Un Amour de Jeunesse

The other day I was reading Sharon Bridgforth's extraordinary bull-jean stories with my students in my Sex and Drama class, and they sort of got hung up on the idea of past lives.

If someone is talking about their last-life love then we are operating in a world where reincarnation must exist and we can't ask real historical questions, they told me.

I was surprised at them and retorted with something like Don't you sometimes feel as though you have lived more than one life already?

They are young, much younger than I, and so I shouldn't have been so dismissive of them, of course. But it got me to thinking about living and lives and the ways in which they are divided up.

I often look at my life and feel as though my life is divided up into totally discrete sections. I think back on some of these times and I think about them as entirely different lives. Sometimes when I think about one of my old lives I hardly recognize the person who was living that life. Who was that guy and why did he make the silly decisions he made?

I can remember visiting a friend's grave every single day for a month in the Winter of 2001. I think back on that and I can't even remember what was going through my head when I did that. And I think back to before I decided to live a life as a gay man and I hardly approve of any of the decisions I made then, even if I understand them. I think my point is that it feels like a whole life that is gone. As though I might refer to a person I loved then as someone who was my love in a past life.

Today, while I was watching a movie called Goodbye First Love (I'm still catching up on 2012's movies; don't judge), it struck me how quickly the director, Mia Hansen-Løve, was able to show us the journey of a woman falling in love – it's a matter of only a few remarkable minutes, really, in the film.

But then I marveled at how quickly we fall in love in actuality. It takes so little to fall, to become fascinated with someone in my orbit, to begin spending energy thinking about him, to turn my thought toward his desires, his dreams, to begin to fabricate my own dreams about the two of us in some sort of mode of futurity. Or maybe this is just me.

In Un Amour de Jeunesse, the young protagonist is quite sad about her life, and she tells her lover that she has had a very painful time of it, and that meeting him has changed something for her. But he tells the young lady (in French): Nothing is in vain. Life is never what you expect. Your fantasy version of the world is doomed to failure. It’s up to you to create one that’s deeper, more real. That’s how you become yourself. 

And I think, too, that as easy as it is to fall in love – to become enamored with this person or another and then to wholly direct one's thought toward that person in an all-consuming way – we still have so much choice. We still must begin to craft a real life out of all of those fantasies.

Leaning

One of the things I miss without you is a kind of attuning.

Before, even though we were far away, 

you were attuned to me.

I felt your presence throughout the day, 

not just in the small messages I'd receive as the day progressed 

("Hope your day is the greatest!") 

but something else, 

a feeling of knowing you were there behind me, 

the way you walked up that night 

after we drank wine in that field under the tiki torch – 

I knew you were there, 

felt you on the wind long before you materialized to put your hand in mine.

Losing you has been tangible to me, 

though you may pretend there is no loss, 

that this now is no different from that then, 

because I know the difference between now

and the way you used to bend your thought toward me 

even when we did not speak, 

even as we both existed in our separate busynesses of the day.

I miss the way you could talk to someone else in a crowd 

while all your energy was directed, palpably, toward me.

It is this feeling of loss that makes me the saddest. 

I sense not that you are gone, but that I am gone for you, 

that you do not lean toward me across the distance

the way you used to.

So: mourning for you, for loss, for myself, all of the above. I do. 

And I am awash with self-pity. Why not? And 

I am not speaking, either, about love, although falling for you was a true pleasure. 

I mean, instead, to speak around something I have 

never been able to articulate when it comes to you 

and your presence in my life. Call it magic or spirituality – 

the physical sensation of connecting as we did. 

And now I must relearn that connection as something other 

than I thought it was, As something 

more subject to the space between us 

than I had imagined it before.

—This is from 29 August 2011

When Relationships Don't Work Out

Aaron: Well, I guess I dodged a bullet with this one.
Joel: I think you did.
Aaron: Yeah.
Joel: Well, actually I think you dove in front of the bullet and then it missed, but still.
Aaron: Touché.

Lies We Tell One Another

I am feeling sentimental today (and procrastinating about my paper on sentimental comedy), and I am trying to work some thoughts out in my head...

Something odd about relationships is, perhaps, that we don't always know why they end. I broke up with someone recently and I had reasons for doing so. I told him some of those reasons, but I had more reasons in my head than the ones I shared with him. I am not sure why I held those reasons back, but I did. Maybe I thought he couldn't handle those reasons. Maybe I thought I was being nice, polite, in keeping those reasons to myself.

Or maybe I actually don't know all of the reasons that he and I cannot work out. I was sure that I did not want it to work out and that's all I can say that I knew for sure.

