I am pretty sure we all like doing things that are out of the ordinary. A gift from God that gives more spice to our life, giving us a challenge that may not help us in our career, but improves our emotional outlook in life. Valeting is a good example of this, you get to drive really expensive cars and occasionally see celebrities. Being a bartender could be someone's dream. Mine was thrown at me this past weekend and I never realized how much I really wanted this, yet at the same time was never so intimidated of this realm of the gay community until now. The realm I am talking about lies not in the gym, nor is it in the gay pride parade, but in the clubs...in the go-go dancer realm.
If you are picked to be a go-go dancer, not only does it mean that you are way hot, and have some really hot dance moves, but it also shows you are what people want. You are what people pay 4.15 a gallon at the gas pumps from various parts of San Diego County to see.
On Thursday, I was asked to audition to be a go-go dancer. He left me his phone number and told me to call him back. I called him on Friday and he didn't pick up his phone. So I figured: It was at least worth a shot.
That night, one of my best friends went to that club that night and was picked to be a dancer. He had a private audition and within minutes he was up on the podium. He was the club's new go-go dancer. He told me this as soon as he found out.
This made me want to do it even more. Because it would show that I would have some support. So I called the guy one more time, and he arranged for me to audition last night. When I confirmed this audition, I started blasting DJ Nikno's mix and was dancing around the house with it. As I was driving up there, I don't think I have ever been that nervous in my life. I mean this nervous feeling I was having was worse than my anxiety I had at graduation. When I get to the club, I begin looking for my contact. When I finally found him, he shook hands with me and took me to the back room. On the way there, I see my best friend dancing. He looked really good dancing up as the different hues of colors were outlining every muscle on his body.
We entered the back room. And entered one of the rooms. He told me to take off my pants and show him the underwear I was wearing. Now mind you, I don't wear briefs and hate the feeling of having some part of my body feel like its being plastered to the rest of my body.
Well he had me change into something else more pleasing. And nothing says pleasing like a jock strap and a super tight ass speedo. He gave me a necklace with skull and cross bones and began walking me back to the floor. He has me stand up on the podium and leaves me with an assignment: "you have two songs. Get to work." I begin dancing. My body starts cramping up, I was so nervous. DJ Nikno is mixing Eurythmics. I try to psych myself up. Looking down at the people below me. Suddenly I realize something that still haunts me now.
A go-go dancer is in competition with the others. Trying to do that special dance that will give him more tips. Hoping that the people in the club are feeling hormonal enough to touch my legs having it slide up to my abs as they push that dollar bill into my speedo. A dancer also knows that if you aren't showing the energy, no one else will. So I would have to be dancing to my full potential for four hours. Maybe it was the overabundance of adrenalin flowing, or the nervous feeling I was having, but I was getting overwhelmed and exhausted.
But as a person that has a hard time struggling with who I am still, I would have to be fighting to keep my body up to pleasure material with the other guys. When I walked backstage, I really didn't feel comfortable nor welcomed there. Because in their eyes, they see me as yet another threat to not get enough tips. So they have to outwit me into getting more tips than I. If I fought for four years trying to prove something to Biola, do I really want to work overtime with my wit to get 20 bucks in tips?
The go-go boy grabbed me and took me back to dressing rooms. I was done, didn't recieve any tips. My best friend was back there getting dressed into something else. Seeing him I felt welcomed to even be there. When they kicked me out of the dressing room and back onto the dance floor, a bunch of people were coming up to me telling me how hot I was up there but they didn't want to tip me because they were nervous. Well their dollar bills could have given me a job.
I watched my best friend dancing up on the stage. Maybe it was the lights flashing and the fog diffusing the laser lights, or maybe it was because he just has the hottest body in the world, but he looked so hot dancing. I admit it, I have a major crush on this guy. Watching every muscle in his body contract with every motion of his body. It's in times like these that make me want a camera so I can film what I see.
As much as I want to be a dancer for this club, I know that it is not the right thing to be in. When I was up on the dance podium. I felt so self-conscious. Like every piece of fat that I had on me was jiggling to my disadvantage. The adrenalin made me up and excited, but it left me with no dance moves to seduce the crowd. This realm is dangerous because it could lead to me doing whatever it takes to get that body that will have people wanting more. There is alot of pressure and vanity to being a gay man.
I am proud of one thing though. I am proud that I had the guts to call this guy, actually drive over to San Diego in my parent's beat up Volvo and get my ass on the podium wearing only shoes and a speedo and have 7 minutes of fame. It felt good, and the feelings/emotions/endorphins rushing through my body was intensely addicting.
