Why Are There No Gay Supremacists?

This question both puzzles and fascinates me.

During their quest for full civil equality most minorities have, at one time or another, given birth to factions that believe their group to be special for some reason or another. These factions may either have taken the idea seriously, or merely used it as a tool to foster pride in a communal identity.

The African American community most prominently had the Black Panthers and the Nation of Islam; they had Malcolm X who, in stark contrast to Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. told them to take their rights "by any means necessary." The contribution of Malcolm X and men like him has since been glossed over in favor of the nonviolent methods of Dr. King, but his contribution to the Civil Rights movement is undeniable.

If we could, to a limited extent, say that Harvey Milk was the gay rights equivalent of Dr. King (in so far as he's endured as a symbol of hope and nonviolence), where is our Malcolm X?

Why is it that the best we can conceive of as a community is tolerance? Other minority groups have at least had the ambition to dream of statehood. Where is the dream of a gay state? This was, to a limited extent, attempted by the exodus to San Francisco on the 70's and the dream of "going West," but was quickly abandoned after a few simple rights were granted.

Why can we not conceive of ourselves as able to contribute something more to this world than a sense of fashion? I'm not a religious man, but if I were I would have to believe that God put us here for a reason. Is that reason nothing better than to compete on Project Runway and sing showtunes?

Might we not instead be something more? Something better?

Before you all get your feathers ruffled, let me say that I'm not promoting extremism, or approving supremacist rehtoric in any form. Still, I can't help but be worried by the fact that we as a community seem incapable of it.

I have a number of thoughts as to why this may be the case, but I'm nowhere close to providing a coherent answer about the matter.

Thoughts?

Trannies and Homos

"The panic of coming upon a transvestite in the Bois de Boulogne. It is not the spectre of homosexuality, but the distortion of signs that spreads terror. Not the fact of mistaking one sex for another, which is close to vaudeville, but the game of signifying woman out of nothing, the signs of woman without woman.
"Only the feminine can surrealize its effects in this way without bringing upon itself that ridicule which immediately threatens masculine values when they attempt the same. Besides, the masculine version of the transvestite has become passe; it was merealy an appendage of homosexuality." - Jean Baudrillard, Cool Memories pp. 54

Baudrillard is right. The 70's saw the emergence of gay culture, which worshipped an idealized form of hypermasculinity. This practice was embodied in the archetypal masculine figures that dated back to the youth of contemporary culture: the policeman, the cowboy, the construction worker, etc. The exaggeration of masculine signs was brought to the extreme, and ultimately become a parody of itself in the form of the Village People. Why this masculine fetishism? Most likely a reaction to the characterization of homosexuals as effeminate; perhaps also a reaction to the fear that this is true.

The advent of the AIDS epidemic put an end to this carnal masculinity and forced the gay community to seek out a new cultural paradigm with which to define itself. As usual, they fell back on another stereotype: that of the refined, cultured homosexual. This has come to define the community from the late 80's through to the new millenium. The communal vision of aesthetic perfection shifted away from rugged masculinity towards a more classically-oriented ideal of youthful beauty (kouros). All signs of masculinity were eradicated in favor of this new pubescent, adrogynous ideal. This culminated with the metrosexual craze and the mainstreaming of gay culture.

The full-body waxing that became popular during this period was more than just a fashion trend; It was a symbol of the male castration which had long since taken place. A new group emerged as the counterpoint to the Village People: Queer Eye for the Straight Guy's "Fab Five." They defined the homosexuals of the new millenium as being friendly, helpful, nonthreatening. Another castration, this time self-inflicted.

However, it was also in this group, particularly with Carson Kressley ("People tell me I look like Ellen!"), that new problems began to manifest themselves. Youth-worship is far less sustainable than hypermasculinity, and its continued practice begins to reek of drag. Signs meant to invoke youth are transformed into the hideously feminine. This is the origin of "Tranny Eyebrows."

