Blood brothers

I wrote about my emergence as a gay man in several posts when I first started this blog; see ComingOut, the Preamble; Coming Out, part 1 and Coming Out, part 2. I’ve been thinking recently though about some of the pre-gay events in my life, or, if you will, the shoulda-seen-it-coming road signs.

The very first I remember happened in Atlanta; I was a sophomore at a downtown high school and was exposed to things I had never seen in Richmond, Virginia, or on Army bases in Japan. One such thing we called a “dirty book store” at the time; today, they’re porn shops. I walked into one and was stunned by what I saw; even more stunned by what I reacted to: the photo books of nearly naked men. I beat a hasty and guilty retreat, thinking about my next confession.

A more nuanced marker was my relationships with my male friends, especially during my last two years of high school. I was back in Richmond and had reunited with my boyhood friend Ricky. I was also enthralled with a somewhat older man (6 years), Don. I used to agonize about which one was really my “best” friend. Even readers who don’t know me well must recognize that as a sure sign of some kind of homoerotic feelings. The average straight 17 year-old doesn’t spend a lot of time ranking his male friends.

Even clearer, with hindsight, was my relationship with Artie. We were only close during senior year, but the intensity of my feelings is still clear to me. If memory serves, Artie was the senior class president; he was definitely a BMOC (Big Man on Campus) and I knew I had “arrived” when it was clear that we were friends.

But Artie was a typical straight boy (as far as I know; readers looking for a salacious denouement will be disappointed). Sure, I was his friend, but I doubt it was something he gave a lot of thought to. I on the other hand, thought of little else. There was no sexual desire at work, or, if there was, I was not aware of it; I just wanted to be close to him.

I wanted it so bad that I was really happy when Artie agreed to double date with me to the prom. I took my steady girlfriend, Tina; I don't remember who he was with. I only remember one thing about that night: at some point in the evening the four of us came to my house – my parents’ house I should say. Leaving the girls in the den, Artie and I went up to my room where we became blood brothers. (Do people even know what that is anymore? We each nicked a finger and then brought them together, sharing our blood -- a guy thing that surely disappeared with the advent of AIDS).

I don’t know what Artie thought of all this, but I’m sure that it was a way bigger deal to me than it was to him. Still, he went through with it. Of course we were both silent about what we had done when we re-joined the girls.

Looking back, the homosexual subtext is clear, even if there was no carnality to it. Within a year I had lost touch with Artie and to this day I have no idea where he is, or what he did with his life, but the memory of that intense friendship stays with me.

At the time Artie was very fond of Percy Sledge’s When a Man Loves a Woman. I too liked it, and still do – but I always hated the line “(he’d) turn his back on his best friend if he put her down.” I knew, even if Artie didn’t agree, that best friends were far more important than love interests.

I've always thought Richard Gere would be a good choice to play me in a movie!

When I'm 64

I hosted my latest musical soirée Saturday night: eight of us gathered around Penne Puttanesca, salad and brownies, and listened to almost fifty songs from the most successful act in musical history. I had asked folks to vote for their five favorite Beatles songs, so the playlist included every song that got a vote, ending with the ones that got the most votes.

The final songs of the evening, and the votes they garnered were:

2  Yesterday
2  Blackbird
2  I Will
2  Rocky Raccoon
2  While My Guitar Gently Weeps
3  Hey Jude
4  In My Life
5  Here Comes the Sun
5  Let It Be

I was especially gratified that Let It Be topped the list for it is my all-time favorite Beatles song, but in truth, I am very hard-pressed to name a Beatles song I DON’T like – ok, Revolution 9 does NOT do it for me. Even forgotten songs from the early albums can light up a smile on my face. Try It Won’t Be Long or maybe Mr. Moonlight. You’ve perhaps not heard either in years, but if you’re near my age I’ll wager you can sing along – smiling.

When I’m 64 carries a special resonance since I am, in fact, 64. When that song came out in 1967 I thought that someone who was 64 was old, really old -- way too old to be playing loud rock and roll! Perspective is everything I guess; today it feels perfectly natural to crank up the tunes; I’m already working on the next party, trying to decide between the Rolling Stones or forgotten soul music from the 60s. Whatever I choose, it’ll be LOUD.

On the other hand, I definitely felt 64 during the afternoon as I made the dinner and cleaned the house. By the time I sat down to relax just before everyone arrived, my feet were killing me, my back ached and I wondered why the hell I was doing this. But then I started the first song and, to paraphrase Congreve, music has charms to soothe an aching body.

I slept til 11am the next morning, a small price to pay to be a 64 year-old teenager again.

Cheers to the creative among us

Many years ago, back in the 70s, I used to travel to New York at least once a year, sometimes twice -- to see movies. Were there no movie theatres is Richmond, VA, you ask; well, yes, of course there were. But, for the most part they only played Hollywood product. I was on the hunt for foreign films and art films, the kind that would not play in Richmond.

