Lighters Up
Lighters up
like at a Queen concert
if Freddie Mercury were still alive
if you were still alive
singing Bohemian Rhapsody
Mama, just killed a man
a lot like Miss Jones,
I think I just shot her son
I think it just snowed in East Texas
Who knew
memories of you would get me
singing Randy Travis
higher than the pine trees
that grow tall upon the hill
The one in the summer
where we used to smoke pot
I thought, what’s wrong
with this neighborhood?
urban life decay
I look for you everywhere:
in crossword puzzles,
clouds, thin air, Rumble Fish,
katamari damacy, Disneyland, flour bags,
snow, the Aurora Borealis, grocery stores,
dreams, nightmares, everywhere
Wouldn’t you?
Lighter’s up
its flame
cathedral champaign
and my bleeding heart
A most beautiful ruby red.
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The Real Melting Pot
Agegenderracesexuality
All so fluid
Relation
Ship sliding over
Liquidlovelust
Welcome to the identity diaspora.
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A Message from Aunt Kathy
Dear Alex,
Where are you? What are you doing? Can you still hear our thoughts?
I know our time on earth must be a small blip compared to eternity, but it is still hard for us to comprehend.
Every time we hear certain songs, we believe you hear them also and we treasure those brief reminders.
We love you so much. We miss you so much. We are still having a hard time understanding.
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The (Out of) Shape of Things: Part II
Lester Burnham: (running astride fit neighbors) I figured you guys might be able to give me some pointers. I need to shape up. Fast.
Jim Olmeyer: Are you just looking to lose weight, or do you want increased strength and flexibility as well?
Lester: I want to look good naked!
-from American Beauty
When I made the decision to stop “running seriously” three years ago, I realized that I had only been running for one purpose for too long. I asked myself, “If your body were to look the same whether you ran or not, would you still run regularly?” An unequivocal “no” resounded through my disturbed mind. I put my shoes into my closet and laced them up twice a week at most.
I have always conflated my body image into my sexual identity. The unhealthy marriage was consummated in 1995 when I hit puberty. I felt extremely uncomfortable in my own skin. To make a long story short, I made my period go away. The thought of developing breasts and hips absolutely terrified me, so I started exercising and virtually stopped eating. A year later, running saved my life. I felt entitled to eat again, and I gained self-confidence from excelling at something other than schoolwork (“Athlete” sounded better than “bookworm.”).
“Bootylicious” topped the charts the summer before my senior year in high school. Its sexy, charismatic message failed to reach me.
Fast forward two years.
Competing in collegiate sports put me in the best physical shape of my life, but I managed to keep subtle “lady lumps” throughout the years of intense training. Never before had I received so much attention from the opposite sex. I felt at once exhilarated and horrified. After three progressively problematic incidents, I started forcing myself to throw up. My experiences and surroundings seemed to convey to me that my body and my desires had provoked predatory behavior: My burgeoning sexuality could and would be used against me. When my breasts and hips refused to disappear, I tried to “act like a man.” I felt more attracted to women than ever before and feigned apathy toward “catching feelings.” I became aggressive, power hungry, and, occasionally, hateful. None of these pretenses worked, of course, and I started to fear the monster I was becoming.
I quit bulimia cold turkey when I left New Haven. My distance runs became fewer and occurred further between. I gained a nominal amount of weight and an immense amount of self-respect. I now run mostly to feel good. Looking good is just a fringe benefit.
See also “The (Out of) Shape of Things”
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Excerpt from “Those Bright College Years”
I strode along the curb of Prospect Street toward Alpha Nu as he ambled–slightly drunkenly–on my right. A former linebacker for the Bulldogs, Tex was president of his athletic fraternity and frequented the social functions of various sports groups. The cross-country team had already had its first race of the season the day before, and I still felt a bit high from performing well. It was only September, but fall tended to arrive early in New Haven. The temperature seemed to have dropped 20 degrees since the track party fizzled out, and I started to wish I had worn a jacket.
An SUV with basses blaring zoomed by, causing a surprisingly fierce breeze that sent my curly tresses flying. Tex tugged me away from the road: “Whoa! Let’s switch places. I’m more than twice your size. No one’s gonna hurt me. Or you while you’re with me.” He ran his fingers through his dishwater blond hair, sweaty from dancing, and winked. We held each other’s clammy hands. Charming, I thought.