In this way, we are all transformed into transvestites. The confusion of gender signs is discomforting for most. The importance of drag as a staple of gay culture is negated: when everyone is a drag queen, no one is.

How are we to escape this cultural predicament?

This city deserves a better class of homosexual,

While I Was Gone...

Yes, it's been a long time folks.

Sadly, my Master's thesis came to dominate my life for several months, distracting me from both my social life and the interesting little piece of work that is this blog. Now that that opus is finished and my degree completed (pending approval of my thesis), I'm free to regale you with tales of the inadequacy of the gay social scene and the inanity of the boys who populate it.

Have you missed me? I've missed you.

In the past few months we've seen the Obama frenzy reach catastrophic heights that mirror the most fervent religious zeal. Gay marraige bans have been enacted in several states, giving us all cause to rally once again, and realize our strength as a collective.

We've witnessed the simultaneous fall of Sarah Palin and the resurrection of Hillary Clinton.

Mr. Black has moved yet again.

The circle has been completed as Hot Mess returned to Porky's, while several unpromising new venues make their gay debut.

The structures of capitalism coninue to crumble, as our corporate masters give themselves obscene bonuses and cackle all the way to their banks.

Sean Penn portrayed a gay public figure we can be proud of, while Lance Bance continued to devolve into an assinine stereotype (see his new haircut).

We have witnessed the unchecked rise of the Self-Daters, and the continued pandemic of Tall Skinny White Boy Syndrome. Alexis syndrome is rampant, and legions of unemployed chorus boys have flooded the streets.

Oh my brothers and only friends, it is indeed time for the return of this blog. Who else provides the perspective.

Stay Tuned,

Movies: Choke

Go see this movie right now.

Please?

Come on, live a little...

Choke is another film based on the work of cult author Chuck Palahniuk. He's the guy responsible for the deliciously dark Fight Club which was adapted into an equally cultish film in 1999 starring Brad Pitt and Edward Norton. If you've seen the film or read the book, then you should have a pretty good idea of what to expect from Choke: a bizarre blend of shocking degeneracy, subversive social commentary and black, black humor. If you know me you know I like my comedy as black as can be.

This time around we're getting the story of Victor Mancini who, like the unnamed narrator of Fight Club, also attends weekly group sessions. While Fight Club's narrator fakes illnesses to achieve a cathartic release, Mancini has a very genuine sex addiction. The twelve steps aren't going well for Victor and more often then not he finds himself having random trysts with his fellow group members. By day Victor works a dead-end job in one of those obnoxious colonial village reenactments with his best friend Denny, a compulsive masturbator. As if Victor doesn't have enough issues, he also has a demented mother in a very expensive nursing home. In order to pay the bills, Victor needs to generate a little extra income. He does this by choking on food at expensive restaurants. The people who save him begin to feel responsible for him and frequently send him money after he complains about his various (fictional) financial woes and (fictional) health problems.

Yes, this movie is fucked up.

Things begin to change for Victor when he meets his mother's new doctor, Paige Marshall. Victor finds himself genuinely attracted to her, something he doesn't quite know how to deal with. Furthermore Paige is helping Victor to extract an important piece of information from his ailing mother: the identity of his real father. A mid-film plot twist reveals that Victor may be a half-clone of Jesus Christ himself, the second coming.

Seriously.

Content with being a lousy human being, Victor is horrified when his selfish deeds are revealed to be acts of great kindness and self-sacrifice when reinterpreted in the light of his possible heritage (Victor's choking scam genuinely helps his patrons, his offhand medical advice to strangers has saved lives, etc). Victor must then come to terms with the fact that he might just be a good person after all... perhaps even the best person there ever was.

