Ganymede Waters Zeus as an Eagle by Berthel Thorvaldsen, 1817

Before my disappearance from this blog last May, I submitted a poem to The New Gay, entitled “Dear Zeus.” Inspired not only from my relationship with Dear, but also about the myth of Ganymede. The gist of the myth is that Zeus, disguised as an eagle, abducts a young mortal to become his cupbearer. Between the two a love develops. If there were ever a book of love written, I believe it is Plato’s Phaedrus. Precisely, it is Plato’s analogy of love to charioteers and steeds in which he refers to Zeus and Ganymede, but the description about love into which Plato delves is nonetheless poignant.

“And from that time forward the soul of the lover follows the beloved in modesty and holy fear”

Plato

Last night, after being sucked into What Chili Wants but before Dear and I went to the neighborhood meeting, we had a discussion about our relationship. Dear said that he hopes he sets the standard for whatever future guy I do meet.  He said he hopes I know how I deserve to be treated, and what I will and will not accept. And he also hoped that the relationship wouldn’t become an albatross, with me constantly comparing future relationships to him.

I told him, “Dear, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, and I don’t know how to word this, but I feel like you’re the man I meet before I meet the man I marry.” Every other day, while waiting to turn into the parking garage for our gym at  Colony Square, we pass the 14th Street Playhouse that has, on its marquee, a play with that title.

“I’ve always felt that,” he replied.

The Unequal Marriage by Vasili Pukirev, 1862

Putting aside my relentless requests for him to come with me to see Manny Oliveira in I’m The Man You Meet Before You Meet the Man You Marry, I told him were it not for the age disparity, I would be completely content in our relationship. In fact, after Dear I don’t think I could handle another May-December relationship. As he often describes it, I am at the beginning while he is entering the beginning to the end. But alas, it is a May-December relationship. He knows that at some point I desire not only a career pursuing a passion that I love, but also children and an asscher-cut rock on my finger. I’m perfectly content to adopt by myself and put my own rock on my finger, but I do think it would be much more interesting with someone else. And while I’ve softened on the institution of marriage, perhaps because I’ve grown comfortable with the lack of pressure my current May-December relationship provides, I’ve not softened on the issue of a conscious commitment. Feel free to give it whatever title you please.

In the course of the conversation last night, Dear said, “Instead of making definite plans for the future, we enjoy our relationship in the moment.” And I couldn’t agree more. A few months ago, I told him one of the best things I enjoy about our relationship is the freedom, and that we do take a week by week approach to it.

In an odd and weird way, I feel as if we’re constantly evaluating and making a conscious decision to stay together week by week, instead of being bound by obligation. This isn’t to say that I won’t inevitably compare future relationships to the present one. I will. Hopefully not detrimentally but instructively. Nor is this to say that I’ll refuse marriage from the man I’m supposed to marry, but my relationship with Dear has certainly taught me quite a lot about relationships and expectations.  The truth is that the only expectation I bring to the relationship is for him to spend time with me. I put my own gas in my car.

At the beginning of our relationship, about four or five months in, he and I went with a few friends to Rivers Edge, a gay nude camp. Leading up to the excursion, he dropped a couple of hints about taking me out to get some new underwear and swimwear. I heard him, but was dismissive. I didn’t find out until months later he had wanted to replace my underwear because, for a lack of better words, they were ratty.

“But, I know you have too much pride -which can be a positive and a negative- to let me buy you some underwear and swimming shorts,” he said. Since then, I’ve replaced underwear and swimwear has been replaced.

Whether or not I enter into a legal marriage, marked by an asscher-cut diamond, after my relationship with Dear, I know that I will have learned a lot about myself and what I expect from relationships. I know that, at my core, I’m more of a blend of Carrie and Charlotte. Not my first time at the rodeo yet still a little naive and somewhat innocent at times, while always more desiring of intimacy and adventure than sex.

I discussed my relationship with a friend, who asked how we were planning for the future.

“We both love each, other but dont hold each other back …  He especially stresses that he wants me to pursue whatever it is that I want to do and live my life [relating to pursuit of career],” I said.

