Tag: Aaron Hernandez

Brothers in Arms

Ah, the Menendez Brothers.

I hadn’t thought about them in years until Ryan Murphy announced they would be the focus of the second season of Monsters (although it could also have been a season of American Crime Story, for that matter; how does he decide? How did he decide Grotesquerie would stand alone when it could have been a season of American Horror Story? For that matter, why is the Aaron Hernandez one American Sports Story instead of American Crime Story?). It’s been over thirty years since the original murders, and this case was the first one I remember that was, thanks to cable television, part of the public discourse; the trial was televised and people watched; everyone had an opinion; and the tabloid coverage was crazy. I don’t remember another crime story have this kind of impact before, but it set the stage for OJ’s trial, the Jon-Benet Ramsey murder, and so many since then it’s hard to really keep track of them all. But I do believe the brothers were the first to be so much in the public eye once they were arrested; a “viral” crime before anyone knew what that even meant.

I wasn’t sure I wanted to watch this latest take on the Menendez brothers and the murder of their parents, to be honest. I’ve watched at least one documentary on the case years ago, and I watched the made-for-TV movie with Billy Warlock of Days of Our Lives and Baywatch fame (I remember especially the scene when his wig was torn off his head), and of course I read Dominick Dunne’s coverage in Vanity Fair. As I mentioned, it was one of the first murder cases to get national attention, to be was all over the 24 hour news channels, not to mention Court TV and all the others. The national tabloids, magazines, and even local newspapers and stations scrambled for coverage1 . I remember the first trial ended in a hung jury, and I kind of lost interest after that–as did the media. The only reason I knew there was a second trial that ended in convictions was thanks to Dominick Dunne. The case would get back into the news periodically in the years since, but I didn’t really pay much attention. Books and documentaries and fictional adaptations continued to be churned out in the decades since their conviction, and like I said, I wasn’t really planning on watching this new series2. I thought they were psychotic killers who murdered their parents for their money.

And yet, one Saturday night after we’d finished watching all the football games, Paul suggested we start watching Monsters, and I thought, why not? If it’s not good, we can always stop watching.

I didn’t think the first episode was very good3, but we decided to give the show one more episode on Sunday, and then we were hooked. It’s a very Ryan Murphy show, to be sure: it’s visually beautiful, and the acting is excellent. The two young men who play the brothers, Cooper Koch (Eric) and Nicholas Alexander Chavez (Lyle), late of General Hospital, are gorgeous to look at, are often shown in some form of undress (including a full frontal shot of Koch), and they deliver some astonishing performance (so does the entire cast). There’s one scene that Koch does that is almost the entire episode, him doing a monologue about his life, his parents, his brother, and his failures, his weakness, that is an Emmy reel in and of itself. Javier Bardem and Chloe Sevigny are also fantastic, as is Nathan Lane as Dominick Dunne; Leslie Grossman and Ari Graynor also shine in supporting roles. One thing you always have to give Murphy credit for–incredible actors giving incredible performances is something you can usually expect from one of his shows. (Jessica Lange’s four seasons on American Horror Story is a masterclass in acting talent and range.)

While I know the family has had some objections to the series–not the least of which is the implication that the brothers had that incestuous closeness; but some of the scenes that showed that were from other people’s perspectives; for example, the scene in which they are in the shower together–a cousin has stated that the dad did make the boys shower together–and Lyle did testify under oath that when they were kids, his dad encourage him to also molest Erik. (I think seeing a report on that is what made me think there were hints of incest in their relationship; I honestly don’t remember as it was thirty years ago and I didn’t pay that much attention. I did think, when I first read about the murders, that they were guilty (they did shoot their parents) and when they switched the sexual abuse defense, I 1000% thought they were making that up (no one could say it didn’t happen) as a “get out of jail” free card.

And watching this show? For the very first time, I thought they might have been telling the truth. I knew boys were capable of being raped and molested and abused as children, even as teenagers; the priest scandals were just slowly beginning to come out into the light. but the amount of Americans–men especially–refused to accept the fact that boys could also be victims was astonishingly high. For one thing, most victims were too ashamed to do anything about it (another toxic masculinity issue), and because other men wouldn’t believe them, or think “they wanted it” (you know, the same things they say about women rape victims). The shame of “being unmanned” was still a thing in the 1990’s–the toxically masculine also have issues with gay men because it besmirches manhood or something fucking stupid like that, or “womanizes” men. And it was very difficult for anyone to believe a father could do that to his sons.

