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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Thur 11/28/2002
The inherent difficulty in not bursting out laughing when profanity is used
The Santa Ana winds have been blowing and my backyard is a huge mess right now. There are palm fronds scattered on the ground, in trees, on top of the covered patio, pretty much everywhere. A complaint which is more than a bit whinny and unimportant considering that the Santa Ana�s have also brought fire and wind damage (overturned trees and electrical poles) to other parts of California.
Monday they also almost resulted in my being the middle of a multi car pile up, because someone driving a huge, monster sized SUV started swerving through different lanes like an insane maniac to avoid a lone wind blown tumbleweed rolling across the freeway. Avoiding the tumbleweed meant nearly crashing into every car around it, but apparently that was an acceptable risk.
Given the relative size and composition of a tumbleweed (small sticks 'n twigs) vs. an SUV (very large n� tons of metal), I can only conclude that the driver of the 4 wheel drive, off road capable, behemoth of vehicle risked everyone's life because they were afraid of scratching the paint job.
It may not be too surprising to share that I am extremely unmotivated with work these days. The prospect of getting up in the dark to drive through banks of fog, added to leaving for home in the dark is just plain depressing.
The huge chunk of the day when I am at work has been less than thrilling as well. There is a person out there who absolutely and utterly hates me because I wasn't in the office when she called to speak to me. Our not having an appointment, or my not having any reason to have expected her to call was of no importance to her.
She is right. I am wrong. More so, she virtuously right, and I am pure evil. According to this woman, I am supposed to sit at my desk all day long. I am not allowed to leave it on the off chance that someone as "important" as her calls.
Apparently I am not allowed a bathroom break.
When I wasn't being berated by insane folks over the telephone, I had an opportunity to go to a local courthouse. I was there to observe a specific case, and got to watch a cranky judge yell and berate everyone who wasn't me. A very nice change of pace.
Getting into the courthouse involved my setting off the metal detectors (again). Getting out of the building involved a young twentyish, Latino, punker boy coming onto me. Needless to say, the later was the more interesting experience.
We rode down the elevator together, and he started asking me questions as we walked out to the parking lot. I told him that I wasn't a lawyer and didn't know the answers to his questions. We then said goodbye and headed our separate ways.
Innocent sounding enough, except that as we talked, he (slowly and coyly) took off his sweater, and made a point of showing off his tattooed arms (he was wearing a very tight tank top). He was also smiling a definite come hither smile.
I wasn't going to do anything with him, but I am vain enough to enjoy knowing that had I wanted to, I could have easily picked him up and have spent the better part of the afternoon doing very naughty things to him and vice versa.
I guess I can no longer write that no men are looking at me. Although, between balding bathroom guy, and Latino punker boy, I can specify that it has only happened twice.
John, Barb, Laurie, Reese, �kiko, and I did a dinner and theater thing last Saturday night. I was told that it was a fundraising event for some sort of a good cause, but since there no actual mention of fundraising that night, I think John misrepresented it a bit. But hey, it was still a night out of the house.
So, the night was dinner, two one act plays and a performance art piece. They were, well, they were what they were. The promo materials described them as a play of Womyn getting real, a play which will bring your soul to it's knees, and an energetic emotion filled performance piece.
I still want to know, do souls have knees?
The theater wasn't a theater per say, as much as it was an old empty clothing store with a raised platform surrounded by folding chairs. The crew working the event were nice, and very ernest.
The pieces were largely, sort of ok? Which is me trying to be charitable, but it doesn't change that they were ok, and very ernest. Everything about the production was ernest. Not professional mind you, but um, ernest.
Why can't I think of any other adjectives besides ernest? Well, truth is I can, but I am trying to be nice here.
The first play wasn't to bad, and dealt with a group of old friends dealing with the usual dyke drama. Things of major importance such as who had accidentally slept with who's girlfriend. A couple of flubbed lines, but not to many problems.
The second play was, well it was not the worst thing I have ever seen on stage. That 'honor' belongs to a community theater production of West Side Story that I was dragged to because it was staring a friend�s boyfriend. That show had lots and lots of problems.
As did Sue and Bob's relationship. The biggest one, and the relationship killer, being when Bob came out of the closet. Not a big surprise to anyone who knew him. Not even to Sue, who after a string of closeted gay and bisexual boyfriends had started to expect every man she was interested in to suddenly turn fey.
Anyway, the second one act play dealt with the pain of losing a partner to (breast?) cancer in a very circumstantial and roundabout way. It could have had the potential of being interesting, if it had been heavily, heavily edited, and restaged, or better yet, just video taped or filmed.
One of the problems was that since it was short play with many, many, many scene changes, it felt as if more time was spent with the stage dark as the crew tried not to bump into each other as they changed things around, than was actually spent on the play itself. If somebody had just taped the thing, all of that wasted time could have been avoided.
The second play also had the absolute worst staged fight scene I have ever seen, but we won't go into that. Even though I wasn't too impressed with it, the rest of the audience seemed to like it. Especially two women behind me who were weeping loudly (very loudly) by the end.
They weren't as impressed with the last piece. That one had a woman dancing/speaking/acting/playing out the "random" thoughts that ran through her mind as she tied various colored fabric scarves around her body. The scarves were arranged in a rainbow order. Again, very ernest.
The women me behind who had been bawling their eyes out a few minutes before, grew mighty bored with all the dancing and traipsing going on. They started arguing a bit too loudly about the merits of leaving early. The discussion ended when one of them observed that there were only a few more colors of the rainbow to go, so the thing wasn't going to last too much longer anyway.
Sunday night was a movie night with John. We went to a new megamultimonsterplex in Alhambra. Part of the cities' attempt at revitalizing it's old downtown section. Like every new large retail/revitalization project, it's depending on a megamultimonstersized movieplex to bring in folks to spend their money. That and a water fountain.
For whatever reason, that's the magic combination. That's the capitalist alchemy. Movies and water. Water and movies. Both are guaranteed to bring financial success. Or something like that anyway.
We saw Far from Heaven. I enjoyed it more than John did, but then again, I tend to like old "women's films" more than he does. We both agreed that it was a gorgeous film. Everything was saturated in very intense colors.
I ended up chuckling in a few not entirely appropriate spots. Not too strange for me, but I couldn't help it. The scene with the tilted, skewed, "queer" camera angle when the husband first walks into a gay bar; the swelling, overly dramatic music when the husband and wife fight; the wife admonishing her son using profanity (�jeez�); they were all just way too amusing.
The worst one being a scene where the wife throws herself onto her bed weeping inconsolable. The poor woman on screen is crying her heart out as her life falls apart, and I'm am trying mighty hard not to burst out laughing because they had 'Lucy and Ricky' style twin beds pushed together.
It was so very difficult not to guffaw.
more later,
nico
escuchando:
old spandou ballet
leyendo:
Sleep Demons, an insomniac�s memoir by Bill Hayes
mirando:
Lancheros
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