“You’re big and strong and all, but that doesn’t make you invincible.” This was my attempt at coyness. I often fell for “teddy bear” guys because they seemed so manly and so eager to protect, but it was too early to let on that I might actually be into him.
“Well, I promise you’re safe with me. Besides, we’re almost there.”
Tex didn’t keep his promise, and, although he apologized for the bite marks in an email the next day, he never said he was sorry for what transpired later that night.
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The Sexism Behind “Sexy-Ugly” (Updated)
“You don’t have to be beautiful to turn me on.”
– Prince, “Kiss”
In Kissing Jessica Stein (2001), Helen describes Harvey Keitel as “very sexy-ugly.” Urban Dictionary defines the term as “a person (usually male) who is not conventionally good-looking but who is, through their idiosyncrasies, charisma, attitude or other mystery factor, sexually attractive.”
I take issue with this concept for a number of reasons. First of all, pseudo-lesbian movies like Kissing Jessica Stein are – to me – mostly fodder for heterosexual male masturbation and not accurate depictions of the LGBTQ community. Exploiting a group of people for capital gain and trying to pass it off as art is not cool in my book. Aside from that, why are only males usually “sexy-ugly?” I can think of quite a few reasons.
For better or worse, society assigns a much higher value to the attractiveness of women than to that of men. To an extent, this makes sense because men tend to be more visual than women, but I cannot help thinking of how it is the exact opposite in the animal kingdom (male birds’ vibrant plumage attracts mates). In addition, most women would find the description “sexy-ugly” offensive (if applied to them), whereas men might see it as a compliment. Implicit in this double standard is that–unlike women–men don’t have to adhere to as many social conventions to be attractive. Bottom line: It’s somehow OK for men to be “sexy-ugly,” but women have to be “sexy-sexy” to be considered attractive.
In efforts to resolve this gender bias, I have composed of list of male and female “sexy-ugly” celebrities. But, first, I want to express my feeling that “sexy-ugly” is a misnomer: There’s nothing ugly about being sexy! Instead, I term it “unconventionally sexy” or “uniquely attractive” because these people have some kind of physical feature and/or intangible quality that makes them attractive beyond traditional standards.
Men: Steve Buscemi, Billy Bob Thornton, Sean Penn, Lil Wayne, Benicio del Toro, Adrien Brody, Jack Black, Tommy Lee Jones, Alfred Molina, Christopher Walken, Dennis Hopper, Willem Dafoe, Philip Seymour Hoffman, John Malkovich, Tom Petty, Stephen King, Peter Dinklage, David Spade, Quentin Tarantino, Jason Segel, Kevin Smith, Dennis Rodman, Jake Gyllenhaal, Joaquin Phoenix, 50 Cent, Lyle Lovett, Elijah Wood, Thom Yorke, John Lithgow, Sid Haig, Tommy Lee, Trent Reznor
Women: Francis McDormand, Lucinda Williams, Chrissie Hynde, Sandra Bernhard, Liza Minnelli, Missy Elliott, Natasha Lyonne, Christina Ricci, Sandra Oh, Amy Winehouse, Pink, Heather Matarazzo, Courtney Love, Anjelica Huston, Joan Cusack, Toni Collette, Siouxsie Sioux, Margaret Cho, Nia Vardalos, Juliette Lewis, Tilda Swinton, Mariel Hemingway, Martha Plimpton, Lili Taylor, Whoopi Goldberg, Amanda Plummer, Cher, Cassandra Peterson (Elvira, Mistress of the Dark), Patricia Arquette
I’ll add more as I come up with them. Any suggestions?
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“Jumbo Jessica” and the Marlon Brando Paradox
Jessica Simpson needs to fire her stylist. Ever since the singer donned a pair of high-waisted jeans and double-layered leopard print belt to the KISS Country Chili Cookoff, the tabloids haven’t given her body a break. The New York Post described her as a “corpulent country star” and assigned her the hurtful “Jumbo Jessica” moniker. Us Weekly eagerly repeated the nickname, and People used the same series of unflattering pictures to publicize “her new fat curvy body.”
Days before her humiliating and oh-so-public breakup with Tony Romo, Jessica sang the National Anthem at the AT&T National golf tournament in a horizontally striped Michael Kors dress. The Daily Fix commented, “As the ditzy blonde singer’s career shrinks, her bottom line continues to expand.” Not to be outdone, Perez Hilton blogged, “Is JSimpleson finally pregnant with her dream baby?…That’s an ass you could serve Thanksgiving dinner on!”