And bearing that in mind, I completely understand why the Menendez brothers wouldn’t have told anyone, nor would they have told the cops or their original lawyer. It makes sense. And they only admitted to it when it looked like they were definitely headed for the chair.

It. Makes. Sense.

And I would have probably voted to acquit.

The show also highly sexualizes its young stars in a way that we are seeing more of these days (certainly in Ryan Murphy series; I have to say I do approve of the objectification of men–and I also like that the gay male beauty standard, so often maligned within our own community, has clearly spread to straight men of all ages. I’m amazed, for example, how many young men have realized the importance of leg day and building up a lovely round hard butt. The two young actors playing the leads, Cooper Koch (Erik) and Nicholas Alexander Chavez, are incredibly gorgeous; Koch even does a full frontal scene sans prosthetic. They also had good chemistry between them, which…I can certainly understand why the family was furious about the hints of incest in the series–but that was what the person whose perspective was being shown thought. Lyle also testified to abusing Erik when they were younger–and like I said, they seemed almost unnaturally close.

And when it was all over, Paul asked, “do you think they were abused?”

GREG: I didn’t at the time, but now I’m not so sure. And they’re the only ones who know for sure, so we’ll never know.

I think the show had changed a lot of minds about the brothers–and now that a member of Menudo had come forth to claim he was also sexually abused by Jose Menendez, they may even finally get out of jail…but would they have been so “viral” at the time if they weren’t good looking young men?

Sexualization, Party of Two?
I could be wrong, but I don’t think men’s bikinis were cut or worn like this in 1990.
See what I mean about sexualizing them? There’s an entire scene of him doing squats with dumb bells FROM BEHIND.
This is another example of the “incest inference” scenes. It doesn’t look like anything off until you think, would two young men talking in a pool float this close together?
  1. When we got to the episode on the Ryan Murphy series where OJ went on the run in the Bronco. Paul turned to me and said, “The 90’s were a time, weren’t they?” to which I replied, “Jon-Benet Ramsey, Versace, OJ, the Menendez brothers–yeah, it was one major crime mystery after another.” ↩︎
  2. I have a love/hate relationship with Ryan Murphy productions. When he hits the ball cleanly, he knocks it out of the park. But most of the time his shows collapse under their own weight and endings rarely resolved everything. But his better shows are usually based on a true story… because the story’s already written. ↩︎
  3. It was very over the top and campy; it wasn’t until later that I realized that each episode is the story from someone else’s perspective (aka Rashomon), which is something I absolutely love, so I should rewatch that episode to get a better sense of it. ↩︎

Another Lonely Song

Friday morning and have to go into the office for a number of meetings and things today, but hope to get out of there around 2ish to run errands and head home. Huzzah! I slept well last night (and all the way through; didn’t get up once) and feel pretty terrific this morning. Maybe it was the bellinis I had with dinner last night? Perhaps.

Yesterday was lovely. I had a nice day at work, then came home and wrote before my dinner plans. I managed to finish Chapter 7, which was enormously pleasing, and then went to meet my friend for dinner. Look at me, out on a school night and having two drinks with dinner! But it was very nice. Lilette, the restaurant on Magazine where we had dinner, is marvelous; I always have a good time whenever I have a meal there. The conversation was also quite fabulous; and it was a very contented Gregalicious who got home from dinner around eight thirty. Paul and I watched another episode of American Sports Story; it’s an interesting exploration of toxic masculinity in sport, and how damaging that was for someone like Aaron Hernandez, deeply closeted and so terrified anyone might ever find out. (I did wonder what Tim Tebow would have said to him if Aaron had told him the truth–I think we know, and what a shame there wasn’t a single person in his life he could be honest with.) It’s very well done (although some of the reproductions of Florida football games were clearly reproductions and not actual game footage; it may have even been CGI but it didn’t look real), and the acting is, as always and ever in a Ryan Murphy show, superb. The young man playing Hernandez is quite good. It’s also quite excellent at showing what a monster Urban Meyer is as a coach, and how little he actually cared about his players (every time I think that Urban Meyer had Joe Burrow on the bench, wasting his talent for two years, I smile); I have never liked nor trusted that man. He’s clearly a good coach–he won three national titles at two different schools–but he’s not the kind of coach whose players speak well of him–and his teams at Florida were clearly out of control. (He also had Cam Newton on the bench at Florida; that’s two Heisman Trophy winning quarterbacks who rode the bench for him.)