I don't know about things like this. And I wonder, when I am in a relationship that ends, if I have ever really gotten the truth out of the other guy. Which leads to more questions:

Is the truth really important? I mean, why do I need to know why this person does not want me anymore? or Why does he need to know why I do not want him anymore? And...

Is the truth even possible? I don't even always know why I don't want someone anymore. Sometimes I just cannot explain it. It is just that I don't want him anymore and that is that. There must be a thousand reasons for and against a relationship continuing. Sometimes we make up our minds about what we want and we don't even know why...

But it isn't the why that matters, see. It is that our minds are made up. The why, sometimes, doesn't matter at all.

Words

How grossly, how devastatingly inadequate is language to express what we sometimes wish to say. How wondrous, too, it must be said, that our language (this one in particular) can say so much, that it possesses such nuance, that it is so supple, so skilled at parsing even slight differences.

We even debate semantics. I prefer "client" over "resident" or "teaching assistant" over "classroom facilitator" over "discussion leader."

But so often I find that there is simply nothing to say. There is nothing clever enough, sincere enough; sometimes there are no words. Surely it isn't because I don't know the words; I know so many. I am inclined, rather, to think that it is—instead—that we have failed to invent words for so much of what we feel.

Worse yet, so much of the vocabulary we use to describe how we feel about people has, through overuse (disuse?), become clichéd and trite.

There is only one way out: we must invent more words.

Or perhaps we could paint. Or sing. Or dance.

Funny Phone Conversation

A young man called me yesterday to ask me to donate money or time to help defeat an anti-gay-marriage measure which will be on November's ballot in Florida. We conversed for several minutes. Our conversation is about politics and volunteering, of course, but underlying this there is the fact that we are both gay men. I mean, he doesn't know for sure that I am gay and I don't know for sure that he is either, but we were both assuming it.

Then he asks me for my address. So I give it to him: 1998 Summer Meadow (this isn't my real address, but bear with me; I gave him the real one).

Me: "1998 Summer Meadow."

Him: "Hummer Meadow?"

Me: "No, Summer Meadow... but Hummer Meadow sounds like a nice place."

What would Freud say?

Fun with Denim

I haven't purchased jeans since I moved across the country from Los Angeles to Talla-classy. And since then, two (count them, two) pairs of my jeans have worn out. I mean, all I wear is jeans anymore now that I am back in school. I never used to get to wear jeans and now I wear nothing else.

So I decided for one of my spring break events that I would go jeans shopping. Good jeans are impossible to find anyway, and I am on a (kind of) tight budget so I have to limit myself to the chains in the mall. I found two okay pairs of jeans at the Gap (ugh) and then I went to Express, where I found a very cute pair that I really liked.

They were $90.

So I asked the cashier if they were on sale. He says, "let's find out" and then rings them up. Sure enough: not on sale. I waffled for maybe a second and a half before he was like "What if I gave you a $30 gift certificate?"

"...um, that would be great," said I.

That's right. I'm cute. I mean, at least thirty dollars worth of cute.

Race & Gender, I Guess, Is as Good a Title as Any for this Entry

I finished my paper for Race & Gender today. It's a 15-pager about the mammy icon and Tony Kushner's Caroline, or Change. It's pretty good, I guess. I dunno. Roomie is proofreading it (and hopefully coming up with suggestions on how to make it better) as we speak.

And there's a boy who I have a crush on. I asked him out for coffee and he said yes. We sat and talked for about two hours this afternoon. I don't really have time to be trying to date anyone right now (school will be all the way out in two weeks' time and I have another giant fucking research paper to write) and he, like everyone else, will be leaving for the summer, so my timing sucks, but still... it's inexplicable, really. And I am so nervous with him (or at least I was today) that I am not my usual charming and funny self. I feel like a square with this one.

In other news, I had a fantastic conversation with my brother where he convinced me to spend more money. I really should be on here blogging more often, and I'm sorry that I have been neglecting this space, but I feel so under the gun right now what with school about to end and all that. I do apologize. I will be back soon.

Also, I will post my Giovanni review soon.

And I didn't tell you all that I got a text message from the gentleman friend. Remember him? It's been almost a month and a half. I wonder why he bothered?

Undergrad Love

A bisexual undergrad I don't know "poked" me on Facebook today.

The undergrads think I'm hot.
I think it's funny.

I Am Thankful For...

