when i was a teenager i lived in a town near brockton. this was before walmart dropped a superstore on every small town usa and even though it was a college town you still had to drive to the city if you wanted to see a movie or buy albums or books. my best friend and i only went to westgate mall( which had a high incidence of violent personal crime at the time- sort of like a joy ride into dorchester nowadays-done at drivers' risk) to see a few select movies because none of the records or books we wanted or the films we wanted to see could be found in or at a mall. for that we had to take the bus to boston and cambridge back when harvard square was filled with used book stores and independent cinemas.( remember the orson wells? of course you don't. you're probably too young.) harvard square is now a long drawn out particularly uninteresting mall containing nothing you can't get at Target. it's quite sad.
someone i made a cake for was nice enough to give me a gift card to barnes and noble. now i love books. books ,cats, and music- that sums it up. however, i enter a new bookstore, one of the chain ones, and am always dumbfounded. they never have anything i want. drool trickles out the side of my mouth and my eyes expand to saucers in a good used book or record store-or in the cat room in any animal rescue- but new book bookstores are not exactly aimed at a person like me. i read books about human sacrifice, the representation of jews in the art of the middle ages and new and exciting translations of ovid. harry potter, 'books' by presidential hopefuls (what is it truman capote said about there being those who are writers and those who are typists?), books about presidential hopefuls, and the ever present trough of books meant to make baby boomers feel good about their sundry dysfunctional behaviors and their inability to love themselves enough while also turning a profit . i usually end up leaving with a few new true crime books- the only really good literature in one of these mini-malls for sad, sorry extended magazine articles calling themselves books.
seeing how the only b&n near me is small and has annoying parking prospects, and i am not under any circumstances going to the prudential center, i ended up driving to braintree-a big bookstore and a large mall side by side. the beginning of my journey was not auspicious.
what is it about sports and the ' heterosexual' male? you dress yourself up in random parts of the outfits of your idols, spend your time with other men drinking a lot and screaming at a tv. frankly, you are about 1 degree seperated from a bunch of drag queens watching Dynasty on an off night from the clubs. your bonding rituals reek of closet case longings all tossed up with violent aggressive behavior rooted in your own self loathing. can i just tell you- i do not find you attractive in the least and it's you not i that appears sort of faggy. there's nothing so unappealing as someone who constantly perpetrates ugly aggressive public scenes directed primarily at those who, unlike you, are not trying so desperately and pathetically to be 'male'. your peacock displays of virility are purely for the viewing pleasure of other males . it is only stupid, loveless, joyless people who into their 20s are still dunking the heads of those they perceive as weaker in the men's room toilet. it's your own weakness you're trying to exorcize but, trust me, you'll be sucking dicks in hell for it. wouldn't it be easier to just suck those dicks now? it's what you really want.
and after sports, what is it about ridiculously large cars and trucks and these very same ' men'? we all know a bright red sports car angrily, impatiently weaving in and out of traffic indicates micro-penis and a hair-weave. everyone knows. and large monster truck, unlike popular contemporary male sentiment, does not mean oversized, powerful penis. furthermore, no male who has one of these useless behemoths who does not require said vehicle specifically for work can actually drive them.
i must admit i am afflicted with the white trash, working class, grew up in the 70's affinity for muscle cars . but it's just a fucking car not a representation of my inner deeper longings. i love HAL for what HAL is not because of what he may say about me( eurotrash concerned about the environment) and my feeling is that if you can't really drive and handle the car-what's the point? the pleasure is in the control of the muscle car not who sees you in it stupidly speeding down the breakdown lane because the rest of us aren't going fast enough for you.
so as i was pumping gas at the Hess station, HAL the compact economy car of love compactly parked in the space provided for that specific pump , a huge Hummeresque( i guess there's no pun intended...)Cadillac pulled ceremoniously up . i think it was an EXT. for some reason my brain went:" uh, oh, has to be an asshole in there..." probably because he was clearly having trouble manovering such a big vehicle and also because only an asshole or a complete pussy buys a ' truck' made by cadillac.how i wish i still had the Bronco .
i guess i smelt it coming ,because as he pulled up and back and up and back, trying to get close enough to the island, he loudly smacked into HAL's front and just shut off his engine. no 'i'm sorry". he couldn't even be bothered to back away from HAL who's bumper he was parked on with his white elephant of a fucking truck.