I do have some errands to run after work; I have to get the mail and pick up prescriptions and maybe do a bit of a grocery run. I also have laundry to do once I get home, and then I think I’ll be in for the day. I have another writer friend in town this weekend that I am hoping to get to see, so I think I’ll try to do that tomorrow. I also want to work on the book some more this weekend, and start playing around with the next one I want to write. I want to finish reading Gabino’s new book–I started it last weekend, and it’s off to a really powerful start. It grabs you by the throat and won’t let you look away, no matter how badly you might want to!

I also have some cleaning up to do around here as well. It never really ends, does it? At least my filing it pretty much caught up, and I certainly can’t let the inbox stack up the way it has in the past. Staying on top of things is usually the smart thing to do…but I sometimes get lazy, particularly if I’m tired; that’s when I really don’t want to do anything when I get home except catch up on the news. I am so much happier now that I’ve blocked every news source that started the “get rid of Biden” nonsense in July; the age and mental acuity of a presidential candidate ceased to be an issue in this election once the President dropped out, despite the patentedly obvious decline of the Republican candidate, not to mention his planned vengeance tour if he wins. After doing everything they could to ensure Hillary lost in 2016, they have the nerve to continue to both-sides everything while pretending this is a normal horse race election because they are a national and historical disgrace, the New York Times editorial board endorsed the Vice-President while continuing their horrendous, clearly partisan reporting.

Your words are hollow when you are sane-washing an incredibly dangerous narcissist. It’s not what you say, but what you actually do, and I will never forgive nor forget their collaborationist quisling bullshit as long as I live.

So, after work today I am going to go run those errands and then come home to be productive. I have my to-do list ready to have things checked off, and there’s some writing that definitely needs to be done this weekend. Next weekend I may be meeting Dad in Alabama, and will probably head up to Kentucky for a week around Halloween; not sure when that would be, but it’s on the schedule.

And on that note, I am going to head into the spice mines on this rainy Friday morning. Have a great day, and I may be back later; I’m tricky that way.

Take Good Care of Her

Ah, here we are on what I wished were Taco Tuesday, but alas, it is not to be. Too much food already on hand to go out and get something entirely new. It’s dark again this morning, and of course there are any number of tropical systems out there that need to be watched, but at least we’re in the final months of the season. I was very comfortable in the bed this morning–Sparky was cuddled up with me when I woke up–but forced myself to get up. My week is kind of messed up already. I had to cover the clinic yesterday because someone’s on vacation (I kept thinking it was Tuesday all day), and now today I am working clinic by myself. That means I’ll probably be tired when I get home tonight, which is okay. I made groceries and got the mail last night, so I can come straight home tonight. I ordered some things on-line this week–new shoes, coffee–and I also repaired a book whose binding had broken (a Three Investigators tome), and tried repairing a pair of very cool Oxfords. I’ve had the shoes for almost thirteen years now, but have only wore them a handful of times (I rarely dress up and they’re too dressy to wear otherwise) so am not comfortable with just throwing them out when they just need to have the sole reattached. (Gorilla Glue failed me, so they’re going to have to wind up going to a shoe repair.) There wasn’t a lot of traffic last night on the way home, and after getting home and bonding with Sparky, I relaxed in my easy chair and bonded with the kitty while watching the news on-line. We did end up watching another episode of American Sports Story, and this season is really about the dangers of the closet, and how that level of self-loathing can twist someone into something dark.

Kind of sad, really; yet another example of the dangers of toxic masculinity (as if we needed another). And the guy who plays Urban Meyer is kind of uncanny.

I also read some more of Rival Queens, and have finally reached the part where the final Valois king, Henri III, has ascended to the French throne, and talks about his gender identity and homosexuality–and of course, the most interesting part to me; the mignons, his handsome young men that danced attendance on him as his favorites. Both mother and sister queens (Catherine de Medici and Marguerite of Navarre) despised the mignons, but weren’t so above the fray to not use them in their own attempts to either control the country or save her own life. It would be interesting, methinks, to write about this treacherous period of religious civil wars in France, with Spain, the Empire and England all meddling in French politics–lots on intrigue, back-stabbing, the changing of sides, assassination and murder, and of course, war. The second half of the sixteenth century saw France torn apart by factionalism and war, which wrecked the economy and kept France from building itself into a major power; fear of France really drove European history for centuries.

