CALL ME BY MY NEW NAME: AGING GAYLY

Name changes happen. Facebook is now Meta. Datsun became Nissan. The TV sitcom, “Valerie,” was retitled “The Hogan Family” after Valerie Harper (RIP) left the show. Sir Elton John was born Reginald Dwight. Arnold George Dorsey performed as Gerry Dorsey before switching to—why, oh why—Engelbert Humperdinck. Prince (born Prince Rogers Nelson) transformed into   (aka, The Love Symbol) before settling on The Artist Formerly Known as Prince. Sean John Combs has been Puffy, Puff Daddy, P. Diddy, Diddy, Sean Jean, Brother Love and Sean Love Combs. 

 

I seem to be on the Puff Daddy-P. Diddy-Diddy track. 

 

It’s with some trepidation that I’ve renamed my blog. Way back in 2008, when blogging may have still been a thing, “Rural Gay” fit perfectly since I lived a ferry ride away from civilization. As a single homosexual in his forties, the title was bound to attract a little online attention, if only from initial curiosity. Why the hell would he make that kind of move?

 

Yep. Why, indeed. Seven years after starting the blog—and a decade after that cockeyed relocation experiment—I settled anew in Vancouver. Rural Gay no more! 

 

For some reason, I figured I needed to keep that designation in the blog title, probably since it was the core of the web address. I gave the blog name a clunky tweak: Rural Gay Gone Urban. Always hated it. What did the wretched title say about my writing abilities? Still, I stuck with it, deciding my time was better spent writing posts as a pleasant diversion from drafting essays for occasional publication in the great beyond while continuing to hone novel-length manuscripts.

 

Another seven years have passed. I’m still blogging, even if that’s not much of a thing anymore. I’m an old dog and I haven’t developed an appetite for new tricks like podcasting and TikTok dillydallying. Old dogs can use words like dillydallying.

 

I don’t like to think of myself as old even though I’m almost at the point of admitting that the whiskers from three days’ growth on my chin are gray, not blond. (I should look into softer lighting in the bathroom.) I’m startled when I’m reminded that Fleetwood Mac’s “Rumours” is forty-five years old. I curse whenever I think of mentioning VCRs, answering machines or Charles Nelson Reilly in a conversation with my niece. (Charles Nelson Reilly? WTF?!) It’s always hard to transition after a blank stare. 

 

Allow me to transition here to the new name for the blog. Like it or not, from my vantage point there are more young ’uns than old coots. We’re all aging, of course, but I’m more aware of it now. Remember how the time to reach sixteen or twenty-one seemed to move at a snail’s pace? Such an excruciating wait to drive a car or drink without a comically bad fake ID. Years and whole decades whiz by now. Staring into the bathroom mirror is now about checking for wrinkles, not zits. Oh, how I had so much hope for the powers of Clearasil; not so for my L’Oréal Revitalift eye cream. That thing about getting wiser isn’t always a good thing.

 

So, yes. I. Am. Aging.

 

I feel like I’m thirty-six in mind, body and spirit but, judging from how often I’m called “sir” these days, nobody else is buying it. I did get carded at the beer garden at the Washington State Fair last month, but I withheld the urge to woot. Standard procedure. She didn’t even bother squinting to search for where the birthdate is on a British Columbia driver’s licence. 

 

It shouldn’t come as a surprise when I say I’m not exactly aging gracefully. Nope. I’m kicking and screaming. Rod Stewart’s “Forever Young” keeps popping up on my YouTube stream. Same for Candi Staton’s “Young Hearts Run Free,” a disco-era gem. Dammit, my song choices don’t help my case.

Okay, so enough about the “Aging” part of my NEW, IMPROVED blog title. On to “Gayly.” I had to keep some reference to “gay.” The blog has always been about being a gay man and that will continue to be the case. While I’m okay with “queer,” there was a time the term felt too abrasive—a derisive term that gays took back as their own. There are other descriptors under the LGBTQIA2+ umbrella that seem to suit me, but they weren’t around when I did the hard work of coming out. I love that there are more specific terms people can consider when figuring out their identity. I am committed to accepting and supporting anyone based on how they choose to define themselves with regard to gender and sexuality. In turn, I expect to be respected for sticking with “gay,” at least for now. 

 

Old dog, remember. Throw me a bone or, better yet, just drop it in front of me.

 

As a stickler for the grammar and spelling, I’m accustomed to using “gaily” when writing, assuming I would use the word at all. Still, Merriam-Webster recognizes “gayly” as a variant used “less commonly.” I like that. After all, I’ve spent my whole life navigating less common tracts.

 

As a twenty-something, in a pre-GPS world, there were many times I sat in a car with gay friends and someone called out directions by saying, “Go straight.” The remark was always corrected. “Impossible. Go gayly forward.” Yuk yuk. Yes, these were the same people who chuckled over random references to balls, nuts and the number 69. Don’t be fooled by arty, gay pretensions. We’re as simple as other men…although I’m pleased to say I no longer laugh over farts and fart jokes. Some things just get old when one gets, ahem, old.