Sunday, June 1, 2008
Sunday, May 25, 2008
One Hundred and Twenty Frames Per Second
After receiving a degree, the normal reaction would be relief and nirvanic happiness. Five years in college have finally ended and I begin my journey into my career. Not having to wake up in the morning worrying about the exam the next morning; free from caring of having to wonder if I saved the right presentation onto my USB drive; and relaxing knowing that I am done with financial aid and accounting losing my deposit check and have to race to get a new one sent. Sure, it would be normal be happy and I was happy; however, it took a nasty turn when i was five miles from home.
My friend Jory needed a ride home, and I agreed to take her, it would be nice having someone to talk to and joke around with while embellishing in the glory of being done. I never really have anyone in the car with me when I am driving to and from LA. This time, the trip was going to be alot shorter. Come to think of it, I really don't remember passing by some of the area because I was so into the conversation that the scenery really didn't impress me like the conversations that we were having. I haven't talked to her in a couple months so we had a lot to catch up on.
I get on the 78 heading East. I remind Jory to tell her mom to make her way to our rendevouz point so I can drop her off. I was ten miles from home. I was pretty excited and could not wait to get to an actual bed and sleep and relax. Then I reached the five mile mark. We reached the Vista Village overpass. While turning to the right, my car began to shake, I was losing control of the car. I was panicking and freaking out while looking to Jory to see if she was okay. She was freaking out. Then everything switched from being normal thirty frames per second to one hundred twenty frames per second.
In the film world, thirty frames per second is the standard rate of filming real time. Actually it is 29.97, but I round it up. When a person wants to film in slow motion, you increase the shutter speed to sixty on up. It will capture the footage in better detail. You could try to do the same with thirty frames per second by tweeking it in post-production software like After Effects, but it will turn out more choppy.
Going back to the story, everything switched to one hundred and twenty frames per second. The back of my car lifted up a inch or so into the air, then, on my left side, it came crashing down. I look in horror to see the tire that was supposed to be there roll in front of me. The tire began rolling really fast. It lifted off the shoulder dividing the westbound-eastbound travellers and bounced off the column heading towards us. Seeing the tires treads swirling towards us was the most haunting thing I will ever remember in my life. I could feel the tires axel grinding against the ground as I began to turn to the left shoulder. Sparks were flying from the back left axel. The tire was still coming towards us.
I don't remember any sound, but I did get the wooshing feeling of the tire flying over us. Missing us and flying into the traffic. When the car came to a stop, I immediately looked to Jory to see if she was okay. When she told me she was fine, I look back to see the tire is in the third lane. The lane farthest from us. People were really good in dodging it. I was so relieved. I didn't want to be responsible for causing the Apocalypse on the day of my graduation.
Inside the car, adrenalin was pumping. My heart still racing. I was trying to find my phone so I could call my dad. The phone had launched underneath the brake. I was afraid to get it for fear of someone bumping into me in the fast lane. I grab the phone quickly as the cars were flying by me, making the car sway to and fro. I begin dialing. I tell him what happened. I wanted to get Jory to safety so she wouldn't be in any more danger. Then Jory points something out to me.
"Look."
I look and see the tire rolling on the other side of the freeway. Then a red jeep speeding by swerving. I caused a fender-bender. I have heard people dying from a flying tire. Dane Cook even jokes: "a tire hit her in the face...and she had her hands up like she was going to get in a slap fight with a Goodyear...." I watched like the man in Rear Window observing the crime from across the way.
My mom, thankfully, was driving behind me by ten minutes so she called my dad up to see if I was okay, when I heard that, I had her pick up Jory and take her to the meeting point so she wouldn't be in anymore danger.
It took the towing guy an hour and a half to get to where I was at. WHile I was waiting for him, I was fighting sleep, afraid that once I fell asleep I would be hit by a passing car and it would be the end of me. Once the guy arrived and towed my car up, he told me to get in through the passenger side; only the passenger side was in the fast lane. When he signaled to me to go, I ran out into the freeway and jumped inside as fast as I could go.
After dropping the car off, I had to go back to the place where I crashed and find my tire. I ran out to get it, when I came back the wind made the passenger door fly open and it hit me in the face. After cursing loud for about a minute, I sat in the car and I broke down crying as blood and tears were falling from my face.
I could not believe. On a day like today, that I was going to have all this happen to me. I was supposed to be happy today, but inside I was opening up the first chapter to my life wondering what I am going to do with everything that was laid on me all within one day. This is the welcoming mat to my adult life, and I am already looking for some solace...