There certainly has been a lot of celebrity death lately, so much so that I’ve not really been able to keep up. Maggie Smith–what can I say about Maggie Smith? I first saw her on film in Murder by Death, and she was my favorite part of the movie. When I saw California Suite in the theater, I fell in love with her and wished the entire film had focused on her and Michael Caine; the other stories were dull and trite and cliched. From then on, I made a point to watch anything with Maggie Smith in it, and I was never disappointed. Such a massive talent, and so many great performances left behind. Kris Kristofferson was another giant, of music and acting. I first really noticed him in A Star is Born, and DAMN the man was fine. And that voice! Kristofferson was also a progressive and that came across in many of his classic songs. Just “Help Me Make It Thru The Night”, “Sunday Morning Coming Down,” and “Me and Bobby McGee” is enough to ensure an impressive legacy, and that’s just scratching the surface. He was also a very good person, a classy guy who cared about people and the downtrodden–from that period of country music where the greats (Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings, Willie Nelson, and Kristofferson) were progressives who stood up to oppression and bigotry. (I also love his quote about Toby Keith’s music–“he’s done for country music what pantyhose did for finger-fucking.”)

In other exciting news, the so-called “abortion pills” have now been banned in Gilead, er, Louisiana; the bill banning them outright went into effect this morning. I never thought I’d see the day when we had a worse governor or legislature than we did during the Bobby Jindal “burn Louisiana to the ground” administration…so of course the Reich Wing bigots in Louisiana had to elect someone far, far worse. Such a beautiful state–with so many ugly people living here. That is unfortunately true about the entire South, really, and no, Southern states don’t deserve hurricanes as punishment, either; that’s the kind of hellfire and brimstone shit the Reich believes in, and I reject any natural occurrence as being “God’s punishment” for sin–when God doesn’t choose to protect children from physical, emotional, and sexual abuse, you can miss me with your bloodthirsty god.

I’m looking forward to working on the book some more, and I also want to submit a story to an upcoming anthology deadline that could actually work for me. We shall see how motivated I am, shan’t we?

And on that note, tis off to the spice mines with me. Have a lovely Tuesday, Constant Reader, and I hope you get some tacos tonight!

Pure Love

Monday has rolled around again, and it’s super dark outside. Fall is here, of course, and the weather has changed here to more of a cooler clime outside that it’s been in quite a while. The Saints lost yesterday, but it was a great game and came down to the wire; I don’t mind losing if it’s a good game, and it was. It was a nice weekend around the Lost Apartment, and nice and relaxing. We started watching American Sports Story, watched a gay horror film (Swallowed, starring Cooper Koch and his body from Monsters; he spends a great deal of time either naked or in his underwear), and then called it an evening and went to bed for a very restful night’s sleep. I decided to go make groceries after work today, and so when I leave the office I’ll be heading uptown.

I didn’t do much writing this weekend, which is a pity, but I’m not hanging my head in shame about that anymore. I did get a Substack post done (it had been three weeks!), and got some others started, too. I also started reading House of Rain and Bone, which really takes flight almost immediately. It’s an excellent choice for starting Halloween Horror Month–even if that doesn’t really begin until tomorrow. I started writing another post about The Stepford Wives, which I also spent some time with yesterday. I also got all the filing and organizing done around my work space, and I feel like I’m getting someplace with the book; yesterday also included, while filing, the combination of other files together was an upgrade in organizing research. I just created a situation in the book to deal with, and I am thinking about options for the rest of the story, which is starting to come together in my head. That, by the way, is a very good thing. Yay me!

I have an eye appointment next Saturday and there’s no LSU game, which makes the weekend a little freer for me; no LSU game to take up all my mind-space on game day. The Saints even play on Monday next weekend, so…yes, that’s an entirely free weekend around here for football season, which is very unusual. But it means I have no excuse for not getting things done around the house. I’ll watch games on Saturday, of course–love me some college football, even if it’s not my team playing–but most likely will just have it on in the background while I read or write or clean. So, Saturday morning I can go have my eye appointment, drive back into the city from Metairie, and then be on my own for the rest of the day. There are worse things. I’ll also have to come into the office on Friday for a department meeting, so I’ll probably stick around after, too. There’s another system to watch in the Gulf, in the same place Helene formed–and who knew a hurricane system could cause so much damage and destruction so far inland, in the Appalachian Mountains1? Now imagine had Helene gone up the Mississippi River. My sympathies, of course, are with everyone up there in North Carolina and Tennessee. They aren’t used to this sort of thing the way we are on the Gulf Coast, and I do have a lot of friends who live in the mountains of North Carolina, so it’s been a bit worrying on that concern. I’ve not heard from family in Kentucky, either–so I should probably find out how they all are. The last I heard, Dad only lost power for about an hour and a half, and my sister hadn’t. It seems as though Lexington was worse off for power loss than where they live, which is a very good thing. Whew, something else to not have to worry about is always a lovely thing.

