Joey Wants A Doll (or "Heart's Desire: Part 2")

Remember this?  Marlo Thomas' Free To Be You and Me?  This was a watershed moment for a generation of "sensitive" boys.  Specifically, this lil ole' video.  "William Wants A Doll". 

I saw it in the middle of Miss Duggar's home room in fifth grade.  All the kids were crowded around the t.v. watching the story of William and his doll, and how much he wants it.  Thank the Lord for the grandma who finally comes along and gives him what he wants.  Every future gay boy (or doll loving straight boy) know sit's not Father, but Grandma who knows best.  Yes.  I wanted a doll.  But not just any old doll.  Not Barbie.  She was too frivolous.  The doll I wanted, I had been dreaming of since I was three years old.  It was my holy grail, my maltese falcon, my Red Ryder BB gun.   You may remember it from my last post.  It looked a little something like this:

 



 

I'd  finally come to realize I wasn't going to get my hands on the Emerald City Playset (that would come later) but if I could just get my hands on a plastic version of my teen-aged fairy godmother, then surely everything would be alright and I would never want again.  I just wanted to be close to my dream girl, and the only way I was going to do that was by getting my little hands on that little idol, the "golden calf" that MGM had tempted me into loving wholeheartedly. 

 

Years went by.  Mego stopped making the dolls.  No matter, because there were dealers who could still get their hands on them and send them your way.  For the right price.  That price, back in the mid-eighties, was thirty dollars, and in an art imitates life moment my grandmother sent me a check for Christmas so I could "get myself something special".  I immediately called my dealer, her name was Elaine, and ordered the doll who owned a mail-order business that specialized in (get ready) Garlandia.  I was twelve. 

 

 I played sick on the day it was set to be delivered so I could lay my hands on it as soon as was possible.  The next day I brought it to school and showed it to my best friend as we sat in the back row of math class.  He and I had watched "Oz" together several times, so I knew he was safe.  And yet, after looking at it he said... "Hey guys, look what Joe has!"

 

I got a sickening feeling in my stomach.  My chest churned.  Holy shit, no!  Betrayal.  I quickly shoved Dorothy in my worn out green back pack as I cursed myself for bringing my dirty little secret into the belly of the beast.  It was a doll!  Of course it was.  It was no fucking action figure, no matter how little it was.  No matter that it didn't come with multiple outfits.  It was a god dammed doll, and no matter what Marlo Thomas or some sweet cartoon grandmother said, I had violated the sacred kid rule by owning and loving it!  What the fuck was I gonna do???

 

The answer was...nothing.  No heads turned to scoff and laugh, and scold.  The class went on as if he'd said nothing.  As a kid who ate Smurfberry during school lunches, Wes was nearly as low on the middle school hierarchy as I was.  And after all, it hadn't said it very loud, so for the moment, my secret was safe.  Safe until I would feel strong enough to let it out on my own.

 

So what's the lesson here?  I guess it's this.  Parents, you will not be able to change your kids.  They are who they are, and they want what they want.  In fact, those things they are denied will become fetish objects that they will gleefully rub and touch in the back row of their math class when they are sure no one else is looking.  Is that what you want?  Is it?    

 

  

Heart's Desire

Take a little trip with me.  Indulge me for a moment,if you will, as I revisit our life's journey.  First, of course, we are born.  Thrust into a foreign land and expected to explore, discover and make our way in this world with nothing but ourselves, and one or two ambassadors to the earth to aid our journey.  With me so far? 

At this point we are our truest selves.  Whatever we've been given in this world, our genetic make-up, our souls, our heart's desires...it's pretty much agreed that at this time in our lives we are closer to these powerful gifts than we will ever be at any other point.  We are most in touch with what we truly want, and who we truly are.  And one of the first words we learn to empower ourselves, is "no"!  We need this word.  We hold it close to us as everybody, even  those well meaning ambassadors, will try to dictate our lives.  They will push things on us we do not want, and take things from us we do.  These things will be done in our "best interests" so we can learn how to get along in a world of rules and societal laws.  They are meant to teach us the fine balance between getting what we want and giving the world what it wants.

In this process we are shamed, we are scolded, we are "gently redirected" toward more socially acceptable behaviors.  We are put in school and molded into people who will keep the status-quo.  There have been a lot of studies on what happens to our creativity, and  intelligence as we go through the schooling process.  Consensus?  The more schooling we get?  The more we lose our unique perspective and the outside of the box thinking we are born with.  Sometimes we don't even realize we are losing it?  But we grow up, feeling something is missing.  We lost a piece of ourselves at some point, our "inner child", and we spend our whole adult lives trying to get in touch with him, to get back what we lost.

