she's lucky she's a star
She certainly is. It's not just anybody can get away with wearing just some dental floss, glitter, and a worn-out 'self-expression' stance on the Video Music Awards. Shake your last assets, Lucky Girl; for God's sake don't use your *first.*
(and yes, i know i combined two supposedly unrelated lyrics from the same chorus. what can i say: poetic license.)
a-HEM. I'll rant about the Lucky Star some other time.
Why oh why did I put so much on my agenda last time? Fucking ambition. Now it's 2 AM and I'm tired. But I gotsta do this now or it won't gets done, now wills it?
Oh, well. Let's talk Anne Rice, first off. Bought her new book. "Merrick." Read it (mostly -- I skipped an obscene amount) on the plane back home back at the end of November (remember when? I don't) . I'm not a Anne Rice person -- not much, anyway. Liked the movie. Liked some of the books, which I got years after the Ricecraze started in paperback, particularly "The Vampire Lestat," "Queen of the Damned," and "Tale of the Body Thief," and then those 'Mayfair Witches' books, too. But the problem with them is, and this trend continues with "Merrick" so if you don't want to know the ending DON'T READ ANYMORE, I can guess the ending less than halfway through. And of course I did with this one, too; Merrick the witch ends up a vampire. Inevitably, every last human in these books ends up a vampire. Anne Rice is quite good in doses, and I say doses because while I like her work I think the web she's created is too dense and thick to A) completely hold up and B) take constantly, which is why I refuse to read much more of her body of work. "Merrick" seemed to be a bit of a departure from the usual vampire go-round, but upon closer examination, IMHO anyway, it didn't really offer up much new. Merrick Lives. Merrick Dies. Merrick Becomes A Vampire. They All Traipse Off To Some Pretty New City I Could Never Afford To Live In. The End. Thank you, Anne, but no thanks.
*WHY* did I say I'd talk about "The Good Queer Movies?" The fuck do I know about it? I know about *a few.* Self, don't ever do that to you again. (Okay.) Um, obviously, there's "Queer As Folk" -- both versions, I guess -- and then there's "Get Real," the UK film, and then you've got "Velvet Goldmine," and I suppose you've got "Flawless..." Oh, and then there's that screenplay of mine which will never, ever get made. What the hell am I doing? Fuck this. Get someone experienced to talk about this. Sorry, kids. I have to slink off to the next paragraph now.
I'll tell you what wasn't Good Queer TV: that stupid fucking show "Normal, Ohio." I love John Goodman like a drunk uncle on his third wife. I really do. Him getting the shitcan on "Roseanne" was the worst mistake that mental (albeit often funny) trainwreck made, and it got her ass cancelled. He's brilliant. But that show of his -- I saw one episode, one and a half, and all it was was, "Look at him! He's GAY! How outrageous is it that he, John Goodman, America's cuddle-size, boisterous funnyman, is playing GAY! Isn't he the last person you'd expect? How different! How shocking! How wild and hysterical! Look at that! John Goodman as A GAY MAN! The world must be coming to an end!" It just never shut up about it. It was so fucking stupid. Note to Hollywood: the 'queer-is-chic' thing is still not a big boom, and if 'chic' means "Normal, Ohio," please kill me now.
Maury Povich. Gotta talk about Maury Povich. Oh, my fucking God. You would not believe. Most of you probably don't have the time on your hands that this overlazy college student has, so you probably don't realize that "The Maury Povich Show" only has three to four plots that they alternate between EVERY WEEK. I'm not kidding. It's either "My Troubled Teen Goes To Boot Camp!" or "I've Got An (Adulterous) Secret!" or "He's My Baby Daddy!" or "Sexy/Conservative Makeovers!" That's *it.* Try watching it daily out of sheer malaise; you'll see what I'm talking about.
