The House of Yes: "Every goddamn hurricane."
IT WAS A DARK AND STORMY NIGHT five nights ago as my living room windows flashed like strobe lights, with my face silhouetted in the glass. The year's first violent thunderstorm was approaching, and the weathermen, as usual for spring, were reading directly from the Bible. I wasn't worried of course; this happens every year. Besides, I've been spring-cleaning this week, so my basement holding cell - the safest place to ride out a tornado - had been freshly hosed-out once I'd removed the remains, should this really be happening. I LOL at the western burbs every March, when spring breaks through in the biggest way possible, breaking everything in its path - and scaring all the Hispanics. The sky turns black, the trees turn sideways, and not only do my trash cans get turned over, the garbage inside gets blown down the street - Mother Nature's recycling service. I smiled on Tuesday as my Adirondack chairs played bumper-cars on the porch while my wind chimes rang like machine gun fire by my drenched rainbow flag. While all this was happening, my younger cat just sorta' shrugged his shoulders, and purringly-hinted at the front door. (No, you may NOT go outside!) At one point in the storm, every...fucking...weather app on my phone started screaming all at once: RUN! RUN! RUN! (Rolling my eyes.) Of course, it even more irritating because I was trying to watch a recording On-Demand, but the county EBS (also screaming, RUN! RUN! RUN!) kept knocking out the programming, and it was a really good episode of "Capote vs. the Swans." "I suppose the internet's still working," I thought with a sigh, "so at least I have YngMstrDetroit to pass the time." As my house has stood for 121 years so far, I actually wasn't concerned that the place would fall onto a witch w/ruby slippers or anything, so I settled back onto my couch and enjoyed the evening's light show - and the kind of website that, in hindsight, I probably should have closed the blinds before accessing.
The Wall's visual metaphors were *esquisite*. After the storm subsided a bit & On-Demand restored, I ended up smoking a bowl and watching Pink Floyd's The Wall from 1982. It had been *decades* since I'd last seen the film, and as the wind became rain, I was in the mood for something more than just music on the radio - and the movie struck the perfect sweet spot between clean house & dirty mind. I was too young for R-Rated films in 82', but like my Sweeney Todd soundtrack, I've had the album memorized for decades. I remember how popular the movie was in the day; it was tailor-made for midnight showings at the Springfield IL drive-in, best viewed through a cloud of grass, Southern Comfort, and herbicidal fumes from the surrounding cornfields' overspray. The film was so good for its era. And it went as far as censors would allow with Oedipal abuse, mental illness, and addiction. Like Saturday Night Fever, "The Wall" was searingly visual, and its use of late-70s animation was perfectly juxtaposed with WWII images that tough cliche *today*, were actually cutting-edge for the time. The softening rain continued outside as my buzz allowed the film to wash over me. I was taken by the amount of dead-on material references, specific to the 1982 audience: *The 81' Mercedes Roadster. *Late-70s digital electronics w/quivering LEDs. *The whirs & clicks of early satellite communications technology. *LPs in tight plastic wrappers. *Marlboro Reds in boxes. *Run Like Hell's RUN! RUN! RUN! *7up. It was fun to watch how the film accomplished what it did without the use of modern CGI, in the same way that The Wizard of Oz used B&W house paint & sepia makeup tricks to give the illusion of opening the door into a Technicolor world. My dear friend Paul reminded me of The Dark Side of the Rainbow, the infamous experience where Dark Side of the Moon is played side-by-side with The Wizard of Oz; he said that if you really "read into the visuals," the sync is "bizarrely effective." Though I've never seen the show, I knew exactly what he'd meant as my TV played my favorite film image: a big, black, beast of a 76' Cadillac Fleetwood limousine idling in the night (within an illuminated fog), while a drugged-out Pink is propped, sponge-bathed, dressed, RE-drugged (while a sleazy-agent shoves 100s into the hotel manager's pockets) - all set against "Comfortably Numb." Yeah, sure, it's waaaaaay over the top, but I'm standing to CLAP anyway. Especially for the Caddy. And the really cool animations of screaming faces trapped within the wall.
