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The Public Blogging of Pomosexuality, Homotextuality, Homophobiaphilia, and Drear Theory (aka Career Theory) [aka Gay4Pay]. We also read the Corner and OpJournal so the right buttock will be punished as well.
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It's not fair of me to discount Cocksuck Canyon sight unseen, scent unsmelled, feel unfelt, ticket unbought, and cheap of me to not even respect its proper christian name. But really, why would any gay guy with any kind of sexual history need big screen affirmation of the varieties of homosexual experience, the cruelties of heterosexual ignorance, and the deep love and great thrills that can be found in that nexus? Or in that Lexus.
I have pre-judged incorrectly before. Angels in America always seemed to hold out the promise to me of everything I hated about angels, prepositions and America. But when I saw the first half a few weeks ago, unhappy with my lot in entertainment and ready to bolt at every commercial break, I found myself remaining. I'm not sure yet if the play is good, but I know the performances were great. I don't who that chick is who played the mormon's wife, but she's terrific. As is Mr. Pacino ("I'm sooooo ashamed") and pretty much all the others. I will gladly watch the second half when mischance allows.
Mickey Kaus has it exactly wrong when he insists that Brokeback M. is a gay movie and protests to the contrary only make it gayer. This really is a movie for straights, and Mickey K. has been viral marketed into a slavish delirium, "I'll go see it, but I don't want to go see it." That kind of mid-brow, pop-cult robotics shames all free-thinking replicants everywhere.
The weaponized buzz mist has even got Colby Cosh reading the novella and making the best even-money prediction of aught five:
By 2010 it will be impossible to graduate from university without having read it. (It should fit snugly into the lavender mosaic that is the typical English undergrad curriculum: Beloved, The Color Purple, Mrs. Dalloway, The Awakening...)
Mr. Cosh also points to a less likely contender for the multi-cultural confetti canon, Trucker Fags in Denial. I read it in reverse starting here. Mickey Kaus, and perhaps (though I hope not) you, will want to read it right ways round starting here. I enjoyed it but not as much as I always expect to, and never do, enjoy graphic novels. So what it really got me doing was thinking more about why that is--why I love words and love comic book art but am irritated by the combination, all the while flipping the pages (or clicking the next backwards link) filled with admiration for the effort and the craft--why none of this adds up to an artistic pleasure even remotely equivalent to the sum of its parts, let alone greater. Jim Goad's storyline did remind me of my own teenage revelation, a revelation the truckers seem to be keep bumping into and bouncing off of unchanged: straight guys are such fags.
But before I hurt any tender, straight-guy hearts remember this: I like fags.