My friend Jory needed a ride home, and I agreed to take her, it would be nice having someone to talk to and joke around with while embellishing in the glory of being done. I never really have anyone in the car with me when I am driving to and from LA. This time, the trip was going to be alot shorter. Come to think of it, I really don't remember passing by some of the area because I was so into the conversation that the scenery really didn't impress me like the conversations that we were having. I haven't talked to her in a couple months so we had a lot to catch up on.
I get on the 78 heading East. I remind Jory to tell her mom to make her way to our rendevouz point so I can drop her off. I was ten miles from home. I was pretty excited and could not wait to get to an actual bed and sleep and relax. Then I reached the five mile mark. We reached the Vista Village overpass. While turning to the right, my car began to shake, I was losing control of the car. I was panicking and freaking out while looking to Jory to see if she was okay. She was freaking out. Then everything switched from being normal thirty frames per second to one hundred twenty frames per second.
In the film world, thirty frames per second is the standard rate of filming real time. Actually it is 29.97, but I round it up. When a person wants to film in slow motion, you increase the shutter speed to sixty on up. It will capture the footage in better detail. You could try to do the same with thirty frames per second by tweeking it in post-production software like After Effects, but it will turn out more choppy.
Going back to the story, everything switched to one hundred and twenty frames per second. The back of my car lifted up a inch or so into the air, then, on my left side, it came crashing down. I look in horror to see the tire that was supposed to be there roll in front of me. The tire began rolling really fast. It lifted off the shoulder dividing the westbound-eastbound travellers and bounced off the column heading towards us. Seeing the tires treads swirling towards us was the most haunting thing I will ever remember in my life. I could feel the tires axel grinding against the ground as I began to turn to the left shoulder. Sparks were flying from the back left axel. The tire was still coming towards us.
I don't remember any sound, but I did get the wooshing feeling of the tire flying over us. Missing us and flying into the traffic. When the car came to a stop, I immediately looked to Jory to see if she was okay. When she told me she was fine, I look back to see the tire is in the third lane. The lane farthest from us. People were really good in dodging it. I was so relieved. I didn't want to be responsible for causing the Apocalypse on the day of my graduation.
Inside the car, adrenalin was pumping. My heart still racing. I was trying to find my phone so I could call my dad. The phone had launched underneath the brake. I was afraid to get it for fear of someone bumping into me in the fast lane. I grab the phone quickly as the cars were flying by me, making the car sway to and fro. I begin dialing. I tell him what happened. I wanted to get Jory to safety so she wouldn't be in any more danger. Then Jory points something out to me.
"Look."
I look and see the tire rolling on the other side of the freeway. Then a red jeep speeding by swerving. I caused a fender-bender. I have heard people dying from a flying tire. Dane Cook even jokes: "a tire hit her in the face...and she had her hands up like she was going to get in a slap fight with a Goodyear...." I watched like the man in Rear Window observing the crime from across the way.
My mom, thankfully, was driving behind me by ten minutes so she called my dad up to see if I was okay, when I heard that, I had her pick up Jory and take her to the meeting point so she wouldn't be in anymore danger.
It took the towing guy an hour and a half to get to where I was at. WHile I was waiting for him, I was fighting sleep, afraid that once I fell asleep I would be hit by a passing car and it would be the end of me. Once the guy arrived and towed my car up, he told me to get in through the passenger side; only the passenger side was in the fast lane. When he signaled to me to go, I ran out into the freeway and jumped inside as fast as I could go.
After dropping the car off, I had to go back to the place where I crashed and find my tire. I ran out to get it, when I came back the wind made the passenger door fly open and it hit me in the face. After cursing loud for about a minute, I sat in the car and I broke down crying as blood and tears were falling from my face.
I could not believe. On a day like today, that I was going to have all this happen to me. I was supposed to be happy today, but inside I was opening up the first chapter to my life wondering what I am going to do with everything that was laid on me all within one day. This is the welcoming mat to my adult life, and I am already looking for some solace...
Saturday, May 10, 2008
Songs about Cake
There are some really catchy songs in our day. We have Fergie singing about her "London Bridges." For me personally, I wouldn't want to touch her London Bridge, because to her, it's sweaty when we all know it's something else. Then there is the Macarena. A song that plays for five minutes repeating the same thing over and over again while we still have yet to understand what they are saying. My favorite is "Milkshakes" by Kelis. A song where she talks about her boobs. The tune is absolutely catchy, and although repetitive, can grow on you over time. But none can surpass the song of the seventies.
