THAT THING YOU’RE SUPPOSED TO LIKE

I once knew a guy who hated pizza. It wasn’t about a gluten allergy, making him crust-averse. It wasn’t on account of a lactose intolerance or even something to do with tomatoes. And because I couldn't connect it to something logical, I judged him. Surely he’s an attention seeker. He publicly bashes pizza and then secretly dials Domino’s at one in the morning—an extra large, extra cheese, extra everything. Domino’s, for god’s sake. Serves him right. In time, his declaration would become true. 

 

The pizza hater and I never were close. I don’t think it was because of that, but I can’t say for sure. Some stances are riskier than others. Hating pizza goes against the normal flow of things. It’s akin to knocking Tom Hanks. Or Betty White. (Gasp! Beware of lightning bolts!) 

 

So let me say that I love pizza. (And Tom. And Betty.) I need you to know that I’m decent and at least fairly typical before I rattle the gay gods and have a Pride posse kicking down my door, demanding I surrender my rainbow shoes. 

Deep breath… 

Here goes...

...I didn’t like “The Boys in the Band.” 

 

Wait! Don’t go! I didn’t say I hated it. Disliking it is actually progress. 

 

Many years ago, I watched the original movie from 1970. That, I hated. I had rented it from the video store—sigh, I miss video stores—after hearing that it was a groundbreaking movie about gay men dealing with each other and their own identities when being closeted was much more the expectation of the day. The movie grated on me. I recall the main character being thoroughly insufferable. He seemed angry and hateful toward his friends and I couldn’t understand why these people would stick around for whatever the occasion was...a dinner party, I seemed to recall. I was so disappointed. A first opportunity to have a movie full of gay characters and all they could do was knock each other down. I wondered if it had the effect of keeping men in the closet. How could these characters be relatable? 

 

In January 2018, I flew to New York to see the musical “Waitress” on Broadway for a second time. (Double sigh, I miss Broadway.) After having written all the songs for the show, Sara Bareilles, whom I adore, was starring in it opposite Jason Mraz, whom I’ve crushed on for years. I was in full geek glory. As I wandered Manhattan during my stay, I kept noticing signage promoting the Broadway revival of “The Boys in the Band,” coming for a limited run later in the spring and starring a Who’s Who of openly gay actors, notably Jim Parsons, Zachary Quinto and Matt Bomer. (Mentioning Matt Bomer in a blog post, gives me an excuse to ogle him on Google Images. It may be the sole reason I continue blogging. Pardon me while I fetch my drool bib.)

With considerable star power buying in, I wondered if I may have been wrong about my assessment of the movie. Perhaps I’d watched it in a bad mood after finding no ice cream in my freezer or while ironing a favorite work shirt and getting some sort of corrosive stain from the iron on the front of it. (What causes that anyway?) 

 

As I continued to see ads for the play each Sunday in The New York Times, I flirted with the idea of another Broadway-fueled trip to the Big Apple. Alas, my budget has its limits. The play came and went and I figured that was that. 

 

Then Netflix announced that it would air “The Boys in the Band,” featuring the Broadway cast. I got excited. I marked the premiere date on my phone. I came across tweets from others, excitedly anticipating The Event. Yes, this was shaping up as must-see viewing. 

 

Weirdly, I waited a few nights before tuning in. Maybe I thought that holding off would quell the hype. Too often, high expectations lead to disappointment. 

 

It took me three viewings to get through it. Two viewings isn’t out of the ordinary for me. My only TV is in the bedroom and sometimes the setting makes me sleepy. Three viewings though is a sign of something else. Especially when I let many days go by between watching. Michael, the main character who gathers his friends to host a birthday for frenemy Harold, is still utterly unlikable. It’s not Jim Parsons’ fault. I thought the character came off worse in the 1970 movie. (Maybe this time I just had a sense of what was coming.) By the time Michael breaks down after the party is over and says, “If we could just not hate ourselves so much,” I felt no sympathy. It’s a compelling line, one that’s still potent today, but it fails to make up for Michael’s repugnant behavior toward each of his friends. I get it, he hates himself so he lashes out. I didn’t need two hours of listening to him put down and humiliate his guests. 

