Category: Growing Up Gay

Posted on

4th Grade. Phys Ed teacher Mr. Davis. Ex-marine. Dark hair, 'stache, perpetual three-day scruff. Hair peeking out of the neck of his too-tight t-shirts and perky nipples that were always at attention. Hairy legs and an ass just like that picture. I didn't have a name for it back then, but I knew what I wanted.

Posted on

Never Forget

Forty six years ago today, during an October 14, 1977, press conference in Des Moines, anti-gay crusader Anita Bryant had a pie thrown in her face by gay rights activist Tom Higgins.

Bryant was a public face for Save Our Children, a political coalition aimed at overturning legal protections against housing and employment discriminations for LGBT+ people. She is known to have said "I will lead such a crusade to stop it as this country has not seen before."

In retaliation, the gay community hit her in her wallet by boycotting Florida orange juice, for which she was the brand ambassador. Gay bars stopped selling screwdrivers (vodka and OJ) and instead sold Anita Bryants, made with vodka and apple juice, the profits from which went to a campaign to oppose Bryant. The boycott was successful, eventually causing her lucrative Florida Citrus Commission contract to lapse.

And I hope she disliked the flavor of that pie, too!

(Vid cribbed from out.com.)

Posted on

Barry Williams on Robert Reed

With a cigarette?!?! (Image via ABC)

METRO WEEKLY: Barry Williams — Greg from The Brady Bunch — is speaking out about the show's impact, and also about co-star Robert Reed's sexual orientation:

"That was very difficult and unfair. You're talking about a time period where there was a different … social consciousness and acceptability. Robert did not talk about it. He just didn't. He was very private. He wasn't out out, but I can say that when you work together for that many years that closely — and we spent more time together as a Brady family than we spent with our own families — you get to know a lot about everybody. There really aren't any secrets, even if they're not being shared."

[Source]

Posted on

During the Summer of 1970…

…while my mom, sister and I were visiting her parents in Massachusetts, my mom decided it was time we learned how to swim. (I was comfortable in and  around water, but I didn't know how to swim, which was apparently not good enough for any of the adult parties involved in this decision.)

The dashing gentlemen standing between us was Chad, our instructor.

There is a reason I'm covering my crotch with my hands. I wanted Chad in the worst way, even if at that point in my life I didn't know how. I can't tell you the number many times I'd come home from one of our lessons to shower off the remnants of Laurel Lake adhering to my skin, soap up and shoot a huge load down the drain after thinking about the guy.

("Oh gurl…those socks with that shirt? Were you high?")

Posted on

Call Me By Your Name

One of the films I most wanted to see this year (besides a couple of little sci-fi romps) was the independent film Call Me By Your Name. That was based solely on the orgasmic reviews of a certain blogger who had screened it multiple times when it first appeared on the festival circuit (and the fact that Armie Hammer—for whom I have very impure thoughts—was starring). Being in such limited distribution however, I really had very little hope that it would ever make it to the cinematic backwoods of Phoenix.

Well, it did arrive. Not in the first wave of releases or even the second, but nonetheless it did, and we got a chance to see it yesterday.

I liked it. Not on the same level that said blogger did, but enough that I might want to see it again on the big screen and definitely add it to my collection when it comes out on disc. I thought the first half of the film was plodding, and agreed with Ben that they seemed to go into way too much character development that did nothing to move the story forward. But the second half definitely took off and engaged me. Armie's character comes off as more than a bit of an asshole—but it came from a place of uncertainty. Both Oliver (Hammer) and Elio (Timothée Chalamet) are unsure of the intents and affection of the other, so they do a push me-pull you love-hate dance for the vast majority of the film until they finally realize the feelings each of them have for the other are mutual. It's a situation we've all been in at one point or another, but it seemed to me the film spent way too much time building up that tension.

There has been some blowback regarding the relative ages of the two main characters. Elio is 17; Oliver is 26. It should be noted that the age of consent in Italy is 14. So calm down folks. Even though it may not sit with Puritanical America's ideals (except of course, if it was a girl), Elio's more than legal at 17 and Oliver is not a kiddie diddler.

Ironically that age difference is mirrored in the actors' real lives. Chalamet is 23 and Hammer is 32.





Some random thoughts:

  • I know exactly what it feels like to have a love like that.
  • The stillness of the film was refreshing from the usual blow-everything-up fare  at full volume of other modern cinema.
  • I love how they alternated between English, Italian, and French.
  • The wardrobe brought back many warm memories of the era. Especially the short shorts.
  • Setting the story in the early 1980s was genius. They didn't have to worry about AIDS or social media or posting selfies to Instagram and then feeling bad because everyone else's life was better than theirs.
  • The languid pace of life expressed in the film and the sense of isolation from the rest of the world was wonderful, although it took some time to get back into that mindset and away from our current frenetic "always on" culture.
  • Their goodbye at the train station and the subsequent followup six months later was heartbreaking, although the discussion Elio's father had with his son after Oliver's departure is one that I wish every father could have with their gay sons or daughters.


There is already talk of a sequel.

Posted on

One Of My Favorite

…photos from my dad's collection of pictures he took during World War 2.

The one in the middle front, and the one in the back about to throw the ball, please.

I remember when I was a kid I used to get all tingly looking at this. Is it any wonder?