Another gem I saw in a Cadillac was 1978's "Superman," with Marlin Brando & Gene Hackman. Like The Wall, Superman played at the same drive-in, and my parents took me to see it in our 77' DeVille. Those were the days before FM simulcasting, so the film's muffled audio had a Darth Vader quality as it played from a corded, clip-on speaker that hung in the window like a carhop's tray of burgers. Superman was awesome. It was a masterpiece of the days before CGI. I actually rewatched the movie later Tuesday night, and I was delighted with how clever the special effects people had been, especially with their use of fuzzy backgrounds & gauze filters to hide the fact that Christopher Reeve was obviously flying with Peter Pan strings - as he soared through the sky in his cape & wheelchair. (He only looked *wobbly* once, during his very first takeoff within the Fortress of Solitude.) It was fun to watch how the director distracted us from baby Soup's cheap-looking 🚀star-rocket🚀 by bright bursts of color and unexpected splays of cosmic sparkly-things. (Also, quick note: the film is PACKED with wonderful Superman cliches. Especially the as-fast-as-a-speeding-bullet-RUN!-RUN!-RUN!-scene, where Clark literally outruns a train!) I particularly enjoyed how well-edited the "helicopter crash" scene is: if you watch carefully, the whole thing takes place in just under four minutes ... but in that short time, firetrucks arrive, police screech to a stop, and the local media *just happened* to have microwave trucks parked around the corner, ready to do live, on-the-spot interviews with a crowd of 300 people that had suddenly formed in front of the Daily Planet - all while Lois's pillbox hat gently flutters down in front of Clark Kent, like a feather. (Standing to CLAP again.) My original experience seeing the movie (in 78') involved getting to the drive-in early, then playing on the swing sets just below the outdoor screen - while Father got food from the snack stand. Yeah, drive-ins were quickly-fading relics from my parents' era, but they were still around in the seventies - and I'm glad to have gotten to enjoy them. The John Williams score on the other hand, on a cheap AM radio-box, not so much.
Another gem I saw in a Cadillac was 1978's "Superman," with Marlin Brando & Gene Hackman. Like The Wall, Superman played at the same drive-in, and my parents took me to see it in our 77' DeVille. Those were the days before FM simulcasting, so the film's muffled audio had a Darth Vader quality as it played from a corded, clip-on speaker that hung in the window like a carhop's tray of burgers. Superman was awesome. It was a masterpiece of the days before CGI. I actually rewatched the movie later Tuesday night, and I was delighted with how clever the special effects people had been, especially with their use of fuzzy backgrounds & gauze filters to hide the fact that Christopher Reeve was obviously flying with Peter Pan strings - as he soared through the sky in his cape & wheelchair. (He only looked *wobbly* once, during his very first takeoff within the Fortress of Solitude.) It was fun to watch how the director distracted us from baby Soup's cheap-looking 🚀star-rocket🚀 by bright bursts of color and unexpected splays of cosmic sparkly-things. (Also, quick note: the film is PACKED with wonderful Superman cliches. Especially the as-fast-as-a-speeding-bullet-RUN!-RUN!-RUN!-scene, where Clark literally outruns a train!) I particularly enjoyed how well-edited the "helicopter crash" scene is: if you watch carefully, the whole thing takes place in just under four minutes ... but in that short time, firetrucks arrive, police screech to a stop, and the local media *just happened* to have microwave trucks parked around the corner, ready to do live, on-the-spot interviews with a crowd of 300 people that had suddenly formed in front of the Daily Planet - all while Lois's pillbox hat gently flutters down in front of Clark Kent, like a feather. (Standing to CLAP again.) My original experience seeing the movie (in 78') involved getting to the drive-in early, then playing on the swing sets just below the outdoor screen - while Father got food from the snack stand. Yeah, drive-ins were quickly-fading relics from my parents' era, but they were still around in the seventies - and I'm glad to have gotten to enjoy them. The John Williams score on the other hand, on a cheap AM radio-box, not so much.
