Showing posts with label Gay stuff. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Gay stuff. Show all posts

Sunday, April 27, 2008

Ready? Ok! Trailer



Hi Guys,

Up above is the first trailer for the movie I designed last summer. Take a look at it! I'm very pleased with it. The film also won three awards at FILMOUT San Diego - our first festival appearance! The film won Best U.S. Narrative Feature Film, Outstanding Emerging Talent for our Writer/Director James Vasquez, and Best Actress for Carrie Preston.

The film is also now scheduled in the following festivals around the country:
NEWFEST FILM FESTIVAL
PHILADELPHIA INTERNATIONAL GAY AND LESBIAN FILM FESTIVAL

Q CINEMA FORT WORTH
GAY PRIDE SPOTLIGHT MOVIE - SANTA FE, NEW MEXICO


Ready? Ok! Go watch the trailer!

--David

www.readyokmovie.com

Wednesday, April 16, 2008

Almost Movie Time - READY? OK!


Lurie Poston and Michael Emerson (Ben on LOST) on location shooting "Ready? OK!"
Photo Credit: Adriana Breisch.

As you may recall, last summer I served as Production Designer of an Indy feature film. Well it is called READY? OK! and it is premiering at FILM OUT SAN DIEGO, Thursday april 17th. I can't wait to see it! A few early reviews have come in, too.

Beth Accomando, at KPBS radio, reviews FILMOUT SAN DIEGO and offers a great review of the movie toward the end of this several minute long sound file.



There is also an early print review from the
North County Times. You can also read it online here - with a few pictures, too.


READY? OK!
Premiere

Thursday April 17th, 7:15 pm
Ken Cinemas

4061 Adams Ave
San Diego 92116



Saturday, April 12, 2008

Gimme Some Skin

I am currently working on AIDA for San Diego Opera - no, I was not cast as Radames (or Amneris) but am instead serving as body-makeup artist. What does this job entail, you ask?

Well, I must arrive at the opera two hours before curtain time and venture into the lower depths of the theatre where I (and several other makeup folk) get to spend three hours applying body makeup to various supers, dancers, and some of the chorus.

The vast majority are men ranging in looks from stunningly beautiful to elderly teamster. For about two and a half hours these assorted men wander over to the body makeup area in their opera-supplied skin-pink underwear and I ask them if they are Egyptian or Ethiopian. Depending on their answer they are made up with either Light Egyptian or Dark Egyptian body makeup.

They are escorted over to an empty spot on the plastic-covered floor and I spray them down with a water bottle. This makes the makeup flow better, quicker, and more evenly. Using small round sponges and pancake make-up of the chosen shade, I proceed to daub, wipe, pat and otherwise apply the makeup to pretty much every exposed inch of them save their heads, hands, and feet -- which are their own responsibility.

We are basically just trying to apply an even, smooth color. There is not much time for subtlety. I have worked up a few tricks and quick-and-easy frills to this crank-em-out process. I try to make sure the body makeup fades realistically into their necks and faces which are sometimes too light or too dark. I also usually apply a quick dappled sponge effect to darken the tops of their shoulders, like natural sun exposure creates. And a last little trick of mine, when doing their backs, is to start with a very dark spongeful of makeup down their back bones. This makes a little valley of makeup which can then be feathered out with the sponge. It not only avoids streaks but also adds a subtle hint of muscle definition to their backs.

Other elements of the job include hiding tattoos, doing a body makeup quick-change on eight dancing girls in about eight minutes, and then a lot of clean up afterwards: washing sponges, refilling water bottles, preparing for the next performance, etc.

It's kinda funny having a job where a man in his mid 20s comes up to you in his underwear and apologizes for not shaving his armpits better.

This Light Egyptian makeup has an interesting backstory. It was developed by Max Factor for Lena Horne who desperately wanted to play Julie in the 1951 remake of SHOWBOAT. The studio apparently worried that Horne was "too light" and Max designed Light Egyptian to darken Lena Horne's skin to an appropriate shade for the studio. Then as Ms. Horne has told it, "They went and hired my good friend Ava Gardner to play Julie and covered HER in MY Light Egyptian!"

So in a few hours I must head to the theatre for my opera chores. SOMEBODY has to do it!

Aida, Aida, I just met a girl named Aida . . . that's a different show, isn't it?

--David

Thursday, December 27, 2007

If I Were a Gay Man, Ya ha deedle deedle, bubba bubba deedle deedle dum!

The following blog is VAGUELY EXPLICIT!
If you are uncomfortable reading about a summer romp between two men - well, skip this blog.
Another one will be along in a little while.