Oscar Wilde: The Original Gay/Velvet/Lavender Mafia.

Today I read an article ,  written on Backstage several months ago, about the Velvet/Lavender/Gay Mafia that struck a nerve in me. It is the same nerve that is struck whenever I think about relationships. This stricken nerve is that I’m judged by my exterior and not my interior. Feel free to call it whatever -ism suits your fancy, but to me they’re all judgments based on perceptions. For some reason, love -isms trumps career -isms, but I digress.

While lying in bed with Dear, I expressed my hesitancy about being with him when we first met each other. To be fair to both parties, our initial meeting was a wham/bam/thank you ma’am affair. After that encounter, he would entreat me to visit again, while I was hesitant. There is nothing wrong with being like a cat on a hot tin roof. We all have needs, especially Scorpios.  My hesitancy wasn’t because of a mutual attraction but instead I feared he objectified me while I would want something more if this were to be a continuing affair. Instead of being seen in two dimensions, I wanted depth and perspective. And I didn’t take him seriously until he admitted that he failed to see me as more than, for a lack of better words, a ‘hot piece of ass.’ While I can play the ditz, this isn’t my first time at the rodeo. And I like to think I’m well aware how men work, even if I have little insight into myself.

Outside of love, and when it comes to a career, I also want depth. I’m well aware that appearances will definitely open doors more often than abilities. These appearances aren’t limited to the physical but any appearance that a person can present, including the appearance of this alter ego I’ve created. What makes me uncomfortable and insecure at times is when I begin to question if the door I walked into was opened because of my physical appearances or abilities. Appearances are two dimensional, and can be quite deceiving., and at times they can be based on desires, as the article points out. There is something different to be said about doors opened on the basis of abilities. These ability-opened doors  presumes an ouvreture, a portfolio, a history. These doors makes an assumption that a comparison was made between the present range of which a person is capable and also how far a person has come from  beginning until now.

It is also one of the reasons I prefer a life in the arts, whatever that may be, because  along the way to becoming a master, from hopefully humble beginnings as an apprentice sharpening his craft to then a journeyman and finally master, one acquires and continues to acquire  pieces to add to that portfolio. And then at some point an artist creates his magnum opus and no longer needs the portfolio. Still, one can use the portfolio to trace the steps that master took to reach his goal.

I also remember a conversation I had with Maclean, back during the Summer of Love and Modern Romanticism, about competition. At some point, we were discussing Kohlberg’s moral development. He was working on his master’s, while I was “on a sabbatical” from my bachelors. At any rate, the conversation blended our views towards competition and where we thought we were on Kohlberg’s scale of moral development. I used to abhor competition in any form because I found it to be unconstructive. I think I’ve modified my opinion to view competition, among peers, as a way to better oneself. And if one is going to compete, then one needs to compete at one’s level until reaching the level where he/she is competing with the best. It’s taken a long time for me to reach this stage, and I’m quite proud I’ve gotten to this point in my life.  Just as I’ve come a long way in my view towards competition, I also hope that my moral development has progressed as well.

What began as a diatribe against the casting couch and appearances has turned into a longwinded way of saying I refuse to settle. And I think that by refusing to settle speaks volumes not only about my moral development but also about how far my self-worth has come. Never underestimate the importance of self-worth. This was also a long winded way of saying that I am back. For now at least. I took time off of documenting my personal growth in order to take care of myself (find a job to pay the bills while also completing the requirements to complete my undergraduate degree). And now that I have taken care of myself, and finished what I had started a long, long time ago, I am ready to continue documenting my personal and artisitic growth. And honestly, between driving the 2+ hours to and from Athens just to complete a degree while working simultaneously part-time, I had little time for anything else.

I am confident in my writing. I have become confident in my photography, especially portraiture. And especially given the present circumstances of working for a retail photography chain which doesn’t allow one to add photos to a portfolio. I would like to become more confident in my acting abilities. And have taken steps to do that by enrolling in acting classes at the Alliance Theatre. The only other artistic endeavors in which I would like to become more confident are cinema/directing, dancing, and painting. Perhaps even designing clothing while I still have the vibrancy of youth to pull off what I’d like to design. But for me, just a craft or three at at a time.