 

The problem is exacerbated by the fact that there aren’t any significant characters to counterbalance Michael. Harold is just as mean, more passive and yet more amused in seeing people demeaned. Zachary Quinto plays the part astonishingly well; he seems to be having a wickedly good time. Maybe that’s enough for some viewers. 

 

There are three seemingly good characters—Donald, Hank and Bernard—but they don’t have enough lines to become three-dimensional and they’re mostly doormats for the haters. Nice guys aren’t as fun to write for, but this becomes more problematic in what was originally a groundbreaking production. Watching a new version brought back my prior response, a generalized, Ew and then, Who would want to be gay? followed by the horror, So this is how straight audience members would see gays back in 1968. Would this have been progress? Thankfully nowadays we have so many more portrayals of gay lives. This is just one. 

 

But what do I know? The play won a Tony for Best Revival. 

 

At least I can say I like pizza.

STATE OF MIND

I’m a huge Sara Bareilles fan. One of my favorite songs is “Manhattan” which has the singer relinquishing the New York hub to an ex.

You can have Manhattan,

I know it's what you want.

The bustle and the buildings,

The weather in the fall.

And I'll bow out of place

To save you some space

For somebody new.

You can have Manhattan

'Cause I can't have you.

It’s a beautiful, melancholy song. A place with millions of people just isn’t big enough for the both of them.

For me, I’ve flirted with giving up an entire state. Oregon. After two and a half years of online contact and dating, my relationship with a Portland guy ended seven months ago. No more quick weekend flights. No more meeting halfway in Seattle. Just no more.

It doesn’t matter that I’m the one who ended things. The sting of failure still lingers. I suppose there’s a good chance that will last until a new relationship comes along to offer renewed hope and to show that maybe I am capable of negotiating through the good and the bad.

Why couldn’t it have been another state? I’m sure I could live the rest of my life with no effort at all in avoiding Boise or, god forbid, a smaller outpost. Yeah, you can have Idaho.

The thing is, I really like Oregon. I’ve been going to Portland and the Oregon Coast for years. I’ve gone to the Shakespeare Festival in Ashland a number of times. I’ve long felt that the state is a gem overshadowed by its neighbor to the south. I have no intention of surrendering the state to an ex.

But what I think doesn’t always jive with what I feel. This past weekend, I booked an impromptu trip to Newport on the Coast. I emailed my ex to say I’d be swinging through Portland, offering a chance to grab a meal or ice cream. I figured it would be a nice way to reconnect as friends—or something—, a way to move past failure. I like keeping people I’ve valued in my life.

He never responded.

It doesn’t come as a complete surprise, but it’s disappointing. In hindsight, it would have been better not to reach out at all. The silence did not surprise me, but still it came as a jolt and stuck with me during the entire trip. Suddenly Portland felt more like his town. When I went to my favorite spots—places I went to with him but had discovered before him—I struggled in my mind to take them back as my spots. Same with the hotel I stayed at in Newport. It’s my favorite spot. Yes, we stayed there together once, but I’ve been there many times. The visit was tainted. It wasn’t a full-on grieving; it just felt uncomfortable.

I don’t want to avoid Oregon. I don’t want to avoid the places I like. If we can’t meet to redefine our connection, then I am left to redefine my relationship with these places. I need to take them back. I need to create new memories. To be sure, I made progress. My time of the Coast was highlighted by a bike ride that allowed me to get better glimpses of the views. I kept stopping to take in the gorgeous shoreline and to stare out at the endless Pacific. Remarkably, I spotted whales at each and every stop. Absolutely glorious! I felt utter serenity. For three hours, it was just the sea and me.

I’m headed back in a month, visiting Portland for five days with a friend. He’s got a conference so I’ll have plenty of time to revisit my favorite jogging routes, to get lost at Powell’s Books, to overindulge at Blue Star Donuts and to find new cafés for writing. I’ll also have the opportunity to find a balance between memories of us and memories of my own.

As much as I love Sara Bareilles, I have no intention of surrendering a place to an ex. 

WAITRESS, PLEASE!