Seventies were all about disco, wearing roller skates to the clubs. Bell bottoms, high volume hair, bad fashion, and hip huggers (the introduction to the modern hoochy). Disco clubs are alot like our gay clubs: bumping with the music and fun---haven't gone to a straight club but I hear that they're lame. But we all know one artist that was pre-Madonna and oddly enough, is still around singing: Donna Summers
Recently, I was listening to her songs. And one of the songs, when I listened closely, had the ODDEST lyrics to date. It begins as a sad song, then it gets all disco and bumpy. I have to admit, it's one of my favorites (right up there with "Love to Love You Baby"). But when you hear the lyrics, you realize that she is singing about a cake that got messed up in the rain, and how she is upset that she doesn't have the recipe to make another one. I am talking about her song: "MacArthur Park."
I did some research on it before writing this blog, and I discovered that this song is a symbolic representation of a lover's lament. Taken from the poet W. H Auden whom described in one of his poems as "My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain." It describes of a love that is lost and how she can never get it back again. But in spite of all that, the lyrics are about a cake?
The song was originally 8:40 and was part of the MacArthur Park suite which ran 19 minutes long. Containing three songs: "One of a Kind," "MacArthurs Park," and "Heaven Knows." I just thought it was funny how a disco diva sings a song about a cake and everyone in the club at the time, and even now, think it's a banging song. I like it, but I find it funny singing a disco song about cake, or about milkshakes...why all these fatty foods? Couldn't you sing a song about a carrot or a banana? That's somewhat sexual...
Seventies were all about disco, wearing roller skates to the clubs. Bell bottoms, high volume hair, bad fashion, and hip huggers (the introduction to the modern hoochy). Disco clubs are alot like our gay clubs: bumping with the music and fun---haven't gone to a straight club but I hear that they're lame. But we all know one artist that was pre-Madonna and oddly enough, is still around singing: Donna Summers
Recently, I was listening to her songs. And one of the songs, when I listened closely, had the ODDEST lyrics to date. It begins as a sad song, then it gets all disco and bumpy. I have to admit, it's one of my favorites (right up there with "Love to Love You Baby"). But when you hear the lyrics, you realize that she is singing about a cake that got messed up in the rain, and how she is upset that she doesn't have the recipe to make another one. I am talking about her song: "MacArthur Park."
I did some research on it before writing this blog, and I discovered that this song is a symbolic representation of a lover's lament. Taken from the poet W. H Auden whom described in one of his poems as "My face looks like a wedding-cake left out in the rain." It describes of a love that is lost and how she can never get it back again. But in spite of all that, the lyrics are about a cake?
The song was originally 8:40 and was part of the MacArthur Park suite which ran 19 minutes long. Containing three songs: "One of a Kind," "MacArthurs Park," and "Heaven Knows." I just thought it was funny how a disco diva sings a song about a cake and everyone in the club at the time, and even now, think it's a banging song. I like it, but I find it funny singing a disco song about cake, or about milkshakes...why all these fatty foods? Couldn't you sing a song about a carrot or a banana? That's somewhat sexual...
Tuesday, April 29, 2008
For the Bible tells me to hate; therefore, I hate.
I have received a great deal of hate for my publishing of the blog "Cowboy Democracy" in which I basically compare the Neo-Conservative party to Communists. It's funny how people are thinking that I have changed and how I have basically lost the "nice" part of me. This is the real part of me: free (officially in the next three weeks) from the restraints of my school and all that it stands for. And for the first time, I am actually starting to learn things that I never really learned in school: To love people regardless of where they come from; to defend people that are being hurt; and to start living for the now and not the a couple moments from the now.
This past weekend I seen the movie "For the Bible Tells Me So." If you haven't seen the movie, I strongly advise you to do so. It is basically a movie warning overly literal and hating Christians to show more compassion for my community. It's funny how some Christians believe that if they make one more poster saying "God Hates Fags" and if they bash a "fag," that we will stop sucking dick or eating pussy and go back into our "natural way" of fucking/loving/living.
Back in the days, after Christ left us to deal with these haters. The early Christians were being persecuted and murdered mercilessly. One emperor had their bodies waxed and used as candles to warn people to not fuck with him. He intended to have Christians stop being open about their beliefs and stop spreading the Gospel. In reality, this supposed problem only grew bigger and bigger. Where one was killed, more would spring up.
In today's world, Christians don't seem to learn from their own history that hatred not only makes the persecuted more angry, but it increases it's followers. I am not saying where one fag dies, there are more that are created--it's a bit more complicated than that--but people realize that this needs to stop and we in turn receive more supporters.
