Tuesday, March 07, 2006

Brokeback Boo Hoo

Well, lets begin this by saying I am not being sarcastic here. I went to see Brokeback Mountain today and I cried. I cried rivers of tears. I cried virtual swells of oceans of salty secrections. I was moved.

I am not emotionally moved by movies. I may have cried when Old Yeller died. I am pretty sure I did. Other than that, the only reaction I get other than being distracted or entertained...if you will, is that occasionally and rarely I may add, because of the things I see in my real life profession, the one that pays for the health insurance, I sometimes look away from the screen if I find something disturbing. I turned my head away during a few scenes of Saw II. I turned my head away when George Bush appeared in Farenheit 911.

I think my reaction to Brokeback is so deep because it comes at a time in my life when I am feeling my own mortality acutely. My birthday is this month. I am making a talley of things I have and have not done, of things I am likely and unlikely to do. I am not very happy with the results.

I more than likely will never snowboard in my current lifetime, although there is a possiblity I may yet rollerblade. I will probably never ski again, water or downhill. I will more than likely ride a quad, the mechanical kind. I will probably never reproduce other than on a copier. I will never have a love affair in my 20's.

In fact, I have never had a real love affair in my life, no matter how short the duration.

That is one of the reasons I sobbed an inland sea's worth of tears over Brokeback. Foremost it is a love story. The gay cowboy theme is just a little side perk. It is also a love tragedy, as doomed to fail as Romeo and Juliet, as doomed to fail as any Greek Tragedy, with the emphasis on "Greek". Ah, the saddest story ever told is that which might have been. And that is the message of Brokeback. If only.......If only there was tolerance.......there was daring.......if only the world was a shiny happy place and God loved everyone equally enough for us to love ourselves and our neighbors. But that would render tragedies useless and theater, literature and cinema would be so much more boring.

The second reason I cried me a river is I know someone who was very much like the character of Jack in the film. He looks like Jake Gyllenhal and he acts like Jack in real life. Only a Jack on drugs less fashionable than the joint Jack and Ennis shared riverside one evening towards the end of the film when I turned the waterworks on. The potential for love was there. The niceness with a touch of caring and just a wee bit of neediness was there. Oh what might have been. And never will be.

I have been feeling mortal and vulnerable these last few days. This movie hit home. And when I am doing my assesment I am finding more and more excuses to not be unhappy. At least I am looking for them. At this age in his life my father would have been married to the love of his life for 12 years. I have had no one. It would be another 8 years before they had a child. On the MY DAD comparison scale, I am not doing too badly. All I need to do is find someone in the next 8 years and pile a whole lot of living into a short space of time and I will be right on target.

One of my other problems is that I am entering the forbidden zone of ages. Not the Romulan Neutral Zone, but the downright Forbidden Zone. I am not attracted to anyone my age, with the exception of one or two crushes from my youth. I do not fit in well with my gay peers when it comes to their desires and group activities. I am starting to stick out like a sore and unappreciated thumb with the younger gay crowd that I so crave to be with. Who do I think I am kidding when I say 'starting to stick out'? I have not fit in in years. I am on the edge of the D list and rapidly falling. I do have a minor celebrity parachute however that is making the fall less scarey and painful. A psuedo-celebrity life preserver that will keep me fresh long after my expiration date. An ace in the hole if you wish. Quasi-neccesity makes me an object to hold on to. And it is not an uncomfortable cushion. I am greatful for it's existance more than anyone will ever know.

To say that gay life is a culture of youth is one of the greatest understatements ever made. Political correctness will cause others to politely argue with you. But the sad underlying truth is that America itself if a totally youth conscious culture and when you stir that into the madness of gay America chic, you are talking over-the-hill in the thirties, if in fact it stretches that far. I saw a documentary about the white party which referred to a man as old in his mid thirties. I have a comment posted by a reader on this blog that refers to himself as an 'older male' in a THIS IS NOT SUCH A DESIRABLE THING TO BE context. I have seen ads on Manhunt.net that refer to the unfortunate stigma associated with the 30's. I cried in Brokeback for the things I could not do when I was able. The things I've missed out on. The youth misspent.

My saving grace. My youth was not as misspent as it could have been. I am only slightly tarnished on that facet.

I don't look enticing but I am not hideous, though I may never take my clothes off in front of a living human being again, but I have not been able to do that for years anyway. Well, a couple of years ago I was a BIG hit, pun intended with the biggercity.com crowd. But through the miracle of laproscopic surgery I changed that very quickly. So now, clothed, in the immortal words of Columbia in the Rocky Horror Picture Show when asked her opinion of Frank's new creature enthusiastically if not with a hint of optimism she yells......"He's okay!"

So, although I will never horseplay and rough house, I will never tackle nor roll in the grass, throw bloodying punches or reproduce in an unhappy-unfullfilling-at-best marriage, craving quaterly cock in a idyllic environment, I am not living in a storm drain in Calcutta either.

So it is time for this little camper to buck up.......tis time to buckle the chinstrap and get back in the game. There is time to play in the game until it is over.

I have gotten my wakeup call and it has arrived 27 years too late, but if I hurry I may get there before it is over! And that my friends is the biggest reason I cried my heart out over Brokeback Mountain.