Safety Meetings
Thai Food
Relationships that work out
French Feminism
The Frankfurt School
The last bar that served me a Lemon Drop Martini
Karen Finley
My gay godfathers: Edward Albee, Tony Kushner, Thornton Wilder
My favorite independent straight man: Wallace Shawn
My gay brothers: Ryan and Tito
An enormous calming force in my life: my roommate
Oscar Wilde and William Congreve
My favorite actor to watch bar none: Neil Patrick Harris
My best friends: Danny, Derek, Justin, Matthew
My best girlfriends: Ashley, Elizabeth, Wahima, Madison, Jaime, Anna, Linda
Takeshi Kaneshiro
Mary Karen Dahl
Nancy Pelosi
John Paul Stevens
Arianna Huffington
The Academy of Motion Pictures Arts & Sciences
Bombay Sapphire gin
My father and mother
My brother
My sister
My cousins Angela, Katie, and Emily
George Clooney
Isabelle Huppert
Virginia Woolf
Alan Hollinghurst
Richard Wagner
Tori Amos
Julie Taymor
Eric Whitacre
Wong Kar-wai
My students: the good ones
All the men I’ve slept with (no exceptions)
All the men I want to sleep with
Dozens more people who love me more than I deserve

Long Day

Today is going to be a long day. This morning I'm having a meeting to plan my facilitation of a discussion of Marxist Theory in relation to theatre (the discussion itself isn't until Wednesday). Then I'm covering for my girl Amy in her morning class of Intro to Theatre. THEN I'm meeting with a student in regard to a plagiarism issue (yikes.) THEN I'm meeting with the teacher of my Intro section to discuss my performance as a TA (not performativity, just how well [or poorly] I'm doing in the class.) THEN I have office hours. THEN I have my own section of Intro to TA. Then I think I'll have a slight meal break and hopefully get part of a paper written or some research done before my date tonight with the gentleman friend. We're going to see Urinetown: the Musical, which they're doing here at the FSU School of Theatre.

Roomie saw the show last night and said she didn't particularly care for it, but I'm hoping it was just an off night. That's why I wanted to go on a Friday instead of a Thursday in the first place. When I was in university, I always thought Thursday's shows were never as good as Friday's.

And I have SO much work to do this weekend I can't even talk about it.

Gay News: Domestic & National

Fun message from a Myspace stranger (I changed his name to protect him: don't worry)

Subject: hey baby

Body: amwilson 23 m singel bi lookin 4 sum cock to suck wont to go gay lovedick am 6'5 brown hair blue eyes toung ring 5tatoos no pic i meet inperson

*
I don't know what to say to this sort of thing. What can one say really?

In other news, these are text messages from Representative Tom Foley (R-FL) to some of the sixteen-year-old pages on the House floor.

Maf54: You in your boxers, too?
Teen: Nope, just got home. I had a college interview that went late.
Maf54: Well, strip down and get relaxed.

ABCNews.com also cited this exchange:

Maf54: What ya wearing?
Teen: tshirt and shorts
Maf54: Love to slip them off of you.

A third example from ABCNews.com:

Maf54: Do I make you a little horny?
Teen: A little.
Maf54: Cool.

Oh my god. What was he thinking?

I am conflicted about this, really. For some reason it's a little satisfying to hear that there's a gay Republican on the floor of the House (well, not anymore: he already resigned), but that a part of the ant-gay contingent is itself gay is satisfying on some level and also horrific and sad on another. But what I really think is: here this perv is. Why does he have to be a gay pervert? Why couldn't he be sending lurid text messages to teenage girls for chrissakes?

Pondering Femininity, Homosexuality and Divahood

I have been thinking this evening about female behavior. This week I was thinking about all of these boys in their flip-flops on campus. All of these untouchable undergrads, to whom I am not supposed to be attracted, but who walk around in various states of undress. And I was thinking that nudity in males translates also to me as femininity. I like men who wear flip-flops not because I fetishize feet, but because I fetishize vulnerability and bare feet represent the uncovering of something traditionally covered, something that is normally hidden now exposed to the air, inviting danger, needing protection like traditional thinking about women. And no matter how much I attempt to approach my relationships from the point of view of a "normal" homosexual, I find that I'm following heterosexual norms and attempting to fit into the traditional hetero-male role of the protector.

Juxtapose this thinking with what the second year MA student said to me last week: "Aaron, you make a terrible black woman." I was, of course, stunned and hurt. I vented to roomie later about this girl's insensitivity to me and I said, "almost every homosexual wants to be nothing else in the world but a fabulous black woman." What she said, was, obviously, insensitive and mean-spirited and though I was shocked by her statement, I understand. I am not a black woman and I never will be but, damn: a girl can dream.