With me so far?  Experienced this in your life?  Most people reading this will silently respond with a great big "hells yeah"!  You've seen it happen in your lives and you ached when it happened to your children.

My personal journey was that of what has come to be known as the "gender nonconformist".  And it showed itself in many forms.  For example, I loved purple.  Loved it.  And at age four, when my Uncle asked what my favorite color, I had no trouble telling him.  Imagine my surprise when he responded with... "no, you don't like purple, purple is an old woman's color".  I still remember him suggesting that I like brown.  BROWN??????

When Christmas rolled around and the big fat Sears catalogue came out, I immediately circled the Emerald City playset and Wizard of Oz dolls.  I described it to everyone who asked me what I wanted most.  This went on for years.  At age four, Santa asked.  I told him.  At 6, when our first grade teacher asked us to draw what we wanted to get for Christmas, guess what I drew...

 

 



At eight?  When my parents took me to Universal Studios and I saw these toys at the souvenir shop, guess what I wanted to buy?  Yep.  Winner, winner, chicken dinner.

When it came to movies, I loved fairy tales, Snow White, Cinderella, and Sleeping Beauty.  At play-time?  I wanted to play Cinderella, and wanted to be no one but her.  When I played by myself on the monkey bars?  I was Cat Woman, lithe and cunning, outwitting Batman at every turn.  At dress-up, I always chose the most beautiful gown my friend had in her dress-up trunk.  Thank God I grew up around women who were, for the most part, willing to let me explore this part of myself and indulged my nature in spite of any secret concern they may have had.

That was my inner child.  Those were my heart's desires.  They were gentle, creative, craft and art oriented.  They had nothing to do with wars, with guns, with cowboys or Indians.  And, in spite of my mother, aunts, and grandmother, I quickly learned that they were not approved.  I got schooled by just about anyone, and most of the time this was done by kind people, gently but firmly. 

The oldest boy in my babysitting group heard me pretending to be the Mama dog and took me aside to tell me that I shouldn't be that any more.  A friend's parent saw me in an oversized dress and yelled at me that boys did not wear girls clothes in her house.  My mother, when we went to Universal studios took me aside and gently coaxed me into buying Star Wars action figures instead of Wizard of Oz dolls.  And I learned.  I learned to submit to these desires outwardly.  I pretended to be the boy dog until the oldest boy left.  I only wore dress-up boy clothes outside, but inside??  I bought the Star Wars action figures, but the one who got the most use?  Princess Leia.  And it wasn't just older people who taught me this.  It was kids my own age.  In kindergarten, when I wore purple pants to school?  I was ridiculed by someone who I thought was my friend.  This so-called friend then rallied others to join her in mocking me. 

Why?  I ask myself.  What is it that people are responding to that makes them do this?  Here's my conclusion.  It comes not from the Bible, not from their hearts, but from their fears and what society has told them in some of those very innocuous stories that I loved.  Fairy Tales.

Fairy tales were meant to make boys and girls into productive members of society.  And thus, boys in these stories achieved their happily ever after when they gained treasure, slew dragons, won a kingdom to rule.  Girls?  Their happily ever after was when they were won by a man who slew and acquired.  It doesn't take a genius to figure out what the more powerful role is.  But girls were, at that time,  considered weaker than men, and less equipped.  They were not meant for more education than that which made them into the perfect mate.  These ideas continued, largely unchecked, for centuries, until the 1960's, when the women's liberation movement shouted loud and clear that girls could do more than they'd been allowed to achieve.  They could get their own treasure, fight their own battles.  And should!  They should be empowered with the qualities they had so long been denied.  In many ways this was wonderful.  But it led to a bizarre kind of "might is right" mentality.  It led to a raising up of the qualities that had been associated with men and a degradation of those that had once been considered "womanly virtues".  These were considered weaker qualities.  And so when a boy comes along who is drawn to the qualities of the nurturer?  The artist?  The aesthete?  These are qualities that must be squashed. 

Girls who had what were considered "tom boyish" qualities went from being discouraged in these traits to being applauded and encouraged, and this is rampant today in the newest film versions of Snow White, Alice in Wonderland, and modernizations of The Wizard of Oz.  The nurturing, open-hearted, out of the box thinking that was once celebrated has been discarded in favour of battling.  If there's a fantasy with a female heroine, she is bound to don armor and fight a battle at some point.  What do the dreamy boys have as role models?  Ferdinand the Bull, and Charlie,  of the famous Chocolate Factory (thank the lord for him). 