SUMMER 1986


At this point in time I had been out for a little over a year - and been a non-virgin for about nine months. Happy little gay boy, la la la la la.  A good friend was stage managing a summer stock season in the midwest somewhere. The last show of the season was FIDDLER ON THE ROOF and she asked if I could come down and serve as an additional ASM (Assistant Stage Manager.) It was a big show, and the actual theater was a thrust-type stage with audience on three sides. My friend begged. She said she REALLY needed two ASMs backstage. Ever the genial fellow, I obliged.

When I got down there, all was good and the other ASM was nice. He was in his mid-20s, kind of cute, Jewish, had a moustache, and he was engaged to be married two weeks after FIDDLER closed. Oh, yes, ASM (as I'll call him from here on) was the only Jew involved in the production, on stage or off! It was basically the "Viking production" - starring Leif Erickson as Tevye! Oy!

Tech period went fine - except that I was nearly killed by a dry-ice fog machine. But the show duly opened to thundering applause. The opening night party was held at a beautiful home on a lake. We were tired, happy the show was open. We could now relax, do five shows on the next couple weekends, and otherwise have fun.

Well, after a few drinks the other ASM and I were sitting on a staircase drinking gin-and-tonics and he starts asking me about my coming out, what it was like, hadn't I ever been attracted to girls (No!), and other typical questions.

Then he says, "Would you?"

"Would I what?"

"You know! Would YOU . . . ?"

"Would I what?" I repeat.

He seems VERY uncomfortable! "You're really gonna make me ask this, arent you?"

"What are you talking about!" I ask, utterly baffled.

"Will you . . . have sex with me?"

Now, this is a spit-take moment if ever there was one! I recover myself and say, "Aren't you supposed to get married in two weeks?"

He explains that he is getting married, he loves his fiancee very much, but he's always thought he'd like to try sex with a guy just once. And this seems like his only chance before he gets married.

What we have here is an ethical dilemma  . . .

Is it wrong to have sex with a straight boy who is engaged to be married in two weeks?
Am I doing him (and his future wife) a favor by helping get this out of his system? 
If I say "No," am I denying him the chance to discover he REALLY is gay, and that he should call off the wedding before he messes up his and his future wife's lives?

Big inhalation of air . . . "So, you really want to do this? You're really serious?" I ask.

He stands up, takes me by the hand, and says, "Let's go!"

He takes me out to his car. We get in and he asks, "Where should we go?"

"Look, ASM, this was YOUR idea! Where do YOU want to go? Why don't we just go back to the Techie House?"

He explains that we can't do that, someone might get suspicious or figure out what was going on, or something.

I think, "Silly boy! Who cares! We're theater people!" We're still sitting in the car pondering locales and I put my hand on his upper leg and . . .

"Oh my God!" he says. "You're actually doing it!"

Now I'm TOTALLY confused. I ask, "If you don't want me to touch your leg through your pants, how are we gonna have, ummm . . . sex? Any time you want to stop, just say so. This was YOUR idea."

"I know where to go!" he beams and starts the car. I leave my hand on his leg and his breath corresponds to my hand as it moves higher up, onto his lap, and into the warm space between his jean-covered thighs.

He parks the car across the street from the theater.

"The theater!" I say. "You want to do it at the theater?"

"I have the only set of keys!" He smiles.

We go inside. He's REALLY nervous and sits down on the vinyl-covered couch in the Green Room. "Do you really want to do this?" I ask again.

"Yes! Stop asking that!"

I kiss him on the lips. He closes his eyes and kisses back, really well, too. We break apart for air. "Whoa! I've never kissed a guy before," he says. "It's different. It's rougher."

"Well, I've never kissed a moustache before; and THAT's what's rougher!" I make a face, and we go back to kissing.

"I don't like it here," he says. "This couch doesn't feel right. I want a bed. Come with me!"

He takes me by the hand and I wonder where he's taking me this time! I see, and smile; and know I've got a fabulous story for the future. In the corner backstage, under the blue running-lights, is Tevye and Golde's bed from the "Dream" sequence in Act One. We jump into the wacky-looking bed, strip off our clothes, and go at it: kissing, touching, rubbing, getting sticky.

Before we finish, I have a vision that as we orgasm a bunch of gay ghosts are gonna appear at the head and foot of the bed, crawl out from underneath, and after a lovely harp glissando they will all break into a chorus of A blessing on your house! Mazel tov! mazel tov! And I pray that the spirit of the fiancee won't appear to curse me for coming all over her future husband.