Where in the Bible does it say: The Bible tells me to hate; therefore I hate? Mark 12:31 Says to "...'Love your neighbor as yourself.'There is no commandment greater than these." Leviticus 19:18 says to "'Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.'" How ironic that in Leviticus it says this right after the chapter where people use the "man lying with another man" verse that people use as an excuse to fuel their hate.
You think I am angry. Hell yeah I am angry! I am sick, annoyed, and tired of hatred taking place in midst of a community that I am tied with. It's hatred that almost got me expelled. It's hatred that almost had me kill myself. It's hatred that made me stay away from the church. I am angry for several reasons (if you can't read between the lines), but the one that makes me the most angry is that Christians are supposed to love one another.
That is the greatest commandment. Yet how quickly do Christians jump from the love to the hate gun and start firing at anyone that is not one of them. The Beatles once said that Happiness is a Warm Gun, why don't we fire that instead? Stop the hate, because it does not give people to run to the church, but to run to find tools to burn it down.
This past weekend I seen the movie "For the Bible Tells Me So." If you haven't seen the movie, I strongly advise you to do so. It is basically a movie warning overly literal and hating Christians to show more compassion for my community. It's funny how some Christians believe that if they make one more poster saying "God Hates Fags" and if they bash a "fag," that we will stop sucking dick or eating pussy and go back into our "natural way" of fucking/loving/living.
Back in the days, after Christ left us to deal with these haters. The early Christians were being persecuted and murdered mercilessly. One emperor had their bodies waxed and used as candles to warn people to not fuck with him. He intended to have Christians stop being open about their beliefs and stop spreading the Gospel. In reality, this supposed problem only grew bigger and bigger. Where one was killed, more would spring up.
In today's world, Christians don't seem to learn from their own history that hatred not only makes the persecuted more angry, but it increases it's followers. I am not saying where one fag dies, there are more that are created--it's a bit more complicated than that--but people realize that this needs to stop and we in turn receive more supporters.
Where in the Bible does it say: The Bible tells me to hate; therefore I hate? Mark 12:31 Says to "...'Love your neighbor as yourself.'There is no commandment greater than these." Leviticus 19:18 says to "'Do not seek revenge or bear a grudge against one of your people, but love your neighbor as yourself. I am the LORD.'" How ironic that in Leviticus it says this right after the chapter where people use the "man lying with another man" verse that people use as an excuse to fuel their hate.
You think I am angry. Hell yeah I am angry! I am sick, annoyed, and tired of hatred taking place in midst of a community that I am tied with. It's hatred that almost got me expelled. It's hatred that almost had me kill myself. It's hatred that made me stay away from the church. I am angry for several reasons (if you can't read between the lines), but the one that makes me the most angry is that Christians are supposed to love one another.
That is the greatest commandment. Yet how quickly do Christians jump from the love to the hate gun and start firing at anyone that is not one of them. The Beatles once said that Happiness is a Warm Gun, why don't we fire that instead? Stop the hate, because it does not give people to run to the church, but to run to find tools to burn it down.
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
Stories about a Guy named Brian
I was going to write a happy blog about the time that I almost got hit by another car because I was driving the wrong direction on a one-way street in San Diego downtown, but something else came to mind. {Note to my readers: this next blog has alot to do with my previous one: Cowboy Democracy, so if you haven't read it yet, I highly recommend it}
Before this blog, I wrote on a different website, Facebook.com, I would write because I felt more relieved to let people know what is going on in my life and be honest in hopes to encourage honesty, individuality, and the hopes of allowing people to express themselves through a form of writing. Being in a really expressive mood, I pasted my blog on that site. Now the thing with that sight is alot of the people on my account is from my old school, where I was almost expelled for writing blogs on facebook that had homosexual content as well as openly admitting my sexual orientation. So it is obvious to state that it wasn't taken well.
I recieved an email from someone that is afraid to talk to me in public for fear that I am going to "stomp across the school grounds screaming that [the conservative party] is a bunch of Nazi's." I have known this guy for four years, it's sad how someone who lived on your floor; who would get in intense debates with you involving the best film of all time; who would admit to certain things no man has ever admitted to me before; would say that he is afraid to be around me because he is afraid that he might lose his job because he's associating with a nutcase that likes to scream like a crazy homeless person on Skid Row. Well honestly he should know me better than that because I (nor my best friend) will make a scene unless he or I are being verbally or physically attacked.
