holding on because Peggy is leading the way. The show's also been criticized for being too whitebread. Fair dues there, I guess. But admittedly most of the show involves high ranking government officials and I could be wrong but its probably pretty accurate that despite Peggy's femininity not halting her from getting her foot in the door a black man might not even get that far. But its true, the boarding house where Peggy lives or the automat where she eats lunch could most certainly feature a few more faces of varying nationality and color. Maybe even a queer or two. I don't see representation of me on the show either, but I'm not letting it stop me from watching. And you shouldn't either.
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