The next day we had two shows and ASM barely mentioned our one night of love. Sunday we had the afternoon off and the production staff went to the nearby lake and I learned to water ski.

After the Sunday night performance ASM volunteered to lock-up. He asked me to stay behind and help. When everyone else was gone he asked me to come out on the stage with him. He'd turned on all the work lights so the stage was very bright.

"What?" I asked, following him out to the middle of the stage.

"Stay right there," he said positioning me dead center front on the thrust stage. He jumped off the front of the stage, crossed the shallow orchestra pit, and climbed out into the auditorium. He sat down fifth row center, smiled, and said, "Strip!"

Well, as I said at the beginning of this blog, I am a genial fellow, and I obliged. It was one of the hottest, sexiest things I've ever done, too. After I was properly unclothed we switched positions. I went out into the audience and he hopped onstage and stripped.

Let me entertain you, indeed!

Over the next ten days we did just about everything you can imagine. He didn't feel up to being topped - he thought I was too big. Silly boy! But pretty much everything else was tried at least once!

When the show closed he departed for home to prepare for his impending marriage. I never heard from him again and have no idea if he married the girl or not. That was twenty years ago!  OH MY GOD!  How time flies!

It was just about the best sex I've ever had. It was the first time I didn't feel like the newbie, the novice. I was now the expert. It was so uninhibited, so free, so very hot.

And to him, wherever he went, and whatever he chose -

L'chai-im!

David

Sunday, December 16, 2007

Let them eat Gingerbread

Is that the Eiffel Tower
or are you just glad to see me?

Well, my dear readers, on Saturday, December 1st, the BF and I had our annual Holiday Party. We began these festive romps six years ago. We have our friends over for tasty food, assorted beverages, and my infamous "Wonder Nog" which contains nothing but sugar, cholesterol and alcohol! Eighteen egg yolks! It's very good stuff!
For this year's edibles I made a ham with pineapple and cherries; Swedish meatballs; green potato salad with red pepper bits; a tropical fruit salad; Gruyère quiche for the vegetarian crowd; two kinds of cookies; and hot mulled cider on the stove.

This year we had thirty-one guests and the party went till a little after three AM! Guests often bring presents of wine or something but a couple years ago one of our guests gave us a gift of a little gingerbread house kit. It was fairly rudimentary and in the end we never put it together. But we did eat the gingerbread and other stuff from the kit.

But this little present got me to thinking "Hmmm . . . why, I think I could make a better gingerbread house than the one in that kit!" I puzzled over the idea of a gingerbread Victorian House? a Gingerbread Castle? ... hmmm ... but after I got back from France last month I finally made up my mind and started baking.


The Gingerbread Eiffel Tower

Thus Le Tour-Eiffel du Gingerbread was born. It is a bit over three feet tall and has an electric light at the top. Now ... what on earth am I gonna do next year?

Cheers, David

David's Wonder Nog Recipe
12 large egg yolks
2 cups of sugar
1 cup of dark rum
1 cup of whiskey
8 large egg whites
1/2 teaspoon salt
6 cups of cream
1 Tablesppons of vanilla extract
1 whole nutmeg (grated)
2 to 4 cups additional rum or whiskey
(2 cups of milk to thin out nog is desired)

Beat yolks and sugar until thick and sugar is dissolved. Add 1 cup each of the rum and whiskey. Refrigerate over night.

A couple hours before serving beat the egg whites and salt until until mixed but still very soft. stir into nog mixture. Add cream and vanilla and stir well. Add in ground nutmeg. Add additional liquor and or milk to taste.

This recipe is my version of an Egg Nog Punch recipe in Sheila Ferguson's SOUL FOOD; Classic Cuisine from the Deep South. Her recipe calls for beating the egg whites to soft peak stage and for whipping the cream. But whenever I've tried it her way the egg whites and whip cream keep rising to the top of the punch bowl and it needs to be stirred before serving each time which is a big bother. So I suggest only slightly beating the egg whites, mixing them well into the nog, and then adding the cream straight from the carton.

It is very good, but be careful; it is very smooth and very easy to drink but is also very potent!

When you talk about this blog later, and you will, be kind.Copyright © 2007 D. H. Maxine. All rights reserved.

Thursday, December 13, 2007

Dancing Naked with PUFNSTUF



In 1971, when I was eight years old, I was taken to see the then new PUFNSTUF movie. I already loved the psychedelic television show of the same name. But the movie appealed to me for many reasons. I wanted to escape, I thought Jack Wild was cute, it was a movie musical that resonated of many things I loved including a similarity to the plot of THE WIZARD OF OZ. I adored Jack Wild's peculiar British accent, and now as an adult, I can see other reasons that the film spoke to me.

