Or so the song by the Village People would have us believe, at any rate.
I’m not sure what it is about Hollywood, movies, and stars that draws gays like moths to an outdoor night light, but there you have it. We’ve fallen in love with movie stars and made them into icons–and interestingly enough, we always seem to like the same ones for the most part–Joan Crawford, Bette Davis, Katharine Hepburn, Judy, Liza, Barbra, Cher, Madonna, Lady Gaga, and so on; almost like there’s some kind of weird genetic link between the majority of gay cisgender white men that draws us all to the same things, so much that even straight people know who the women are that we idolize.
Why this is the case, I have no idea. But gay men have also significantly impacted how we as a society and culture look at men’s bodies, too–see previous post about how what was considered sexy in a man began changing in the 1970s, and continued evolving until what gay men (theoretically) found hot was what everyone considered hot for a man.
When I was a kid it was also believed that bodybuilders were mostly gay, too–because only gay men had the free time to develop and work their bodies…so the gay male attraction to muscular fit men was enough for society to say that about bodybuilders. (I have always appreciated bodybuilders aesthetically, but they leave me cold. They are so not sexy, despite the skimpy bikinis they pose in (gay men were also, for a long time, the only ones who weren’t competitive swimmers who wore speedos), and they never really have been.
But gay photographers began making bank in the late 1940s and 1950s by launching “physique magazines” as a cover for gay eroticism; they would find incredibly handsome men with worked out bodies and photograph them in “classical” poses. This dodge was how they got around pornography and postal obscenity charges; no visible penises, and the men were always posed like classical paintings or statuary to “show off their physiques”. Some of the men who posed for these photographers often did so early in their careers (Yul Brynner was one of many who did these kind of photo shoots to pay the bills), and never really hid their past as physique models–but they also didn’t bring it up much. Nudes for a male (or scantily dressed at least) weren’t as big an issue as they were for women; but male nudes weren’t exactly a boost to one’s career.
The gorgeous Ed Fury, who did some Hercules/hero type roles in movies in the 50s/60s
These old photos–and 8 mm physique films that were sold to private viewers–are astonishing to come across in the modern day and leaves so much to be explained1. Hollywood has always done a great job about covering up the same-sex attractions and predilections of movie stars; look at Randolph Scott and Cary Grant’s five years living together, or any number of other male stars. I’ve started looking into this a bit more because it’s all research for Chlorine, and it’s a plot point in the book. (It also gave me an idea for another noir, called Obscenity.) It’s very fascinating to me. The more I learn about Hollywood, and how things worked, and how rife with homosexuality that the studio assiduously kept secret, the more interested I am in those decades when studio bosses held all the power, when their fixers went around cleaning up after their stars, and the secret homosexuality just out of view there. Tab Hunter, Rock Hudson, and of course, the agent who represented all the beautiful boys: Henry Willson, who more than anything else is a tragic figure that I can’t help feeling sorry for, despite how awful he actually was…I am more willing to give queers forgiveness because of the toxic times they lived in and how they had to survive. (Roy Cohn, on the other hand, can burn in hell right next to J. Edgar Hoover and Clyde Tolson) Reading The Man Who Made Rock Hudson, a very well written biography of Willson, really made me feel sorry for him in many ways and understand perhaps why he was so damned awful.
It was also the times.
William J. Mann, by the way, has done some excellent queer Hollywood history non-fiction, if you want to a good place to start reading up on it.
I’m really looking forward to doing more research on physique magazines.
This was the birth of gay porn, really, which makes it all the more interesting to me. ↩︎
I don’t remember the first time I saw that phrase somewhere, and I don’t know where it originates from, but actually–being gay used to be a crime (and our “supreme court” seems determined to make that so again), so I’ve always wondered if that was where it started from. I do like the phrase, though.
I also don’t remember how Sins of the Black Flamingo came to my attention, but it did. I subscribed so as not to miss an issue, and intended to read it all in one sitting so I could write about it…but never got around to it, like a loser, and as I was looking through the draft entries for the blog the other day, I saw that I’d started an entry after reading the first issue…but never finished reading the book nor, obviously, finished writing the entry.
the book nor, obviously, finished writing the entry.
And since the main character is gay…what better time to finish reading it, and blogging about it, then during Pride Month?
It did make sense to me.
I’ve read comic books for most of my life (in fact, comics are why I bought an iPad in the first place), but I’ve also taken long breaks from them, so am neither an expert nor even a super fan (although I would love to do a crime novel set in and around a comic books store; which could be fun and comical). I remember comics I read as a kid, and have some vague memories of other times when I dipped into the comics world as an adult. My iPad is filled with comics that I’ve never gotten around to reading—but what a lovely long weekend reading them all would make! Or maybe just take the iPad with me on a trip and read comics the whole time?
Anyway, I digress. I do need to do a longer form essay about my comics history while stressing the importance of how little I do know about my beloved comics…maybe for Pride next year, since it would take some serious rereading and research to do properly…and it could tie into one of the books currently in progress…but I am getting away from the purpose of this post: Sins of the Black Flamingo.
I mean, isn’t this art amazing?
