Bad Fag!I kind of feel bad for skipping the whole Pride thing yesterday, as if I had shirked a solemn duty, as if I'd let down my side. But it was so hot out, and after church I was just wiped... besides, I didn't want to go over there by myself, something in the way I felt told me that I wouldn't enjoy it alone.
Sometimes the greatest challenge in a given day is to assess one's own emotional and physical state, what one is capable of managing, when any particular activity will make one happy and when that selfsame activity will make one wish to slit one's wrists. I usually have fun at Pride, there are so many people to look at; but sometimes I feel horribly horribly lonely when I go to crowded places by myself; yesterday felt like one of the lonely days.
Of course, an intelligent person would have called up a friend and made plans to meet... but as you may have noticed from my last post or two, I have not qualified as an "intelligent person" for some time. But if I had made plans with Caroline and/or Angelique to meet up after the Parade (they were marching with the Royal Grand Ducal Council contingent, naturally), then I could have gone with Angelique to Mr. Leona's with the various Court contingents, or I could have hung out with Caroline and the Falcon Studios contingent.
Falcon Studios? you ask... yes, well: see, Caroline went to a New Year's Eve party at some club called Mezzanine, and at that party she met a handful of Falcon actors who were doing promotional work that night. Caroline is not a shy girl, by any means, and the porn-stars were giving out various items of rather high-end swag (tennis-visors, postcard-books, keychains, boxer shorts, little sex-toys, and even full-sized DVDs)... you've got good-looking guys and free stuff intersecting at one party, so Caroline was on them like white on rice (here are some pix from that night).
And so when Caroline came across the Falcon float and contingent on her way to meeting the RGDC contingent (she got there over an hour early, having given herself extra time for traffic that mircaculously never materialized, and so had time to kill), she recalled herself to the acquaintance of a man with whom she had spent a lot of time talking at the New Year's party (stagenamed Gus Mattox... he's not Caroline's usual type, being an actual grown-up man instead of a smooth little prettyboy, but he's apparently very nice and friendly... he's also quite a writer, if you visit his website be sure to read the Soapbox section, it's had me in stitches all afternoon); she also spent a good deal of time with porn star Jason Adonis and photographer John Skalicky.
She also spent some time with the Gold's Gym contingent before the parade started, who apparently did some sort of Hawaiian theme and Caroline taught some of them how to hula in exchange for a free grass-skirt (little-known fact: Caroline was born on Maui and grew up on Kauai).
After the parade, she settled in at the Falcon booth with her new friends, and snagged some more swag while she was at it (foam rubber swords, for example, promoting NakedSword.com, Falcon's new movie channel). She also got to see Margaret Cho on stage, as well as Chi-Chi LaRue's aborted production number (somebody screwed up the CD, and apparently Miss LaRue was not amused, though she gamely went through some of her number a capella).
And as soon as Caroline got home, she called me up to tell me all about her fabulous Gay Day; I was in the middle of watching Six Degrees of Separation on VHS after my three-hour nap, and was not really in the mood: envy is such an ugly emotion, and I just wasn't up to it.
Now, I wasn't exactly jealous that Caroline got to spend time with porn-stars; I imagine that, with the exception of the witty Gus Mattox, conversations with porn-stars are more entertaining in concept than in practice. Besides, I'm not sure I'd feel terribly comfortable chatting with people whom I have watched screwing while I masturbated (though I've never masturbated to any of these particular guys, being more of a Bel Ami boy than a Falcon fan)... there's simply no chapter in Amy Vanderbilt for such occasions. And let's not get into the physical-inferiority complex that I experience when I am surrounded by people who are monumentally better-looking than I.
But I am envious of Caroline's ability to go right up to people who interest her and get involved in whatever they're doing. She has more fun than I do when she goes places alone, and I get jealous of that skill sometimes. She's simply a better fag than I am. I have this to learn from her.
Anyway, instead of being in the Parade as I'd have liked or going to a sober party as I intended or even schmoozing with porn-stars and personal trainers with Caroline, I lay all afternoon and evening in bed watching videos (I was too befuddled with heat and allergies to even read a book). Aside from the amazing but kind of sad Six Degrees of Separation (I absolutely love Stockard Channing, I want to be her when I grow up), I also took in The Haunted Mansion (which was funnier than I expected and visually quite stunning), La Cage Aux Folles III (which was silly, and dubbing foreign-language films should be outlawed), and the "piece of resistance," The Meat Rack.
This last one was quite interesting, I picked it up at Borders on Sunday when I was waiting for Grandmother and Daddy to finish their Sunday school class; aside from the great beauty of the star (and his big ol' basket), it was shot in San Francisco in the early 70s, and it was neat to see how different things were then, and how much the same; the movie was a wonderful snapshot of that strange crossover period between complete suppression of the 50s and the sort-of-generalized liberation that I came out to in the 80s.
There were also some very interesting extras on the DVD; aside from a second movie that I haven't watched yet, there was footage of the third annual West Hollywood Pride Parade and the third annual Gay-In... it was really interesting to compare those to the televised Parade I watched intermittently on KRON, with hostesses Donna Sachet and Jan Wahl. It was kind of a trip.
Also on the DVD, among some odd little nudie-reels of boys playing ukeleles on the beach and playing billiards and wrestling blindfolded in the nude, was one of the legendary John Holmes' first porn reels... it was softcore and grainy and strange, but oy! This rather pretty slim boy walking around with this stupefying schlong bouncing around in front of him, and this other slim and pretty boy with what would have been a pretty big piece if it hadn't been dwarfed by his costar's... well, it was quite mind-boggling. I still see it when I close my eyes.
Well, anyway, that's what my life is like today. I'm hoping it gets better, that I have something of my own to say sometime soon instead of just reporting on other people's fun. But then, allergies, heat, depression, these do not make for fun stories, do they? I mean, I can squeeze a few laughs out of them, but I need something a little more entertaining to dominate my life if I'm going to be able to enjoy it. So here's hoping.
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