He also mentions that he is wondering why I have become such a militant homosexual. I can answer that one really simple, I believe in defending my rights and hate that some straight people like to stand in the way of expressing my God-given rights to make out with my boyfriend, hold his hand, and greet other homosexuals wherever I damn well please. I may sound bitter, but I am just frustrated.
I am frustrated that I am not allowed to be a person that I want to be. I am frustrated that my rights as a gay citizen aren't being respected inasmuch as a straight person (this involving marriage, health insurance, parental, and expression rights). I write edgy material because as an artist, I push limits to enhance dialogue and interest.
I have been known to create scenes and push limits, but I would never rececreate the Feminist movement just to make a statement at an ignorant school. I tried it once a year ago; that led to fighting to stay in school without getting expelled. I am a month and a half from graduating and there is no way in hell that I am going to be stupid enough to make a bold statement, that's why they invented fashion.
When I was a kid, I discovered a thing called a journal. With this journal, I would let out my feelings and creativity by writing. Some of these stories all involved one guy named Brian (my first crush). Brian would either be the savior or the enemy in my stories. After a while, all the stories sounded the same and then began to talk about my day. This escalated into writing more stories which then led to erotic gay stories, then finally to blogging and screenwriting. I really hope the next advancement in my writing career involves one thing: publishing.
Before this blog, I wrote on a different website, Facebook.com, I would write because I felt more relieved to let people know what is going on in my life and be honest in hopes to encourage honesty, individuality, and the hopes of allowing people to express themselves through a form of writing. Being in a really expressive mood, I pasted my blog on that site. Now the thing with that sight is alot of the people on my account is from my old school, where I was almost expelled for writing blogs on facebook that had homosexual content as well as openly admitting my sexual orientation. So it is obvious to state that it wasn't taken well.
I recieved an email from someone that is afraid to talk to me in public for fear that I am going to "stomp across the school grounds screaming that [the conservative party] is a bunch of Nazi's." I have known this guy for four years, it's sad how someone who lived on your floor; who would get in intense debates with you involving the best film of all time; who would admit to certain things no man has ever admitted to me before; would say that he is afraid to be around me because he is afraid that he might lose his job because he's associating with a nutcase that likes to scream like a crazy homeless person on Skid Row. Well honestly he should know me better than that because I (nor my best friend) will make a scene unless he or I are being verbally or physically attacked.
He also mentions that he is wondering why I have become such a militant homosexual. I can answer that one really simple, I believe in defending my rights and hate that some straight people like to stand in the way of expressing my God-given rights to make out with my boyfriend, hold his hand, and greet other homosexuals wherever I damn well please. I may sound bitter, but I am just frustrated.
I am frustrated that I am not allowed to be a person that I want to be. I am frustrated that my rights as a gay citizen aren't being respected inasmuch as a straight person (this involving marriage, health insurance, parental, and expression rights). I write edgy material because as an artist, I push limits to enhance dialogue and interest.
I have been known to create scenes and push limits, but I would never rececreate the Feminist movement just to make a statement at an ignorant school. I tried it once a year ago; that led to fighting to stay in school without getting expelled. I am a month and a half from graduating and there is no way in hell that I am going to be stupid enough to make a bold statement, that's why they invented fashion.
When I was a kid, I discovered a thing called a journal. With this journal, I would let out my feelings and creativity by writing. Some of these stories all involved one guy named Brian (my first crush). Brian would either be the savior or the enemy in my stories. After a while, all the stories sounded the same and then began to talk about my day. This escalated into writing more stories which then led to erotic gay stories, then finally to blogging and screenwriting. I really hope the next advancement in my writing career involves one thing: publishing.
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Cowboy Democracy
There is a reason why the conservatives are red. Ever hear of the Red Scare? Look it up because my fingers are too tired to type up the history.
Okay I know you didn't read it, so I guess I will tell you anyway. During World War II, there were these men called the Nazi's (think Hitler and you are a winner), and they would create terror by trying to make everyone into the blonde hair, blue eye race. Being a Jew, gay, handicapped, or a different color was not tolerated and put to death, hiding their bodies into the ground, almost pretending like they didn't exist. Pretending that they were the defects in the perfect race.
How shocking that history has a reputation for repeating itself -saying that with extreme sarcasm-- because that is what the Conservatives are trying to do. To conservative, to be the pleasant average American citizen, you are to live a straight life, to be married with a straight husband/wife, to support our President (even if the rest of the world hates him), and if anyone bags on anything (including the war), you are considered an enemy and don't support your country. Difference is a bad word for them. They would rather have carbon copies of the same thing rather than deal with the ideal of individuality. Fuck that, I would rather stay outside of the political closet, supporting difference than staying cooped up next to mother's dusty linens and vacuum cleaner.
