clatter-machines greet you & say:
we tap out a rhythm and sweep you away
what a magical sound
(a room full of noises)
that spins us a-r-o-u-n-d...
yum yum. love dat song.
That, for zee uninitiated, is from "Cvalda," by Bjork, off "Selmasongs," the soundtrack to her new film "Dancer In The Dark." Go see it! It's got Bjork! It's good for you!
Me again. I'm a good deal less vicious this spin round, but what you must understand poppets is that that was the first time I've really had a forum for my thoughts on all these subjects, and it led to a great deal of vituperative venting. I stand by my words, but I do apologize for being so scary. It's not my nature. I'm just a cuddly woozle. Really.
So where were we's? We's were here, or so I thought, and so here I am and blah blah blah, let's call the whole thing off. It's midterm time here at the College of Santa Fe, and while I have maybe one midterm I am still a worried boy. Meanwhile, I'm getting increasingly lonely-not friend-lonely, but, you know, significant-other-lonely.
I have no idea where the boys really are at this place. Some of them must be OfLikeKind, but fuck if they aren't hooked into their ninja stealth gear. And what's with the theatre majors being straight? Insanity! So, yes, the crops are looking pretty scarce at the mo-but it's only been a little more than a month out here. I mustn't despair. Maybe I should wear the red leather pants more often (oh, yes, THAT must be it).
I may have mentioned this, but I never felt this urge in high school. I chose to stay celibate there. Now, out here, that's changed on me. I want to make other people third wheels. I want to have someone to stay up with. I'm suddenly very tired of being single. This doesn't mean I'll go out and compromise myself for the sake of a boy, but it still means I am lonely.
This principle of compromise has never been illustrated so graphically to me as in what just happened with a friend. She met, got drunk with, and got together with this guy in the space of two weeks. And broke up with him in the space of a month. He's a bit of a wanker and he doesn't want a serious relationship. She lost her virginity to him. I felt so horrible for her; she was abjectly miserable when she realized he wasn't *nearly* The One (not in this galaxy, darling). She almost took him back, all, it seems, in the name of needing someone and having someone. And the scary, scary thing about that is:I can see why she did what she did and why that need drove her so far. These days, I worry a little about seeing that need in me. In the past, I've always based my decisions on being able to look at myself in the mirror in the morning. Right from the start.
WHIIIICCHHHHH segues into the first thing I promised you last time, and that's the story of When/How I Knew: A Tale For All Ages. Well, it's like this, poodles-I was, admittedly to my parents, very sexually ambiguous leading up to my eighteenth birthday. I had resolved long ago not to angst over my sexual orientation or sob or cry or hurt myself, but just see what happened.
So yes, around my eighteenth birthday party, a decent amount of "what" happened. I had a good friend of mine there, who, without the aid of alcohol and psychotropic drugs, somehow manages to become a funky party weasel around 11 PM all on his 'natural high.' So of course first he started stripping, which wasn't terribly interesting, but then at like 1 AM he attempts to make out with me, much to the perverse delight of our other guest. He was mostly fooling around, but I wrenched him off me and playfully scolded him. It was only an hour or two later when I sat and thought about it; if I'd really wanted to, I would've jumped him. I could've gone further, and I had been tempted. But that annoying moral center got in the way. So that pretty much clinched the "it" for me.
Low-key? Boring? Staid? You bet. Sorry. I'll try and make up a better story.
That all makes me sound like a self-important, holier-than-thou, judgmental boor. Ugh. Bad Andy (bad pizza).
Re:"Titus." I saw it last night; the Julie Taymor adaptation with Anthony Hopkins and Jessica Lange (and Jonathan Rhys-Meyers! And Alan Cumming!). It got mixed reviews, and some of the stylistic elements and devices Taymor puts in it may not be appreciated by all, but it's totally insane and I for one adore it. Check it out if you haven't. Jessica Lange in particular is fab. "I'll find a way to massacre them all." Yum. Plus, it has Jonathan Rhys-Meyers and Alan Cumming both nude or in leather pants. HOW is Jonathan Rhys-Meyers straight? Or am I wrong? I thought he was Toni Collette's boytoy. Lucky shrew. And if you don't know who Jonathan Rhys-Meyers is, then, by God, go rent "Velvet Goldmine" immediatement, petit.
I also finally saw "Boogie Nights." Didn't think it was that fab. Throw me "Magnolia" any day.
So let's talk about the difference between boys and bois-I don't know, for all I know, it could be just a stylistic thing. There is that rampant theory that everyone's born bisexual, though I'm not entirely sure that's true (I don't think it's my place to say one way or the other). To me, boy and boi is more and more, in our society, anyway, becoming a conscious (or maybe unconscious choice) on the part of the self. More than ever you've got the male looking at himself, scanning every inch of his personality, his manner, his appearance, and frantically adjusting, nipping, and tucking where he must to make himself appear as Alpha Fail as possible. Hair shaved and burned down, bulk built up, principles and ideals compromised, forceful self-conditioning to wipe out any of the more 'contrary' ideas. Why else do we think some jocks are secretly gay? Sadly enough, I think we've all seen a few too many people make the choice, conscious or unconscious, to be Angry White Male Drinking Beast.
Last time, I mentioned I was in love with someone. That someone is Shinji Ikari, the paint-&-cel anime hero of "Neon Genesis Evangelion," a FAB-u-lussss anime series. I'm not a big anime guy, but I love EVA (its shorthand moniker). In particular, Shinji-kun has grown on me. Yes, he's supposedly only fourteen (it's just WRONG!). Yes, he's got severe depression and self-loathing issues. Yes, he has blue hair. But by God I wuv him. He's waify, what can I say (and he looks like he weighs sixty pounds-brrr!). Wuv him. Check out EVA. Eez fun.
I'm writing again, which I like. Amazingly enough, and this was not intentional, a LOT of my work has gay themes. One screenplay in particular actively focuses on them, and adolescence, but the others-it sorta just slipped in there. I dunno. Hmmmmmmmmmmm.
So Susan Lucci's waify daughter on "All My Children"-yes, the one Lacey Chabert used to play-is going to turn out to be a lesbian in a month or two. Very pleased with this, as the actress is quite good, but I worry that they'll shuffle Binks (Bianca, actually) off to GayLimboLand like most soaps do with their gay characters. I understand the UK soaps do a bit better with this. Or don't they? At least you guys had the original "Queer As Folk." More and more I wish to live in England, where the boys are probably plentiful, the music is fabulous, and "Big Brother" is actually good.
For those of you who responded to the last column, both pos and neg, thank you muchly. I appreciate it no matter what, even the ones that called me a vicious, hateful shrew (well, you didn't call me that, but hey, who's counting). I am SO Killer Shrew, baby. Me. Shrew. Grrrr.
Oooh. We do not like zis vun. Zis is not as good as I vanted it to be, but when you're free-forming, you're free-forming, babe. Love to all very much. Everybody cut Footloose.