For those of you too young, too old, or too foreign to know the film, the story goes thusly:

A boy named Jimmy is picked on by his classmates and teachers. Jimmy plays the flute and one day his flute comes to life and starts to talk. A nasty old witch named Witchiepoo wants Jimmy's talking flute for herself and she tricks Jimmy into boarding a beautiful boat which traps him and brings him to Living Island. Jimmy escapes the witch's clutches and befriends a yellow dragon named Pufnstuf who wore little white cowboy boots and a Stetson. Jimmy wants to get back home, protect his flute from Witchiepoo, and in the end finds peace and love with his friends on Living Island.

There's an interesting Freudian interpretation of the film that I've heard about. Our boy hero Jimmy is about to enter puberty and his "flute" which had been inanimate suddenly comes to life. Witchiepoo (the mother figure) wants to take away Jimmy's "magic flute." For protection, Jimmy seeks out an even bigger phallic symbol, Pufnstuf himself. I wonder what PUFNSTUF creators Sid and Marty Krofft think of this interpretation. Pufnstuf himself does look pretty phallic. Look at his "head" in the photo at the top of this blog.

Okay, back to being eight years old... Well, I loved the movie and I loved my copy of the soundtrack album. I played it to pieces, played it for my friends, and being a little gay boy I had as big a fascination with Witchiepoo as I did with Jimmy.


Soundtrack album cover for PUFNSTUF (1970)

In the movie Witchiepoo hosts the Annual Witch's Convention in her castle. Witches are quite "political" it seems; and there is a power struggle to obtain the title of "Boss Witch." The current Boss Witch was played by Martha Raye; and other contenders for the title included Witchiepoo, and another witch named Witch Hazel who was played by Mama Cass Elliot. Witch Hazel sang a song called "Different."

"When I was smaller and people were taller
I realized that I was different.


It's kind of an ode to being gay (from a little gay kid's point of view anyway). It's not unlike Cass Elliot's big hit "Make your own kind of music." On the soundtrack album, this song is followed by a spectacular production number called "Zap the World!" which is what the witches want to do. I lapped it all up!

My best friend at the time lived next door. One summer afternoon while we were playing my PUFNSTUF album we decided to make "magic wands." In the movie the magic wands look kind of like striped pencils. And indeed that's what we made. We took some unsharpened pencils and carefully wound them with colored tape making spirals about the pencils. We also made them "magic" by putting spells on them and saying magic words and stuff. At some point my best friend said, "You know if we want to make them really magic, we're supposed to be naked."

"What are we supposed to do then?" I asked in my best naïvely coy eight-year-old manner.

My friend said, "We have to dance with them."

It sounded like a good idea to me! So we locked my bedroom door. We put on the PUFNSTUF album, and played "Different" as an invocation while we got undressed. When we were both naked we stood on my twin bed and waited for "Zap the World!" to begin. At which point the eight-year-old, wand-waving, naked, wannabe-witches began dancing excitedly, jumping up and down on the bed!

So what do you do when the music stops?

Well, you put on your clothes, you put the magic away, and you grow-up. You try to make friends with other people, hoping for a friendship like Jimmy's and Pufntuf's. And you long to find a Living Island where you attempt to avoid the witches, where you can play your magic-flute, and when the planet gets too obnoxious, you can …

Zap! Zap the World!

David

Blog copyright © 2007 D. H. Maxine.


Below, you can enjoy "Zap the World!" from PUFNSTUF the movie!



Sunday, December 9, 2007

When I think of Tom

I discovered a couple months ago that my first love, Tom Ladd, died on January 22, 2006. I found an obituary on-line and it said only that he had died of unknown causes. He was 44. I fell madly in-love with Tom in January 1985, when we were both working at the Guthrie Theatre in Minneapolis. I was 22; Tom was 23. Tom gave me my first real kiss, too. I hadn't seen or communicated with Tom for about twenty years. But I thought about him often and really wanted him to know how my life turned out. Tom was cute; but his magic power was that he just radiated sexual energy. One simply HAD to look at him, his face, his movements, he flirted with everyone, slept with many, and he just oozed sexiness. Here is our story. 

"Anything Goes!" 

