Journal: The Beauty and the Beast

"You rang?"

Roger looked at his computer to see if one of his interoffice chat windows opened.

"Up here, big guy," Roger hated that comment, created by straight men to keep in touch with one another. But when Josh said it, it didn't seem as bad. Roger looked over the PC at Josh staring down at him. "Lunch hour bum rush. Julie sent an email saying you needed help?" That was Josh. No interoffice chat. Right down to business.

Roger had hoped the fake email would work. It apparently did.

"Yeah, I mean, yes, yes, I do. I, yes, ahh," Roger had been focused on his work and allowing himself to daydream about what would happen if Josh came over. There was little opportunity to think of much else when Josh honestly did come over. "yeah, I mean, yes, I can't get my own email to open. I didn't want to walk downstairs to get the tech guy. You know how they are."

"I know, so full of personality. Here, scooch back and I'll take a look," Roger did as he was told.

And now Josh was standing in front of him, slitghly bent over on Roger's keyboard. He irons his pants, Roger noticed. His shirt is pressed to. And look, he's wearing a tank top underneath! Not a beater either, one of those shoestring jobbies that leaves the shoulders exposed to the neck! He must be gay!

"Password?"

"What?"

"What's your password?" Josh leaned to his left to allow Roger to type. Only Roger couldn't. He had to reach his left arm around Josh's frame and that didn't work either, but Roger liked the symbolic hugging. "Here, I'll move..."

Roger typed in the info and the email application came up.

"Oh. Well, it seems to be working now."

Josh leaned back around the monitor. "Yeap." With the ease of a cat he looked at Roger's face, now only about a foot away. "Need me for anything more?"

And he shaves using a razor! "No, no, we're good here."

Josh began to exit out the office door.

"Josh?"

Roger turned back around with a sigh. "Yes?"

"Thanks," Roger picked up the phone and tried to make it look like he was going to be on the phone and that Josh's visit was not as exciting as it was. "See ya." He acted like he was dailing the phone.

"No prob, sport," and then turned the corner.

The email program sat on his desk open and Roger closed it and reopened it with Julie's password.

Dear Josh,

Rog just called saying how nice it was for you to take time out for fixing his computer. You know how those techheads are downstairs. Form this, form that, even though you are trying to get your work done! Good job. Roger has been here for quite awhile, so a complement from him is a big deal.

I'm stuck in this meeting all afternoon, on break right now with the wi-fi--hey, are you doing anything tonight? I was wondering if you would want to head over to the Student Union for a cup of coffee. I have this paper due next week and I was thinking we could discuss it. It's up to you. It's going to get done either way.

Something to think about. I'll be working late as it is.

Julie

Roger then blind carboned it to Julie, so she could see it on her monitor at the meeting.

He smirked at his handiwork. He had just helped his best friend, the guy he has a crush on and his got his own computer program to work. It was going to be a good Tuesday afternoon.

Movie Review: Y Tu Mama Tambien

It's a curious state we live in here, a country sans an identity. I read, recently, about how Barbara Walters mentioned her discomfort with a woman breast-feeding her baby on an airplane next to her and how, when she landed, "lactivists" picketed her office at ABC in New York. This would be the same nation that got upset of Janet Jackson's flashing of her breast during the Super Bowl.

Um, what is it we want?

I'd heard two different reviews of this movie going in. Some really recommended it, saying it was an exploration of sexuality and some panning it, saying it was a stoner road movie.

And like our confused nation, I'm going to add to the problem. I agree to both.

I think the reasons some people put this movie down is because, sadly, they think like Americans. Since joining Netflix last year, I have seen more foreign films they I thought was possible. Before, I had only been exposed to England's cinema and France. Now I've been to India, Japan, China, Brazil, Italy, Greece and Russia. And with each film has opened up a horizon. I could see a world that was so like our own and yet, so vastly different on a fundamental level. Americans, ever scared of sex and sexuality (see a nation that wants equality for all--except those with sexual differences/the breast issue listed above) will see a stoner sex movie.

They will see two boys, lost in a world of falsivity, get stoned and pork everything in sight and it's wrong.

But if you pull back a little, and see this is something a bit more. Two boys, on their way into college and process of becoming men, exploring sex and all its facets. Americans would be and will be put off by the frankness of the images this movie portrays-and give it a negative rating. I, too, found I occasionally had to gasp.

