If you had asked me earlier today what movie is the worst that I ever have seen, I probably would have told you "Across the Universe." I watched it with Landon and his roommate Jayme, and it was insipid, it had no plot and it totally massacred several great Beatles' tunes. (Not that I am a great Beatles fan, but come on... even they deserved better than that!) No one should EVER watch this movie!
However, this evening I had the good (?) fortune of sitting through "Kung Pow: Enter the Fist." Holy. Shit. Worst movie EVER!
That having been said, I am recommending it to EVERYONE. There are some movies that are so bad that everyone should see them just to be sure they know what a bad movie is. This "film" had an insipid underdeveloped plot, a bunch of sight gags that sucked, some really shitty acting and absolutely no sense of direction.
I watched it with my friend James, who had cooked dinner (a nice Sicilian-style feast!). I had the choice of movies, and while I could have went with "Goodfellas," any of the "Godfather" films, "Mambo Kings" or "The Big Lebowski," I chose this. I'm kind of glad that I did, simply for the fact that James and I had to sit through it together and share equally in the misery.
For anyone who has seen all the "Godfather" films, though, I will tell you that "Kung Pow" as least has this going for it: At least it didn't have Sofia Fucking Coppola in it.
Plus, there was one mildly intriguing scene that involved a remix of Wham Jam's "Black Betty."
Showing posts with label movie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label movie. Show all posts
Tuesday, May 13, 2008
Tuesday, April 1, 2008
It's been a while
Get ready for a long one, folks. And let's face it: Who doesn't love a long one?
I'm sitting down around 12:30 a.m. to pour my heart out into a little box of plastic, silicon and metal, watching "Breakfast at Tiffany's," listening to the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." It's been a long day, and it's been an even longer week.
I guess I'll start at the beginning. Or, at least, where I left off last time – heading to Kansas City for my stepfather's visit with the doctor. Come to find out, all the doctors so far were apparently wrong. The PET scan revealed no cancer.
However, the three options that remain are not pleasant. Either he has Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or he has asbestosis, or his heart is failing.
It's a mixed blessing, really. While it appears that death is not imminent, what remains of his life will not be pleasant. And I don't really know what to think about this.
I was ready to deal with the worst, or what I thought was the worst, and life, of course, threw me a curveball. In some ways, I think I might have been hoping it was cancer. It seems somehow that it would have been more humane.
And this really is selfish of me. I mean, I have friends who recently have lost parents, and I still have mine. Here I am thinking that it would be better for one of mine to die sooner. I have more time with him; I should be thankful.
So there was that.
My doctor doubled my dose of Wellbutrin on Wednesday, and I think it really is starting to make a difference. The absolute giddy happiness that I initially felt has subsided, but I am starting to feel a real inner happiness and finding some confidence in myself.
That fact is compounded by the fact that I weighed – what the hell, I'll tell you – 256 pounds. A lot to be sure. But in 1999, right before I got married, I weighed 336 pounds. I nearly cried on the scales that day, and 9 years later, I nearly cried again when I realized I have officially lost 80 POUNDS!
And then I started thinking about the fact that if – WHEN – I lose 20 more pounds, I will have lost 100 pounds. I legitimately see this happening by summer at the rate I am going. I'm so excited and proud of myself that it's not funny.
Thursday night, my roommate graduated from the police academy and officially became a cop. I'm so proud of him for that. Jerod and I have had our differences and fought and had a rough time the last several months, but seeing him on that stage, accepting his badge and finally achieving his lifelong dream brought tears to my eyes.
Friday, I got word two of my best friends, Sarah and Landon, that they both had serious personal issues that they were trying to deal with. And given that the two of them really have carried me (others have helped, too, and I will get to them in a bit) through the last few weeks – hell, months – I was worried sick about them.
And it killed me that I couldn't physically be there for either of them, as I had to work that night. I realize looking back that I was taking their problems and making them about me somehow. Which certainly is not good.
That night, we celebrated Jerod's graduation at a popular bar here, and had a good time. Up until I started to have a panic attack. I think it was just the combination of me being tired, the increased dosage of medication, all the anxiety about Sarah and Landon, trying to make sure Jerod had fun, the incredible mass of people there and the lesbian who was trying to give me fashion tips that did it, but I had to leave the place.