I've also been thinking about male-male relationships. Not having had one for any length of time that is worth discussing, I don't know that I can even offer an opinion on the role of femininity in homosexual/homosocial relationships. In short, I wouldn't know what I was talking about. So instead, I worry about the role of femininity in my relationships with other men: how feminine am I? Am I too feminine to attract another male? Am I not feminine enough to stand out in this crowd of heterosexuals? Is that why he doesn't like me? Am I too feminine?

Thinking about these issues made me dig out Wayne Koestenbaum's The Queen's Throat, where I happily happened upon this:

Codes of extravagant female behavior have arisen around the diva: these mannerisms, collectively, are as famous and influential as any masterwork in the operatic repertory, and they transcend the borders of opera culture. Diva conduct, whether enacted by men or women, whether, indeed, we feel that diva conduct differentiates between men and women, has enormous power to dramatize the problematics of self-expression. One finds or invents an identity only by staging it, making fun of it, entertaining it, throwing it—as the ventriloquist throws the voice, wisecracks projected into a mannequin's mouth. Geraldine Farrar dared to tell Arturo Toscanini, "You forget, maestro, that I am the star." One need not be a star to relish Farrar's concise way of gathering a self, like rustling skirts, around her; he or she who will never become a diva, no matter how many social or vocal revolutions occur, may still wish to imitate Farrar, to say, "You forget, maestro, that I am the star." No single gesture, gown, or haughty glissando of self-promotion will change one's actual social position: one is fixed in a class, a race, a gender. But against such absolutes there arises a fervent belief in retaliatory self-invention; gay culture has perfected the art of mimicking a diva—of pretending, inside, to be divine—to help the stigmatized self imagine it is received, believed, and adored. (133)

Public Version of Previously Private Entry

Tonight a very good-looking young man took me to a very good Thai food restaurant in Tallahassee.

I had a really great time.
He's intelligent and politically active and probably reading this so I should probably shut the fuck up.

Huge Sum-up Post That Says Much More Than It Means and Means Much More Than It Says

There are a lot of things to say right now. I'm moving away; I'm quitting my job; I'm selling my house; I'm working on a project for which I don't really have time. I feel like I am all alone in the world... and I'm still in Pasadena. It's like that Margo Channing quote—okay, I'm being dramatic here, and Margo isn't even talking about being a single gay man, but when she says, "And in the last analysis nothing is any good unless you can look up just before dinner or turn around in bed and there he is," I feel like I know what she's talking about. No. I am being silly. I am not forty and I am not a fading star or any of that melodramatic nonsense (and I don't have Joseph L. Mankiewicz writing me brilliant one-liners.) No. But I am single and I am tired of being alone. Never mind; Margo Channing wasn't any of those things. I don't know what I'm talking about. It would be nice to be held, though. I kind of miss that.

Foresight

I am a pisces and I can see into the future.

It doesn't always happen, but it's always true.

I Keep Thinking About Him

Neil Patrick Harris is probably my favorite stage actor working right now. I would see him in anything. He's such an exciting performer. I keep thinking about his work in All My Sons. It was such a powerful, quietly brilliant turn. And that makes me think of his stellar work in The Paris Letter: a play that I think still needs a bit of fixing, but in which Harris did the most amazing, intricate work.

I wish I could meet him. He might be my new favorite actor. Maybe I'll troll the streets of Westwood on show nights...

New MySpace Message

I received this one tonight.

Subject: Damn! (I'm already excited. He has a clever and intriguing subject.)

Message: You look sexy i wouldn't mind fucking you!

*
Okay. You sound like tons of fun.

Directing Stuff; Hard Times; More Long-term Goals

So the story with Hard Times is that it--well, it has its troubled spots but seems to be appreciated by all who've seen it so far. The show was much better last night than it was on Thursday, the audience was accordingly more receptive and most of them stayed through the whole thing. The lines were down a lot better yesterday, too, and I think the performances are much improved from the terror I was feeling a week ago.
And the important people... that is, those whose opinions I value most in my life really liked the show. Tito truly loved the show; my boss (Bill, the chair of the Department of Theatre) thought the show was wonderful--he went on and on about what a great director I was and picked out his favorite directing moments. My parents and sister also really loved the show. This show really struck a nice chord with them. Aaron and Kim weren't quite so rhapsodic, and Wahima, well, Wahima is the hardest critic I know but they all thought the show was good.