The West Coast has San Francisco, the East Coast has Fire Island. And Broadway. I have to admit I’m kind of afraid of Fire Island—all those stories and all that sand getting in unwanted places. Okay then, just Broadway. So many musicals and plays with gay storylines or with a diva to bring out the gays.

La Cage aux Folles.

Torch Song Trilogy.

The Boys in the Band.

Rent.

Hedwig and the Angry Inch

Angels in America.

Hello, Dolly.

But not Cats. Please, no. (Except for that one lovely song. I prefer the Betty Buckley version to Barbra’s. Is that scandalous?)

Amidst all the flashy colossal signs, the throngs of tourists, the honking taxis and opportunistic Elmos, there’s a veritable gay Mecca. And for me to say I flew from Vancouver to New York City for the sole purpose of seeing a Broadway show, well, that’s gotta make up for the Barbra slight. 

Perhaps the particular Broadway show, however, may be a head scratcher. I didn’t go to see the revival of Angels in America. I’d seen a production of it in Vancouver long ago and, well, I’m not sure I have the attention span to sit through it again. A one-time experience. Neither did I go to see the revival of Hello, Dolly. (Bette Midler’s finished her stint and now it’s Bernadette Peters whom I’ve always found annoyingly nasal. Sacrilege?) I didn’t even go for Dear Evan Hansen. Would have loved to have seen it but, frankly, I’m too cheap to opt for a show that doesn’t have discounted prices through TKTS. Blame it, in part, on a lousy exchange rate for my Canadian dollars.

(Miss you, Blockbuster.)

This trip was about the musical Waitress. I’d seen the movie with Keri Russell, Nathan Fillion and Andy Griffith years ago. (Side note: Whenever I’m in New York, I make a pit stop at a Dean & DeLuca because that’s where Keri Russell’s character on “Felicity” worked while attending NYU.) The movie "Waitress", a quiet charmer, wouldn’t have been enough to make me see it as a musical. Not in and of itself.

Over the last three years, I’ve grown into becoming a huge Sara Bareilles fan. I was already familiar with “Love Song” and “King of Anything” but Sara’s songs took on more meaning when I bought her “The Blessed Heart” CD because of the song “Brave” and then became wowed by every song on it. “I Choose You” is a joyful celebration of love I wish someone would play for me someday, “Manhattan” is a lyrically melancholy masterpiece and I could go on. Search for these songs online if you’re not familiar with them (or just click the links).

A couple her other songs took on greater poignancy after I was diagnosed with major depressive disorder. “Gravity” could be a song linking someone to the wrong partner or referring to a struggle with addiction, but for me it’s all about the hold depression can have over me. Somehow I can bawl my eyes out as the song plays and it’s therapeutic. Instead of unsuccessfully trying to banish depression, the song offers a means of acknowledging it and that, in turn, makes it bearable. Then came “She Used to Be Mine”, a song Sara wrote for the musical Waitress, and the links deepened. Like that guy in Roberta Flack’s “Killing Me Softly”, Sara flipped the gender but the words seemed to be mine:

It's not simple to say
That most days I don't recognize me
That these shoes and this apron
That place and its patrons
Have taken more than I gave them.
It's not easy to know
I'm not anything like I used be, although it's true
I was never attention's sweet center
I still remember that girl.

She's imperfect, but she tries
She is good, but she lies
She is hard on herself
She is broken and won't ask for help
She is messy, but she's kind
She is lonely most of the time
She is all of this mixed up and baked in a beautiful pie
She is gone, but she used to be mine.

It's not what I asked for
Sometimes life just slips in through a back door
And carves out a person and makes you believe it's all true
And now I've got you.
And you're not what I asked for
If I'm honest, I know I would give it all back
For a chance to start over and rewrite an ending or two
For the girl that I knew

Who'll be reckless, just enough
Who'll get hurt, but who learns how to toughen up
When she's bruised and gets used by a man who can't love
And then she'll get stuck
And be scared of the life that's inside her
Growing stronger each day 'til it finally reminds her
To fight just a little, to bring back the fire in her eyes
That's been gone, but used to be mine.

Sara Bareilles wrote the music and lyrics for all of the songs in Waitress and that’s what made the show such a draw. I knew when Waitress was to debut on Broadway: April 24, 2016. I couldn’t make it then due to work. I waited until August of last year to finally go. And I loved it! I couldn’t have been happier.