On one particularly obsessive day I saw five films. Yes, five. I saw the first at noon, the second at 2 or so and another at 4:30; that’s not that hard to do in New York; there are neighborhoods with several movie theatres. After a dinner break I saw an 8pm showing and another at 10. A friend of mine joined me for the first and last film and after it we were sitting in a bar, recalling the day. I can recall the conversation. “Remember that scene in, uh, uh – what WAS that movie?” I remembered the scene, but my mind was so jumbled I couldn’t remember what movie it was from.

I learned that five movies a day is just two many, probably by three.

The point of all this is to establish my cred. I have a history of loving films and of seeing a lot of them. I’d always watch the Oscars because I had seen most of the movies nominated and so had a horse in the race. I could talk film for hours and populate my conversation with names like Godard, Antonioni, Chabrol, Bergman and, my favorite, Truffaut. I even had favorite movie theatres in New York: the Paris, across from the Plaza Hotel, and the 68th Street Playhouse. I’d go see whatever was playing at either, even if I had never heard of it.

So, as you can imagine, I saw lots of movies over the holiday break: Lincoln, Life of Pi, Zero Dark Thirty, Skyfall, Silver Linings Playbook, Les Misérables and The Hobbit.

You can imagine that, but you’d be wrong. I didn’t see any of those, though I read about each and every one and wanted to see them all.

I did see one movie the other night, but it’s doubtful you’ve ever heard of it: The Sadist. This is not the 1963 indie that has a certain reputation, but a new film made by a group of people from Waterbury, just up the road from my house. The son of a good friend of mine co-wrote the film, and had a small role, so I went to show my support.

It is not the worst film I’ve ever seen, not by a long shot, but it’s not great. The production values are poor – ex: the lighting is abysmally dark, especially in interior shots – and, as in most slasher movies, the plot line is incredible, in the sense of “not believable.”

The point though is that my friend’s son, and his colleagues, made a movie. How many of us can say that? How many of us have made any contribution to the cultural life of our neighbors? Certainly not I.

I have been fortunate enough to marry an artist and through him I have met many other creative people, but most people I know are not creative, or, if they are, they have not followed their creative dreams, and I know them as work colleagues or office workers or sales people.

So, hats off to the folks behind The Sadist. I hope that the movie improves with further work, finds a distributor and meets with success on the indie film circuit. Maybe someday I can say wistfully “I knew him when…”

2013

So here we are, facing another year. Pessimist that I am, I am sorry that we misread the Mayans. I was kinda looking forward to not having to deal with any more trouble, pain or even work. Oh well.

It’s a very quiet New Year’s Day here in CT. Ransom began work at the Metropolitan Opera yesterday, covering Verdi’s Il Trovatore, so he’s staying in the city. That means he went to the New Year’s Eve party to which we were invited, but I stayed home. Perfectly fine with me. During all those years in the restaurant business New Year’s Eve was a night I dreaded. My friend Malette points out that all the amateur drinkers feel compelled to get drunk that night, but, being amateurs, they don’t do it well and ruin it for the rest of us.

So last night I finished re-watching the first two seasons of Downton Abbey and then From Russia with Love. I didn’t even note the passing of the year at midnight, but texted Ransom a few minutes later and went to bed. Today, more James Bond and lots of relaxing. Then, tomorrow, back to work – horror!

It was a typical year for me: lots of good concerts, a few great ones; excellent meals from  the best kitchen in Woodbridge (our house); a fantastic trip to Scotland; a lovely Caribbean cruise on Celebrity; lots of knee pain and lots of frustration with the medical profession; sadness and shock over the damage from Hurricane Sandy and the killings at Sandy Hook Elementary.

But what I’m thinking about most as I review 2012 is the gift of friendship. In October of 2011, Ransom and I met Jon and Ann aboard the Celebrity Silhouette and this past year brought us together several times. The thrill of meeting someone new and exciting is just as memorable as it was when I was in my twenties or thirties, and that may be the most important lesson of the last year.

To drive the point home we just met Michael and Carol on out most recent cruise, and though they live too far away for us to see them as much as we’ve seen Jon and Ann, we enjoyed them every bit as much and I was once again reminded of the joy of friendship.

And hovering over all this is the fact that my forty-seven year friendship with Don, my buddy in Richmond, is stronger and more comfortable than ever. We communicate via email almost every day and by phone more often than we used to. Like best friends who see each other every day our conversations are usually simple and trivial as we share our day-to-day experiences. Sometimes we talk more seriously, either about world issues or about ourselves. Most important to me I suppose is that Don is my history. He knew me when I was seventeen and yearning, he knew me when I was twenty-seven and politically active, he knew me when I was thirty-seven and lovesick, he knew me when I was forty-seven and moving into this house with Ransom.

I long ago gave up on New Year’s resolutions, shamefully facing their folly in February. But I have hopes, and my fondest hope for 2013 is that I get to spend lots of time with my new friends, and especially with my old ones.