Fruitcake'd

At the recent National Gay and Lesbian Task Force Leadership Awards ceremony, honoree John Waters had this funny bit to say about voting:


“Of course, vote,” Waters said. He then added, “I’m tired of liberals saying, ‘They stole the election.’ Well, let’s steal it this time. I always vote three or four times in every election. And can’t gay neighborhoods fix up [the voting places] better? Have them put glory holes in the voting booths. When you vote, pick somebody up!”

Hi-larious.

I also loved what he had to say about (not) going to the gym:

“I’m the only gay man who’s never been to the gym,” he explained. “If I could find a trainer to give me the body of a junkie, I’d be there! I’ve never been to the baths either. Me in a towel, horny? I couldn’t get laid. I get laid by making people laugh. And that’s what gay people should do: Use their wit and their humor as terrorism to win.”

I hear he is working on a children's film called: Fruitcake. Let's hope the rumors are true.

This is the kinda thing you find at an antique mall in Saugatuck

If only I had known about Jordache doll back in '81...

I wonder what accessories he comes with: Amyl Nitrite? A jock strap?

Remember how Strawberry Shortcake smelled like strawberries (or carpet deodorizer). What do you think he smells like? I'm thinking locker room. The smell of balls. And Irish Spring.

His jeans could be a little tighter. I think my mom had a belt just like that one.

Man. I could only imagine the trouble he'd get into with He-Man.

Sensitivity

Tales of THE City

San Francisco is THE city. I had no idea. I was like, fuck San Francisco and the hippies and the faggots and give me a real working class city like Boston or Chicago. Well, I take it back. I spent a couple days in San Francisco and I fell in love with it. Hard. I've decided I will live there some day. Don't know how I'd afford it, but it will happen.

But for the time being, I'm going to revisit the city in the fiction of Armistead Maupin. I just read his first Tales of the City.

I'm really not much for writing reviews. I'll leave that to Divine and M.T. I'll just recommend the book. It's a soap opera. Ridiculous things happen. But it's the characters that keep you going. The relationships (straight and gay) are believable. You really do care about the characters and you want them to find love. San Francisco in the '70s was a time of free love; yet people struggled to find true love. ECK. This is why I don't write reviews. Vomit. It's a great book. Read it.

I'm going to watch the PBS series when I go visit M.T. in a week--he owns the DVD collection. I can't wait to see what they did with it.

Then I'll have to see the musical. Did you hear about this? Avenue Q guy and Scissor Sisters' band members are working on the musical slated to hit Broadway in 2009/2010.

I just started reading another San Franciscan novel: The Mayor of Castro Street: The Life and Times of Harvey Milk by Randy Shilts. I've seen the Academy Award-winning documentary The Times of Harvey Milk--if you haven't seen it, rent it, Netflix it, get it. And soon, we'll be seeing Gus Van Sant's film starring Sean Penn as Milk.

Breeding Between the Lines

On our way to Saugatuck this past weekend, K8 and I drove past a town called Breedsville. It gave me the heebie jeebies. I imagined this or the kids up above from the film Village of the Damned. I stepped on the gas so we could get as far away as possible.

K8 dug up an old story about a friend of hers who had once gone to a sex party out in Saugatuck. The party/orgy took place in a barn. He had to pay a cover at the door. Inside, he fucked and was fucked by who knows how many strangers. My first thought: God, that must have smelled. My second thought: Did he use protection? Apparently, he wasn't--or he wasn't sure. How can you tell when you are on the receiving end of things?

So, where is he now? He's living in New York. He's been in a relationship with a woman for over 3 years. A woman. K8 said that back in her undergrad years (6-8 years ago) she would get so drunk over at his apartment and have to sleep on his couch. She'd hear him fucking guys ("it sounded like they were moving furniture," K8 said) and he'd come out after and tell K8: "You should see his ass. Really. I want you to see it. It's beautiful." This guy is with a woman? How can you go from loving a man's ass--wait, hold up, how can you go from anonymous gay sex in barns to a breed box?

The Breeders have a new album out. Very exciting. I've been a fan since their breakout Pod in '90. Sometimes I wish I could go back to the early 90s. Seriously. Some of my favorite albums (PJ Harvey Rid of Me, Pavement Slanted and Enchanted, My Bloody Valentine Loveless) all came out then. Go check out the lovely and extremely talented Heather Phares' review at Allmusic.