Getting home, I did see Landon for a bit and was able to talk with him some. That gave me relief, but again, I was making it about me in my head, I realize.
Saturday, I spent most of the day helping him with some things, and I had a long talk with Sarah about how things were going for her. It was nice, for me, to be able to do nice things for them both. It made me feel better. Needed. Even though, I think, I pushed my way into helping Landon. Again, I made his issues about me in my head. Very unhealthy.
I ended up hitting the gym, and after a bit of a change in plans, I met my co-worker and dear friend Gabe downtown for a few beers. It was sort of a weird experience; on a Saturday night in a crowded downtown bar full of slutty-looking women, the only two guys in the place not chasing poontang (ew!) were the two homos at the bar eating nachos. It was priceless, really!
That night when I got home, I got a few drunk dials from friends. I love drunk dials from friends; in fact, they are among my favorite things. The first two were significant because they were from two of my dearest friends and both of them ended the conversations by telling me that they loved me. And it gave me such a great feeling.
I tell my friends that I love them all the time. It's something I've done since high school. My theater director taught us to do it because, as he said, you never know when you won't be able to say it to the people who need to hear it.
This was the first time, though, that I think either of them said it to me first. (I'm withholding their names here – they know who they are – because they're not the important part of this anecdote; rather, I want to share what it meant to me to hear it.) I have such issues trusting that people will like or accept me. If you've been reading my previous posts, you understand this. Hearing these words from these two people, "unsolicited" so to speak, for some reason just filled me with an amazing amount of trust. I was so happy that I thought my heart would explode.
Sunday, after a SUPER intense workout, Landon and I went out and met up with Jerod and some other friends. It was one of the most fun nights I have had in a long time. Jerod met a guy, Landon got some numbers and a really sexy man said some really provocative things to me and told me I am hot. So I wasn't as productive as they were, but hey, it's a start! Not a bad night at all, in my book.
The night was made all the better because of how I felt before I walked out the door. Looking in the mirror right before we left, I actually thought to myself, "Hey, I look good." For someone with the self-esteem issues that I have, this is HUGE. Mostly because I actually meant it!
I wish I had a picture of myself from Sunday, but here is one that was taken recently:
Anyhow, it's not the best as far as photo quality, but it's pretty much what I look like right now. And I'm starting to like it!
I fact, I was so confident that I actually sang karaoke. That's nothing new for me. But I was sober when I sang karaoke. (For the first song, anyhow!) And then... In a gay bar... I karaoked Cher's "Dark Lady." It was a hot mess, though not a tranny hot mess!
More proof that a fun-loving, confident Jason is starting to come out of his shell. I'd like to be able to say coming back, but I honestly don't know that he's ever really been around. Maybe on the surface, but I've never really known him.
I've been on antidepressants before, and I've been to therapy. I KNOW what is right and what is wrong, what is healthy and what is unhealthy. I know that I've thought I've been well before, but it was never in a period where I was totally "out." I mean, I always was hiding something about me from someone or someplace. And now I am not.
And for the first time, open and accepting about my sexuality, I am starting to like myself. There is a long way to go, I know, but dammit, I see light!
This whole period has taught me a lot about people, about who my friends are and about who really matters.
I've mentioned Sarah and Landon; they have been rocks for me recently. For that I love them deeply as though they were my own family. Jerod, about whom another friend once told me she knew he and I always would be friends because no matter how bad things got, we never give up on each other. It's been rough, but I really think things will get better. Soon.
That other friend was Carrie. She has been such an unexpected source of comfort and inspiration for me lately. She always has a smile and kind words to say. Twice recently, I have received cards in the mail from her just letting me know that she was thinking about me. Such a generous, loving gesture. I hope she realizes that she doesn't need to be or do everything for all people because she deserves to be happy, too, dammit!
And another friend, Jimmy, who I knew pretty well, but who has become a great resource over the last couple months. Thank you, thank you, thank you... your empathy has been a tremendous source of courage.
But most of all, I think I need to be proud of and thankful for myself. It's not been an easy life. I'm not saying I've had it exceptionally rough, but it seems like it's been one trauma after another, and dammit, I'm still here. I'm still kicking. I'm still learning.