But upon further meditation, I realized that the director, who went on to create the best of the Potter films (so far) had a huge grasp of the young men in this picture and no fear of showing that.

I don't believe a picture like this could have been made in America. Americans still haven't ironed out their issues with sex like the Old World has. Americans would have made the same movie but had the lads go on a killing spree instead of a sexual exploration. I hear that the current movie, Mr. And Mrs Smith is doing just that. Instead of illustrating a couple who lacks intimacy, they supplant it with the two doing violence to one another and everything they own.

How American, no?

The plot concerns these two boys, about to go off to college and the summer prior. They meet a beautiful woman and take her on the road to the beach. The plot is merely a device, illustrated by novice writers and a novice director, to have interactions of these characters. But the strength of the movie is it's bluntness, it's directness of it's presentation.

The same bluntness and directness that would scare off the average American.

But it is a novice film and this is where I hedge. The script has some glaring cliches I've seen in other movies. Of course the young lady's husband has an affair, giving her movitavtion to move on with these young men. Of course the car breaks down to give them time to be in one place and experience each other.

And when the film breaks away from the cliche--it's never fully realized or explored. The young mens (spoiler alert) kiss each other one night AND THAT'S IT?

The woman, we find, has been dying all along. Why didn't we learn eariler? These are great departures and neither the director or writer use them to what they could. Therein lies the drawback and why I only give this movie a partial vote.

But I'll err on the side of recommendation. I think a person should watch this movie and then discuss with themselves/others what it is that bothered them and if they liked it or not. I think it would be very telling in many ways.

Journal: A funeral

I had not wanted to attend. When I had heard the news that my Mom-mom (yes, even at this age, I still referred to her as such) has moved on, I knew I didn't want to attend. For years, I had been writing her, reconnecting on a level that I only knew how...writing. But I was never honest with her about who I was and where I was going and doing with my life.

Then she was dead.

Forget all the 'she's in a better place' stuff, I already knew that and it wasn't a concern. But when a man comes out of a closet, he has to turn his back part way on parts of his past. It's not his choice. There are just those in the family who the mere sentence, "I am gay" will not suffice. The explanation has to be longer and deeper. And for my grandparents, that would have been the case. So with every letter about tales of my students and the adventures of my dog, there was nothing about the love of my life and the family I had created and worked so hard to maintain. The smiles on my face were strangely false.

So when she died, Lord help me, my heart snapped in two. I couldn't go but had to. The letters did foster a connection that I could not deny, no matter how false.

But I had to go. Unlike my brother, I could handle this. He had completely dissolved at the whole event and so I knew that I had to go, a representative of my grandmother's oldest son. It was eerie too. Talk about burying the past. People kept mentioning how I looked like my long past father. They spoke to my mother about things I'm sure she's buried for different reasons.

And I realized it was good to be there.

Just two months prior, I had flown out to New York and noticed how much of my past was still there. To go was something of a gift for my partner, he could experience the world that made my character. But what I didn't think would happen was how it inspired me to reconnect with my history once more. And now, with Mom-mom's moving on, I had opened a door.

And I could handle it.

I didn't want to, but I could. And I can.

I do miss her, even if the letters missed the truth. But as I sit here writing about it, I realize, I never did lie, either.

It was her birthday this weekend. I wonder what she did.

God, that felt good to get out.

Movie Review: Billy Elliot

It's that time of the year again, the reason Netflix was created. I've been waiting for an opportunity to finally sit and watch the movies established in my queue for some time now. Their presence at my coffee table blew pangs of guilt my way whenever I reached for my glass.

But the guilt was not motivating enough to pick up the blasted DVDs and slap them into the player. I guess I felt that there was much more to do then watching movies--that guilt was stronger. Perhaps it's something my mother taught me...there's always something that needed to be done.

But now that summer vacation is here, the guilt has taken form in the opposite.

I have to watch these movies and broaden my horizons.

Guilt is not the only gift of my family's matriarch. Growing up, she had a dancing school--so a movie like Billy Elliot takes on a new, more profound meaning then it would for the average Joe. I've seen a gazillion movies about dancing growing up--and my perspective is far different. I've never once interpreted dancing men as effette or gay; my images were that of womanziers surrounded by the world's most impossibly lithe and beautiful women.