Somehow I’ve managed to trade one vice for another. At the beginning of the year, well more precisely on Dec. 31st, I joined Colony Square Athletic Club in Midtown. I figured exercise would be a great way to direct cravings. The motivation for joining wasn’t to lose weight. In fact I’m pretty sure I joined it to give myself something to do. The first week was fine. The second week I got a mild bout of what I’m assuming to be lactic acidosis. I won’t go into the details

And then I found my old friend -or should I say friends- Jelly Beans. As a side note, the one time my weight actually spiked fifteen pounds was due to the daily consumption of bags of jelly beans (we’re ignoring the massive amount of baking I was also doing while on strike from the dining hall). I wish I was exagerrating, but I would go through one sometimes two bags of jellybeans in a day. The Sweettart variety. And also the Nerds Bumpy Jelly Bean. Very sugary and very delicious.

Chocolate Bear and I would make trips to Target or Krogers and load up on bags and bags of jellybeans. And then trek back to the dorms only to sit and watch very bad TV surrounded by massive bowls of jellybeans. You know the type. Those kind of mixing bowls most people use to mix cakes or brownies. I’d pour the whole lot in there and eat them. One of the funniest memories in this jellybean overdose was a friend using a wooden spoon to eat the jellybeans, as though one were eating a bowl of cereal.

Luckily, both of these varieties only appear around Easter. But for the past two weeks I’ve been enjoying the Sour JellyBelly. The cashier and I have become very intimate with each other about how delicious and wonderful the Sour JellyBellys are. I haven’t the heart  to tell her how wonderful the Wonka varieties taste. And there’s a part of me that fears the upcoming weeks, because after Valentine’s Day, the next candy on the shelves will be Easter Candy.

Just the other day, while sitting around with friends and Dear (and also after eating the rest of a large slice of chocolate cake that may or may not have been spiked with oxytocin and/or coffee) I was still craving something sweet. Never mind the fact that I had just come back from the gym. I said out loud that I wish I had a bag of jellybeans when, lo and behold,. Dear surprised me with a box of jellybeans. I almost shat myself with joy, but instead buried him with kisses.

Some people’s weakness is chocolate. And while a nice slice of chocolate cake is sometimes equivalent to a mind-blowing orgasm, nothing compares to the feel of slowly chewing off the hard sugary outside until the bare jelly confection is left. This is how I aim to eat every jellybean, and if I can’t eat them this way then I don’t want to eat them. The key to eating a jelly bean this way requires a very firm center, so the low-rent varieties just won’t cut it.

I won’t even get started on nachos.

I used to think that I couldn’t live without mushroom, cheese or wine. Now I’m thinking about revising that to jellybeans, nachos and La Croix water. At least one of those addictions/comfort food is somewhat healthy.

It has been awhile since we’ve talked. In the past seven months I’ve : watched my dad return to Afghanistan, held a decent part-time job, managed to finally graduate, am approaching a two year relationship anniversary, joined a gym, quit smoking (yet again), learned learned that my tax refund will be larger than expected, started acting classes at the Alliance Theatre, learned my grandfather was turning 80 and witnessed my younger brother pass the threshold into adulthood.

All of that is terribly exciting, and you would think these major events would lead me to write. Even just a little bit. All those events somehow pale in comparison to the knowledge I learned today. While I slugged through E-learning courses at work, I looked down to my phone and read updates from Twitter. Protests. Heavens to Betsy. People going to lunch. Eh. Foxy, Young AND Free? You’ve got to be kidding me.

And then, I see the tweet that PARIAH was picked up by Focus Features at Sundance!

Focus Features nabs ‘Pariah’ – Entertainment News, Film News, Media – Variety.

Never mind my love affair with Focus Features, and if I were to ever make a film I would love for Focus Features to pick it up. I also saw the tweet that Dee Rees was offered a large sum to direct a second film. Seriously exciting news. I’d been following the tweets and news that Pariah was headed to Sundance. Why I feel a strong attachment to both this film and Dee Rees success I simply cannot explain. I’m completely baffled. I wanted to cry tears of happiness upon learning this news. It is simply amazing, exciting and inspiring.

