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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.
Tue 06/11/2002
whiffy men, bad love, and porn hair
Lately, when I look into a mirror, I hope to see shaggy, yet sexy, 70's porn star hair instead of my own semi-frizzy hair flopping about angrily on top of my head. I never do of course. For one thing, my hair is far too wavy for porn hair. I guess there are worse things in life than rebellious hair.
Other than the jacarandas blooming again, nothing much has been happening around here. As such, instead of the week that was type entry, here are some rambly bits:
The Last Party:
Fernando's family had a birthday BBQ for him 06/02/2002. I wasn't in the best of moods, but John and I went anyway. There was a large crowd of family and friends in his sisters backyard that afternoon. At least there was until the Laker game started. Then all the straight men and younger women disappeared into the house. All that was left outside were the Tia's and comadres talking and eating under one tent, and the gay men talking and drinking under the other tent.
Every once in a while one of Fernando's teenage cousins would come running out of the house pumping his arms up n� down, and hooting 'n hollering like a frenzied ape.
Those straight boys...
One of the topics of discussion in the �gay� tent was the cool birthday/anniversary gift Fernando's boyfriend got him. They were at Sea World the previous day doing a encounter/swim with the dolphins deal. The photos hadn't been developed yet, but it sounded very interesting.
The Last Movie:
I finally joined the masses and saw the latest Star Wars movie. It made me feel old. Not the movie, but rather the ticket prices. I paid six bucks to see it as a discount matinee. I'm feeling all ancient and creaky because I can remember when six dollars was full price.
Anyway, the movie...um, it was what it was. I watched it wishing I had a fast forward control every time there was a romance scene. Those "Love Story" romance scenes were fairly painful to watch. If there had been the "couple falling in love laughing as they roll down a hill into each others arms for a staged kiss" scene, I would have left the theater.
Other than excruciating romance, I guess I agree with what many people have already said about it. It was a fairly average Detective Noir/Sparticus/Laurel & Hardy/Maltese Falcon/Teen Rebel/Blade Runner/Love Story tragic/Spy thriller/Simbad/2001 A Space Odyssey plastic/Laurel & Hardy/ Ray Harryhausen stick the lance into the rampaging clay monster/Patton and every other generic W.W.II storm the beach and or desert campaign tribute movie.
The Last Play:
John and I saw Sorrows and Rejoicings at the Mark Taper on Friday 05/31/2002. A story concerning a dead White South African poet and the three women (wife, mistress, illegitimate daughter) who's lives tragically revolve around his.
Unfortunately, I didn't like the play until the very last scene, when the poet Dawid (John Glover) first seduced the servant Marta(Cynthia Martells). It was the first time that you saw a glimpse of this brilliant, passionate man so in love with his country and it�s people. It was the first time I began to understand why it was these women loved and hated him so. Of course, by then the play was over.
There were lots of empty seats in the theater that night. As a man in the row in front of us muttered loudly to his wife, "I told you everybody's at the Laker game."
The Last Music purchases:
I was in an impulse shopping mood this past Sunday, so after a longish lunch with Kristen, I dragged her over to the local Virgin Mega store. The rest of the usual suspects were hanging out at the store that day.
There was a small pack of scruffy, skateboard carrying, barely teenage boys ogling assorted megaviolent video games. A slightly older group of skateboardless, but abercrombie & finched out teenage boys were in another area of the store, making fun of one of their pack for liking the chemical brothers. Something about being lame and trashed?
As I walked by them, I idly wondered how their parents reacted to spending large sums of money on predistressed, presoiled, pretorn clothes plastered with large A's & F's. This of course, is a sure sign that I have not been a teenager in a very long time and am a clueless old man.
In other parts of the store, slightly whiffy loner guys were doing the loner guy hunt 'n peck through the DVD's, while a woman did a terrible job of signing along to some random R&B star at one of the listening stations. The loudness of her warbling contrasted with the silent, but somewhat thick sexual tension going between the men hovering at Dance/Electronica listening stations.
Yes, there were a lot more men than women there that day.
After wandering around for a while, I did manage to spend some mullah, buying the latest Carlos Ponce album, and trying out Ely Guerra on a whim. I haven't finished listening to the entire album, but so far, the comments I've heard about her being a Mexican version of PJ Harvey don't seem too far off the mark.
The Last Entry:
That is, not the final entry, but the previous entry. I wanted to take this opportunity to thank everyone who offered their condolences. They helped me more than you can realize. Vince was a good man and I miss him.
It's odd, Vince appeared fairly often in my dreams, but not since his death. At least, not in any of the dreams I can recall once waking up. There's probably some sort of profound, yet boringly mundane psychological reason for this. I don't really care about the whys, it's just odd, not seeing him when I dream.
more later,
nico
Music:
Ely Guerra Lotofire
Want:
not sure
Elsewhere:
One institute
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