I don't see Just Jack doing ballroom, I see Patrick Swazye and Fred Astaire. That says something when I came to this movie as well.

It's a story we've heard time and again, so there were no surprises there. A young boy likes dance, his working class family (in this case, devoid of a mother, also seen elsewhere [think Disney movies] says no, it's not for men. They come to their senses and try to get him into a dancing school.

The reviews all scream, "this is feel good," or "a dancing Rocky."

And they are correct, in many ways. I've seen a crapload of dancing movies and musicals. This is the same as everyone of them. But I didn't mind.

There are some outstanding performances here that make me want to watch. As the 11 year old ( I had a hard time with that, his maturity as either and actor or person shone through that he was much older then the numbers the script gave him) Billy Elliot, Jamie Bell's expressions and intensity made me want to watch the screen. His father seemed to share that intensity to an extent that I wanted to see what happened next.

That's good. For rehashes tend to get bogged down in the motions of actors who know better.

It is my belief, like women in the late 60's, that men are undergoing a profound change in their role. The Old School is holding on as best as it can, pouring cash into Right Wing idiocy and churches, trying to keep what they percieved as the correct mannerisms for musculinity. But men's needs are changing. In a world of growing comfort, where war is more invention then need, men don't have to kill the bear and bring home the hide anymore. Technology has made the world an easier place and it's requiring that families are restructured.

In the last few years, the term metrosexual has surfaced and I believe it is a sign that the men of the world are truly having to give up everything they own. That's why they are so pissed all the time. THat is why they are running to Promise Keepers meetings and supporting a Marriage Amendment to the Constitution. It's a way of holding on something that is disappearing. Their power; their recongintion to what they feel is important.

They fail to realize that change is undying and the tide cannot be held back.

Which brings me to a symbolism I noticed in this picture that I don't believe was intentional but something that appeared to me. The men in this picture won't let Billy be who he is, prefering to hold onto the Old School image of masculinty. But then they realize, that Old School is not paying the bills or doing anything for themselves or the boy and change.

It brings Billy's message a bit further into the here-and-now and gives the picture more weight. No wonder it was a minor hit. Inside, everyone knew the message and could understand it.

So, yes, it's a good movie, even if it's a rehashing. If you like dancing, sure, watch it, but it's truly middle-of-road stuff, fluff and decent.

Journal: More Beauty and the Beast

Roger sat down at his PC and wondered where to start. He was always the anal retentive type and it bothered him when work piled up on him faster then he could get it out to the appropriate people at the college. He ran his left hand down the yellow tan folders looking to make sure they were all marked with the correct sticky colored note.

All the greens, yellows and reds were there. But the their flicking noise awoke his memory and he reached back to his plastic lunch bag and unzippered the bottom portion. THere was his paperback, dogeared but otherwise clean, and on it's front, a yellow note from Josh. He had to contact Josh. That would stall the day's work for a few moments and open his mind to the work he had to do for the afternoon.

He wheeled himself into position and moved the keyboard forward. He reached beside the monitor and grabbed his antibacterial hand gel and scrubbed away. The smell gave him a touch of energy.

Josh was new to the offices at the college but not new to the job. He had worked for a computer engineering firm for many years until his wife passed away from items related to cancer. He had worked out of his home for years and when his wife passed away, he had decided on a total shift. He moved to his hometown and found a job that did not require his degree. He continued to exercise and train for various sports, but he never played any of them. He read viciously, opting to sit alone most lunches. And people respected that. He was not much of conversationalist, but when he did speak it was of imagined importance and such authority, most of the staff listened. He shared an office with Julie, would she actually stay in one place.

Roger and Julie had been at the college's administrative offices for both over six years. Their lives there were uneventful, and so the introduction of Josh into their mix was healthy for them. They listened to his every word and his every movement. But they would never say anything untowards him.

"What?" Roger had degrees in English and Adminstrative Management.

But not one in computer science.

He smacked the computer's monitor. Twice.

Then he reapplied the hand gel.

"Come on, come on," it wasn't that the computer was slow. It was dead. It let him log onto this email and then stopped.

He tried again.

His brow furrowed and his lips pursed.

"Dangit."

