Entry tags:
Moderately Interesting
Ice-cream wagons in storage at the Exhibition Grounds building where the Paradise Comics Convention is being held this weekend.
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2005-05-01
(no subject)
Today was the Pulp Show at the Merril Collection. I bought the early '60s gay confessional All the Sad Young Men (not to be confused with the 1920s F. Scott Fitzgerald work, although it does seem to be related to the jazz number of the beat era). Unintentionally hilarious, but uItimately rather depressing: I couldn't find much online that was directly about it, but it seems to have been well enough known in its day to give its name to a whole gay fiction genre, the "we live in the spooky gay underworld and party madly 'cos we can never find real love" bit. Given that the narrator winds up in a blissful long-term relationship with the guy of his dreams, this would seem to be an inaccurate conclusion, but he ends the book on an anxious note, worrying that his lover will dump him for someone younger and prettier, given that gay culture is all shallow and all - even though by this point it's been established that the young man is a model of fidelity and devotion. Sheesh.
Incidentally, the love interest's name is "Gerry Ford," which adds a good deal to the campy amusement value. Oh - and the narrator, "Wally" is literally a "friend of Dorothy's" - that's the name of his beautiful, sarcastic girlfriend, later just friend. Ultimately, it's a demonstration of why being in the closet sucks: you're a target for blackmail, you have to learn insanely complicated secret signals, and every so often, you break off your ecstatic marijuana-fuelled gay-sex-with-bongo-drums-in-the-background and go, oh no! I'm depraved! De-praved!
I think it will make a good choice for the Reading of Single Pages, as there's jaw-droppingly purple prose on pretty much any random page.
Also, today was my bridal shower. Luckily, my friends all know how cluttered my kitchen already is and gave me small, portable things - including a large beach towel, which as far as I could tell was not a deliberate allusion to Hitchhiker's Guide, but welcome nonetheless.
Incidentally, the love interest's name is "Gerry Ford," which adds a good deal to the campy amusement value. Oh - and the narrator, "Wally" is literally a "friend of Dorothy's" - that's the name of his beautiful, sarcastic girlfriend, later just friend. Ultimately, it's a demonstration of why being in the closet sucks: you're a target for blackmail, you have to learn insanely complicated secret signals, and every so often, you break off your ecstatic marijuana-fuelled gay-sex-with-bongo-drums-in-the-background and go, oh no! I'm depraved! De-praved!
I think it will make a good choice for the Reading of Single Pages, as there's jaw-droppingly purple prose on pretty much any random page.
Also, today was my bridal shower. Luckily, my friends all know how cluttered my kitchen already is and gave me small, portable things - including a large beach towel, which as far as I could tell was not a deliberate allusion to Hitchhiker's Guide, but welcome nonetheless.
De-prav-ed!
Excerpts from All the Sad Young Men, Anonymous, 1961:
p.33
Dorothy took my hand and started to pull me over toward Jean Hays, the most vicious and powerful lady gossip columnist, table. [sic] I remember I balked, stood stock still and refused to budge an inch in her direction. I thought I was going to faint if I didn’t get out of that room immediately, and away from that searing feeling of Gerry’s eyes burning on the back of my neck.
“Come on, Wally,” Dorothy tugged at me. “Don’t be a fool... It will only take a minute and we’ll be safe from her barbs for a whole week...”
p. 73
I watched through dull, though still unbelieving eyes as the blond boy on the trapeze let go of the swinging bar. The actions so perfectly performed excited all those watching. Avril sat up to watch more closely. Suddenly the dark boy began to breathe heavy with passion, It seemed as if one were watching a divine ballet instead of an act of perversion. In a moment the host and the other guests were part of the ballet.
p.80
I was moving slowly along behind Dorothy and could not see whom we were to pounce upon. Dorothy greeted them gaily and as two young men stood up to grab extra chairs for their small table I saw that the man facing me was Gerry Ford, his eyes were looking directly and mockingly into mine. They seemed to hold a challenge, and an invitation for something to come, but their eyes were also glazed from drinking. [sic - his eyes have eyes? Must be a typo for “the” - the thing is, Wally's supposed to be a successful writer...]Although half-stoned by booze myself, I felt a great disappointment in him.
p.86
I laughed delightedly at the gorgeous Dorothy. She looked like a cottoncandy dream, but when turned loose she had the vocabulary of and talked like, a truck driver.
Gerry was fading from my conscious mind, and I hoped, his image had not hidden itself somewhere in my subconscious. At the moment I was secretly enjoying the anticipation of having an all-out, no holds barred sex bout with Dorothy... and as soon as she finished her bowl of chili I felt like dragging her by the hair, caveman-like fashion, out of this cave of smoke and hamburger grease..., but to my horror Avril and his expensive gown, hanging on his cadaverous model slithered up to our table. Avril was breathless with the excitement of finding us where we said we would be. ( I remember of thinking sadly, of how many times people had said they would meet the poor little faggot at some designated spot while they turned up in another part of town ... this sad, gay world.)
p.33
Dorothy took my hand and started to pull me over toward Jean Hays, the most vicious and powerful lady gossip columnist, table. [sic] I remember I balked, stood stock still and refused to budge an inch in her direction. I thought I was going to faint if I didn’t get out of that room immediately, and away from that searing feeling of Gerry’s eyes burning on the back of my neck.
“Come on, Wally,” Dorothy tugged at me. “Don’t be a fool... It will only take a minute and we’ll be safe from her barbs for a whole week...”
p. 73
I watched through dull, though still unbelieving eyes as the blond boy on the trapeze let go of the swinging bar. The actions so perfectly performed excited all those watching. Avril sat up to watch more closely. Suddenly the dark boy began to breathe heavy with passion, It seemed as if one were watching a divine ballet instead of an act of perversion. In a moment the host and the other guests were part of the ballet.
p.80
I was moving slowly along behind Dorothy and could not see whom we were to pounce upon. Dorothy greeted them gaily and as two young men stood up to grab extra chairs for their small table I saw that the man facing me was Gerry Ford, his eyes were looking directly and mockingly into mine. They seemed to hold a challenge, and an invitation for something to come, but their eyes were also glazed from drinking. [sic - his eyes have eyes? Must be a typo for “the” - the thing is, Wally's supposed to be a successful writer...]Although half-stoned by booze myself, I felt a great disappointment in him.
p.86
I laughed delightedly at the gorgeous Dorothy. She looked like a cottoncandy dream, but when turned loose she had the vocabulary of and talked like, a truck driver.
Gerry was fading from my conscious mind, and I hoped, his image had not hidden itself somewhere in my subconscious. At the moment I was secretly enjoying the anticipation of having an all-out, no holds barred sex bout with Dorothy... and as soon as she finished her bowl of chili I felt like dragging her by the hair, caveman-like fashion, out of this cave of smoke and hamburger grease..., but to my horror Avril and his expensive gown, hanging on his cadaverous model slithered up to our table. Avril was breathless with the excitement of finding us where we said we would be. ( I remember of thinking sadly, of how many times people had said they would meet the poor little faggot at some designated spot while they turned up in another part of town ... this sad, gay world.)