In January 1985, I was working as a stagehand at the Guthrie Theater in Minneapolis. On this particular day we were beginning two weeks of "tech" rehearsals for a large-scale production of Cole Porter's ANYTHING GOES! It starred legendary belter Karen Morrow as Reno Sweeney, Steve Hanan as Moonface Martin, Maureen Brennan as Hope, and featured Broadway veteran Justine Johnston as Mrs. Harcourt. Johnston may be best remembered today as "Old Heidi" in the original production of FOLLIES in which she sang "One More Kiss." I was one of about five permanent stagehands - but this production was bigger than anything the Guthrie had ever done - and they had hired an additional ten people to fill out our ranks. On this first day, we had an orientation meeting up in the balcony of the theatre; the stage was a-buzz with saws and screw-guns where the Carpentry Shop was building a three-story ocean liner! I was paying only slight attention when . . . my eyes scanning over the new stagehands when . . . "Who's that boy!" And thus, Cole Porter struck me gay!

Well, maybe I was always gay, but I certainly didn't know it until then. And I didn't know it as an irrefutable aspect of my being for another few weeks. I was twenty-two, I'd never been on a date, I'd never had a girlfriend, and I was waiting for the "magic" to happen when I'd meet the right girl and feel like a grown-up. But really, "Who's that boy!" This was Tom. He was almost exactly a year older than I was. He was about 5' - 8" and 140 pounds. He had sandy brown hair, blue eyes, a stunning smile, and he simply glowed with sexual energy. I know now that I was in love. But at this point, I was probably falling back on a repressed gay-boy's safety-emotion - "I want to BE him" instead of "I want to have sex with him." Over the coming days I discovered that Tom was gay. OH MY GOD! And that did the trick. I had to become gay, too, so I could have him. I didn't say anything about my new feelings; I didn't know how. But I quickly discovered that not only Tom but another couple stagehands were gay, too. As was the entire gang of chorus boys. And this was a Cole Porter show! My soul was suddenly being informed by Porter's double-entendre lyrics, scads of young men in sailor suits dancing their asses off from eight till eleven then changing into t-shirts and jeans so they could go dance at some gay bar called The Saloon in downtown Minneapolis for several hours more. 

"Blow, Gabriel, Blow!" 

During a break in the Green Room one-day, Tom was just beginning to eat a banana when one of the other gay stagehands said, "Is that for practice?" Tom, without batting an eyelash, said, "I dont NEED to practice." And Tom expertly deep-throated the entire banana and slowly pulled it back out. I was speechless, awestruck, and insanely in love. I became a love-sick puppy and followed the poor boy around. Luckily many of our assignments kept us together during the run of the show. One of my favorite moments was during Act II when Tom and I would have to wait in one of the Guthrie's downstage tunnels during the song, "All Through the Night." It's a beautiful song, and all this blue light would spill down the tunnel shaftway, and Tom and I would sit and wait for our cue - sometimes whispering to each other. I was nearing a point when I felt I could say, "Tom, I'm gay, too. I don't know what to do." 

"Break a Leg!" 

On Valentine's Day 1985, after the show had been open for about two weeks, we were presetting the stage about 6:00 PM and someone said that we needed to find a replacement for Tom. My heart stopped. Why isn't Tom gonna be here? In a few moments I heard the dreadful news. Tom had been hit by a car on the way to work that night. He was fine - save a broken leg. But he would not be back to the show. My ticket to homosexual joy was snuffed out by a speeding motorist on Hennepin Avenue. I was appointed by the cast and crew to assemble Tom's "get well" package. Yay!! I knew his favorite candy, drinks, and also added in the SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE cast album. I visited him in the hospital a couple times. Then he went away to recuperate. Tom did make it back to work the last few weeks of the show as ANYTHING GOES! proved so popular the run was extended. On Memorial Day 1985, I went home with him to talk and have a drink. I desperately wanted to sleep with him. Tom felt it was a bad idea - since I was so clearly in love with him - and for him it would just be sex. But he walked me part way home and gave me my first boy-kiss. I always thought it was a cliché about floating on air. It isn't! I wouldn't brush my teeth that night, either. I didn't want to lose even a molecule of Tom from my mouth. 

"But if, baby, I'm the bottom, you're the top!" 

About a year after we initially met, Tom and I finally had sex for the first and only time. It was okay. It simply meant too much to me - and not enough to him. I was so scared that it be wonderful that I made it mediocre. But he was glorious naked. He had arguably the most beautiful penis I have ever seen! Tom wanted to screw me but we didn't have any condoms and I wouldn't let him. God he was hard to turn down that night! I wanted him SO much. But I was a very good boy. 

"It's Delightful, it's Delicious, it's Delovely!" 