Ok, so I understand that someone who is not familiar with Palahniuk's work might be turned off by what seems like a ludicrous plot, but the story operates on multiple levels. One the one hand you can view it simply for the comedy; the sex scenes are hilarious, as is every single moment spent in the colonial village while Victor and Denny infuriate their boss (played by director Clark Gregg) who takes historical reenactment far too seriously. Sam Rockwell is perfectly cast as Victor Mancini. As a matter of fact, I actually pictured him in the role when I read the book long before the film version was even announced. Similarly, Angelica Houston is almost regal as Victor's mother, a woman who, though frail now, was once strong and majestic in her own twisted, drug-fueled way. Freud would have a field day examining the complexities of their relationship. Beyond this, Choke deals with themes of redemption and salvation, various conceptions of love, self-determination of identity, and as always, the dark underside of society that most of us pretend does not exist. Ultimately though, Choke is one very twisted romantic comedy, and that's just the way I like it.

This indie film is only open in limited release, so it's not able to pull in huge Hollywood-style numbers. Nevertheless, you should go and see it. If you don't we may never see adaptations of some of Chuck's other work which most definitely deserves to be seen on the big screen. I'm thinking first and foremost about Invisible Monsters (a model gets her jaw shot off by a sniper and escapes from the hospital to join up with a tranny named Brandy Alexander and her traveling troupe of drag queens) and Survivor (the only survivor of a kool-aid death cult works a suicide hotline and ultimately becomes a celebrity self-help guru).

What Would Jesus NOT Do?

Movies: Network

Network is an important film.

All of you should watch it, but you probably won't.

Luckily, I'm here to tell you why it's important and to provide a few YouTube highlights for your perusal.

The 1976 film, written by Paddy Chayefsky and directed by Sidney Lumet follows the story of one Howard Beale (a role that earned Peter Finch a posthumous Academy Award) and his progression from being a beloved news anchor to being a "mad prophet of the airways."

When Howard's ratings slip, he's informed by his producer and longtime friend Max Schumacher (another stellar performance from William Holden) that he is going to be let go. Despondent, feeling that he has nothing left to live for, Beale announces on-air that he is going to commit suicide. This mark's the beginning of Howard's mental decline which sees him continue to tell a live television audience that he "just ran out of bullshit" and ultimately deliver a series of long, passionate rants about subjects ranging from the state of society to the propagandist nature of television.

The film also follows the evolving relationship between Schumacher and Diana Christensen (Faye Dunaway), an ambitious, up-and-coming producer that uses Beale's poor mental health as a method to gain ratings for the struggling UBS network.

The mood of the film cleverly alternates between black humor and dire seriousness, while keeping up a very pointed social commentary throughout. It is never lost on the audience that despite Howard Beale's apparenty insanity, he is the most honest and (strangely enough) sane character in the film. His tragedy is that he borders on being a force for real social change, but ends up being a lone voice crying the wilderness, the only one who sees our world for what it really is.

The most important, and ultimately, the eeriest aspect of the film is how prescient it is of the way that the media has evolved in the decades since Network was released. One can only wonder what a modern-day Howard Beale would have to say about the internet, when he's already so critical of how television has turned us into mindless drones that, "dress like the tube, eat like the tube [and] raise [our] children like the tube." Furthermore, one of Beale's speeches directly anticipates the arrival of completely biased networks like Fox News that peddle "shit for truth" in the employ of large, global corporations.



Furthermore, the period that Network represents, the late 70's, is very reminiscent of our own; economic crisis, climate crisis, war, and a complete lack of faith in the government run rampant. Network takes a stand against the destruction of the spirit of the individual in the modern age, which Beale summarizes in his moving statement, "I'm a human being goddammit! My life has value!" a sharp contrast to the pro-Capitalist speech delivered by corporate CEO Mr. Jensen during the film's climax. The impressionable Beale changes his stance in favor of Jensen's philosophy of global capitalism, a decision that leads him to his demise.

Network reaffirms the worth of the human spirit in the wake of the soul-crushing nature of modern society, without taking a particular political stand. We can seize back our individual power, and we can change things for the better but first we've got to get mad. Howard Beale want's us to get up, go to our our windows, stick our heads out and yell, "I'm as mad as hell and I'm not going to take this anymore!" It's one of the most famous, and disturbing, scenes in cinema.