Sigh.

And on that note, I am going to get ready and head into the spice mines. May your Monday be as marvelous as you can, try to donate items or money to flood/hurricane relief, and I may shout out at you again later, okay?

Screenshot
  1. Needless to say, people who live in the mountains aren’t experienced in this sort of hurricane disaster, nor should they be–but I fear they are going to have to get used to it. Climate change, for the record, doesn’t mean “more beachfront property” (which would come at the expense of the current beachfront property, you fucking morons); it means disasters like this more frequently. Woo-hoo! ↩︎

Ecstasy

It’s gray again this morning in New Orleans, and I have about six boxes of books to take to the library sale today. I also have five or six boxes of condom packs that will have to go back to the office on Monday; which, I suppose, is the easiest way to say that my living room currently looks incredibly cluttered and desperately in need of organizing and cleaning and so forth. I also have a lot of errands to do–the mail, groceries, etc. and need together to the gym today as well. I would also like to get some writing done today–at least a revision of a short story or something–so tomorrow I can primarily focus on the edits of Bury Me in Shadows….and maybe do a bit on Chlorine as well.

I was ridiculously productive yesterday–as mentioned before, I really did a great job of paring down the books last night while laundering the bed linens; Paul was out having dinner with a roommate for college (who was indirectly responsible for our meeting, actually) and so while I watched Smithsonian documentaries on World War II (The Battle of Midway, The Battle of Okinawa, The Fall of Japan, Normandy: 85 Days After D-Day) Started going through the boxes of books I have cleverly concealed beneath blankets so they sort of look like tables, in way, with more books and decor on top of them (we have far too much bric-a-brac in this house, seriously), and when Paul got home we watched the second part of the Aaron Hernandez documentary. (I think perhaps the saddest thing–other than the victims, of course–was how exploited he was for his ability; he was clearly trouble at the University of Florida, so they covered for him for three years and once they’d gotten their use out of him, told him he wasn’t welcome back on the team for his senior year and to enter the draft early; as soon as he was arrested and charged the Patriots–and their fans–turned their backs on him immediately as did their fans…which tells me everything I needed to know about how his coaching staff and teammates felt about him–that was an almost lightning like 180, and considering how many other players have committed crimes and not been abandoned….and while murder is pretty extreme, of course, they clearly knew there were issues there and yet no one did anything.)

I also watched two movies yesterday while making condom packs, and both were kind of terrible. The first, The Getaway, starring Steve McQueen and Ali McGraw, was so unbelievably bad I came very close to turning it off numerous times, but figured you finished Carnal Knowledge, you can finish this. Directed by Sam Peckinpah, known for his violent and bloody films, and based on the novel by Jim Thompson (whom I’ve never read, and I need to correct that at some point), it basically is a dark story about a criminal whose wife gets him paroled by appealing to a corrupt businessman (with her body), so that they can commit a bank robbery and share the money with the businessman. Of course, there are all kinds of double crosses, and the bad guys are after them, as are the cops as well as one of their other accomplices they assumed was dead; there’s a weird subplot with him taking a veterinarian and his wife along with him on the chase for no reason (other than he’s banging the wife); interestingly enough, the vet is played by Howard fro The Andy Griffith Show and the wife/girlfriend (never clear) by Sally Struthers. It’s a mess, really; its only saving grace the chemistry between McQueen and MacGraw (who became involved) and that they are both ridiculously good looking; neither can act their way out of a paper bag (if they can. there’s no evidence of it here), and the score is also terrible and jarring. I know it was remade in the 90’s, I think; but as a noir film, or Neo-noir, it fails. I didn’t care about any of the characters and breathed a sigh of relief when the credits rolled. It’s a definite Cynical 70’s Film Festival entry; that was the time of the anti-hero and anti-establishment thinking…but I couldn’t help but think how much better the film would have been had it starred, say, Paul Newman and Ellen Burstyn, or Clint Eastwood and Natalie Wood, or even Robert Redford and Jane Fonda.