So I've now known I was gay for twenty-one years - slightly less than half my life. You know, I had an incredibly painless coming out. My family was cool with it. Within a year I would meet Eric, my lover, whom I've been with for a little over seventeen years. Eric's family is fine with everything, too. I wish I had tracked down Tom so I could tell him how I turned out. I miss him. I remember signing in on the Guthrie Theatre's call-board and suddenly Tom appeared, put his hands around my waist and said, "Hi, sailor, can I buy you a drink after the show?" Instant hard-on time, instant adrenaline rush, instant puppy love. 

Tom and I both loved musicals, too. He was jealous I'd just seen SUNDAY IN THE PARK WITH GEORGE. We both jokingly talked about how we could have "saved" MERRILY WE ROLL ALONG. Tom introduced me to Carly Simon's TORCH album which had a stunning version of "Not a Day Goes By" on it. He introduced me to the the cast albums of BABY and LITTLE SHOP. I remember Tom's 24th birthday party and how he wore this incredible football jersey he had gotten from a previous boyfriend whose last name was Savage and whose number was 69. The very real football jersey said "Savage 69" on it. It was the hottest "get laid" clothing I ever saw! 

After ANYTHING GOES! Tom got a job as manager of the Uptown Theatre in Minneapolis. The Uptown was an independent movie/art house/revival house sort of theatre. Eventually he moved back to Chicago and we lost touch. Tom and I wouldn't have worked out. I was freshly out, a virgin when we met. Tom had been fuckin' like a bunny since he was sixteen when he'd been picked up by an old man of thirty-five at the supermarket. But I joked to him that someday, in twenty or thirty years, he'd be tired of screwing boys and he'd come to me like Frederick to Desiree in A LITTLE NIGHT MUSIC. He laughed and said it sounded great! It was a fun fantasy. 

I always look for personal angles into songs and music I love. In "Hello, Young Lovers," from THE KING AND I, in which Anna is singing of her past, she begins the song with the line, "When I think of Tom . . ." and continues to tell of her memories and past love as she watches and sings "hello" to the newer, younger lovers. It's a melancholy song, full of ennui, full of love, full of gratitude and regret. "When I think of Tom . . ."






Friday, December 7, 2007

Stingray

I've been digging through my life lately, and I found this story (or fragment) that I wrote when I was twenty-two. It is based on an incident that happened on a school trip to Mexico when I was twelve. It was an unusual school, with unusual teachers, in an unusual time, the mid 70s.



Stingray

"What is it? It's too late for this. . ."

"No, get up! Chris passed out; we can't wake him up!


Ellen pulled on a pair of shorts and a shirt, and zipped herself out of her tent. Ellen is my seventh-grade teacher and we're in Mexico. We all call her Ellen. She's a lesbian.

It has not been a fun school trip so far. There's sand in all the food, and the water is undrinkable! Lots of us are kind of sick from it. We've been purifying it, (the teachers put Clorox in it, yuck!) but it tastes terrible! This is our fifth day here and we have three more days to go. There are nineteen of us: five adults, and fourteen kids, ranging in age from a strange little girl named Monkey who's six, to Adam who's fifteen. Chris is eleven; and I'm twelve.

Back to the trip being so bad--the adults really aren't taking very good care of us. Whoever cooked dinner tonight tried to avoid the wind and sand, and they took the campstove INSIDE the tent! I GUESS they spilled gasoline on Chris's sleeping bag. 'Cause right after we went to bed (we were talking and playing with our flashlights) Chris was sitting there giggling in his underwear and he said "I feel weird," and then he was just lying there against the side of the tent, kind of caving it in. After we decided he wasn't fucking around, we dragged him outside, and I went to get Ellen.


"We pulled him out, but he won't wake up," I said sitting down in the sand next to him.

"Adam get a flashlight," said Ellen rubbing the back of Chris's neck and peeking into his eyes.

"What? What? No I'm not . . ." (Chris was coming around) "Why 'm I out here?"

"Somebody spilled gas on your sleeping bag," I volunteered, "and you, uhm, fainted."

Chris was crying now.

"You're not supposed to be cooking in the tent! I could be dead! Did you-- use my-- sleeping ba ...bag ... to ... heh ... heh ...

Ellen told Chris to stop talking and to breathe slow and deep. She said he was hyperventilating. Chris began to breath normally after a couple minutes. Ellen got up, walked over to the tent, stuck her head inside, and said: "You guys can't sleep in there tonight, it 'll have to air out. Monk, you and Jennifer go over to my tent. David, Chris and Adam can sleep outside.

"What does Chris sleep in," I asked. "His bag is ruined!"