Perhaps inspiring is the key word, because if Ms. Rees can take her vision and manage to bring it to life, then that gives hope for my own dream I hold inside.

It’s been a long time since I’ve written, but I couldn’t help but share this kind of news that spreads infectious happiness throughout my being. I think I’ve received enough inspiration to last a year. And to take a chance. Get messy. And follow my dreams. Thank you Ms. Rees. I can only imagine my excitement when I see it on the screen.  I just may piss myself.

EDIT : Click here and demand Pariah to come to a screen near you

As Obama closes in on a compromise on “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” a Lt. Colonel speaks about keeping secrets while fighting a war, and the boyfriend waiting back home.

With Congress making a bit of progress on repealing “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell,” I ran across this account of a Lt. Col. in the military.

Personally, I’d love to find a man in the military. There’s something very alluring about those suits and fatigues. There’s also something alluring about the fact that they’re the first line of defense when it comes to the protection of this country. Men in the military are (usually) very ethical and serve because of sense of duty or purpose. Who wouldn’t want to date someone who lives with standards? But, I’d hate to date a man in the military and then find out he was discharged because of me.

The other night, Dear commented that while I didn’t scream homosexual, the traits and mannerisms were readily apparent. This is backed up by the fact that while working at a sandwich shop, my manager took me to the side on my first day and told me he was alright that I was gay. And at that time, I thought I was doing my best to keep it all in, but apparently not.

While I listened to NPR on the drive up to Atlanta, though, they reported that there may be a bit of conflict in repealing the ban on gays serving in the military. They said that because of promises made last fall, any act Congress does make will not take effect until after the military has had time to review the policy, which is set for later this year.

[The bill includes] a provision in the proposed compromise amendment that would delay the repeal of the ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ policy for 60 days after receipt of the findings of the Pentagon review and the determination of the proposed policy and regulation changes.

-NPR

The Armed Service Committee is set to vote on this issue tonight.

Posted using ShareThis

As the art critic John Berger wrote: ‘Men look at women. Women watch themselves being looked at. This determines not only the relations of men to women, but the relation of women to themselves.’

While the article itself wasn’t groundbreaking, the dialogue it spawned in comment discussion was very … interesting. It was basically a split decision between men and women over appearances, with the occasional gay male perspective thrown in. Because let’s face it, gay men suffer just as much as women with a ridiculous obsession with youth and appearances.

Women know that men are only interested in women who are thin and attractive. That’s why they put so much pressure on themselves to live up to the ideal of female physical perfection presented in beauty magazines. Even if they have a man, they fear losing him if they are no longer attractive.

Men, on the oher hand, generally attract women because of their wealth, status and power. Looks have very little to do with it, especially over the age of 25. Thus, straight men do not feel the pressure to conform to a prescribed ideal of male beauty. Ergo, most straight men over the age of 25 are overweight and out of shape – but have no trouble finding women to sleep with / date.

I am a gay man, so my observations come from an entirely disinterested perspective.

Gay men put a lot of pressure on themselves to look good because they know other gay men will not be interested unless they are gym-toned and well-dressed.

Comment by James

Dear tells me constantly that I’m not fat. And 99% of the time I believe him. Unless I somehow trick myself and fall into that pit of comparing myself to others, which is a nasty habit right up there with nose picking and spitting. Somehow my neuroses about my looks migrate over to every aspect about my life until I am reduced to a puddle of unintelligible “I’ll never accomplish anything.”

I say 99% of the time I believe him, because honestly I don’t trust my own judgment. It falls into two extremes of : “I am the hottest shit to walk this earth,” or “My god what were my parent’s thinking. Is there an award beneath Mis(ter) Congeniality.” It’s a self-esteem issue, and I’ve made it my number one item to work on for 2010. Because, while I may not be 6’0, I enjoy my 5’6 stature. And while I may not be the definition of masculinity, oddly enough I am in love with my personality. It’s endearing, and I’ve lived with it for most of my life (barring that really strange phase somewhere around 10th grade). I could make myself an object of desire, but I still have youth on my side. And as Baz Lurhman said:

“Enjoy the power and beauty of your youth; oh nevermind; you will not understand the power and beauty of your youth until they have faded. But trust me, in 20 years you’ll look back at photos of yourself and recall in a way you can’t grasp now how much possibility lay before you and how fabulous you really looked. You’re not as fat as you imagine.”