And yet... even though people tried to divert me from the path I was wanting to travel, that couldn't stop the journey.  They could only teach me how to hide myself and my desires, and then, it was only for so long.  Eventually, after a lot of searching myself, and therapy, I journeyed toward finding the perfect balance of both sides of me, one that celebrated that which I'd been denied and yet, didn't overcompensate.  It's been uncertain, and yet centering.  Still, I can't help but imagine what a life would be like for the child today, who grows up with a family more prepared than mine.  More aware, more deliberate?  What would his life be like?  His future.  He would certainly encounter opposition, but would he be more certain in his belief that what he wanted was best?  Could he be just as happy, maybe even more so, than myself?  Undoubtedly. 

So now??  When  when I see little boys wearing pink glitter shoes, or with painted fingernails, I celebrate them.  I gently encourage them because I know how much thought and courage goes into that decision, for them, and for their parents.  I know how vulnerable they are, and how much support they will need to be strong.  And I know that this is not deviance, but an expression of their true selves, and among the purest gifts that they have been given.  These are not weaknesses, but the beginnings of the tools which will help them change the world, and become their truest and most empowered selves.

Back to Life...

Get out the noise makers and cue the Hallelujah Chorus:  After a couple of months of searching, I have found another day-job, and I could not be more excited.  I'll be working for a small company which serves the elder community by providing companionship and care in their homes. My job will be a combination of recruiting, scheduling, and customer service.  The pay is decent, the mission of the company is inspiring and the staff is friendly and passionate.  It's a little farther north than I'm used to, so I'll be stocking up on audio books and podcasts. 

I found this without the help of a staffing agency, it's a salaried position, and I start tomorrow with high hopes, and excited to contribute to the shaping of a vibrant business.  Of course I know there will be challenges and adjustments, but I have a lot of faith right now that no matter what, this is a great move.

A Couple of Random Thoughts

1.  Caught the Lady Gaga/Muppet Spectacular on Thursday, and I never thought I would turn off a show featuring the Muppets, but I did.  It was such a fucking hodge podge.  Green screened up the wazoo, sterile, boring, and thrown together.  The Muppet segments were spliced in at random moments and looked like they were done in half a day.  Lady Gaga had positively zero charisma, and was on-screen with the Muppets for about four minutes.  It was mostly her singing with back-up dancers in a giant wig, doing some extremely labored "banter" with Elton John before singing a duet of "Gaga and the Jets" (yep, that's what I wrote)... Both The Muppets and Lady Gaga have a wonderfully bizarre sense of humor and a pretty strong understanding of "SHOW BIZ", so this could have been wonderful, but I saw nothing interesting, and certainly no heart.  But to be honest, I haven't seen much soul from The Muppets since the Christmas special they did years ago where everyone went over to Fozzie's grandmother's for Christmas.  Which leaves me wondering who is in charge of Muppet projects now?  Whoever had the idea to put Lady  Gaga and the Muppets together deserves kudos, and whoever executed (in every sense of the word) concept, needs to be schooled.

2.  Tore through And the Hippos Were Boiled in Their Tanks, co-written by Jack Kerouac and William S. Burroughs about a decade before they wrote On The Road and Naked Lunch, respectively, and it was a perfect companion to the Daniel Radcliffe film Kill Your Darlings.  The book was a novelized version of the events surrounding the murder of David Kammerer, by Lucien Carr, with whom he had a very complicated relationship.  I do have to cop to the fact that I've never been a huge fan of the Beats work.  I love their philosophy, but some of the art that sprung from it seems pretty straightforward and lacking.  More of a "this happened, then this happened, then this happened..." sort of approach.  I can understand that back in the mid-twentieth century, when topics like this were rarely discussed, that this could have been revolutionary, but today? 

I highly recommend the film, as it's is atmospheric, haunting, complex and inspiring.  Plus, who could avoid falling in love with this little face?

Dreaming

I've had some pretty bizarre, certainly telling dreams lately, and whereas they usually fade from memory upon waking, these have stuck with me.  I present them now for your entertainment.

1.   (Dreamt a couple of weeks ago) I was at my old workplace.  They had moved offices and I'm not sure exactly why I was there, but they had asked me back to help them out in some capacity or other and so I had stopped by.  Of course, when I was leaving for work, pants didn't seem like a necessity, but when I arrived at work I realized my gaffe.  I walked around, trying to pretend I was dressed perfectly normally, but the CFO of the company, a "by the books type" as CFOs usually are, walked by and gave me a withering look.  She stepped into a very important meeting with clients, and as she entered the conference room I realized that I was standing in front of the big glass window to said room, and that the blinds were open.  Completely embarrassed I crept to a corner of the room and slid down next to a copy machine, hoping nobody would find me.