"You and Adam open up your sleeping bags and make a pallet. Chris can sleep between you. Sit up with him for a while. He can use the night air. I'm going to go get the girls set up." Ellen glanced around, decided she was finished, and went to bed leaving me and Adam (big deal) to care for Chris.

I tossed the two sleeping bags out of the tent and Adam started to make up our beach bed.

"Chris," I said "I've got a Seven-Up I've been hiding if you're thirsty?"

"Sure, Thanks," he said, wiping the last of the tears out of his eyes. I padded through the sand to the ice chest, and Chris went and sat in the middle of the sleeping bag bed.

"Here." I handed him the opened can and sat down next to him. He took a sip and he started to breathe funny again; he swallowed quickly and stopped himself with the Seven-Up.

I'm starting to feel a little guilty. Right after Chris passed out, my first thought wasn't saving him, but feeling him up before he was revived. In all the confusion I think I could have gotten away with it --and that almost makes me feel worse.

"You can take my pillow," I said "yours is kinda' gassy." We both giggled.
Chris sprawled out on the beach-bed.

* * *

I'm lying on my back listening to the ocean. I really like this sound but also sort of hate it, too. I can't think of a single nice image to go with it anymore. Everytime I close my eyes, I see dead stingrays washing up on the beach. There are shark-heads washing up on the beach, too.

The men in the village fish for sharks. I guess they throw the heads back in the water. The sharks are only about three feet long, but I'm still too scared to go into the water more than a couple feet. Besides the waves are too high to swim.

"We could share the pillow if you like," said Chris opening his eyes.

"I thought you were asleep."

"I think I was."

"You really think you're Ok," I asked putting my head on my half of our pillow?

"Uh Huh--but in the morning I'm gonna kill whoever cooked dinner last night!"

I can smell Chris's breath. I keep looking at his mouth and his teeth.


"Are you having fun on the trip?"

"I was until somebody tried to kill me!"

"You're Ok. We saved you!"

"Thanks! Night."

"'Night."
* * *


Yesterday I was sitting outside the tent and I started to feel so awful I started to cry. I didn't want anyone to see me, so I walked down to the water and splashed myself so no one could tell I was crying and would just think it was the ocean on my face. And I just cried. I don't even know why! Monkey was down at tide level making a sandcastle of some kind, and Ellen was sketching the island, the dolphins were playing a couple hundred yards off shore, and Adam and Chris had gone into the village. And I wasn't doing anything! Just sitting in the tide and crying!


Everybody else was having fun, and I was sitting in a big pile of sand and crying. And I DON'T KNOW WHY! Nobody even knew I was crying. The dolphins were just diving in and out of the water, Monkey was into her stupid sandy world, and Adam and Chris had left me at camp while they went into the dumb old village. I don't know why I should care, there isn't anything to do in the village but order "Naranja Soda". (That's the only thing we've figured out how to buy.)

After a while Ellen put down her sketch pad and I helped her straighten up the tents. Chris and Adam finally came back, Adam with a huge stingray by the tail. No doubt he planned to throw it at me later on, when no one, (or EVERYONE!) was looking. The dolphins left, and Monkey's castle washed out to sea.

* * *

Chris is asleep. His hair looks like it's glowing he's been out in the sun so much! I'm trying to decide whether to put my arm around him. People are so stupid --I don't know --I just don't understand why he helped Adam throw dead stingrays at me, when he's nice to me when we're alone--it's like he's two people. I know I want to do it and everything, but if I put my arm around him, I'm afraid I'd still feel all alone--and it's dumb-- 'cause we should be friends.


When you talk about this blog later, and you will - be kind.

Copyright 2006 D. H. Maxine.
All rights reserved.

Who's the Little Gay Boy?

Who's the little Gay Boy!

I recently answered a mySpace-group questionnaire that asked if I had ever dressed up in Drag. Initially I thought the answer was "no," but thinking back further in time, I realized the answer was "yes." That is, if it counts as Drag when you're eight or ten.

As a child I was a big Lucille Ball fan. I watched I LOVE LUCY, and LUCY SHOW reruns, and watched HERE'S LUCY, which was still running in prime-time. My mom helped me send her a fan letter and I was out-of-my-mind-crazy when I got a signed photo of Lucy in the mail a couple weeks later. It was in black and white - and signed rather generically "Love, Lucy."




A few weeks later I got my third-grade school pictures back. I raced home, cut one free from the sheet of small photos, and boldly signed it, "Love, David," and sent it to Lucy. A couple weeks later I got a full-color photo of Lucy back in the mail! Show-and-Tell here I come!