All my life I have known I was going to be a different person, that I would be the one to strive to be going against the flow of the river. When I would write things on controversial subjects, it would be written off as disgraceful. If I am to be a writer, I should be promoting positive moral-family values, not glorifying the "lusts of the flesh" like writing about a lesbian who seeks revenge on her girlfriends father for molesting her as a child; for writing about a wife that kills her husband because she suspects he knows of her infidelity; or about a boy that is afraid of his own sexual orientation as a stalker is set on hurting him while going to a Private school? There is one positive moral value I am teaching if there is any to classify myself under: it's truth. And sometimes, the truth isn't about Donny going to high school to be a missionary; Suzy staying at home to raise the kids while Johnny is running for governor; or about Larry talking to the boss to get less hours so he can spend it with family. The truth hurts. It's uncomfortable, and at times, it needs to be said. A writer's mind should be set on being different. I am off to a good start for being a gay writer, but to challenge and edify the moral standards of today's Conservative state of mind.
Conservatives need to learn to shut the fuck up when it comes to difference. My old school for example with attempting to make me into another cloned Christian to undergo therapy, even risk getting expelled for the sake of my salvation. Well you know, if Jesus still loves us homosexuals, then you bastards should do the same. The world is changing, and hopefully the Cowboy democracy will go with it.
Okay I know you didn't read it, so I guess I will tell you anyway. During World War II, there were these men called the Nazi's (think Hitler and you are a winner), and they would create terror by trying to make everyone into the blonde hair, blue eye race. Being a Jew, gay, handicapped, or a different color was not tolerated and put to death, hiding their bodies into the ground, almost pretending like they didn't exist. Pretending that they were the defects in the perfect race.
How shocking that history has a reputation for repeating itself -saying that with extreme sarcasm-- because that is what the Conservatives are trying to do. To conservative, to be the pleasant average American citizen, you are to live a straight life, to be married with a straight husband/wife, to support our President (even if the rest of the world hates him), and if anyone bags on anything (including the war), you are considered an enemy and don't support your country. Difference is a bad word for them. They would rather have carbon copies of the same thing rather than deal with the ideal of individuality. Fuck that, I would rather stay outside of the political closet, supporting difference than staying cooped up next to mother's dusty linens and vacuum cleaner.
All my life I have known I was going to be a different person, that I would be the one to strive to be going against the flow of the river. When I would write things on controversial subjects, it would be written off as disgraceful. If I am to be a writer, I should be promoting positive moral-family values, not glorifying the "lusts of the flesh" like writing about a lesbian who seeks revenge on her girlfriends father for molesting her as a child; for writing about a wife that kills her husband because she suspects he knows of her infidelity; or about a boy that is afraid of his own sexual orientation as a stalker is set on hurting him while going to a Private school? There is one positive moral value I am teaching if there is any to classify myself under: it's truth. And sometimes, the truth isn't about Donny going to high school to be a missionary; Suzy staying at home to raise the kids while Johnny is running for governor; or about Larry talking to the boss to get less hours so he can spend it with family. The truth hurts. It's uncomfortable, and at times, it needs to be said. A writer's mind should be set on being different. I am off to a good start for being a gay writer, but to challenge and edify the moral standards of today's Conservative state of mind.
Conservatives need to learn to shut the fuck up when it comes to difference. My old school for example with attempting to make me into another cloned Christian to undergo therapy, even risk getting expelled for the sake of my salvation. Well you know, if Jesus still loves us homosexuals, then you bastards should do the same. The world is changing, and hopefully the Cowboy democracy will go with it.
Wednesday, February 13, 2008
The Benefits of Cleaning Your Room
Straight men. God. They are so hard to understand sometimes. I mean the male gender in and of itself is a whole book on its own-- and don't make me pull out the facts on the women, thats an Encyclopedia collection there. Males always seem to prove themselves worthy to either the opposite or same gender.
Let's always start with a classic example: the gym. You see the men benchpressing three hundred pounds and totally buffing themselves out not only for their own self-benefit, but also to keep their appearances looking fresh and firm (in more ways than one). This applies to us gays as well, but it's not as obvious as the straight type. I am biased, go ahead sue me.
But it's funny how if you are a straight male, how you always seem to have to prove your sexuality to be true. I found this out when I was watching the super bowl last year. All my friends were hanging out and when one of them said something gay, they had to backtrack to prove that they were not gay.