I like the glimpses of what I am seeing happen. I've got a lot to do still, I know. I've got good people to help me, though, and I am starting to believe that I have the strength to make a good life for myself.
And I think I am starting to have the courage to let myself be happy.
Well, if you've made it this far, thanks for staying with me.
The movie is ending now. I think it's time for bed, my huckleberry friend.
I'm sitting down around 12:30 a.m. to pour my heart out into a little box of plastic, silicon and metal, watching "Breakfast at Tiffany's," listening to the opening strains of Henry Mancini's "Moon River." It's been a long day, and it's been an even longer week.
I guess I'll start at the beginning. Or, at least, where I left off last time – heading to Kansas City for my stepfather's visit with the doctor. Come to find out, all the doctors so far were apparently wrong. The PET scan revealed no cancer.
However, the three options that remain are not pleasant. Either he has Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease, or he has asbestosis, or his heart is failing.
It's a mixed blessing, really. While it appears that death is not imminent, what remains of his life will not be pleasant. And I don't really know what to think about this.
I was ready to deal with the worst, or what I thought was the worst, and life, of course, threw me a curveball. In some ways, I think I might have been hoping it was cancer. It seems somehow that it would have been more humane.
And this really is selfish of me. I mean, I have friends who recently have lost parents, and I still have mine. Here I am thinking that it would be better for one of mine to die sooner. I have more time with him; I should be thankful.
So there was that.
My doctor doubled my dose of Wellbutrin on Wednesday, and I think it really is starting to make a difference. The absolute giddy happiness that I initially felt has subsided, but I am starting to feel a real inner happiness and finding some confidence in myself.
That fact is compounded by the fact that I weighed – what the hell, I'll tell you – 256 pounds. A lot to be sure. But in 1999, right before I got married, I weighed 336 pounds. I nearly cried on the scales that day, and 9 years later, I nearly cried again when I realized I have officially lost 80 POUNDS!
And then I started thinking about the fact that if – WHEN – I lose 20 more pounds, I will have lost 100 pounds. I legitimately see this happening by summer at the rate I am going. I'm so excited and proud of myself that it's not funny.
Thursday night, my roommate graduated from the police academy and officially became a cop. I'm so proud of him for that. Jerod and I have had our differences and fought and had a rough time the last several months, but seeing him on that stage, accepting his badge and finally achieving his lifelong dream brought tears to my eyes.
Friday, I got word two of my best friends, Sarah and Landon, that they both had serious personal issues that they were trying to deal with. And given that the two of them really have carried me (others have helped, too, and I will get to them in a bit) through the last few weeks – hell, months – I was worried sick about them.
And it killed me that I couldn't physically be there for either of them, as I had to work that night. I realize looking back that I was taking their problems and making them about me somehow. Which certainly is not good.
That night, we celebrated Jerod's graduation at a popular bar here, and had a good time. Up until I started to have a panic attack. I think it was just the combination of me being tired, the increased dosage of medication, all the anxiety about Sarah and Landon, trying to make sure Jerod had fun, the incredible mass of people there and the lesbian who was trying to give me fashion tips that did it, but I had to leave the place.
Getting home, I did see Landon for a bit and was able to talk with him some. That gave me relief, but again, I was making it about me in my head, I realize.
Saturday, I spent most of the day helping him with some things, and I had a long talk with Sarah about how things were going for her. It was nice, for me, to be able to do nice things for them both. It made me feel better. Needed. Even though, I think, I pushed my way into helping Landon. Again, I made his issues about me in my head. Very unhealthy.
I ended up hitting the gym, and after a bit of a change in plans, I met my co-worker and dear friend Gabe downtown for a few beers. It was sort of a weird experience; on a Saturday night in a crowded downtown bar full of slutty-looking women, the only two guys in the place not chasing poontang (ew!) were the two homos at the bar eating nachos. It was priceless, really!
That night when I got home, I got a few drunk dials from friends. I love drunk dials from friends; in fact, they are among my favorite things. The first two were significant because they were from two of my dearest friends and both of them ended the conversations by telling me that they loved me. And it gave me such a great feeling.