Comic books helped shape me and my tastes. The original DC superheroes I followed were still drawn as ideal men of the past, like the 40s and 50s, big with a barrel torso, and muscular but not defined. DC Comics hadn’t really updated its characters from their early days much; but it was during my childhood at the end of the 60s and early 70s that they began modernizing their comic characters, their costumes, and how they looked—which I also noticed. This was also around the time that men’s bodies became more sexualized, and what was hot and sexy for men began to change. The women super-hero’s costumes also became more sexualized, as were their bodies (the Legion of Super-Heroes ALONE had some of the more revealing sexy costumes. Queer super-heroes (although why I never made the connection about Wonder Woman and the Amazons with their island of women only is a mystery to me) were non-existent and wouldn’t start showing up until the late 1980s and early 1990s—and it’s still a few and far-between kind of thing (the Will Peyton Starman run always seemed queer to me, which I’ll need to explore at another time).
So, you can imagine my delight to find this run with a gay burglar as the main character, who wears a costume and is extremely good at his job (I’ve always had a soft spot for burglars in fiction) and that was why I subscribed to the series. (Still shaking my head at how long it took me to finally read them all, and there was an pretty amazing cliff-hanger at the end of #1.)
But when I was a kid, the characters and story interested me more than the artwork, and even with my love of the characters and stories, I never followed either artists I enjoyed or writers, either. Which is probably not the best way to enjoy them, really; it was a friend who was an exceptional artist and comics fan in the 1980s who made me aware I should be paying attention to the artists and the writers…and I did find some extraordinary comics by looking for artists and writers of books from there on. The two I remember the most from that time are Todd McFarlane and John Byrne.
Sins of the Black Flamingo is self-classified as “occult noir,” which is a term I absolutely love and now can recognize that occult noir is something I absolutely love and probably write…and will most likely explore more in my own work going forward, since I now know what to call it, because supernatural never really fit in the same way and I don’t feel like the books I write are actually full-fledged horror, but occult noir? Oh, hell, yes.
Anyway, the Black Flamingo is the alter-ego of our hero, Sebastian Harlow. The Flamingo is probably one of the top cat burglars in the world (as you may know, I love cat burglars and originally made Colin one in Bourbon Street Blues), and Sebastian is this interesting combination of my two series characters, of all things; he looks and is built like Scotty, with the same approach to sex as he did before he met the boys, but has the dark worldview and cynicism of Chanse MacLeod…so naturally, I was going to be drawn to the character. IN the very beginning of Book One, he is hired to steal something from a right-wing museum—basically a museum dedicated to honoring white supremacy. It isn’t until he steals the item they’ve hired him to find that we learn the backstory behind the item…and a golem named Abel is brought to life, and Abel is hunky AF, I might add.
We also meet Sebastian’s close friend and ally, Ofelia, a Black witch—and yes, this is very much occult noir. The art is fantastic, and done by Travis Moore, with Tamra Bonvillain as colorist, Aditya Bidikar, and editor Andy Khouri, and Andrew Wheeler was the writer.I highly recommend this—if for no other reason than it’s a great gay story with an interesting main character, and who would have ever thought they’d see a gay circuit party within the pages of a comic?
I do hope there’s more adventures in store for the Flamingo in the future. Highly recommended.
Sunday morning and Sparky let me sleep super late–I didn’t get up until after nine thirty–which kind of wasted more of the morning than I would prefer. I am going to make groceries today, so one of the things I really need to do is clean out the cabinets and the refrigerator. Yesterday I worked on the book for a while, worked on the filing for a while, and threw out a shit ton more files. I have one more filing cabinet drawer to do today, and should probably work on the book some more today. Yesterday was also very relaxing, and I spent most of the day from when Paul got up until bedtime hanging with him. We watched a series called Citadel from Amazon Prime, which was so twisty–I lost track of all the surprises as I was trying to keep track as the story became more and more complicated and twisted. We binged it all, then moved onto to Dark Heart, a BBC crime show which we are also enjoying. We’ll probably finish that today and perhaps watch a movie as well. For now, though, the plan is to work on files and my desk area before running to the grocery store before coming home to write and clean and so forth.
The excitement never stops.
But again, some of the files I stumbled over yesterday will help with some of my Pride posts, too–essays I’ve clearly been thinking about for a very long time, as there were files to be discovered about some of the subjects I am covering in them. I’ve obviously been pondering these longer entries/essays for quite some time now. So, I’ll need to actually combine those files before writing the essays, and there’s one in particular that I really want to get to before the turn of the month. (I cannot believe it’s nearly July already.) But time goes by like sands in the hourglass…LOL.
I am enjoying my coffee this morning, which is as always delightful. I love when it tastes good–some days it’s just coffee and other days it tastes amazing; I think it has to do with my mood, honestly–but I am also out of coffee cake and Jimmy Dean sandwiches so the only option for breakfast this morning is cold cereal, which is fine. I really do need to make that grocery run today, don’t I? This weekend has been lovely so far, I have to say, and I don’t have to go in tomorrow, which makes it feel more charmed, I have to say.
I was also reminded of projects that fit and start. I also found the secondary file for Hurricane Party Hustle, which reminded me that I’d started writing that Scotty book twice already. I wrote it as a proposal to turn in with Mardi Gras Mambo in August 2005, and then tried to start it again at some time during the aftermath of Katrina. I have yet to find that original, pre-Katrina idea, but part of what I am doing with this current version that I am planning is to use the pre-Katrina idea–it can work now, especially by using Katrina and her aftermath to make the story deeper and more complex, plus it will give me an opportunity to explore how it affected my characters, almost twenty years after the fact. I guess the idea, the smart idea, would be to write it and release in in August 2025, twenty years after Katrina in reality but only fourteen years in the chronology of Scotty’s life. I am also a little worried about revisiting the title and the original story because it’s so tied to Katrina in my mind, which is hubris and more than a little narcissistic. Nothing I do in the grand scheme of things is so important that my sins would bring a hurricane down on the city–and that’s not how anything works, any way.