But this occurs not only within the homo sapien species, but also with other species. Every living thing is in a constant battle to outwit their enemies. But focusing on the male gender, examine the peacock. To win the female over, the male has to show off his wings. Rams have to headbutt each other constantly to fight over the female. The human male, I still don't know their ways. THe only thing that I know for certain that they constantly fight for is their machismo. And within their machismo is their sexual orientation, which they seem to fight over the most. Trying to prove that they are secure (if there is ever a term for them) within their straight manhood.
What does it take for a straight man to ensure his sexuality? If a man does something out of the guy norm, like go to the museum, or watches "Sex and the City", he is considered to be a "friend of Dorothy's." For years, this has been something that I was trying to prove: that if I was masculine enough that I would get the girl, that I would finally get the acceptance/affirmation that I wanted from everyone. Well, times have changed and I found I really don't need to prove anything to anyone but to just be myself. Once I did it was like cleaning out your room. In the process of it all, not only does your room become clean, but you find things about yourself you may have either forgotten or never knew you had. I found mine to be that I am a strong individual that is also gay and Christian. Three of the aspects in my life that I cherish most in my life. I think through these pillars in my life that hold up everything else, I am able to find security in it.
Life does not have to something you have to prove. That is the one thing that is stressed within the traditions of the masses. If you make enough money you can live successfully and your wife will never leave you and you will die happy. If you work out and live on this diet you will lose 200 pounds and people will start to like you. If you become a missionary and go out to the 1040 window and die for Christ/Allah/Joseph Smith you done a good thing. It's all about honor. No honor, you wasted a life. And that is the sad thing.
When I move out, I will live in a roach motel with my best friend making heat by burning my old screenplays and paying off the rent with my starbucks paycheck and his job that I don't know about yet. I know I won't be making alot of money yet, but I know I will be happy. And i think that self-happiness is what we need and to not let other people's reactions to our environment bring us down. Wow, I never knew I could sound so preachy; I sound like Oprah. I must be gay...
Let's always start with a classic example: the gym. You see the men benchpressing three hundred pounds and totally buffing themselves out not only for their own self-benefit, but also to keep their appearances looking fresh and firm (in more ways than one). This applies to us gays as well, but it's not as obvious as the straight type. I am biased, go ahead sue me.
But it's funny how if you are a straight male, how you always seem to have to prove your sexuality to be true. I found this out when I was watching the super bowl last year. All my friends were hanging out and when one of them said something gay, they had to backtrack to prove that they were not gay.
But this occurs not only within the homo sapien species, but also with other species. Every living thing is in a constant battle to outwit their enemies. But focusing on the male gender, examine the peacock. To win the female over, the male has to show off his wings. Rams have to headbutt each other constantly to fight over the female. The human male, I still don't know their ways. THe only thing that I know for certain that they constantly fight for is their machismo. And within their machismo is their sexual orientation, which they seem to fight over the most. Trying to prove that they are secure (if there is ever a term for them) within their straight manhood.
What does it take for a straight man to ensure his sexuality? If a man does something out of the guy norm, like go to the museum, or watches "Sex and the City", he is considered to be a "friend of Dorothy's." For years, this has been something that I was trying to prove: that if I was masculine enough that I would get the girl, that I would finally get the acceptance/affirmation that I wanted from everyone. Well, times have changed and I found I really don't need to prove anything to anyone but to just be myself. Once I did it was like cleaning out your room. In the process of it all, not only does your room become clean, but you find things about yourself you may have either forgotten or never knew you had. I found mine to be that I am a strong individual that is also gay and Christian. Three of the aspects in my life that I cherish most in my life. I think through these pillars in my life that hold up everything else, I am able to find security in it.
Life does not have to something you have to prove. That is the one thing that is stressed within the traditions of the masses. If you make enough money you can live successfully and your wife will never leave you and you will die happy. If you work out and live on this diet you will lose 200 pounds and people will start to like you. If you become a missionary and go out to the 1040 window and die for Christ/Allah/Joseph Smith you done a good thing. It's all about honor. No honor, you wasted a life. And that is the sad thing.
When I move out, I will live in a roach motel with my best friend making heat by burning my old screenplays and paying off the rent with my starbucks paycheck and his job that I don't know about yet. I know I won't be making alot of money yet, but I know I will be happy. And i think that self-happiness is what we need and to not let other people's reactions to our environment bring us down. Wow, I never knew I could sound so preachy; I sound like Oprah. I must be gay...
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