Recently, I found out the gays are using the verb breed instead of bareback. It means to have unprotected anal intercourse or as the Urban Dictionary says: The act of blowing a load or taking a load up the ass without a rubber. I thought to breed meant to impregnate. Or mate. Why are the gays using it? Thoughts?

Why One Shouldn't Have Children (Reason #187)

My friend K8 from Chicago paid a visit on Saturday. We had a good chat about life, love, and the future. What do we see in the future? I can tell you what we don't see: children. K8 feels the pressure from her family (and society) to have children. K8 had this to say on the subject:

I have strangers, people I meet at work or wherever, telling me that I'd make a good mother. I'm like, you've talked to me how many times? For how long? You don't know me. What, I'm a woman so that means I'd make a good mother?

K8 told me this amusing (and frightening) story about a group of third-graders who had plotted to kill their teacher. If you're thinking about having kids, please read this story and reconsider. You may think, oh no, not me, not my child. You may think you can raise him or her "right". But honestly, once that kid enters the public school system--Good fucking luck.

This post is for all you women out there feeling the pressure to poop out some kids. You don't have to do it. Fuck society. Fuck your family. Fuck your mom and her "wanting grandchildren." Fuck your dad for "wanting you to carry on the family name." Yeah, and the family history of depression, drug abuse, alcohol addiction, and bad Irish skin--oh wait, that's my story. Fuck your sister for hanging onto her kids' baby clothes "just in case." And fuck all you gays wanting to be "normal" by starting a family. Put all that energy into your careers, fixing up the house, owning nice things. Buy a dog. What, I'm selfish? I think I'm self-less. Life is hard, mofos. Seriously. Let's (not) think about the children here.

Xanadu? Xana-don't

In the recent issue of The Advocate, Cheyenne Jackson (star of recent Broadway musical sensation Xanadu--uh yeah, that Xanadu)opens up about the first time he felt those gay feelings:

“...I think I was, like, 7 -- I was watching this Valentine’s Day Popeye cartoon episode that would play every year. There was this scene where Popeye was captured by Brutus, tied up with no shoes or socks on, and Brutus starts tickling his feet. I remember getting a little boner, and I didn’t know what it was about that scene that was creating that, but I knew that it was something naughty that I couldn’t tell anybody, and I definitely knew it was something that made me different. But every year, I couldn’t wait for that episode.”


Pretty Cheyenne got me thinking about my gay childhood. I can't remember what I was watching--as a child, my cousins and I would watch an unhealthy amount of slasher flicks and horror films. I'm sure it was a sex scene or gratuitous shower scene or something where I saw a naked whatever, I honestly don't even know if it mattered male or female. Either way, I remember popping my first chub and being absolutely horrified by it. I actually yelled out loud: What's wrong with my wee wee?!

My older cousins just laughed at me. Bastards. They knew, but they didn't even explain it to me. I remember feeling ashamed, but back then I felt shame and guilt every other second because of my Catholic upbringing.

I can't really recall any true gay feeling. But I can remember being called out for being different. All the time. As kids, superheroes were a big deal. The boys in the neighborhood and I would play superhero. We'd choose our favorite: Batman, Superman, Green Lantern. I always wanted to be Wonder Woman.


Honestly, I can't say why. It could have been the invisible plane or the lasso. I just thought she was cool. And I wanted to be her. It had nothing to do with gender. But being with the boys it was. Wonder woman's a girl, they'd say. You're a boy. So who did I choose as a back-up? Aquaman. Hm. Yeah. Swimming around with dolphins. Not gay at all.

I never wanted to be a girl. But I did like girl things. Yet I also liked boy things. I collected both the He-Man and She-Ra action figures/dolls. Do you all remember the She-Ra action figure? Bitch needed conditioner. Bad. So yeah, He-Man and She-Ra. I also had G.I.Joes. I'd have my G.I.Joes ride around on My Little Pony's. I'd have the androgynous looking G.I.Joes play women characters and hook them up with the more butch Joes. But honestly-seriously how gay was Gung Ho? We've all avoided Gung Ho at the bars. My favorite G.I. 'Mo was Shipwreck. Doesn't he look familiar? Yeah. He looks a little like M.T. with a parrot.

You know I'm gonna create a new memory today. I got my first little boner watching Shipwreck on G.I.Joe: The Real American Hero (the cartoon). And it wasn't scary. It was beautiful.