The living room is starting to look better, and so is the kitchen. I am very pleased with myself this weekend, I have to say. It’s nice to have focus and energy and drive and to be feeling good and relieved about everything again. It’s nice, but it’s also one of those things that throughout my life I was worried about expressing or experiencing, since something bad happening is always inevitable. But now that I am older and properly medicated, I can see that I shouldn’t let the inevitable bad thing weigh on me. I should enjoy the times between bad things, and should appreciate those times all the more, so that’s the positive mindset I am slipping myself back into.
It’s not the bad things in your life that define you, but the key is how you react to them.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines for the day. No worries, I will definitely be back later with a Pride post, but have a lovely Sunday and I’ll be back to entertain you at some point later.
Good morning! How is everyone feeling on this day after the holiday? I feel good, actually, and very well-rested this morning and ready to get through my last day in the officer for the week, which feels kind of weird. I did some more thinking about writing yesterday, primarily how to structure the second chapter so we learn more about the main character’s past without getting bored, which is always the worry. I also cleaned up and did chores around here, so tomorrow I won’t be playing catch-up on everything heading into the weekend. I still have Monday off, which is going to be another lovely at-home day–and will shorten the week dramatically, which is nice.
Paul worked at home yesterday but rarely came downstairs; it’s weird how we can both be home all day and not see each other a lot. We need our plumber to come in and do some repair work; the sink upstairs isn’t draining, there’s an issue with the shower, and of course the garbage disposal/dishwasher situation needs resolving as well, which will be great to get all fixed now. Yay! It’s just a matter of when Randy has time to come out and work on it all.
I read for a while yesterday morning; Horror Movie is quite good, and am looking forward to spending some more time with it this weekend. I also should be reading queer writers this month, and it does not speak well of me that it took me this long into the month to realize and recognize that. Bad gay, bad gay! I will resolve that by reading the new John Copenhaver, and I may make July my Queer Reading Month. I also worked on one of my Pride posts yesterday but didn’t finish it. I’ll try to get another one done today–International Male catalogues would be a good one, especially since they are no longer in business; it’s an important part of gay male fashion history, isn’t it? I did spend a good part of the day watching old “what the 1970s were like” videos–pop culture and some news, mostly; but it’s nice to be reminded of things like old commercial jingles, or what fast food work uniforms looked like, and what movies/television shows were being released and were in the zeitgeist.
In other “Louisiana is becoming a Puritan dictatorship” news, our shitbird governor signed a bill requiring the Ten Commandments be displayed in every public school classroom in the state. Never mind that Roy Moore tried this shit in Alabama only to get slapped around for it by SCOTUS, but there’s no doubt in my mind that the Christofascists running that branch of the government would uphold this law. The idiocy of this, not only on a Constitutional level but a Christian one as well; it’s basically apostasy and everything Jesus warned about in the New Testament, but of course all the people who think they are decent human beings only because of a fear of going to hell are also into ostentatious displays of their faith–because it is so hollow no one will know they are Christians from how they behave and how they treat people, which is how you are supposed to bear witness.
Not to mention that they should believe that they have a new covenant with God through Jesus, and the Old Testament’s rules and edicts about behavior are the old covenant; so why would you show your devotion to Christ by displaying relics of the old one? Which Jesus had nothing to do with it? Again, it’s very hard to take Christians seriously when they don’t even understand their own faith, you know?
Not to mention there will be lawsuits–which Governor Landry “can’t wait” to be sued. Um, that’s Louisiana taxpayer money you will be using to defend these unconstitutional laws, and while his Bible-thumping is playing well with the racist cosplay Christians of the state, the ones who’ve never read or studied their Bible but do what their preacher says, I’m going to say his popularity will undoubtedly crest within the next two years and people are going to start turning on him, as they did with Bobby Jindal. Louisiana votes may not be the brightest bulbs in the chandelier, but they eventually see through charlatans who tell them what they want to hear and do nothing for them. Jindal and David Vitter both found that out the hard way.
And hilariously, they don’t even follow the Ten Commandments themselves. What is a cross if not a graven image? How many of them take the Lord’s name in vain (which isn’t saying god damn it or Jesus fucking Christ, but rather false prayer or using the Lord’s name for something false–like claiming to know God’s will)? How many of them bear false witness? How many of them honor their parents? How many of them condone or look the other way from adultery? And on and on it goes; in fact, placing the Ten Commandments in classrooms–indoctrination–is actually taking the Lord’s name in vain.
So many “christians” (like our governor) love to take the Lord’s name in vain and are in for a big shock when they reach the pearly gates and find out they were self-righteous, not righteous in the Lord.
And yes, I speak evangelical.
And on that note, I am heading into the spice mines. Have a lovely Thursday, Constant Reader, and I’ll check in with you again later.
Well, here we are at home on a Wednesday for a midweek holiday1. Huzzah? It was nice not to set the alarm for this morning (the Sparky alarm never needs setting; but I got up and went back to bed) and I feel very rested and good today. I felt discombobulated all day yesterday, alas; a day off on Wednesday with payday on Tuesday really fucked with my head all day. I made a small grocery run on the way home (still spent $96, though), and now am just going to kick back and relax today. I didn’t really physically write anything last night I did think about structuring the next chapter, and I am looking forward to getting to work on that today. I am also going to read today for a bit and I also intend to clean up a bit. Now that the Florida trip has been canceled, I still have Monday off so I get a stay-at-home long weekend and thus another day to really focus on the apartment, reading, and writing.