2.   (Dreamt the night before last)  This one's another riff on a theme.  Somehow, I'd ended up naked at the Antique Mall, the realization of which came to me mid-shopping spree.  I had to get home, and driving was not an option, so I grabbed a couple of antiques from the store, using one antique to shield my front and the other my back as I raced down the busy street.  Of course two gay friends of mine happened to see me, and I ignored them as I ran, knowing they were judging snarkily.

3.    (Dreamt last night)  I had developed some kind of a condition in which my jowls had reddened and become shaped like an orangutans.  See below...

 

 

My cheeks were not quite this large however, and could be somewhat disguised by the massive main of black hair I had on my head.  I went to the doctor, who told me everything would go back to normal after a day or two, and it was probably stressed related.  Unfortunately, I had been put in charge of publicity for a concert/dance jam and could not hide in the house waiting for the swelling to go down.  So out I went, danced up a storm, met Eric from the first season of The Real World who refused to put on a shirt, in spite of the fact that his once muscular physique had gone to seed.  After the event, during which I saved an heiress from an embarrassing moment when she nearly missed her time onstage due to being in the port-a-potty, I was sitting by myself on the street waiting for a bus, when a group of twelve year old girls walked up to me and handed me a piece of candy.  On the candy was a note that I had been given a "chubby boy Valentine"!!!   It said, since I obviously loved chocolate I shouldn't concern myself with the health risks of being fat and just gorge away on the heart stopping treat I'd been given.  Of course I was righteously enraged and followed those children home, screaming and cursing at them, telling them that they were certainly not perfect and I happily notated their obviously flaws as I chased them to their apartment, where I began to berate their mother for sending them out on a errand of hate.  She eventually saw my side of things, and we became, if not friends, frenemies. 

 

What do these dreams tell me?  I'm obviously suffering a bout of low self-esteem, and while I seem to be getting more powerful in each dream, my ego is obviously in need of some stroking.  Get me to a Louise Hay workshop stat. 









A Momentary Pause to Help the Technically Challenged

Most of the time I assume you guys are pretty well versed in web conventions, but for those of you who are not, and I'm not judging... I wanted to make sure you understood the "link".  Silly as it seems, for the longest time I was unaware that when I read an article and came across a word or two in color, that that meant you could click on the highlighted portion and be taken to a website that would give me more info on the topic being discussed.  I highly encourage everyone to click those links and see bios, samples of the artist's work, and interviews. 

Revisiting...The Hollywood Publicity Photo

One of the things I really miss (although I will admit its current absence makes me appeciate the old photos all the more) is the Hollywood publicity photo.  Back in the days when the studios reigned, they had the best photographers on-staff to take photos of the stars in various settings, looking their best, completely glammed out and gorgeous.  Shots that captured the essence of what the studios was promoting in that star.  While some of these photographers still exist- Annie Leibowitz being the most famous, these photos have been taken over by the multitudinous candids of the stars looking like ordinary folks.  George Hurrell was one of the best in his day, and is certainly the most well known today, but others like Clarence Sinclair Bull, and Laszlo Willinger did some amazing work as well.  For fans of some of the more modern stars there was a wonderful book of photographs by Us Magazine, Outrageous. 

In addition to more commonplace publicity shots were shots that promoted a particular star in Holiday themed poses.  They are so kitchy and wonderful, and amp up my enjoyment of the holidays by bringing a little old Hollywood glamour to the festivities.  Here are some for your enjoyment...

The "Our Gang" cast celebrates

 

 

Judy and Mickey

 

 

 Esther Williams and friend





 

 Not all of the photos were particularly artful.  Some were just straightforward shots of the star in a signature look, posed next to a turkey, like the above photo with Esther Williams in a bathing suit (but of course) and the shot below with dancer Vera Ellen, of White Christmas fame.

 

Vera Ellen with toe shoes and turkey

 

 

Marilyn Monroe

 

 

Judy Garland

 

 

Alfred Hitchcock

 

Yet another shot of Judy

(note she is wearing her Dorothy costume beneath the apron)

 

 

And A final shot of ole Joots

 

Of course, the publicity departments went crazy at Christmas time, so when we get closer to mid-December I hope to feature more of these shots.

 

 

 

 



 

 

Opening Night!

There's a definite thrill to opening night.  Sometimes it feels more like terror, or dread, depending on how high your hopes for the show, or how much you question the quality of the show you are about to expose to a good sized audience for the first time.  The thrill  feels magnified for me tonight, since I leapt into the show with a little under two weeks before opening. 