As for me, I'm delighted that people are responding positively to the show. I'm not sure where it puts me. I mean, the show still isn't really my kind of thing. I wish it were shorter, cleaner in places, wish things about some of the performances were different. It's a beautiful show, and I've thought that for some time, but it isn't a show that I would ever choose to do in a million years: not enough cruelty or comedy or straight-talk I suppose, I don't know. Not enough deviance, perhaps, or shocking behavior. I'm not sure what I object to, really, except that maybe the show is just too traditional for me when it comes right down to it. On the other hand, it is nice, finally, to do a show where there is some production value--it was equally satisfying in that respect to do Valparaiso last year, though of course there were things I would change about that show as well. So I guess I continue ambivalent about the show. It seems a small thing to me still, no matter Hard Times' scope and length: it is the space that is small and my work that continues to feel small, even when we sell out, which we have done two nights in a row. And no matter how much Bill says he appreciates me and loves having me at the school and thinks I'm a wonderful director, there is the pesky matter of money and the lack of any permanent standing at the college. I have none and I don't expect to have any in the future. They don't want me there permanently and I what I have to offer is still very limited, I suppose. There is a restlessness in my heart, a longing to do bigger things... I'm not even sure what I mean by that, but I want to be able to innovate, to bring new things to the table, to explore theatrically. I can be counted on as a sturdy director; I can get up a two-and-a-half hour show in five weeks: we all know that now, I guess. I can teach dialects fairly well in that time and engineer and supervise a difficult piece like this one and bring it from an ungovernable mass to a watchable, mostly-interesting show. I'm not sure what more I want but I know I want more. I want to be given more time and more money and a larger pool of actors. Perhaps this is not the place where I will get that, and perhaps it will be a long time before I do, but right now, I think that's my goal with directing.

*
Oh, and why is it that a man of whom I am very fond felt the need to say to me... oh never mind. I'm such a Pisces sometimes. It's so funny.
I build up a thing so much in my mind.
Something so small: a little phrase, a drunken statement in the middle of a night can take me far away so easily.
Suddenly, I am ten years ahead, thinking of what I'll be doing then and how fulfilled I could be.
Dreams don't die so easily.
The emptiness that lurks inside of me sometimes yawns wide and I implode a little: fall back onto myself and my heart expands to find that there's not enough room for its new size.

Weekend Update

This evening I baked an Angel Cake... a difficult task, I assure you. Hopefully it's good. It's for a co-worker's birthday tomorrow. I also tried to make some sort of lemon glaze to take along with it, but that turned out kind of crap.

On to news of the weekend:
I went to Vegas! So I got home from the Will Dailey/Steel Train/John Brown's Body concert around 1:00a and then I woke up around 7:30a to leave for Vegas. Julie drove Lisa, Anna, Dave and me. We met John and Jaime (who were already there) at the Venetian, where we stayed. The rooms are so very nice. Actually, I guess it's an all-suite hotel: swank.

Of course we left late (Lisa and Dave were late getting to Julie's), so we got to Sin City around 2:30p or so. I wanted to lay by the pool immediately, but that was vetoed. Instead, we walked around a bit and drank $1.50 beers until about 4:00p when happy hour started at Tequila Joe's. We drank heavily there. (I was having kamikazes and Long Islands.) Then it was off to the Luxor for their buffet (not recommended--anything called the "Pharaoh's Pheast" should be avoided anyway, but the hotel is cool) and then the MGM Grand to get a Fat Tuesday. We split up there. Dave, Lisa, Julie, Anna and I went to NYNY to their Big Apple club, a hip-hop joint. Just. Like. Last. Time. After standing around at the Big Apple, Dave looked at me and gave me the let's-ditch-these-girls-and-get-out-of-here-immediately look and in twenty minutes we were at an actual club called Krave.
I love the gays. Seriously. I finally started having some real fun. In truth all I wanted to do was dance... I even danced a little at the Big Apple... and the deejay at Krave knew what he was doing. He had that perfect mix of excellent dance music with just the right amount of breaks for taking small breaths or finding out the name of that guy who is rubbing your ass (or not). It was great. I danced for nearly three hours straight... well. And there was a drag show! And not just any drag: really good drag. It is Las Vegas after all. There were three performances each better than the next. The first one was this queen with a costume worthy of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert dancing to French Affair's "Sexy" and then there was this fabulous little Filipino queen with some awesome dance moves doing some kind of Donna Summer medley (this was a huge hit, of course) and then came Britney Spears. The guy dancing to Britney was so hot. I cannot even describe it because it's so weird, but Dave and I both agreed: he was a really hot guy, like, if you saw him on the street you would turn and look, and he also looked a lot like Britney Spears. He danced and then stripped from that Oxford-shirt look into the "Slave" look and then he gave this guy whose birthday it was a lapdance... it was great fun.

I went to bed around 5:00a and then we came home the next afternoon, hitting loads of traffic, of course. It was so short. I wish I were still there, but ah well. Even a little Vegas is better than no Vegas.