My coffee is going down easily and well this morning and is also quite tasty. I had thought about making cappuccinos this morning, as it has been a hot minute, but after I clean up everything I may get the machines out for tomorrow morning. It’s been a long time and I do love my homemade cappuccinos, but this morning I am going to stick to coffee. I have a load of laundry to fold and a dishwasher to unload and reload; and I may even try to fix the garbage disposal. I am going to the gym later to do some more rehab work on my arm, and then of course I will come home to chill out for the rest of the evening and maybe watch a movie or something; that Dev Patel movie is available to stream and I do think he’s marvelous, so that may be on the schedule for this evening. We also need to find another show to stream. Such a tough life, right?
I’ve also been thinking a lot about these pride/Greg’s gay past posts, and some of the ones I’ve been drafting are unnecessary, and still others cross over into more in-depth personal essays for my Substack, which is how I’ve decided to divide things up. This place will be the same as always, and those posts will be both here and Substack. Once the audience at Substack picks up–and it is growing, surprisingly enough–then it will become the place for personal essays that I will share to social media…although I am now wondering if it’s best to start sharing them from Substack to social media to build the audience? You see why I am so bad at this; I can never decide what is the right thing to do because I really have no clue. My career has always been about being in the right place at the right time and blundering my way through the last twenty-two years, which is part of the reason why the Imposter Syndrome hits so hard when it comes. But I’m enjoying myself with Never Kiss a Stranger so far, and it’s very cool to feel that way again, and to even look forward to getting back to work on it rather than seeing it as an odious chore.
I also need to make/update my to-do list since I’ll be home over the weekend and it’s a three day one for me.
Ugh, and the filing. I definitely need to do a deep clean of this messy office space/kitchen. But sitting here wasting time while drinking coffee isn’t going to get me anywhere, so I am going to head into the spice mines, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back later. I do have several blog posts to work on and I may post some of them later on today. Have a great Juneteenth, my friend, and I’ll catch you again later.
Juneteenth, and I am delighted that we observe this at work now. I’d say a high percentage of the staff are Black, and if we celebrate independence day for white people, we definitely should celebrate independence day for Black people in this country as it was the closing of one hideously dark chapter in US history…granted, it was the opening of a not quite as dark and hideous chapter, but it was definitely progress. ↩︎
Ah, the gay obsession with muscular bodies. It goes way back into the past; the Greeks always showed men in their art to illustrate perfection—gods and heroes—as muscular and lean and physically proportioned. The emergence of gay artists during the Renaissance sparked a revival of an ideal male form since they took most of their inspiration from the classical art of ancient Greece and Rome (which essentially plagiarized almost everything of Greek culture). Leonardo and Michelangelo and other great artists, regardless of sexual orientation, always somehow got away with depicting nudes etc in art by using Biblical or other mythological sources; the influence of queer artists can be seen in every cathedral in Europe—look for the nudes. (I’ve always loved that Michelangelo painted the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel with hot male nudes depicting Bible scenes.)
And of course, Michelangelo’s David set a standard for male physical beauty for centuries.
I often wonder how much cultural and societal influences impact our own tastes. I’ve often mentioned how I don’t have a type; people always assumed I did, but I never have. I appreciate men I find beautiful, of course, but just because I find aesthetic beauty in someone has never meant I wanted to fuck them. I’ve always been attracted to all different types. My attraction to bears, for example, I know comes from a childhood obsession with professional wrestlers (which will be addressed in another entry, about the evolution of professional wrestlers’ bodies). Anyway, if we are perpetually bombarded images and told this is what is attractive, do we change our tastes?
I’m not going to lie: I have always liked muscles—but they aren’t necessary; no one has to have a perfectly sculpted body with high vascularity for me to find that person attractive. Perfect male physiques have become so ubiquitous now, with OnlyFans and reels and videos and TikToks and so forth; I think it’s great these young men have find a way to make money from their looks, and more power to them…but the more I see those perfect bodies the more humdrum and alike they all start to look, like The Stepford Hunks (which would also make a good title for a satirical story or novel sometime).
And muscles serve mainly as visuals for fucking, anyway.
The year I turned thirty-three was really the pivotal time, a turning point, in my life.
I was thirty-three and still single, and the only gay relationships I’d had at that point weren’t really relationships; they were, actually, borderline abusive and only served to convince me all the more that I was destined to be alone and miserable–that maybe I was actually better off alone. It was time to make changes…the only thing I had control over was myself–I couldn’t make my job better, I couldn’t improve my finances, and if I was weird-looking in the face, I couldn’t do anything about that either. I was losing my hair and I basically thought you’re too old to find a partner now, so you’re just going to be alone for the rest of your life, so make the most of it.
The first thing I looked at was my physical self. I wasn’t in shape and hadn’t been since I stop cheerleading in college. That was something I could change (I also identified several other areas in which I could change–including my attitude, and started working on those), and so I decided I was going to live healthier. I was getting older (laughable now) and I knew the longer I waited, the harder it would be to change my physical self (as I am finding out now for sure). I had joined gyms before but had never stuck with it more than a week or so, paying them for a membership I didn’t use for at least a year before I could quit–which was also a bad financial decision.