Watch it. Learn a few things.

This city deserves a better class of homosexual.

Web Obsession: Nietzsche Family Circus

Ok, I'm a philosophy geek, so this is probably only fun for me, but here goes...

The Nietzsche Family Circus is a website with a very simple premise: they take a random image from the long-running (and unfunny) comic strip Family Circus, and combine it with a random quotation from unapologetic, revolutionary, chauvinistic philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche.

The results are sometimes hilarious, sometimes profound, sometimes senseless, but always interesting.

Here are a few of my favorites:

Rant: Why I am not a Rent boy.

So Rent has finally closed it's doors after what seems like a century.

Praise Jesus!

It's practically impossible to go through a karaoke night without hearing somebody sing something from Rent. Last night it was "Another Day." Last week it was "Out Tonight." The week before that it was "Seasons of Love." For the sake of fluidity, I won't even mention the three songs from Wicked I was subjected to, or the flabby queen that sang "Everything's Coming Up Roses."

Christ. I hate Rent.

Ok, maybe hate is too strong a word. I don't hate Rent, I just really don't get what the big deal is. It's a gay musical. So what? ALL musicals are gay. Why is this one so special?

Let me tell you about my first Rent experience. When the movie came out on DVD I decided to buy it. I figured hey, it's a staple gay musical, I'm sure I'll love it. I sat down with my boyfriend, my best friend and his boyfriend to watch it. We turned it off a little over half way through and decided to go to a house party instead. That DVD is now a doorstop.

Yes, yes, I know. I committed the horrible sin of watching the movie rather than seeing the stage production. I'm sure you'll try to convince me that it's SO much better on stage. I don't buy it. I have a considerable amount of imagination and I've tried to redeem Rent in my own eyes a great many times. I've listened to both the original broadway cast recording and the film soundtrack countless times (I'm listening to them right now actually). I've even watched several documentaries on the creation and development of the show. Believe me, I really want to be as die-hard about it as the rest of you are but I just can't, and I don't believe seeing it on stage will change that.

I know it was revolutionary and controversial, but that in itself doesn't make it good. The idea of adapting Puccini's La Boheme is interesting, but centering it around a bunch of East Village hippies with AIDS in the late 80's? It's just so fucking depressing. Why sit for three hours and watch people sing about how they're dying of a plague?

Don't get me wrong, I'm not averse to watching a story about the AIDS crisis. If you want to see something that's far more moving and does a much better job of encapsulating the experience of the gay community during that time then may I suggest Tony Kushner's Angels in America (which incidentally also won a Pulitzer and a Tony)? Kushner's original story is more thought provoking and has far more depth than Rent. Sorry, no musical numbers though.

Beyond that, Rent simply isn't all that entertaining. The characters are incessantly whiny and, with a few exceptions, the musical numbers are mediocre. Mark can't figure out what he wants to film. Roger can't write a song. Mimi's an emotionally fragile stripper. They can't afford their Rent. Aww. Poor babies! Y'know what? Neither can I, but you don't see me singing any songs about it, do you? There's character named Angel that dies and becomes a source of spiritual inspiration? How original. By the time "La Vie Boheme" ended I was hoping that the entire cast would choke on an AIDSburger.

Look, I liked "La Vie Boheme" and "One Song Glory." The recurring "No Day but Today" theme is lovely and moving (and, for those of you who are philosophically inclined, quite in keeping with the doctrine of eternal recurrence and amor fati, which I fully support). But please, "Out Tonight?" "Light My Candle?" "Over the Moon?" Absolutely not. Don't even get me started on "Seasons of Love." That song is catchy to be sure, but the concept behind it is absolutely ludicrous. I defy anyone to measure a year in terms of love. You could measure it in sex, that's for sure, but love? No sugar, you can't measure love. That's kind of the point of it.