"The problem's plain to see; too much technology..." People have forgotten what life was like in the days before the internet. Specifically, today's youth hasn't a clue how much fun it was to go to "live performance" things, like Rocky Horror at midnight, cosmic bowling nights, or weekend bonfires in rural Illinois. When I was in my twenties, bars were more common than they are today; with no smartphone Grindr apps, we had to get dressed up and actually go somewhere. Everybody drank. Everybody smoked. Everybody seemed to travel in packs, piling into Daddy's midlife crisis car (typically a Trans Am) and peeling into the night with the T-top in the trunk, as Roxette's "Joyride" played in the cassette deck. Concerts were really big in Central Illinois, and I remember the night that STYX came to Springfield's Prairie Capitol Convention Center to perform their 1983 album: Killroy Was Here. Like the brazen stereotypes in Pink Floyd's "The Wall," Mr. Roboto was filled with deliciously-offensive slanty-eyed, bucky-toothed, Charlie-Chan-y Japanese people, back in the day when everybody feared that James Clavell's "Nobel House" (starring Remington Steele's Pierce Brosnon in the miniseries) was about to overtake Ronald Regan's America. But again, what was different back then was that we got off our ASSES and did things with each other, even if it was just going to the mall. On weekdays after high school, everyone immediately ran from the bus to the phone, and made plans to socialize in person. We'd even watch television together, on the big prime-time nights when DALLAS ruled our Fridays, or watching sitcoms while doing homework - as our mothers desperately tried to make frozen pizzas edible by piling on extra cheese. And of course there were the school events, the proms, the homecomings, the painful field trips to dusty, local museums. For me, I did a lot of theater - at least until my memory issues caused me to forget my lines. I also bowled quite a bit - about the best I could manage, considering my high school social status - and the perfect outlet for the unpopular kids. I was actually almost Prom King in 1987 (the geeks rigged the election), but because we got the math wrong, I missed the bucket of pig's blood by five votes. Still, whether popular or not, we all tried to find something to do, and that meant spending time with each other. And as I watched the waning rain drip off my rainbow flag Tuesday, I realized how much I missed that...
Bob has a "Moan-a Lisa" in his entry. On the subject of doing things with real people, I'm attending my first Wednesday Night Trivia at some Boystown bar I've never heard of. Apparently, I'm a ringer. And by that I mean, I love the show Schitt's Creek - and I know things like Moira's ridiculous outfits weren't "custom costumes," they were actual dresses made by real high-end fashion designers. (Thanks, Huck.). For those who don't know, Schitt's Creek seems to be the new "Absolutely Fabulous," and is basically what would happen if the Trumps' Jewish cousins had to RUN! RUN! RUN! from Manhattan to Green Acres. The reason this is funny is not so much the contents of the show itself, but rather because my Trivia Team seems to be from Touche. I'm not surprised, of course. Even Leatherman have "needs" that can't be met by the clubroom's 2am Sunday rush - and that includes "culture." And yes, I DO consider Schitt's Creek to be good, solid culture, even if it is a bit...*pop*. I love pop culture. My house is decorated in it.
I've known one of my trivia buddies for over fifteen years now (He's "Bob" in the book, Touche), and I've been to his house several times. Bob is a former cop, ex-dean, and he's basically a walking wall of muscle, with leather pants, boots, handcuffs on his chest harness - and graphic BDSM T-shirts that leave nothing to the imagination. (His eyes are in a perpetual state of rolling, btw.) I'd seen photos of his rustic cabin at the club, so I kinda' figured that his house would look the same. But when he opened the door on my very first visit, all I could do was gasp...
Here's the text I sent him the next day:
(Yawn)
Morning -
I just woke up with a face full of CAT.
Before today's festivities, I wanted to drop a quick like to say thanks - I had a really nice time on Wed. The food was good, the conversation was better, and your place was pretty impressive.
(Pause)
Actually, that's a complete & total lie. Your home was fucking AMAZING.
And I don't mean just because it was nice, well-decorated, or expensive ... I mean, it was so intense, it was "chilling." Literally. Like a gloved hand over one's mouth, it literally took my breath away. It didn't have hallways, it had "corridors." It didn't have rooms, it had "chambers." Like Studio 54, "there was always another door," and every room OOZED with layers of history, memories, and the ghosts of previous occupants. I...was...intoxicated.
One little detail that I absolutely loved was the fact you'd chosen a 60s/70s "MOD" furniture set, in leather of course, but also in distressed brown, rather than black. The juxtaposition of scruffy mid-century modern was perfectly paired with the tasteful restraint of the rest of the room's decor - a room that was not only the heart of the house, but also meant solely for conversation. No television. No stereo. No distractions of any kind. Even my iPhone on the table felt offensive. Wow. I mean, just ... wow.
You genuinely surprised me. And few people are able to do that.