So, rather than joining a gym, I decided to be smarter. I got out the Abs of Steel tape I’d bought and never used (it was still shrink-wrapped) and told myself, okay, if you do this workout three times a week and do push-ups with it, and can do that every week until New Year’s, then I will go ahead and invest in joining a gym again. Any exercise was better than none, three times a week was better than two, twice better than once, and once better than none at all. I wrote that in sharpie on a note card and taped it to my bathroom mirror so I had to see it every time I went in there. I changed the way I ate (simplifying my diet to “nothing with three or more grams of fat per serving”, started drinking skim milk, using fat-free everything and eating more salads and vegetables and turkey sandwiches. I had dropped from 210 pounds in August to 170–and the change was not only dramatic (forty pounds is a lot to lose in slightly less than four months) physically but also emotionally.
And so, I joined a gym.
It was a new, gay gym in Tampa at the time, Metroflex, and it was convenient because it was on my way to work. I could take the work uniform with me, workout, shower, change and head to work. It was very convenient, and I worked out three days a week: Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays. My trainer, whose name I forget now, was really good and thorough–he explained things, which was something I’d never ever, not even when I was an athlete back in high school, really understood about working out. And…I started getting into the weeds by reading diet and exercise books.
One thing I did notice, though, as I was losing weight was how differently people treated me. I’d never really paid much attention to it before, other than the way guys in bars would avert their eyes when ours met–which I just took to mean as blech gross why are you even here–and it was hard to get a bartender’s attention. I stayed out of bars when I was doing that first diet-and-exercise change that fall, and when I went back I stopped drinking alcohol, sticking to water but eventually going back to Bud Lite, but once I started going again after the weight loss…I never had to wait for a drink because as soon as I walked up to the bar, the bartender was right there. People smiled at me a lot more. I got treated treated better in restaurants and stores by the staff–even passengers at the airport were friendlier and nicer than they used to be.
I found that to be very interesting from a sociological point of view; a little experiment in human behavior, if you will. Other things started happening, too, all of which was very much a boost to my fragile ego.
And thought about writing an essay called Looks Don’t Matter and Other Lies.
I also liked the attention. I liked being flirted with and bought drinks in gay bars. I loved being treated better, but at the same time I had to be careful. I have some obsessive tendencies–part of the faulty brain wiring–and my tendency to judge myself very harshly was a dangerous combination that led to some really unhealthy habits with food and eating–I often will skip eating without a second thought, and often when I travel I forget to eat, and get sick. I also don’t see myself in the mirror the way I actually look; body dysmorphia. I always worried I was overweight, and I also wanted to get bigger–you see how those two positions are diametrically opposed to each other–but it was all a part of the whole parcel of self-examination and evaluation with the intent to make positive change.
But as my life began to change and improve with my new approach to life (I was also writing again), I attributed a lot of it to the changes wrought by my exercise devotion. I was so much happier, had so much more energy, and felt better overall. I also met and fell in love with my life partner…and realized several things: I did not want to work in the heterosexual world anymore nor did I want to spend a lot of time in it; and the best thing for me to do, the thing that made the most sense, was to become a personal trainer to help other people reset their lives and take a holistic approach to working out—mind, body, spirit—that would be more effective, and also I could charge enough per hour being a trainer that I could do it part time and spend the rest of the day writing.
I was a good trainer, too.
So, that’s what I did. I also started writing a fitness column for the local gay paper, and for other national glossies. It wasn’t the kind of writing I wanted to be doing, but getting a clip file was important for writers starting out back then, and I stayed committed to my own workouts, even after I stopped working as a trainer.
I can also happily say that since I left the travel agency here in New Orleans in 1997, I’ve never worked in a hetero business ever again.
Injuries and getting older have messed up my working out since about 2011, but I am hoping that once I get past this rehab of my arm I will be able to do regular, harder workouts again and get back into better shape.
I was really into soaps in the late 1970s and up until the mid 1990s or so. My fandom, how it came to be, and how much of an influence soaps were to me as a writer is a topic for another time, perhaps after Pride Month is over because it’s really not Pride related, except for how they related to me as a gay man. But by the late 70s, I was strictly an ABC guy: All My Children, One Life to Live, General Hospital and Edge of Night, with me having a special attachment to Edge, which will also be a subject for another time. But soaps were strictly a daytime medium for a very long time–at least until Dallas premiered. Originally, each episode was a stand-alone but the show very quickly moved to the serial format, and the ratings went through the roof–and of course, “Who Shot J.R.?” was a global phenomenon (I figured it out early on–when I saw that Mary Crosby was only contracted for four episodes in the following season and the reveal that the shooter’s identity would be revealed in episode 4…it wasn’t too big of a leap from there to “it must have been Kristin”. I was right.), and Dallas ruled the ratings from there on out..
The success of Dallas, of course, lead to copycats from other networks trying to cash in on the new craze; television is nothing if not a place where imitating success is seen as a no-brainer; the irony was that so many of the other soaps that launched at night in the wake of the huge success of Dallas…failed for the most part. The only post-Dallas night time soaps that enjoyed long runs were Knots Landing, Falcon Crest, and Dynasty.
I first learned of Dynasty in a People magazine profile on Linda Evans, who at the time was best known as the woman John Derek left for Bo (who was a huge star at the time), and it mentioned she’d done a two hour pilot for a night time soap called Oil. By the time the fall previews started dropping, the show’s name had been changed to Dynasty, and there was going to be a gay character on the show. Once I read that, I knew I was going to watch. And then the premiere of the show was delayed months because of a strike. The show also had some other cast members I knew of and was interested to see–Wayne Northrop, who’d played Roman on Days of Our Lives; Pamela Sue Martin, of Nancy Drew and The Poseidon Adventure fame; and of course long-time television star John Forsythe as Blake Carrington, the patriarch of the family.