But really, just like all of the other non-Springer second stringers, "Maury's" dubious pride is its Troubled Teen Boot Camp shows. There's just something about watching this huge hulking guy race out onto stage and scream at these kids like Mr. T on crack about how they have to turn their lives around and "Love Yo'self (Motherfucker) !" And there's something very disgustingly gratifying watching the shrill little beeyotcha from Deer Neck crumble into Jell-O while being forced to do one too many push-ups at dawn. As for the rest of the shows, the 'Makeover!' shows all have this creepy conformity/'wear-my-psychosexual-Velvet-Dress' vibe (particularly the "celebrity makeover" ones where the horny male SO turns his wife/gf into, like, Christina Aguilera. Alllllrighty.) , and "He's My Baby Daddy!" inevitably *always* turns out to be Her Baby Daddy.
But no, uh, despite all the listed "charms," "Maury Povich" is just sick, sick, sick, and wrong, wrong, wrong. I feel dirty just talking about that show. I'm a Bad Monkey. Forgive me?
We're *not* going to talk about public school today on the Electric Company, because I wore that topic out in a debate about a month ago (and if she's reading, Kayla knows about that cause she was there. Kayla? Baby? Probably not.) . We are going to talk about what I touched on in mentioning "Billy Elliot" last month, and that's the whole Dancing Queen thing. As Billy sez:"Just because I do Bally (and yes, only South End boys like Billy get away with pronouncing it 'Bally') doesn' mean I'm a poof." It can be dancing, it can be acting, it can be singing, it can be writing, it can be drawing; if you do it, your little peers will see you as their own personal fairy princess and punching bag. It's something about the fine arts; I don't know. This stereotype phenomenon has, thankfully, dwindled down to existing mostly throughout school K-12, but there's no denying its influence on adults in the adult world. Actually, when I saw "I don't know," that's wrong; I do know, or at least I Have An Opinion (Every body Duck!) . It's not simply about the fine arts; it's about gender role. To this day, despite our centuries of culture and evolution, there's still a very base, very primal belief that a decent amount of the world's (or maybe the U.S.) people hold, which goes back to the male as Alpha, hunter/gatherer, Maker Of Fire, Clan of the Cave Bear, all that bullshit (did I just say "Clan of the Cave Bear?" Some of you got that, right?) . It's the women that, if not subservient, are the only ones allowed to be delicate and "artsy" and cultured. At least, that's the old *belief.* It still exists, and it still affects our society.
"Well, *DUH,*" you say, "thank you, Socrates." Forget I mentioned it.
We're also not going to talk about adolescent depression, because, honestly, I think this site's mined that topic, don't you? and we're not going about to talk about preteen depression, because I told that story before and (as of yet) have no further insight into it. God, I'm just a bloody *font* of fucking useful topics this month. I could smack me.
I thought I was going to talk about Madonna this month, but I don't think I will, because I'm not entirely sure if I have before and if I haven't, I don't have the energy right now. Rest assured what I have to say is not all 'ain't-she-great;' she is, but that's not all there is to her, and that's not her body of work.
Someone (maybe a few someones) asked me why I keep referring to my male interests as "boys" when some of them might not necessarily be such anymore. The answer is, that's a good question. On a basic level, the answer is, I dig the waify ones. Beyond that, the answer might be I don't *want* to be involved with boys so much as I don't think I want to be with complete *men,* as I don't consider myself either a boy or a man at this point. Is that fear of maturity? I don't know; I don't think so. Maybe, though. May-be. Go ask Tori. She'll know.
Falling in love with more anime. Not just EVA. Now I wanna see "Macross (re:original "Robotech") , " "Mobile Suit Gundam," etc etc. Plug me into that big robot to the stars, baby. Give me life, give me pain, give me purpose, give me a sense of self and being. That's the problem with the EVA kids, and it's a problem nary addressed in a lot of Japanese big-robot/young-kid shows; the kids in EVA derive their sense of self and worth from their work inside the mechanical beasts they pilot. That's real. All too often that glamour, that valor, that pride vanishes when the warrior's out of his armor, off his horse, without his helmet, his shield, his legend. Strip that right back, what've you got? Something else that doesn't know its own skin. Same goes for superheroes. I'm working up a screenplay that works around these ideas somewhat. *That* one might get made someday, I pray, but probably not.