Come to think of it, whenever I feel myself entering a self-esteem spiral, I typically refer myself back to this song. Well, usually his words of wisdom pop in my head, I reflect on their meaning, and then I listen to Quinton Tarver’s recording they used for Romeo + Juliet. It’s shorter, concise, angelic and to the point.

I keep telling myself to revel in my youth. Even if I am a penniless sitar player.

And the young gay people in the Altoona, Pennsylvanias and the Richmond, Minnesotas who are coming out and hear Anita Bryant in television and her story. The only thing they have to look forward to is hope. And you have to give them hope. Hope for a better world, hope for a better tomorrow, hope for a better place to come to if the pressures at home are too great. Hope that all will be all right. Without hope, not only gays, but the blacks, the seniors, the handicapped, the us’es, the us’es will give up. And if you help elect to the central committee and other offices, more gay people, that gives a green light to all who feel disenfranchised, a green light to move forward. It means hope to a nation that has given up, because if a gay person makes it, the doors are open to everyone.

- Harvey Milk

I think we’ve come a long way as a nation since the tumultuous sixties and seventies, yet if you turn on the TV you can see we are still engaged in an ongoing war of cultures. Much progress has been made, and yet we still have much further to go. And while much progress has been made in other parts of America, here in the South there are many who choose to hide who they are. True, there’s no need to skip down the street waving a rainbow flag. But there’s also no need to keep someone you love a secret. If love is kept in secret then that isn’t love at all. I’m just not sure what that is, but it most definitely is not love.

What are you doing to celebrate Harvey Milk Day?

Cities across the USA to observe Harvey Milk Day – USATODAY.com

Posted using ShareThis

Dear Dorothy,

I’ve got rhythm. I’ve got poetry. I’ve got youth. And I’ve got music. Who could ask for anything more. I do believe that Halle Berry did you justice in her portrayal.

You, the third African American female nominated for an Academy Award for Best Actress in Carmen. Yes you, a fellow Scorpio (And who’d have thought you’d have lost to another Scorpio, Grace Kelly).

There are two songs you recorded which remain on my playlist, no matter what electronic device I move to: “I’ve Got Rhythm” and “Habanera.” Oh, you deserved that Oscar nomination, with the way you entered that workroom in that red dress and commanded the attention. Your vocals were impeccable. You exude attitude. In essence, I am in love with you.

When I’m feeling rather saucy, I hear your melodic voice in my head as I saunter around in short shorts, pearls and heels. That, my dear, is love. I will daresay that you invented the game long before Beyonce. She can yell and scream all she wants, asking men why don’t they love her. But you, you give the lesson about love.

I didn’t enjoy the sounds Rufus made either. Sure, Julia Migenes may do an excellent job of capturing Carmen’s sensuality. And her singing is quite beautiful in French. And sure, that was Marilyn Horne who dubbed your singing voice in Carmen. But you, Madame, you didn’t just capture sensuality. You embodied it. Then you took it out to dinner and a movie, slinked back home and took sensuality to bed. I like to think you set THE standard for how to portray a sensual and dangerous woman. You have style, you have flair. If I didn’t know any better I’d say you were the Nanny. A very seductive, alluring nanny in a red pencil skirt and a black top. That is how I will remember you.

As the black middle class burgeons, I believe you will become the same tragic figure that Marilyn Monroe represents for the rest of America. Because your ending was cut short entirely too soon. I believe you still had much more to give us had you stuck around a bit longer. And while I do care a touch for fortune and fame, I do not want to become a fame monster but simply caring for daisies in green pastures while I dance with rhythm to music that makes me want to sing. Who could ask for anything more? As you say, there ain’t no use arguing with the wind.

Posted using ShareThis

Dear Zeus at TNG.

I cannot overstate enough how amazing this summer has been so far. And still miles to go before I sleep.