In fairness, they were done no favors by the script.

The second part of my double feature was John Huston’s Reflections in a Golden Eye, based on the Carson McCullers novel and boasting a cast including Elizabeth Taylor, Marlon Brando, Julie Harris and Brian Keith. I read the book several years ago and didn’t much care for it, to be honest–again, maybe I simply missed the point, but I didn’t care about any of the characters and that also translated into the film. There’s never any sense of why they do the things they do, and it’s kind of just a story about sexual hang-ups and frustrations, set around a military base somewhere in the South. Both Taylor and Brando sport really bad Southern accents, and Julie Harris is the only one who really pulls off her role–that of a sad woman who never got over the death of a child and has formed an unnatural attachment to her (incredibly racist and homophobic depiction of a) Filipino houseboy. She also apparently cut off her nipples with garden shears; she’s clearly not well, and yet all around her no one, especially her husband (Brian Keith), who’s sleeping with Elizabeth Taylor. Taylor is married to Brando, who chews the scenery at every opportunity (as I watched I couldn’t stop thinking considered the greatest actor of his generation, wow) who is an extremely repressed gay man who becomes obsessed with a young enlisted man who likes to ride horseback in the nude as well as lay out in the sun in the nude. The enlisted man is obsessed, in his turn, with Taylor, breaking into their house at night and watching her sleep while he paws through her underwear and nightgowns, sniffing them but never touching her. Brando becomes convinced the young man feels the same attraction to him, and at the end, sees the young man sneaking up to the house in the dark out a window. Thinking the young man is coming to him, he becomes enraged when he sees the young man–Elgee–sneak into his wife’s room, so he gets a gun and shoots him dead. The credits roll as Elizabeth Taylor screams. The movie is pretty true to the book, which kind of goes to show how not every book needs to be made into a movie. Most of the book is internal, which doesn’t translate to film very well–and I didn’t much care for the book. The movie could have been good–great cast after all–but overall, it fall flat for much the same reasons The Getaway did; I couldn’t muster up even a little bit of investment in any of the characters, other than Julie Harris, who is the only one who comes across well in the film. It did make me want to revisit the novel again, though, so that’s something. And while this is from 1968 or 1969, I do include it in the Cynical 70’s Film Festival–as there were many films in the late 1960’s that actually began what I consider the cynical period in American film, where the heroes were now who would have been the villains under the old Hays Code–neither Bonnie and Clyde nor The Graduate (both from 1967) could have been made under the code; certainly Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? (1966) couldn’t have been.

I may have to take a break from the Cynical 70’s Film Festival for a bit. The last three films were terrible, and while I am kind of glad I saw them–always wanted to–I don’t know if I can stand watching another dated bad movie.

Maybe it’s time to go back to the Halloween Horror Film Festival.

And since I finished The Man with the Candy, now it’s time to pick something new to read. I came across a copy of Dan Jenkins’ Semi-Tough, of all things, while pruning the books. I read it when I was a teenager, along with Peter Gent’s North Dallas Forty, which are two completely different books about the same subject: pro football. Semi-Tough is comic; North Dallas Forty (which I preferred) is dark and almost noirish; the two books came up in conversation on Twitter recently; someone tweeted asking for people’s favorite sports film. I responded with Brian’s Song, and Laura Lippman professed her love for North Dallas Forty. I would really like to revisit the Gent novel and was also thinking I should reread the Jenkins; so having it turn up while pruning the books seemed to me like a sign. I’ll probably hate it–just looking at the first page there are some racial slurs already, and there’s nothing I hate more than the contract sumbitch, which was prevalent in the 1970’s; in theory, it’s how Southern people say “son of a bitch” with their accent. It annoyed me because everyone in my family, excepting my sister (and her children and grandchildren) and I, has a very thick accent…and not one of them ever says sumbitch. It became extremely popular in the 1970’s because Jackie Gleason, playing a corrupt Southern sheriff, says it all the time in Smoky and the Bandit…and I’ve always hated it, and never minded that it went gently into that dark night and no one bothers with it anymore. Being reminded of it sets my teeth on edge, frankly.