More than ever, turn on "All My Children," especially if you hate soaps. You've got Susan "Erica Kane" Lucci playing a storyline with "Erica's" daughter (played by the cute-as-a-button Eden Riegel) now openly gay. There wasn't all sorts of preamble when the truth came, either; it was straight-out: "Do you love me?" "Yes, of course I do." "I'm gay." Bang. What's more, the daughter -- Bianca -- has a ready-made possible love interest available in the lipstick local girl she's crushing on, Laura, who's equally beautiful and perfect for her, and I pray that don't wimp out and make Laura straight. They've purposely, I think, masked Laura's true sexuality, and played up her iron will in contrast to Bianca's own quiet handwringing. It's easily the best-written story on that show, as well as most soaps right now, and genuinely touching and raw and real. Genuinely soaps don't like raw, despite what the vaseline love scenes want to tell you. But they did this, and this is amazing writing that makes me cry-cry -cry. So tune in, girrrrrlllll.
Speaking of screenplays, I'm rewriting a friend's sci-fi script. He's a sci-fi/action junkie, he's a charming bit of geek, he's earnest as hell, and given certain attitudes and comments I think he might be the only friend of mine that does *not* know I'm bi. How I don't know, as I'm openly out and not exactly quiet about it. Though after my slutty getup on Halloween I don't know how he could not know. Out of sheer boredom, subtly writing the supporting lead male character in his script as being in love with the main male lead. Will my friend catch the subtext? Let's watch! I tells ya:if I can get twentysomething women writing slash about the two after the script gets made into a film (and if anybody's scripts'll get made, it's my friend's) , I'll have fulfilled my purpose.
You want to see some slash, go see "Dude, Where's My Car?" I haven't seen it. My friends have. But those commercials for it? With the topless wrestling? Oh, my fucking God.
Right Here, Right Now, it's the wee morning hours of December 31, 2000. Happy New Year, girls-et-boys.
If you're reading this and you write here, right on and keep on.
If you're reading this for the sake of it, thank you so much.
If you're reading this because you wish you had the strength, or because you're on your sixth antidepressant and because you feel like you can't breathe anymore, or because you're never going to get out of that fucking house or fucking town, or because you can't ever let anyone know, then it's so important that you know how easy, and how good it'll be to JUST SAY IT, and if not Just Say It, then just pen to paper or finger to key and scream it out to this binary nonsense place. It doesn't tell. And it's something, and something beats nothing at Vegas any night of the week. Just tell your tale, and if not to this place or these people, then just on paper or on screen and to *yourself.* Even that's something.
If it's a God thing, you should know that God doesn't want you up there yet.
If it's a Everybody Else thing, you should know that Everybody Else's an idiot.
If it's a family thing, you should know that it's you that means more.
If it's a you thing, then you should ask yourself if you honestly believe this pain is what you were born for, and if you honestly believe this self-emasculation is all you're worth.
And if you don't recognize yourself when you look in the mirror, you should ask yourself if maybe it isn't time to burn that thing and get a new fucking mirror.
If you're that person and you're reading this, then you've got a word processor. WRITE it out. Exorcise. You are worth so much more than pain.
see you in the turnaround, baby-babes.
Jason Hoffman is a bisexual nineteen-year-old Film major and freshman at the College of Santa Fe in Santa Fe, New Mexico. He originally hails from the bonny gravel and mud of Washington, D.C, or more accurately Chevy Chase (yes, you heard right), Maryland, a suburb just outside the city, which lives up to its reputation as a bourgeoise fascist paradise. He is overly single and hugs his stuffed monster Blinky and girl friends for vicarious comfort. Ask him about Peter Gabriel, Bjork, or Tori Amos and get a kiss. He loves "Buffy," "Angel," "The Exorcist," "Twin Peaks," "Labyrinth," and lots else. Jason is by trade a writer,screenwriter to be exact, but you wouldn't know it from his lack of output. E-mail him (me) at firstname.lastname@example.org.