The first season was interesting enough, but the show didn’t really catch fire until the second season, when Joan Collins joined the cast as Blake’s first wife and mother of his children, Alexis. By the end of the season Dynasty had climbed from middling ratings to the Top Five, and it had become must-watch television.
But my primary interest was the character of Steven.
Al Corley as Steven Carrington
Originally played by Al Corley, Steven’s storylines were made clear in the pilot; Steven is coming to terms with his sexuality, coming back to Denver for his father’s wedding despite the fact that Blake is homophobic and he’s been living with a man (Ted Dinard) in New York for the past few years. Steven still isn’t entirely sure of his sexuality (it never occurred to anyone in production that he could be bisexual; he only had a binary choice during the entire run of the show), and decided to go to work on an oil rig to “become a man.” His co-workers pranked and hazed him for being gay at first, and then tried to “straighten” him out by buying him a hooker, which doesn’t go well. He then embarks on an affair with his boss’ wife Claudia (played by Pamela Bellwood, who was probably one of the best actresses in the cast), who was also mentally ill and her sanity wavered throughout the run of the show. Ted comes to Denver to get Steven to come home, but Steven’s decided to stay in Denver and try to get on with his life and ends things with Ted. Unfortunately, Ted comes to the Carrington estate (which was ‘played’ by Filoli, gorgeous place that was also the ‘setting’ for Laurie R. King’s superb Back to the Garden) to say goodbye, Blake comes home already angry, becomes angrier to learn Ted is in the house, rushes upstairs to see them hugging goodbye, and in a homophobic rage pulls Ted off Steven, punches him and knocks him down–only he is killed when he hits his head on a fireplace guardrail–and now Blake has to go on trial for murdering his son’s gay lover; and now the entire world nows.
Alexis returned for the trial, entering the courtroom wearing a veil, and Fallon gasps, “oh my god that’s my mother” setting the stage for season two, and night time television’s greatest villains, Alexis.
Season 2 was disappointing in terms of Steven as he spent season two trying to be straight, getting involved with and marrying Sammie Jo (Heather Locklear in the role that made her famous), but eventually telling his entire family that he’s gay, he’s tired of trying to be someone he’s not, and leaves Denver. He is reported killed in a oil rig explosion in the south China Sea in season three, which was their way of recasting–“plastic surgery so he doesn’t look the same”–and he was replaced by Jack Coleman (at the time best known for playing a serial killer on Days of Our Lives).
Jack Coleman, the second Steven
Coleman was fine, but he was different, and the character changed to match the actor. His entire storyline for the rest of the series involved him getting married, ruining that by getting involved with another man–before deciding what to do with him again for the sake of storyline; showing how hard it was to actually integrate someone with a same sex attraction into the cast of a soap. Every man he was involved with was a new character, and soaps–whose mainstay bottom line is thwarted romances, marriage and divorce–really didn’t know what to do with a non-straight character, other than throwing him into relationships with women (???) to have them end badly and so on.
When the reunion film was done in the 1990s, Al Corley returned as Steven (no explanation of why he looked the way he did before the surgery) and he’d made peace with his sexuality, again living in New York happily with another man and raising his son (oh yes, the gay character also impregnated one of his ‘women’)…while never once raising the possibility of bisexuality; I guess getting the 1980’s home audience vested in a gay character was risky enough without bringing in bisexuality–which tells you where we were as a country in the 1980’s…and we shouldn’t also overlook the fact that it was Dynasty that brought HIV/AIDS to the forefront of conversations in this country. Rock Hudson’s AIDS diagnosis became public shortly after he appeared on the show, and there was a lot of panic because he’d kissed the Linda Evans character–had he infected her? (We didn’t know as much then as we do now; now that fear is laughable but it was palpable back then because there was so much ignorance about it then, thanks to the Reagan Administration and the deeply embedded homophobia in post-war American culture.)
I started rewatching the original show once it was available for streaming, and that first season really is a slog; Blake was the primary villain in the first season (Alexis took his place, turning him into a more traditional soap hero–flawed but a good person at heart) and he just didn’t have the gravitas to relish being evil the way Joan Collins jumped in with both hands and feet), so while I was enjoying seeing the more honest and realistic to life way Steven and his dilemma was displayed in that first season–even the affair with Claudia made sense the way it was written–they really didn’t know what to do with him after the recast, and he descended from the fully developed realistic character Corley played to the two-dimensional soap hero he devolved into after the recast.
But…it was still pretty daring for the 1980s, and I did appreciate the attempt at representation. I know the reboot, which I didn’t watch, made Steven straight up gay; even gender swapping Sammie Jo by turning her into Sammy Joe. Progress is progress, and we cannot ever dismiss out of hand the brave attempts at using homosexuality and familial homophobia as a source for story; they were fighting the network censors, the right wing, and most of the country was homophobic, too.
They did the best they could and it was important at the time…even if it doesn’t hold up well under modern understanding.
Saturday morning and Sparky flatly refused to let me sleep in this morning, but in fairness, I got a little more than an hour of extra sleep. My back feels a bit stiff this morning, but I do feel rested, and the coffee will most likely clear the cobwebs. I have to run to the grocery store today, and that may be all I need to leave the house for today, which is perfectly fine with me. It looks beautiful outside, but I am sure it is the usual forecast for New Orleans: hot, humid, chance of rain. I haven’t looked at the hurricane center yet to see what’s going on with the tropical systems trying to form, but I’ll most likely do that once I’ve finished this.