I tell my friends that I love them all the time. It's something I've done since high school. My theater director taught us to do it because, as he said, you never know when you won't be able to say it to the people who need to hear it.
This was the first time, though, that I think either of them said it to me first. (I'm withholding their names here – they know who they are – because they're not the important part of this anecdote; rather, I want to share what it meant to me to hear it.) I have such issues trusting that people will like or accept me. If you've been reading my previous posts, you understand this. Hearing these words from these two people, "unsolicited" so to speak, for some reason just filled me with an amazing amount of trust. I was so happy that I thought my heart would explode.
Sunday, after a SUPER intense workout, Landon and I went out and met up with Jerod and some other friends. It was one of the most fun nights I have had in a long time. Jerod met a guy, Landon got some numbers and a really sexy man said some really provocative things to me and told me I am hot. So I wasn't as productive as they were, but hey, it's a start! Not a bad night at all, in my book.
The night was made all the better because of how I felt before I walked out the door. Looking in the mirror right before we left, I actually thought to myself, "Hey, I look good." For someone with the self-esteem issues that I have, this is HUGE. Mostly because I actually meant it!
I wish I had a picture of myself from Sunday, but here is one that was taken recently:
Anyhow, it's not the best as far as photo quality, but it's pretty much what I look like right now. And I'm starting to like it!
I fact, I was so confident that I actually sang karaoke. That's nothing new for me. But I was sober when I sang karaoke. (For the first song, anyhow!) And then... In a gay bar... I karaoked Cher's "Dark Lady." It was a hot mess, though not a tranny hot mess!
More proof that a fun-loving, confident Jason is starting to come out of his shell. I'd like to be able to say coming back, but I honestly don't know that he's ever really been around. Maybe on the surface, but I've never really known him.
I've been on antidepressants before, and I've been to therapy. I KNOW what is right and what is wrong, what is healthy and what is unhealthy. I know that I've thought I've been well before, but it was never in a period where I was totally "out." I mean, I always was hiding something about me from someone or someplace. And now I am not.
And for the first time, open and accepting about my sexuality, I am starting to like myself. There is a long way to go, I know, but dammit, I see light!
This whole period has taught me a lot about people, about who my friends are and about who really matters.
I've mentioned Sarah and Landon; they have been rocks for me recently. For that I love them deeply as though they were my own family. Jerod, about whom another friend once told me she knew he and I always would be friends because no matter how bad things got, we never give up on each other. It's been rough, but I really think things will get better. Soon.
That other friend was Carrie. She has been such an unexpected source of comfort and inspiration for me lately. She always has a smile and kind words to say. Twice recently, I have received cards in the mail from her just letting me know that she was thinking about me. Such a generous, loving gesture. I hope she realizes that she doesn't need to be or do everything for all people because she deserves to be happy, too, dammit!
And another friend, Jimmy, who I knew pretty well, but who has become a great resource over the last couple months. Thank you, thank you, thank you... your empathy has been a tremendous source of courage.
But most of all, I think I need to be proud of and thankful for myself. It's not been an easy life. I'm not saying I've had it exceptionally rough, but it seems like it's been one trauma after another, and dammit, I'm still here. I'm still kicking. I'm still learning.
I like the glimpses of what I am seeing happen. I've got a lot to do still, I know. I've got good people to help me, though, and I am starting to believe that I have the strength to make a good life for myself.
And I think I am starting to have the courage to let myself be happy.
Well, if you've made it this far, thanks for staying with me.
The movie is ending now. I think it's time for bed, my huckleberry friend.
Thursday, February 14, 2008
I hate happy endings
For real. Don't get me wrong. I'm the same sap as most every other homo out there who cries at romantic comedies and bawls his eyes out watching "Dreamgirls."
And on this, the most unholy of days, the romance and happy endings are EVERYWHERE... on TV, in the theaters... in commercials, for god's sake.
Not in my DVD player, though.
I wrote a posting a while back about my old movies disappearing in a move. I ordered two of them yesterday from Amazon.com, and I can't wait for them to show up. They're considered classic love stories, but, neither have happy endings.