i yelped" hey!.." and this goofy looking idiot falls out of the cab. i was going to add"... you hit my car. now could you back away from it?", but was so taken aback by his clownish outfit and complete lack of concern for invading another parking space and hitting someone else's car while they're actually standing there that i just gaped at him.
he was dressed rather like Buddy from the Kids in the Hall episode wherein he takes over a lesbian softball team( Sappho's Sluggers) but he didn't mean it to be campy. he was in a pseudo Red Sox uniform, all in red, which i should point out wasn't his color. he had on those sort of old skool baseball pants that are worn with the high stockings only he didnt have socks on and was wearing ...flip flops. it had the same effect as being dressed in army fatigues with a lace collar and carrying a purse or wearing high heels instead of combat boots. as i tried to contain shrieking laughter, which was fighting with my desire to scream invective at him, he started barking at me in that arrogant, straight white jocky male manner that's the prelude to someone punching you. it was as if it was i who had nonchalantly smacked into HIS car.
i'm always fascinated in that society encourages maleness to be defined by a sociopathic tendancy to project one's errors and failings upon everyone else coupled with the idea that you are sovereign of all you see and no one dare question you especially on your reprehensible, uncivil and indeed sometimes criminal behaviors. and also might be added the idea that any imagined or perceived slight can only be countered with rage and physical violence. this is the sort of person who smacks their wife around and truly thinks it's her fault he's using her as a punching bag. the guy who pounds his toddler unmercifully for spilling milk. the type that gets liquored up with his pals and converts his sexual frustrations into fag bashing.
only the night before i went with a group of friends, all gay, to man ray's new unfortunate saturday home on landsdowne street. i really, really never had wanted to go anywhere on that street again in this lifetime but we'd no place else to go and i hadn't seen chris or terri in a very long time. i was relating what a gauntlet it used to be in the late 1980s to go to Boy night at Axis-the best goth/industrial night in town and also a gay night( tuesday). if there was a ball game we tried to find elaborate ways around the surrounding streets to get to the club unharmed. i was beat up around 7 times trying to get to or to leave Boy night by drunk men , patrons of red sox games. my friends all had similar experiences and i recall some of them had those free calenders with the home game schedules on them- just to keep track of what days to not bother going out.
first, of course, you have to walk by that pig sty, the 'cask n' flagon', which really should be renamed the 'cask and fagon', when a group of likely lads shouts at us," did the sox win or lose?"
clearly, this is a code of some sort. if anyone reading this understands what this secret, sporty slang means, please tell me. i think it means, ' i really want you to suck my dick, fag." but i'm not sure. one wants to be quite sure about these things before responding. i only mention it because when we were leaving, hours later, another of the same sort of ilk stumbled up to us and said the exact same thing under his breath.
so when her ladyship alighted from her Caddy and started yapping at me aggressively, moving in to get in my face, i thought- here we go again and was taken back to a comment from one of my friends as we stood around Axis doing nothing much the night before watching strange attempts at the funky chicken and skip to my lou:
"straight people and gay people should be seperated".
never trust a heterosexual.
and while it's true many of my friends are straight, it's also true that enmasse the rest of your posse can be disgraceful-entitled, rude and unattractive. life can be so ugly- why expand it by slobbering over each other in public and clobbering the rest of us over the head with your raging masculinity and femininity ,with your so-called ' normalcy'? even amebas can replicate and they do not have to be intoxicated to do it. i don't want whatever it is you think you have that's so desirable. i leave you alone. leave me alone.
so i told Lady Flip Flop, as calmly as i could, "you hit my car. move your car away from mine."
prepared to smack me for his transgression, i don't think he knew how to deal with a calmly stated direct order. he stammered. he hawed and then he got in his monstrosity and moved it back. i then went to braintree with the idea that cities should be zoned so as those who enjoy beer guzzling with other males, sports and other closet fag diversions are hearded into a sort of fenced in ghetto where they can beat each other up, slap their girlfriends( who are just as obnoxious) and drive their annoying egocars into each other and the rest of us can be safe and not forced to stare into the face of those who can't accessorize or accept themselves and leave others be.
as expected, i left barnes and noble with true crime books . i found a copy of the dvd 'Boomerang' for 4.99 at the mall.