I eventually wanted to be Lucy and asked my Mom and Grandmother if I could get a red wig. They bought me a fright-wig ala Ronald McDonald!

"No, no, no," I say. "Not like that, like real hair, like Lucy!"

For some reason my Mom and Grandmother didn't bat an eyelash. And when my Grandmother was at the beauty salon next she let me pick out an inexpensive red-head wig. I think it cost $2.00, which was several times my allowance. It was a start. Next I wanted false eyelashes! And at the local Skaggs Drugstore I'd spotted a pair of Deep Blue lashes that were to be my next purchase.

I don't know how many times I dressed-up as Lucy. It was more than once, though! My grandmother had a pretty silk blouse, that on me, worked splendidly as a mid-thigh length dress. And I loved my grandmother's heels! My grandmother was a nice, southern, Methodist lady. But my Mom was a feminist, women's rights activist (who didn't really wear dresses!) and my Mom had a number of lesbian friends. I remember one coming over to our house and lecturing me on female stereotypes; and saying that I didn't have to do my hair and wear false-eyelashes to pretend I was a woman. "Oh, please," I thought. "I'm not dressing up as a woman, I'm Lucy!"

The last time I remember donning "drag" was when I was ten, when I wrote a play for me and my best friend, Gail, a black girl who lived down the street. It was called Millicent Martin takes Manhattan and featured me as Millicent Martin. She was a penthouse-living, New York Socialite, based loosely on Eva Gabor in GREEN ACRES and, of course, Lucy. My friend Gail played Leroy, an African-American homeless bum. In the play we fell in love and I introduced Leroy to New York society! I invited my family and assorted kids from the neighborhood to attend the play. A couple of my male friends seemed fascinated by my costume, too.

I didn't figure out I was Gay until I was 22 - kinda' hard to believe!

--David

When you talk about this blog later, and you will - be kind.

Copyright 2006 by D. Maxine.
All rights reserved.




Stupid Boys

Is that a Pink Lambert or are you just glad to see me?



For those of you who aren't into really old recordings - the Lambert Company was a record producer in the very early 1900s (approximately 1902-1903.) Their records were cylinder-shaped - not the more familiar flat discs. And many of their records were a vivid fuscia color--a color that I have previously described to friends as dog-dick pink. They are VERY phallic, and VERY rare, usually fetching several hundred dollars each. I thought of this blog title a long time ago - and it would make a great T-shirt slogan; but NO ONE would get it! And that's one of my problems these days.

What do you do when almost all of your interests are so off-beat from the world around you that you barely fit in? I collect old books; old records; love opera; and old movies. In previous decades this would have screamed fag! Fag! FAG! I'm not sure what it screams now because most of my gay friends are into rock, sports, and their Playstation or X-Box. Granted, everyone still loves sucking-dick, but really, weren't we supposed to be the smart and artsy types?

Almost everyone I know is apolitical (which means you don't care much about politics.) I thought perhaps I'd better define it - though I hope that wasn't necessary. I grew up in a fairly leftist household and am used to talking extensively about the world we live in and what's wrong with it. Nobody much wants to do that anymore. Sure we all complain about Bush, but where is the passion to save the world? It was there in the '60s and '70s when I was growing up; but it seems to have vanished. Talk about the Big Chill.

I'm generally very forgiving of other's belief-systems. I know a couple Log-Cabin Republicans; I know some Radical Faeries; I know lots of atheists (including myself); as well as agnostics, Jews, Buddhists, and Church of England members. If you are a right-wing fundamentalist chances are you don't hang out with me. But otherwise I feel I'm extremely flexible (I can even suck my own dick - with effort) Sorry, I had to work that in.

But back on point. What's happening to the Gay community? Are we just gonna become HETS that suck each others dicks? Do we just want the right to get married so we can be normal = average = dull?

I do believe that homosexuality is genetic. But if that is so, since we do not (generally) reproduce, there has to be another way we are contributing to society/civilization which keeps the "little-faggot" DNA in the gene pool. I've always believed our contribution was that we were the spiritual, creative, intellectual, artistic, soul of humanity. Of course "breeders" sometimes fill this function - but it used to be filled by the shamans, priests, poets, gurus, actors, artists, authors, and architects that liked to suck dick. What's gonna happen when the queer contribution to civilization amounts to gym equipment, popularizing PA piercings, and playing video-games?

What a world, what a world! Who would have thought some hot little boys like you could destroy our beautiful wickedness!

David
(Listening to
Lucrezia Borgia)

When you talk about this blog later, and you will - be kind.

Copyright 2006 D. H. Maxine.
All rights reserved.