 

So there it is. A new blog title, keeping “gay” and chucking the rest. What do you think of “Aging Gayly”? This is likely a superficial change. I plan to continue to post on similar topics as before: gay culture, my relationship, queer literature and entertainment, and mental health issues, including eating disorders. I hope you’ll stick around, check the blog from time to time, leave a comment on occasion, here or on Twitter. (Retweets and other forms of sharing are always welcome!) I don’t want millennials to shy away from clicking to the blog, but I suppose it’s time for me to accept the gray whiskers while continuing to strive to sustain a healthy, active lifestyle. Thanks, as always, for reading!

     

DOES "BROS" MATTER?

Better late than never, they say. But is it? I went to see “Bros” a week after its critical box office debut.[1] The two tickets I purchased will do nothing to alter its designation as a flop. This post isn’t to critique the movie but to consider the importance of its release. Straight audiences didn’t show up, but I get the sense a lot of LGBTQ folks gave it a pass, too.

 

My quick two cents on the movie: It’s worth seeing. I laughed more than I do during most movies. It wasn’t so much major plot points that got me chuckling—rom-coms follow a formula—but there were plenty of amusing observations about gay men and pop culture that peppered the script. Billy Eichner’s Bobby talks in rapid rants—reminded me of Woody Allen, in a good way (if I’m allowed to extend a nod to Woody anymore). I’m sure I’ll appreciate the commentary even more on a second viewing once the movie goes to streaming. That’s right, I’d watch it again. Something for Vancouver’s upcoming monthslong rainy season. I saw a lot of my own frustrations about gay culture and dating in the movie. Thumbs up. On the Meg Ryan rom-com scale, not in “When Harry Met Sally” territory, but on par with “You’ve Got Mail.”

 

Prior to its release, “Bros” was billed in the media as a big deal: first wide release of a gay film by a major movie studio. It played on more than three thousand screens in North America. Much of the publicity focused on the fact that virtually all roles, straight or queer, were played by LGBTQ actors. By golly, this was the Gayest Thing Ever in Hollywood! (I’m still hoping for a big screen premiere of “Bert Loves Ernie.”)

 

If a gay film appears in theaters and nobody shows up, did it even happen?

 

It grossed five million during its opening weekend, September 30-October 2. Not horrendous but not a winner considering the film’s reported twenty-two-million-dollar budget. By comparison, the top movie that weekend was another debut, the psychological horror film, “Smile,” which earned close to twenty-three million. There will be more weeks in theaters and more revenue streams, but it’s unlikely “Bros” will turn a profit. (As of today, it’s earned $10.8 million.)  

 

Does the mediocre box office matter to anyone besides theater owners, Universal Pictures and the producers and stars of “Bros”?  I would argue it does. Rightly or wrongly, “Bros” has been held up as a Big Gay Movie and it will serve as a barometer for financing future queer films that dare to play beyond the indie leagues. 

 

The takeaway that it tanked doesn’t bode well. “Bros” is no breakthrough for gays the way “Crazy Rich Asians” was purported to be for Asian actors and works. I suspect that the immediate response of most LGBTQ people is a shrug. There is plenty of queer content on streaming channels and by accessing queer film festivals online. Productions with smaller budgets will continue. I don’t really need to see an epic car chase or CGI-created elephant stampedes in gay stories I watch. Perhaps that apocalyptic sci-fi thriller with gays making an exodus to Uranus—is that still the gays’ favorite planet?—will never see the light of day. I don’t think that sex scene in spacesuits would have done anything for me anyway.

 

Maybe “Bros” was an ill-advised experiment. Maybe the headline-making pre-release hype—an attempt to increase interest, aka ticket sales—hurts us in the end. Maybe it puts LGBTQ people in their place. We can marry, we can get bakers to make fancy rainbow cakes (with reduced-fat icing, thank you), we can aspire to be the CEO of Apple or run for president. We just can’t expect straight people to come out to see us as the focal point of a love story on the big screen. Let us remain sidekicks who own avant-garde galleries, don gorgeous garments and drop snappy one-liners. Pals not paramours. 

 

The movie’s lackluster box office does not mean a thumbs down to all gay stories, although I fear that’s how many studios will construe it. It’s the wrong genre. We stand a better chance as a Marvel hero or a cinematic doctor/lawyer/detective/villain…really, anything but a love interest. Rom-coms are never what straight men crave. Presumably, they get dragged along by their girlfriends on date night, hoping it may pay dividends—sex or a Sunday football viewing marathon. I’m not sure straight women are even up for a gay rom-com, but I’m certain they know better than to think they can drag along their husband or boyfriend. I read lots of comments about “Bros” on Twitter from guys purporting to be straight. Despite LGBTQ advances, a dude can stay entrenched with his standard line: Two guys kissing? Hell, no! 