It's OK to like Rent. It's even OK to love it, but lets all get a grip and stop treating it like it was a revelation. Stop chanting "no day but today" and "525,600 minutes" like they're some kind of mantras. Rent may be an important musical, but it's a mediocre one at best.

There's no wittier criticism I can give than that of a couple of my own heroes, Trey Parker and Matt Stone, so I'll leave you with that:


This city deserves a better class of homosexual

Review: Wet & Wild Wednesdays at Porky's

Do you ever wonder how they name these parties?

I do.

I mean, call me old-fashioned, but I just think that the name of the party should have something to do with the actual party itself, y'know?

You don't call a gay party "Titty Tuesday," for example. It just wouldn't make any sense.

Oh, and on that note, can we as a community stop trying to rhyme our parties with days of the week? Firstly, the overuse of alliteration is just terrible. Secondly, rhymed names belong only in grade school or in office parties alongside the ranks of such classics as "Taco Tuesday" and "Thirsty Thursday."

That being said, I really don't know what's so "Wet & Wild" about Wet & Wild Wednesdays at Porky's. There weren't any squirt guns or wet underwear contests or swimming pools or even a freakin' Slip 'N Slide for that matter. The name makes it sound like the remnant of some lame spring break party in Cancun. Oh yeah, there was some rumor of tranny jello wrestling, but I didn't see anything of the sort during my time there.

Actually, the closest thing I saw to a tranny in that place was my old friend Mr. Tranny Eyebrows, who seems to pop up in my life with increasing frequency.

Are you stalking me Mr. Tranny Eyebrows?

...It's okay if you are. I'm just asking.

So, minor complaints aside, let me say this: if there is some kind of gay god (and not the horrendous Matthew Lush kind) I would like to thank him for bringing Porky's back to us. I never thought I would miss that place as much as I have. Going back there again after this very long summer is like going home... if your home is a sticky dump covered in fluorescent paint and quasi-obscene grafitti.

Now, I might sound like I'm being sarcastic and that I'm hating on Porky's, but I assure you that that is most definitely not the case. Porky's is so refreshingly honest that I can't help but love it. Porky's is like that friend of yours that's a total slut, but is completely open about it. Sure he's trashy, but at least he's not trying to pretend he's all virginal, y'know? It demonstrates a kind of self-knowledge that is lacking in most other places.

Here's a little paraphrase of some Marcus Aurelius by way of Hannibal Lecter: First Principles, gentlemen. Of each particular thing ask: What is it in itself? What is its nature?

What is the nature of a gay party?

It is trash. It is a hole in the wall. It is a dive bar. It is trannies and drag queens and slutty public nudity and liquor spilling left and right. It has always been this way since we stepped out of our closets and emerged into the light.

Anyway, enough with my preaching, let's get back to the party at hand. Basically, it's our beloved old Hot Mess... but on a Wednesday night. Same crowd, same queens, same quasi-celebrities. It's nothing new, but I think Porky's falls into the "if it ain't broke don't fix it" category. Now that the original is back, it's really time for that HK Lounge fiasco to bite the dust.

Bottomless Pit's priceless reaction to the shower of confetti. Photo courtesy of Urban Sprawl

Even the hour-long open bar is back. Praise be to the gay god for that too. One noticeable improvement is that their current bar staff was unusually capable. In the old Hot Mess days they had a few of the gay bar regulars who simply weren't skilled enough as bartenders to handle the mass of people clamoring for their free drinks. This was not a problem on Wednesday night. These guys were hot, friendly, mixed a mean drink and kept the flow at the bar going. I hope they keep them around in the future and that they weren't a one-time, opening-night thing... especially that blonde, California-looking guy that served me my vodka tonics all night. He was fun. Cross your fingers kiddies.

What else? Oh yeah Erica Tour Aviance was there, but you'll hear more about her when I talk about Mr. Black (coming soon!). Ben Andrews was there too, but he wasn't naked so who cares, right?

Something I really don't understand: "hosted by the infamous Jason Preston!"