"Casablanca" is the first. Now, I have to admit right upfront that this is my favorite movie of all time. I can watch it anywhere, anytime, anyplace, with anyone, any number of times and never get bored with it.
I think the biggest reason for my love of this movie, aside from the fact that Humphrey Bogart could totally GET IT, is the fact that it does not have a happy ending. The hero does the right thing, which means NOT getting the girl, and has to disappear into the fog. Amazingly real. At least, in my experience.
"An Affair to Remember" is the second movie. Yes, it's responsible for the whole "Sleepless in Seattle" phenomenon that has sent us a whole assload (an actual unit of measurement... look it up) of crappy, happy-ending love films.
But I don't consider "Affair" to have a happy ending. Sure, Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr end up together. Eventually. All it takes is her losing the use of her legs.
Yes, if she hadn't been looking up while walking to the Empire State Building, they would have met, and everything would have been fine. But that's my point. In real life, we all make choices that cause us anguish. Nothing ever is perfect; no one gets to ride off into the sunset with Prince Charming.
No happy fucking endings.
Saturday, January 26, 2008
Waking up with a gorgeous man
No, it didn't happen this morning. At least, not that way.
I decided late last week that I was getting the hell out of St. Louis for a few days. Nothing big, I just needed a few days to myself. Even though yesterday at work was nothing short of horrible, I did manage to leave the Lou by 7 p.m.
The weekend started well enough with an apparently faulty gas pump that only charged me $13.07 to fill my tank. I suppose I should have told the attendant that it undercharged me by about $17, but I figured what the hell... This is MY weekend!
I decided to visit my oldest and dearest friend in the world, and we sat up last night watching the movie "Knocked Up." It truly was a lovely experience.
Then this morning, while I was half-awake on the couch with my head turned and my mouth open, I notice her dog - her big, BIG dog, Hank - coming toward me.
Meet Hank:
Still being in my groggy state, I didn't really react much - OK, at all - to the approaching ubercanine. Not, that is, until he licked me in my open mouth. That pretty much woke me right the hell up!
No worries, though. I love dogs, and Hank is a sweetheart!
I guess the lesson here is to never eat a whole bag of Funyuns by yourself. Nothing good ever comes of that.
I decided late last week that I was getting the hell out of St. Louis for a few days. Nothing big, I just needed a few days to myself. Even though yesterday at work was nothing short of horrible, I did manage to leave the Lou by 7 p.m.
The weekend started well enough with an apparently faulty gas pump that only charged me $13.07 to fill my tank. I suppose I should have told the attendant that it undercharged me by about $17, but I figured what the hell... This is MY weekend!
I decided to visit my oldest and dearest friend in the world, and we sat up last night watching the movie "Knocked Up." It truly was a lovely experience.
Then this morning, while I was half-awake on the couch with my head turned and my mouth open, I notice her dog - her big, BIG dog, Hank - coming toward me.
Meet Hank:
Still being in my groggy state, I didn't really react much - OK, at all - to the approaching ubercanine. Not, that is, until he licked me in my open mouth. That pretty much woke me right the hell up!
No worries, though. I love dogs, and Hank is a sweetheart!
I guess the lesson here is to never eat a whole bag of Funyuns by yourself. Nothing good ever comes of that.
Saturday, January 19, 2008
This queen vs. a Disney princess
As part of movie day with the kids, I am sitting right now watching "Cinderella 3: A Twist in Time." As I sit here, I have to wonder, is a second Cinderella sequel REALLY all that necessary?
As a child, I think every girl (and by girl, I of course, mean actual girls, as well as all future homos) in America had to be a fan of Cinderella. How could you not? Beautiful-but-downtrodden girl's fairy godmother comes to the rescue, transforms her for one night, where she is swept off her feet by a prince? The dress, the carriage, the dress, the glass slippers, the prince... Did I mention the dress? It melts the heart.
(Granted, the talking mice are more than a little disturbing, but hey, even I can look past vermin for a good romance story.)
Anyhow, I just find it, well, vulgar, that Disney would take such a charmingly simple and magical story and turn it into a damn franchise. Cinderella wasn't greedy. She didn't marry the prince for his money; she married the prince because she loved him. The Disney company, though, apparently has no reservations getting in bed with our bank accounts.
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