I may not, in fact, be able to get through the book. I know it’s meant to be funny and satirical, but….I just opened it at random and the narrator was talking about how it’s very important that we understand that he’s white because most running backs aren’t and….

Yeah.

I can only imagine the misogyny. Sigh.

All right, I need to get this mess under control so I can get everything done. Have a lovely Saturday, Constant Reader.

Too Late

Hey there, Friday, how you doing?

A thunderstorm woke me up around six this morning, as one has the last three days or so, as well as a downpour. It has since stopped raining since I got up–well, at least it’s not a deluge as it was when it woke me up; now it’s just kind of sprinkling–and again, this makes me rather happy that I don’t have to leave the house today. I do need to make groceries and get the mail, but this can wait until tomorrow if need be; or after I finish working today if the weather has cleared up.

Last night I finished reading The Man With the Candy, and the story continues to fascinate me–and the dead boys haunt me. It’s amazing to me also how little there is out there about the case–John Wayne Gacy, being caught alive and tried, essentially erased Corll from the public imagination. Had there been 24 hour news channels in 1974, there would have been so much coverage it would be impossible for the Candyman story to so utterly and completely disappear from the public consciousness; I only know the story because I lived in Houston about fifteen years after Corll was killed, and people in the city still remembered. The book will get its own review post at some point–it’s very well done–but I also can’t help but wonder if all those boys would have been murdered had society not been so homophobic at the time….but I suppose I can talk about that when I write about the book.

We also started watching an Oxygen documentary series about Aaron Hernandez last night, another case that has long fascinated me. While I always tend to reserve my sympathies for the victims, Hernandez never really had a chance, given his abusive childhood, his sexual molestation as a child, his homophobic father and then becoming a professional athlete in an incredibly homophobic sport (well, almost all the professional and amateur sports have a certain level of homophobia built into them as part of the toxic masculinity so rampant in our country as well as the systemic homophobia we still fight to this very day); not to mention all the brain damage he sustained playing football. It’s hard not to feel some sympathy for him, despite his crimes; how different would his life have been had his father not been an abusive homophobe, had he not been sexually molested, and had the society and culture he was raised in been so horrifically homophobic, forcing him to play the toxically masculine role of the stud athlete?

I suppose that’s the case with so many criminals, though–had it not been for this or that, perhaps they would have had a productive life that benefited society.

Speaking of toxic masculinity, yesterday while making condom packs I watched a Mike Nichols film from 1970, Carnal Knowledge, starring Jack Nicholson and Arthur Garfunkel (of all people; I’m curious how he wound up being cast in this). The opening sequences, with the two men playing roommates and best friends named Jonathan and Sandy respectively, was kind of amusing; it’s easy to forget that as recently as the 1970’s it wasn’t uncommon for actors to play high school or college students when they were clearly way too old (see The Way We Were); but it’s also difficult to find actors young enough to play them as college students while looking enough like them to be believable as well as being able to act as well as the stars. My prime away takeaway from this movie was, well, anyone who ever wonders why the Women’s Movement was necessary and needed should just watch this movie. To say that it hasn’t aged well is a MAJOR understatement; and while it seems the entire point of the movie (and this may just be my modern reading of it) is to point out how societal expectations and sexual mores of the time not only punished women but also poisoned men with toxicity. The movie opens with the two men at a mixer when an incredibly beautiful young Candace Bergen arrives; both are interested, but since Sandy “saw her first” she’s his for the taking (boom! not even five minutes in and we are already exposed to the sexist, misogynist notion that a young woman belongs to a man she’s not even met because he saw her first…no consideration whatsoever to what she may want or need) and she reluctantly begins to date him, although it’s fairly obvious she doesn’t really feel anything for him. We never get any understanding of her or who she is, nor do we get any sense of why Jonathan pursues his best friend’s girlfriend or why she sleeps with him. He eventually demands that she choose, and she chooses Sandy. We then follow the two friends through the years, as Jonathan becomes even more toxic and distant, unwilling to get married and unwilling to commit to any woman; Sandy’s marriage ends in divorce and he begins seeing another woman whom Jonathan also pursues, eventually convincing Sandy to “swap” with him; at this point Jonathan is living with Bobbie (played by Ann-Margret; a really terrific performance) a model/actress who moves in with him and quits working and slowly begins to crumble emotionally–he’s also abusive; we never actually see him strike her, but the verbal and emotional abuse is horrific. Sandy goes into the bedroom only to find Bobbie has overdosed on pills…which finally gets Jonathan to marry her. The next scene we see, they are already divorced and he is living alone; Sandy is visiting him with his new girlfriend (a very young Carol Kane), who is horrified by who Jonathan is and his attitude towards women–he shows them a slideshow of every woman he’s been involved with, calling it the Ballbuster Show; Susan (Candace Bergen) briefly appears on the screen and he quickly clicks past her. Appalled by him, the Kane character leaves, and the two old friends go for a walk. Sandy talks about how she is teaching him how to love and how to love himself, and that he hopes cynical Jonathan can find someone who will teach him the same lessons. Jonathan scoffs, and the final scene of the movie shows him going to a prostitute, Rita Moreno, with the hopes that she’ll enable him to get hard this time–impotence has been an issue for him going back to college, which is apparently caused–the script infers–by his inability to be vulnerable or to connect emotionally with women. And that’s all, folks; credits roll.

