Monday, April 15, 2002

Midnight Cowboy

Nick Carter is the American tragic figure. I am watching a rerun of SNL right now, and this one is probably from two years ago, and in it, Nick just has this look of sadness in his eyes - of death. He was a cute little teen, serving as good jackoff fodder for all people who were into such things (cute little blonde boys - the same type of people who like(d) J.T.T.) - but now, he has gained weight in his face somehow and lost that twink appeal. His current state, if we knew nothing else about him, is not that sad. It is merely sad because we do know stuff about him. We know what he used to look like and can still remember all the boundless promise that such a young little body seemed to possess. And that, my friend, is why it is sad. For God's sake, he is still what would be considered by most people to be a mildy attractive male. But he is another Macaulay. Another one of Bowie's Young Americans that in their not so graceful aging - actually, in just their aging - they failed us. They reminded us of our own aging, of our own unprettiness, and of our own mortality. All our projections of beauty and vivacity that we forced upon them because of their youth; their lack of facial hair; and their still visible cheek bones, came crashing down with the same ease with which they were manufactured - manufactured to fool ourselves into thinking that we were better than the excess of pubic hair around our ass. That "Backstreet's Back" would make us twinks, too - that we could have hairless fucking asses - we would shake our hairy asses to the catchy beat and smirk condescendingly when Nick's line came up and he asked, "Am I sex-u-al?"

And we, the Greek chorus, would hum back: "Yeah."

And as it neared the hook and the tempo picked up, we would sing along with the lyrics out loud, telling ourselves that they were the only things we needed, those carefully gelled blond hairs of Nicks:

"Am I everything you need? You better rock your body right. Everybody (yeah), rock your body. Yeah."


"Cause I don't want to get bit by no snapping turtle." - Tracey Morgan as Brian Fellows

The Brian Fellows sketch is by far my favorite SNL sketch ever. I go wildly insane laughing like the type where if I were in elementary school at lunch, drinking milk, I would laugh so hard, milk would come out my nose. Other people I have talked to her, describing my love of this sketch, have sounded real dismayed and said that they thought it was real dumb. Perhaps my sense of humor is juvenile. Perhaps that is a good thing. Perhaps if I ever laugh at any BBC comedy, I would want someone to shoot me. I will not understand Monty Python or AbFab ever. Loud British people make me want to grind my teeth. That's why the only British comedy I like is Mr. Bean.

Because he doesn't talk. At least, not much.


Today, I tried to suck my own dick for way too long, after remembering a Will Ferell SNL sketch, and then reading something online about it. I read the instructions of the How to Suck Your Own Cock page. I guess my cock is not big enough, because I could not get my cock anywhere near my mouth, and was very concerned that I was going to crack my back. If there is anyone that can really do this, I am so impressed, and I think that you are the coolest person on Earth.

This is me unemployed, with way too much time on my hands to sit around and seriously devote my time and energy to such childish tasks.

Tonight, I watched Midnight Cowboy, which was so weird. But, in a totally good way - not in a I-have-no-idea-what-the-hell-I'm-trying-to-say-but-really-really-want-to-be-an-artist-because-that's-what-all-the-hip-kids-do-and-so-since-I-have-no-brain-and-no-clue-I'll-just-make-something-really-really-weird-and-yeah-that'll-be-Art. No, this was good weirdness, not the aforementioned stick-a-feather-in-my-cap-and-call-it-macoroni-(or-art). No, this was such wonderfully meaningful stuff. It was such a pretty movie with good music and fascinating and fasinating and Texans who want to be hustlers in the Big Apple, and just all sorts of goodness that made me see how good a film could be.

I was transfixed by the opening scene, where he is walking and "Everybody's Talkin" was playing on the soundtrack. God, what a wonderful song. And loneliness - what a wonderful job the movie does with conveying it. And man, I really really loved this movie.

"Everybody's talking at me / I don't hear a word they're saying / Only the echos of my mind."

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