 

The fact Judd Apatow was a producer of the movie didn’t help. In fact, it may have even hurt in terms of expanding viewership. Apatow is known for infusing raunch into comedies that might otherwise get classified as rom-coms. It meant more ticket sales for flicks like “Knocked Up” and “Trainwreck.” In “Bros,” that means talk of a throuple and glimpses of what’s supposed to be a four-way gay sex scene. 

 

Cue straight dude: Ewwwwww! Double hell no! Triple! Quadruple…and whatever comes after that. I think the majority of straight guys have come around to thinking, “You can be gay. That’s cool. Just don’t talk to me about the gay sex stuff.” Adding visuals only makes them squirmy. I would imagine that, if any were actually in the theater seats, they’d have sprinted down the aisle for an emergency popcorn situation. More butter, STAT! 

 

Would straight women choose “Bros” as a girls’ night out flick? Again, doubtful. Gay men have spent their lives having to see themselves in female rom-com characters portrayed by Kate Hudson and Julia Roberts, but women have never had to make the gender and sexual orientation adjustments. They can wait around for the next man-woman rom-com to hit the theater, turn on the Hallmark Channel or catch another viewing of “The Proposal” somewhere online.

 

There was never an urgency in the LGBTQ community to see “Bros” during the opening weekend or ever. This was not a matter of life or death as was AIDS activism. This was not about civil rights as was marriage equality. Even in terms of the arts, the stakes weren’t so critical, as in the case of censorship of Robert Mapplethorpe’s photos or the banning of books like George M. Johnson’s All Boys Aren’t Blue, Lesléa Newman and Diana Souza’s Heather Has Two Mommies or David Levithan’s Two Boys Kissing. “Bros” has given the greenlight without any significant blowback. I did a quick Google search and didn’t even find anything about picketers out front of a single theater that showed the movie. To be sure, that’s an indication of progress, but it can also make people blasé about any Big Gay Movie (that doesn’t include a bathtub scene with a rubber duckie).

 

Still, the relative failure of “Bros” will cause major studios will be even more hesitant about gay fare. The conclusion goes beyond the notion that Billy Eichner and Luke Macfarlane aren’t leading men at the box office. All gay actors in gay roles are a risk. (Can’t we just go back to casting Tom Hanks and Jake Gyllenhaal?) There is trickle-down harm for all sorts of gay creatives. Basically, the perceived apathy over “Bros,” as jumped on by the media, may lead investors to question banking other gay works in the arts. We are reduced to being a niche market. Profits are minimal. Producing works focused on Tom Cruise and Sonic the Hedgehog are safer bets. That’s right, our stories take a back seat to a blue animated hedgehog. 

 

Had “Bros” blossomed, I would have mentioned it in queries for my gay novel that I’m trying to get published. When seeking an agent or publisher to take a chance on a manuscript, it’s common practice to pitch “comps,” listing titles the work is comparable to. It helps them see there may be a market for the book, that it will turn a profit. They’re trying to make a living, after all. Flops don’t put steak dinners on the table or even generic-brand peanut butter sandwiches. Yes, I had high hopes for “Bros.” Its success might have given me a greater shot at success, along with other developers of gay comedy.

 

People want gay stories! 

 

There’s a market for humorous tales about older gay men trying to navigate the dating scene! 

 

But is there?

 

“Bros” got decent reviews but that didn’t help to build an audience. You can be sure I will dare not speak its name in my query letters. If I were to say my novel is similar to “Bros,” there isn’t a single agent or publisher that would get excited. Ooh! Let me get this book published and then I’ll figure out how to apply for food stamps.

 

Nope. Not mentioning “Bros.” Also not mentioning “Uncoupled” which starred Neil Patrick Harris and aired on Netflix this fall. (Its eight-episode run was set up for a second season, but Netflix hasn’t rushed any announcement in that regard. Speculation is that’s not going to happen. Older gay men looking for love? Not a draw. Even when “older” means forty-something and the men are in great shape. Too much reality. Leave that for RuPaul and gay men giving makeovers. We are niche at best.

 

Go see “Bros” anyway. It’s not going to be a sleeper hit, but I’d venture to guess it’s more entertaining than the blue hedgehog movie which grossed $403.8 million globally. Money is not an indicator of quality in a work but, alas, it has a major impact on what entertainment is available over the next several years. If you yearn to see another larger-scale work about gay relationships, it will probably be a while. Maybe “Sonic the Hedgehog” will be the new comp to use in persuading a studio to take a chance on Bert and Ernie. Please tell me you’d at least show up for that one.

 

 

 

    

 

 

 

---

[1] I failed to see it during its opening weekend since I was on a road trip in Canada’s Rocky Mountain region, kayaking on Lake Louise, hiking Glacier National Park and spending internet-free evenings in a cabin, listening to wolves howl at the moon. I didn’t think to reschedule. My bad.