Yesterday was a nice work-at-home day. I did pick up the mail (got my copy of James Polchin’s Shadow Men, a queer true crime case from the 1920s, which is all kinds of awesome). After I finished working for the day, Paul and I finished watching season 3 of Bridgerton, which we both greatly enjoyed, before moving on to The Acolyte and the new season of The Boys, which is its last. I did some writing–I started pulling the novella apart, in order to do an outline and get a better idea about how to expand it; I actually want to start writing today, if I could be so lucky, I also intend to spend some time reading today; I need to reread some things I have in progress, and would also like to get started on my next read, Horror Movie by Paul Tremblay, which I am really looking forward to; Tremblay is one of my favorite writers. I also want to get the house cleaned up some, as well as make a grocery run at some point in the afternoon. (We don’t need much, really, but really need what I have to get.)
I also worked on my body culture pride post, which actually has now turned into quite a lengthy personal essay; so much so that I may not ever post it here. The essay itself can go on my Substack; I’ve been putting the Pride posts there as well as here because, I don’t know, it just seemed like a better place for them–which seemed silly to post them in both places. Last night, the recognition that the essay was probably a Substack only post made me think about what I am doing with a Substack and a blog, and last night I realized that I should use the Substack for longer form personal essays and keep the blog as it has always been; a daily report on my life and the occasional discussion of a book, television show, or film I’ve greatly enjoyed; the reviews might go in both places, too. I think I can still make the body culture post, but the essay will have to be whittled down and revised; maybe I should do it from the perspective of life lessons learned from getting in shape and actually working as a personal trainer. (Again, seeing that turn into a longer form essay even as I talk about it here and think about it as I type.) Writing these is also an exercise in memory for me, which also is kind of helpful as I am researching the early 1970s in the Chicago suburbs.
I have to admit I greatly enjoyed season three of Bridgerton. Penelope has been one of my favorite characters since the show started, and I’ve always deeply empathized with her as she was ignored, made fun of it, and made to feel invisible. It made sense for her to be Lady Whistledown, and the choice given to her by the show–either Lady Whistledown or the love of her life–was very cleverly done. I wanted her and Colin to resolve everything and get their happily ever after, but I didn’t think it was fair she had to give up who she was in order to get it, you know? This season really emphasized how shitty life really was for these society women during that period, and I’ve always been fond of the actress who plays her mother (she was magnificent in Rome as Atia of the Julii), and this season gave her a chance to really shine as well, as she realized the daughter she always overlooked and never thought would amount to anything was actually the true jewel of her children–and who made the best match in the end. (I also predicted the end several episodes in, involving the Featherington money and title.) It was, all in all, very well done, and I think it may be my favorite of all the seasons, and precisely because Nicola Coughlin is such a compelling actress. It’s nothing serious, of course; Bridgerton is a light fluffy confection, meant to look beautiful and present this wonderful tapestry of what Regency England could have been like, and who doesn’t love a tricky romance with obstacles that must be overcome?
I’ve always wanted to write a romance, but in all honesty am not really sure if I can. I think I’ll put that on the writing agenda for 2025. Why not try? It would most definitely be a challenge to write, and I always prefer challenges.
And on that note, I am going to finish this, get another coffee, and get my day underway. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader, and I’ll probably be back later on. I’m tricky like that. 🙂
This is NOT why I am a football fan, but it certainly doesn’t hurt. 🙂
Yesterday saw a return of the weirdness. I was fatigued and my muscles felt tight when I got up yesterday morning, but as the morning went on I started feeling more mentally awake and less tired, and how does that make sense? I got nothing, seriously. But it was a pretty good day, overall. I was in a good mood at work and was feeling outgoing, chatty and cheerful, which always makes the sessions better. (I’ll talk more about my job at some point later in the month; I generally don’t talk about what I do for any number of reasons, but my day job definitely deserves a Pride Post of its own) I did feel tired when I got home, but I did my chores, which was awesome, and so I don’t have as much clean-up to do today while I work at home. My lower back is stiff this morning, and my legs a little achy, but other than that I feel fine.
And it’s almost the weekend, hip hip hurray!
I worked on a Pride post last night, which was actually a longer-form essay I wanted to write at some point (most of my Pride Posts are actual shorter essays than what they were originally planned to be; I still may expand them out into something longer eventually), and it’s one I am a bit nervous about sharing–it’s the one about body culture within the gay male community. It’s very easy to say something insensitive or thoughtless, which is something I always worry about here. The only people I don’t care about offending are the deplorables, and frankly, I love offending them, or pissing them off because they deserve it for their uncaring hearts. Maybe I overly parse things, but it’s always a good idea to delete something you’re not sure about–because if you aren’t sure it’s offensive to someone, then don’t go public with it, you know?
I was pleased (and very shocked) at first to see the Supreme Court refused to ban abortion pills…until I saw that it was dismissed because the plaintiffs “didn’t have standing to sue” in the first place. So, now all the pro-fetus people need to do is find someone hateful who has standing. My theory is that if your “religious conscience” doesn’t allow you to do certain medical procedures or treatments…well, you shouldn’t be a doctor, period, and besides that, if you put your religion before your education and training, what are the odds that you’re a creationist and thus don’t believe in science? I personally don’t want a doctor that doesn’t believe in evolution or is a creationist. You don’t get to pick and choose which science is real and which isn’t, and besides, aren’t Christians supposed to be caring and loving and free of judgment? Oh yes, I keep forgetting the deplorable Christians don’t follow Jesus and are only cosplaying–but not being called out by the so-called “good” Christians? Then you’re not one of the good ones, you know?