Jumping in as I did, the process was sped up for me.  My first read-through was in front of a cast that had been doing this for awhile (although this show had what must be a record number of cast changes) and up until a couple nights before dress rehearsal I was still finding my rhythm, missing cues, and generally stumbling my way through the part.  It's truly been great to have such wonderful people in the show and crew.  Norman, Jenny, Jean, Karen, Tyler, Amy  and Andy have been extremely supportive and giving, and I could not have joined a more fun or warm hearted bunch of folks.  Plus, Sara, who plays the ingénue is just charming, and my favorite new friend. 


In short, I feel mostly solid, and might just be ready for play time tonight.

Arsenic and Old Lace

 

If you had asked me a little over a week ago, what show I'd be working on next, I would have had a completely different answer for you.  But since last Tuesday I've jumped into the cast of Arsenic and Old Lace, being produced by "Different Stages" at The Vortex.  It opens this Friday, and as of yet, I am not quite ready.  I'm covering for an actor who is unfortunately unable to continue in the part, and I know that know that a lot can be accomplished in the three days between now and opening, but I'm still a little nervous. 

I'm playing Teddy Brewster, a kook in a family of somewhat kooky folks.  His particular "quirk" is that he believes himself to be Teddy Roosevelt.  It's a really fun little part, without a tremendous amount of lines to memorize last minute, but the entrances and exits are a bit of a bitch.  In and out, in and out, shouting, bugle blowing, out and then back in.  I've made a little cheat sheet for myself to hang backstage so I don't forget any of the tiny little scenes I have in act one, and that will be a great help to pick up the slack where my mind leaves off.

Luckily, it's a great piece, and some of the cast members feel like family.  Karen Jambon and Jenny Underwood play the Brewster sisters, and two more generous and supportive (and talented) ladies would be hard to find.  Tyler Jones plays Mortimer.  This probably my fifth or sixth show with him, and he's always a lot of fun, with a wry sense of humor that catches all the bizarre and absurd little moments of life.

Again, we open this Friday, November 22nd.  We close December 14th.  If you live in the Austin area, I'd love to see you there.

DQ Country

Today is my twenty-first day on "My Fit Foods", and while I haven't lost as much weight as I expected/hoped to (I've lost about five pounds as of today) I do feel better about myself, and I am proud that I've gone this long without caffeine, alcohol, and processed food.  My skin looks better than ever, and a couple people have noticed some weight loss in my face (which, when it comes right down to it is what I care the most about, as in my opinion, a cute face can make up for a roll or two here and there).  On Thursday, I will have gone the full twenty-one days with supplements and the cranberry flush, and then I'm going to have to look at my future plans. 

I do not feel "finished" yet, as I haven't reached my goal weight of 190, but I don't want to continue with this regimented plan either, largely because even though the food is pretty tasty, I am bored to death of it.  Enough with the celery and almond butter, for fuck's sake!  Maybe I'll transition to Weight Watchers.  It's certainly cheaper, and less restrictive, so perhaps that will be my plan for the following weeks.  We will see.  I will say, as I get closer and closer to the final day, I'm more and more tempted to drop a pat of butter on my cauliflower mash, or to add some sour cream to the chili I have at dinner time.  And today while driving in North Austin I nearly pulled into Dairy Queen and had a pumpkin pie blizzard.  But I did not.  Strength prevails!

Kill Your Television?

I've come to realize that television can really deaden the impulse to create.  I'm not sure what it is about it, but I've noticed that when I have the urge to put pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard, as the case may be) it's so tempting to treat myself to an episode of "The Good Wife" first.  The problem is, once I do that, I lose track of the inspiration, the thoughts that were bubbling over just forty-four minutes before.  And it's such an unconscious act.  About to eat dinner?  If I'm home by myself I flip on the television.  And when I'm finished with the episode, all motivation is drained from me.  It's not that I feel bad, per say, I just don't feel inspired to work.  I'm not telling anyone to kill their television, I'm just making an observation which I plan to act on in the present and future.

1.  Less television.  Especially when I'm feeling the urge to create.
2.  Awareness.  When I'm wanting to turn on the television, am I actually trying to block the urge to create, and avoid the self judgment that inevitably comes with any act of creation?

Anyway, I think  I've overdosed on "The Good Wife" and am taking a break.  It's not as much an enjoyment anymore, as it is a drudge, a distraction I'm attached to.  I'm not saying it's gonna be easy, but I'm aiming for a week off and hopefully when I walk back through the doors of Lockhart and Stern I will be glad to see their "very well tanned for Chicago" faces.  However, if you are not taking a sabbatical, please pay close attention to Season 4, Episode 7, "Anatomy of a Joke", which features my dear friend Melissa van der Schyff as the makeup artist.  Her scene is in the first fifteen minutes, and she's lovely in it.