Without thought, he typed into Julie's password and nickname. It worked without a problem. Roger was upset-it meant it was his email that was having problems and not hers.

He looked back at the folders and sneered. He wondered if he should move to a different desk and see what he could do. But the image of Josh sitting at his desk, his tie neat and his shirt still pressed reduced his frustration. He began to type Josh and email.

Josh,

Thanks for the note about the copier. Go ahead and head over to Accounting. You'll probably meet their head secretary named Margie. Give her the papers and tell her the code is 717 and it's from

Roger realized he was still under Julie's email and not his own. He smiled and decided it would be easier just to go ahead and finish writing.

and it's from me. The copiers are on the same line--hers and my office.

And if you get a chance, stop by and say hey to Roger. He's having a bad day--seems his email is on the fritz and needs your computer engineering degree.

Thanks, I'll be back after 2.
Julie

Roger paused before he hit send. He was single too, and nothing makes one's day when someone cute says hello once and a while. He turned and starting find the folders that he could attend to without email's involvement.

Journals: Do you believe in aliens?

Humph.

I've always been iffy about this topic. I can believe in ghosts, heck I investigate them, write and read about them and sometimes think I see them.

But UFOs?

I guess there is a difference between the two topics, and I need to recognize that. I was addicted to X-Files, too, but that doesn't mean I think they are real.

I'll tell you what I believe. Other then God, peace and enlightenment.

There are aliens.

But I don't believe that they fly a gazillion miles to flit about in machines and stare at us like some kind scientific experiment. If they have the smarts to make such a machine that can bring them here, they can have the common decency to stop by and say hello. Or do something other then probing our heinies. I just think that something that smart can be so dumb.

But then again, Republicans still exist in this society, so I probably should rethink that. A smart society and those yahoos still exist.

I know, for show there has to be life somewhere out there. Can't not be. To think that we are alone is pure avarice.

But I wonder about their visiting us at all. I just can't work that part out for some reason. Area 51 is a great idea, really, for scifi stories and whatnot, but I doubt it's anything other then really cool spy planes. The inventions of overactive minds.

That's my story for now.

Here's the good part. I'm pretty opinionated, that's for sure. But I am more then willing to change on this one. I can adapt. If someone's got evidence, I'm sure to flip to the other side.

In other words, I want to believe.

Journal: Three Musicians

If I could meet and talk to any three musicians, I have to say my main concern would be not who they were or what we would talk about, but more along the lines of what to serve them. My mother has taught me the art of entertaining, and yes, there is some personal reward watching people be full on food I serve and whatnot. Screw Martha Stewart, I have my own style. But the request today is who would I invite and what would be the three questions. I'm guessing this can be very telling, psychoanalytically.

First, I'd go with historical. I listen to classical music nearly constantly on a radio I just leave on in the living room. It adds a certain peace to the atmosphere. It also helps where I teach. And since there as been a movie and whatnot based on him, I believe we already have a powerful interest in W.A. Mozart. His music, I've noticed, I've been able to identify by ear and that says something. My three questions for him would be more along the lines of self-application. I don't play an instrument, but I do have much vocal training from when I was kid. But I think I'd ask, "tell me of the times in which you lived." Secondly, I'd query," from where is your inspiration borne?" and lastly, I'd ask, " to what did you hope from your legacy?" I think all of these items would make for delicious conversations.

Music has always had a profound impact on my life. Like a soundtrack to our existence, when I hear a certain tune, I'm transported. I'm thinking of the 80's weekends a local radio station sometimes plays. I remember this lyric and that. When I first saw a given video. So it's very important, if not in the forefront already.

Besides, I was born a Pieces. And they are known for their love of the arts--especially music. Their open ways make them adept at creativity. So music, I like to think, is hardwired into my systems.

The second musicians I would invite would probably, again, be of historical signifcance. I'd invite the whole pool of the Beatles. My old babysitter would like that I said that. In fact, if it weren't for her, I would probably never have discovered this group. When I was a mere child, she would play their songs over and over, over and over and over again.I never noticed their impact until, one night, at the gym, their music played over the speaker system and started singing along. I knew all of the words but couldn't tell you the name of the song. And the questions I would pose for these guys would be the same as Mozart's.