And again, that’s why we have separation of church and state. The failure to understand that basic principle tells me everything I need to know about your patriotism. The only reason this country exists in the first place was because North America served as a refugee camp for Christians escaping religious persecution in their home countries. Not knowing this, or not knowing the Europe was drenched in blood from religious wars for nearly two decades, is no excuse for Christian Nationalism in this country; Christian Nationalism is in fact a betrayal of the basic concepts of the Constitution–but again, they only agree with the parts of the Constitution they can use against others, and of course they’ve done a lovely job of infiltrating the justice system.
And again, this decision by the Supreme Court signaled how they would actually rule–and I also firmly believe that if this wasn’t an election year, they would have upheld the ban, but this SCOTUS is in the tank for MAGA so they are doing their best to help his campaign. It worries me a little how blatant they are being with their increasingly unpopular opinions…common sense would indicate moving more to the center than further right the more unpopular your positions are, but in every case of backlash they not only stand firm but double down, which makes me wonder about the integrity of the election, because the electoral results every year since 2020 would indicate they are destroying themselves and their movement by forcing unpopular policy down the throats of a resisting population.
Heavy thoughts for a Friday morning and my first cup of coffee. Perhaps I should have a second? I am waking up though, the cobwebs are now lifting from my brain and the fatigue seems to be seeping out of my muscles, which is marvelous. I do have to run some errands today, and am dreading heading out into that insane heat today. But I need to get the mail, possibly some things from the grocery store, and pick up a prescription. I really need to wash the car and clean out the inside, but in this heat I don’t know if I can stand being outside that long. It’s not even officially summer yet. There are already two tropical systems out there–one in the Bay of Campeche and the other off the coast of Florida, so it’s going to be a rather long, scary summer. Yay.
And on that note, I am going to go make another cup of coffee, work on the laundry for a bit, and then head on into the spice mines for the day. Y’all have a great Friday; I am not sure if I’ll be back later or not. One never knows!
Thursday and my last day in the office for the week. Huzzah! I am fatigued this morning. I went to the gym on my way home last night, and while these “workouts” seem hardly worthy of the name, the way my muscles feel this morning shows me that oh yes indeed, even as light as the weights are and as few sets I am doing, it definitely still is counting. This is why I have to be patient with the progress and not get ahead of myself. Last night, I was definitely tempted to add more weight and even had to talk myself out of it, feeling like I was wimping out–but how much more fatigue would I be feeling this morning? And yes, I slept like the dead last night, too–another sign. I may take an extra rest day and not go again until Saturday. I was also tired when I got home last night, so I didn’t do much of anything, including chores….so will definitely have to do those tonight when I get home. I picked up the mail yesterday, too, so I can come straight home tonight.
And of course, tomorrow is a work-at-home day. Huzzah!
I had another surprise at the post office yesterday, too–my Nancy Drew The Secret of the Old Clock action figure! It’s pretty cool, and I may save pictures of it for here until after Pride month, because I cannot think of a way to do a Pride post about–you know what? I just thought of a way to do it, so I guess I manifested itself into being. I also managed to get a Pride post done yesterday–Calvin Klein ads–and I have some more on deck, too; I’ll give you some hints about them–Dynasty, party culture, gym culture, etc.–and who knows when I’ll get them finished and posted, but they are definitely in progress.
I also got my copy of a book I read and reread over and over again as a kid: Stranger than Science by Frank Edwards. I am slowly remembering some other things about my childhood–my interests in the occult and the unexplained. There was a lot of this sort of thing when I was growing up in the suburbs of Chicago, and I am not sure why there was so much of this in the late 1960’s/early 1970s, but there was. The Bermuda Triangle was a big thing, and so were pseudo-sciences like Erich von Däniken’s Chariots of the Gods and so on; Thor Heyerdahl was having his adventures proving that Pacific Islanders traveled much further than most believed, and he also was proving Egyptians could have made it to America on papyrus boats, which was insane but interesting at the same time. I also loved things like Ripley’s Believe It or Not, which used to be a bigger deal than it is now; weird theories about space alien astronauts and forgotten history–I was really into this sort of thing–lost knowledge has always interested me, and books about recovering lost knowledge (or treasure) were catnip for Gregalicious. I don’t know if this was a natural progression of the 1960s movements, in which we became suspicious of government and less trusting, but the 1970s were a very strange decade, and immersing myself in my memories has been interesting. Anyway, Stranger Than Science is a book telling short tales of real events with no logical or rational explanation (this was where I first learned of spontaneous combustion, for one). Edwards used to have a long-running radio show with the same name and subject matter, and my interest in his book and other unexplained phenomenon (whether true, legend, or a combination of both) had more of an influence on me as a writer than I actually remembered. I’m looking forward to revisiting this book.
I also got Paul Tremblay’s Horror Movie yesterday, and I may be moving it up on the TBR pile. He’s become one of my favorite writers lately–since I read A Head Full of Ghosts a few years back, and I’ve not read anything of his that wasn’t compelling and unputdownable since. (I’m also enjoying Grady Hendrix and Riley Sager these days as well.)
And on that note, I am bringing this to a close so I can head into the spice mines. Have a marvelous Thursday, and look for a Pride post later!
Queer and Loathing in America 