Just under 5’3″, Jessica is a petite woman who has been blessed with curves in all the right places. Minor weight fluctuations become exaggerated on her small frame. Case in point: Within the same month, OK! ran stories on Jessica’s wardrobe woes, Romo breakup, and “revenge diet.” She “look[ed] like a blimp” one week and boasted a fit physique the next.
This repulsive practice of inventing weight problems for female celebrities certainly takes its toll on the common (wo)man. I’ve found myself turning down desserts lately and worrying about how I look in form-fitting jeans. It also serves as yet another example of our society’s rampant sexism and double standards: Tom Cruise’s diminutive stature and Jack Nicholson’s gut receive little press/criticism. This is what I call the “Marlon Brando Paradox.”
Marlon Brando is rightfully considered one of the greatest actors of all time. The Academy Award winner’s career spanned over half a century, but his svelte form progressively widened throughout. At almost no point, however, did the media criticize Brando’s weight or deny his talent because he wasn’t as conventionally attractive or as physically fit as he had been as a young man. With performances as “Vito Corleone” in The Godfather and “Paul” in Last Tango in Paris on his impressive résumé, we didn’t need him to look a particular way. But if he had been a woman, he almost certainly would not have landed comparable roles.
The Marlon Brando Paradox perpetuates our society’s commodification and fetishization of the female body. By scrutinizing the female form in this manner, we are preventing progress and gender equality. While Jessica Simpson is the latest victim, almost no one–celebrity or not–escapes being viewed through this perverse, distorted lens: I am anxiously waiting for it to shatter.
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Excerpt from “The Rental Property” (Rough Draft)
“I like your hair. What is it that you do to it to make it appear in that way?” Lera enquired as I primped next to her in the bathroom.
“Well, I have this straightener – top of the line – that does the trick.”
“You and I have the same kinky hair like a Jew or a Negro.”
“African American. Black person.”
“Vatever.”
“You can borrow it anytime. I don’t mind at all.”
“Really? Thank you! I’ll use it tomorrow before Robert and I go out. By the way, do you think you could watch over BJ? We’ll reduce your rent…”
“Umm…lemme think for a sec…That’s cool. I’m free as far as I know.”
“Vunderful.”
The next evening I gave Lera a quick straightener tutorial before going on a short run. It takes me about 15 minutes to smooth out my long, thick hair, so I figured Lera would be done well before I returned. Drenched in sweat, I knocked on the bathroom door in hopes of taking a shower.
“Come in,” Lera croaked. She glared at her image in the mirror as she frantically ran gel-coated fingers through her wilted curls.
“Zis is a piece of crap!” she barked while slamming the 300-dollar straightener on the counter.
“Hey, I paid a lot of money for that “piece of crap”!”
“I don’t know for why. It doesn’t even vork!”
“If you wash that gel out, I’ll just do your hair for you. Show you how easy it is.”
“I already wasted too much time. Do you mind giving me some privacy?!”
Lera’s incompetence and impatience clearly took precedence over my cleanliness and comfort, so I let her wallow in her frustration as I went outside for a well-deserved cigarette.
Lera and Robert got in late that night, so I didn’t see her until I returned from classes the next afternoon. She had cut off all her hair and had bleached what little was left. She looked like an albino Martin Short.
“Who did your-”
“I just wanted something new,” she shrugged her shoulders in a manner that suggested I delve no further.”
I found my straightener placed next to some wet rags by the sink and moved it to the highest shelf. If Lera ever needed to use it again, she’d have to use the step ladder. I had a quick flash of her – hair grown out and ready to give straightening another go – reaching, falling, and breaking her neck. I couldn’t keep right corner of my lip from turning upward.
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Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf?
Your misogynistic poetry
what’s so wrong
that it’s about me
or that it’s not
Good
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Punctuation
(written in 2005)
Whether that was a question or a statement
Affects whether I answer or respond
So Im adding structure to your ambiguity
Since you have broken the rules of punctuation
For the last time
I wanted to experience all of your etceteras
And I really liked how the apostrophes always followed our name
Or even better
How we were one pronoun or possessive adjective
I got a kick out of your interjections in bed
And your clever appositives in reference to me
But there is always a but
See the only conjunction I can tolerate is and
And you think or can replace and
And so Im ending with a period this time
Not an ellipsis.
The Lollygabber 
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