This definitely fits into the Cynical 70’s Film Festival; it’s probably one of the darkest films I’ve ever seen when it comes to relationships between men and women. Perhaps that’s what Nichols and screenwriter Jules Pfeiffer were trying for; I certainly hope so, as that was the end result. There were several times while watching that I couldn’t help but think, this is a Rona Jaffe novel only from the men’s perspective rather than the women’s, which just goes to show how fucked up we were as a society back in those “good old days” of the 1950’s conservatives keep wanting us to go back to–no fucking thanks, for the record.

And on THAT note, tis off to the spice mines with ME. Have a lovely Friday, Constant Reader.

The First Noel

Merry Christmas! And if you don’t celebrate, HAPPY DAY OFF WITH PAY! Huzzah!

Later today we’re going to see The Rise of Skywalker in IMAX 3-D; I am very excited. I’ve managed to avoid spoilers completely on social media–an accomplishment only rivaled by my ability to do the same with The Force Awakens many years ago–it was out for weeks before we finally saw it, and I managed to completely avoid spoilers the entire time. And while I’m certainly sad that the Skywalker story is coming to an end at long last–some forty-two years or so since I first sat in a movie theater in Emporia, Kansas, to see the first one–The Mandalorian and Rogue One have proven conclusively that you don’t need a Skywalker to tell a great Star Wars story.

I spent Christmas Eve mostly relaxing. I finished reading Laura Benedict’s The Stranger Inside (it’s fantastic; blog post about it soon to come), and then watched a documentary about Dark Shadows creator Dan Curtis–it mostly focused on Dark Shadows, of course–and that was nice. I also decided that my next read is going to be an actual reread of Patricia Highsmith’s The Talented Mr. Ripley, which I’ve only read once–back when the film with Matt Damon was released, back in the late 1990’s, whenever that was. I’ve not read any of the other books in what is commonly known as the Ripleyad (Ripliad? I don’t know how they spell it), but I’ve slowly been working my way through the Highsmith canon over the years since (if pressed, I think I’d pick The Cry of the Owl as my favorite of those I’ve currently read; her short stories are also quite marvelous), and have not regretted a single moment of reading her. I decided to reread the first Ripley for any number of reasons–but primarily because I honestly don’t remember much of it, and what memories I do have are mostly of the film, and I am mostly curious to see how Highsmith handled his sexuality in the actual text; was it coded, or was it more obvious?

I also kind of want to watch the Netflix true crime documentary on Aaron Hernandez–also curious to see how they handle the sexuality issues involved with him.

For the record, RWA continues to throw gasoline on the dumpster fire they started on Monday, in case you were wondering–and each new story emerging makes them look even worse. I am so happy I never bothered joining that organization–which I considered, since I was leaning towards writing romantic suspense (The Orion Mask). But its history of problematic treatment of minority writers made me shy away from it, and again, so glad I listened to my gut.

I do have to work tomorrow–and Friday–these middle of the week holidays are a bit disconcerting. I also am taking off New Year’s Eve (Commander’s Palace luncheon, as per tradition) and New Year’s is a holiday, so next week will wind up being the same as this week: work Monday, two days off, and then back in for Thursday and Friday. Weird and unusual, yes–but also discombobulating a bit and will need to recenter and refocus.

And now I am going to retire to my easy chair with Ms. Highsmith for the rest of the morning. Happy day, everyone!

christmas wish