Really?

Now, I know nothing of this man's skills as a party planner or promoter, assuming that he has any, but I really wonder if he's in any way necessary for the success of this party. I mean, I'm sure His Unholiness is probably bound to Porky's by magic that is far beyond my understanding, but geez, ditch the stiff already. For example, do you thing that the following exchange ever takes place?

Gay 1: Let's go to Porky's tonight!
Gay 2: Ehh, I'd much rather go to Vlada
Gay 1: But Porky's party is hosted by Jason Preston!
Gay 2: OMFG! Jason Preston!!! We're totally going there instead!

Yeah, I didn't think so either.

Anyway, the point is that Porky's is back, and not a moment too soon. It's nice to finally have a Wednesday night alternative to Hell's Kitchen. One can only run the Therapy-Vlada-Posh circuit so many times before it gets real old.

As I conclude yet another blog review, Porky's website informs me that Tuesdays at Porky's are in fact "Taco Tuesdays."

Sigh.

Why am I not surprised?

This city deserves a better class of homosexual

Web Obsession: YourNextGift.com

YourNextGift.com is a nifty little blog that is regularly updated with all sorts of interesting (and often pointless) products. They seem to have a bit of an obsession with things with LED's in them, but other than that it's pretty interesting. Any apartment could probably benefit from a couple of the clever novelty items that the site features but try not to overdo it, shall we? I have this vision of some douchebag's apartment full of LEDs and clever little japanese products.

Items range from the Hillary Clinton Nutcracker, or USB Missile Launchers, to Bad Boyfriend Voodoo Dolls and Harry Potter Illuminating Wands (no Equus jokes, please).

My current favorite?

That would definitely have to be the Villain Chair (below), available for purchase on DrunkStuff.com.
If anyone is wondering what they should get me for Christmas you need look no further... although I could probably use a fluffy, white Persian cat to go with it. Thank you all in advance.

R.I.P. Kevin Pravia, UPDATE 4

In previous posts I have stated my conviction that the fault in this crime rests squarely with the murderer alone.

I must amend that slightly now. You see, in a sense, that is still true; the fault for the action is all his. Yet in my passion and anger I did not think dialectically. I did not examine things from different perspectives and I was blind to the larger picture at hand. Having had time to think, I believe I now have a better perspective on the issue.

So how did this happen? Who is to blame?

To quote Cassius by way of Edward R. Murrow: "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, but in ourselves."

It is our fault for allowing ourselves to live in a world where we turn the tables on the victims and blame them for their innocence. Innocence should not be derided, it should be respected and celebrated. We should mourn the loss of it.

It is our fault for allowing ourselves to live in a world where the extent of our alienation is such that we must turn to drugs and alcohol simply to cope with the pressures of daily life.

It is our fault for allowing ourselves to live in a world where the extent of our alienation from one another is such that when a tragedy likes this strikes, the most emotion that some among us can muster is to say "he should have known better."

It is our fault for allowing ourselves to live in a world where the dangerously ill are not properly medicated or confined, and where misplaced hatred and the desire to accumulate meaningless trinkets can lead one young man to murder another.

It is our fault for allowing ourselves to live in a world where the newspapers tell us that today we had fifteen homicides and sixty-three violent crimes as if that's the way it's supposed to be.

If I'm starting to sound dangerously like Peter Finch's portrayal of Howard Beale from Sidney Lumet's Network it is because I mean to (my review of this most important piece of cinema is forthcoming). I'm about to sound a lot more like him.

So what do we do about this world that we live in?

I have a few ideas of my own, but who cares what I think?

All I know is that first you've got to get mad. You have to get mad, and you have to understand that this is not the way it should be and not the way it must be. To once again paraphrase Edward R. Murrow, we need not live in fear of one another. Once you accept and understand this, then we can begin to change things. We shouldn't have to live like this.

If any good can come from Kevin's death then perhaps it's that some of us have been shocked into realizing this truth.