Until mid-November, that is, when I read that Jason Mraz was going to play Dr. Pomatter for seven weeks or so, beginning in early December. (I’m a big fan of his music and, incidentally, his vegan principles.) I wanted to go again but held off. It was too soon since I’d last been to New York and I chose to go to Sweden instead. (Depression finds me always needing to be on the run.)

And then around Christmas I Googled Sara because I was wondering when she’d have a new album out. No mention of new music. Drat. What I discovered instead was that she was going to play the lead role, Jenna, in Waitress for six weeks, two of which would overlap with Jason Mraz.

And that’s how I ended up feeling the pull back to Broadway. Two full days of travel—one each way—but it was entirely worth it. 

There’s a term for Rent fanatics: Rentheads. Is there one for Waitress groupies? Am I a budding Piehole? I could go once a month. There’s something about knowing the songs better and appreciating the jokes more. Even after seeing it twice, I enjoyed comparing actors in some of the other roles that had changed since August. More than anything, to see the musical with Sara and Jason together had me downright giddy, a remarkable reaction considering how profoundly I’ve struggled over the last few months. Gay again, in the Broadway way and in the old-fashioned "happy" way.

A SONG FOR COMING OUT

October 11 is National Coming Out Day. It's an occasion that means far more to me than Monday's Canadian Thanksgiving/American Columbus Day. Whether you are all out or not out at all, it is a day to think positively about your LGBT identity and express yourself with a greater freedom and confidence.

I do not see the day as any kind of mandate to out yourself. Coming out is a long process. For me, there have been many plateaus in between the strides and setbacks. At 49, I am still not out to everyone. I do nothing to filter my mannerisms, but I could stand to be more open. Will that suddenly happen on October 11? No. The day, however, allows me to reflect on my next steps and reminds me that there are formal and informal networks which can offer support when the people closest to us seem to reject us.

While there are many negative posts on comment boards on the internet, YouTube has many inspiring "It Gets Better" videos. I bought the book as well and will read a couple of entries to mark the occasion. As well, Twitter is an amazing place to connect and receive support. I have carefully selected my followers, building a strong gay network while also avoiding the accounts of the multitude of self-professed gay porn stars. (You can be anything when hiding behind the a keyboard.) On my RuralGay Twitter account, I have participated in plenty of positive exchanges; not once, has someone directed hate at me. (I discount Twitter Spam, alerting me that "someone is saying nasty things" about me and posting embarrassing photos. I don't have that kind of legacy. Bad profile shots? Sure. It doesn't get worse.)

If you need more inspiration, let me suggest the song "Brave" by Sara Bareilles. Co-written by Jack Antonoff of the band fun., the song's lyric's are tailor-made for coming out. In fact, Sara acknowledges here that the song was written for a friend who was struggling with coming out. The lyrics follow:

You can be amazing
You can turn a phrase into a weapon or a drug
You can be the outcast
Or be the backlash of somebody’s lack of love
Or you can start speaking up

Nothing’s gonna hurt you the way that words do
And they settle ‘neath your skin
Kept on the inside, no sunlight
Sometimes a shadow wins
But I wonder what would happen if you

Say what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave

I just want to see you (x3)
I want to see you be brave

Everybody’s been there, everybody’s been stared down by the enemy
Fallen for the fear and done some disappearing
Bowed down to the mighty
Don’t run and stop holding your tongue
Maybe there’s a way out of the cage where you live
Maybe one of these days you can let the light in
And show me how big your brave is

Say what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave

And since your history of silence
Won’t do you any good.
Did you think it would?
Let your words be anything but empty
Why don’t you tell them the truth?

If you say what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave
With what you want to say
And let the words fall out honestly
I want to see you be brave

I just want to see you (x3)
I want to see you be brave

Let me just add that Sara's CD, "The Blessed Unrest", is a winning collection. I bought it at my local Starbucks two weeks ago and the songs have steadily grown on me. I just can't eject it from the player in my car.

So, there you go. Get inspired. Be yourself. And, yes, be brave