The last musicians I'm kinda hung up on. I want to say John Williams, the Gershwins or Cole Porter. Their music was destined to go with another art form. They created music for theatre and/or the movies and that meant the tunes took another role. The questions would be the same as the Beatles and Mozart, but instead of asking about the time period, I would replace the question about their life styles. Especially Mr. Williams and Mr. Porter. I would ask it because I believe it had a profound impact on their ability to present their creations and would like to know to what extent. I think, since this is my journal, I'm going to just leave that last little bit up in the air. You tell me what you think.

Journal: A person who doesn't like me

I didn't like today's topic, so I rolled back the calender and picked another.

It should be easy. The request is to write about myself from the perspective of someone who doesn't like me. Who likes themselves? Surely, the guy with the white beater at the gym last night likes himself. But underneath, I'm sure he's got the issues. Probably hates to cook and stares at porno all day and feels dirty about it.

I'll switch to third person.

He's weird. Plain and simple. He has this strange facination with Disney. But it's broader than that. He's like a big kid. And with that he carries a huge imagination with him. Because of that, he's a daydreamer. He keeps imagining worlds and places that aren't fit for the situation at hand.

He also tends to do the masculine thing and turn all conversations into something about himself. When a coworker complains about a student, he'll immediately list what he's done and not, regardless of the discussion. It's not about him!

He's so damn out! Not everyone wants to know about him being gay. I suppose it's the only way he sees the world, but there are other things going on. It's pitiful.

Crybaby too. Feel too damn much.

Obsessive? Does that work? Like the Disney thing. Or his husband. He's only got, like, five topics and the world revolves around it. He apppears pretty openminded to new things, but you have to wonder. With only five topics to work with, how can he be?

Creepily involved in spirituality and mortality. Always reading religious texts and wondering about the great beyond. And when he does read and talk about it, it's always depressive or scary. Not a single moment of in-between.

Tends to dote on his partner, which is also one of his five topics. The weirdness here is he doesn't like to be touched or be physically close to anyone. So what kind of relationship do they have?

He's fat, plain and simple. But he works out constantly. He doesn't see that it isn't working--the exercise regiment. He goes anyway. What kind of person doesn't just look down and see they are losing the battle?


There, a perspective of not liking me. The weird thing is, I thought that would be easy, and it wasn't. Perhaps, after a few years, I've learned to love what I've got and not hope beyond it? Maybe so. Good thing, too.

Journal: The Sun

I have a love/hate relationship with the sun, I really do. I still can't freegin make up my mind about it. I love to sunbathe, I really do. I know it's risking cancer. I believe it's part of my own poor body image. I joking like to say that 'tan fat is better than white fat,' as if this some how justifies risking skin cancer, but I believe it's more potent then that. I've noticed over the years a huge jump in body modifications. Piercings and tattoos galore. And forgive me for this gross generalization, but I can't help thinking that the world at large hates their bodies and that's why we see so many tatts out there. It's not a question of if a body is too fat or too thin. It's people hate their physical forms of themselves and tatts, piercing and tans are ways of controlling the uncontrolable. Outside of genetics, we are all suffering.

And I like to tan, I really do. Maybe this is the reason? Yes I have tattoos and piercings as well. And yes, I've seen them on the beautiful people too, totally blowing my theory out of the water. But doesn't even the most beautiful male, blessed with a six pack abs wish that they were an 8-pack?

It's a vicious cycle.

But that is not the purpose of this writing. I'm supposed to be writing about the sun.

My partner and I haven't been feeling well at all this week. The weather has been crappy for some time now--and he blamed the weather last night.

I think he might be right.

For as much as I sunbathe, I hide from the great outdoors. I'm not outdoorsy, never really have been. I do like camping in tents. See what I mean about love/hate? But it goes to show you the profound impact this nearest star has on our lives. If it's gone, you notice. I do love the beach, but hate the heat. I love to travel to Florida and the like, but can only handle it so much.

I'm torn in my love for the sun. Kinda like eating healthy, right? You have to like it and respect it, but it never really tastes as good as an eclair.

There's no denying the sun gives us life.

But I live for the night life. I'm a night person. Recently, as I try to diagnose some sleeping problems--my therapist recommended my staying up later then usual so I sleep more through the night.

Not a problem. I can stay up all night.

So the sun plays with us some more. For me? It defines my personality. Like a vampire, I guess.

A vampire with decent color.