Chuckling - as a writer, I guess I'd judged the book by its cover. But again, when I really think about it, nothing should have come as a surprise. This man was as detail-oriented as me when I first met him; I just hadn't noticed. In the days where I still called myself a "Bondage Top," Bob was the very first person to offer criticism on my ropework - which I needed to hear. (He told me that I needed to invest in padded restraints - which I did immediately.) Bob's one of many people I've only recently grown to appreciate in my life, and I'm looking forward to seeing him outside the club, and in a totally different element than in what I've grown familiar - in a LIVE situation, rather that the bar's fantasy world.
I've known one of my trivia buddies for over fifteen years now (He's "Bob" in the book, Touche), and I've been to his house several times. Bob is a former cop, ex-dean, and he's basically a walking wall of muscle, with leather pants, boots, handcuffs on his chest harness - and graphic BDSM T-shirts that leave nothing to the imagination. (His eyes are in a perpetual state of rolling, btw.) I'd seen photos of his rustic cabin at the club, so I kinda' figured that his house would look the same. But when he opened the door on my very first visit, all I could do was gasp...
Here's the text I sent him the next day:
(Yawn)
Morning -
I just woke up with a face full of CAT.
Before today's festivities, I wanted to drop a quick like to say thanks - I had a really nice time on Wed. The food was good, the conversation was better, and your place was pretty impressive.
(Pause)
Actually, that's a complete & total lie. Your home was fucking AMAZING.
And I don't mean just because it was nice, well-decorated, or expensive ... I mean, it was so intense, it was "chilling." Literally. Like a gloved hand over one's mouth, it literally took my breath away. It didn't have hallways, it had "corridors." It didn't have rooms, it had "chambers." Like Studio 54, "there was always another door," and every room OOZED with layers of history, memories, and the ghosts of previous occupants. I...was...intoxicated.
One little detail that I absolutely loved was the fact you'd chosen a 60s/70s "MOD" furniture set, in leather of course, but also in distressed brown, rather than black. The juxtaposition of scruffy mid-century modern was perfectly paired with the tasteful restraint of the rest of the room's decor - a room that was not only the heart of the house, but also meant solely for conversation. No television. No stereo. No distractions of any kind. Even my iPhone on the table felt offensive. Wow. I mean, just ... wow.
You genuinely surprised me. And few people are able to do that.
Chuckling - as a writer, I guess I'd judged the book by its cover. But again, when I really think about it, nothing should have come as a surprise. This man was as detail-oriented as me when I first met him; I just hadn't noticed. In the days where I still called myself a "Bondage Top," Bob was the very first person to offer criticism on my ropework - which I needed to hear. (He told me that I needed to invest in padded restraints - which I did immediately.) Bob's one of many people I've only recently grown to appreciate in my life, and I'm looking forward to seeing him outside the club, and in a totally different element than in what I've grown familiar - in a LIVE situation, rather that the bar's fantasy world.
Judging from the bondage in the center, I'm guessing this is YngMstrDetroit's new video. The rain finally stopped as Tuesday morphed into Wednesday, and after Superman ended I still wasn't ready for bed, so I scrolled through On-Demand looking for something else. I ended up on George Lucas's Radioland Murders from 1994, and I grabbed a new vape before settling back to watch another movie. I love old-time radio in general, the sci-fi's in particular, and the comedic film does a nice job capturing the era of live, scripted AM broadcasting. It's no secret that I'm a Talk Radio fan (Heavenly megadittos, Rush!), and I typically have music playing 24/7. Radioland Murders tells the fictional story of a new Chicago radio station's disastrous opening night. The screwball comedy is pop-culture masturbatory-material, especially for those familiar with the programs of Orson Welles' The War of the Worlds days. My all-time favorite radio drama is X-Minus-One's "A Pail of Air," a 1956 adaptation of Fritz Lieber's story from the December 51's Galaxy Magazine, which I have a bookmarked eBay search for. When I was a kid in the early 1970s, I used to listen to old-time radio in the dark while trying to sleep as my parents fought loudly in the kitchen. Like the pre-CGI effects in Superman & The Wall, the producers of 1930s/40s radio were so so clever; I loved how they built a vivid audio atmosphere by simply tearing paper, dipping tuning forks into water, and mimicking horse trot by clip-clocking coconuts on gravel - while a stagehand held a boom-mike as close as possible. Radioland Murders is full of moments like this. Little details, little nuances, spit-out-your-coffee situations. The movie's best catastrophe happens when two scripts get mixed, and a pair of biddies read competing stories - one, a cozy coffee-chat; and two, a brutally-violent Viking fight - while LIVE on the air. RUN! RUN! RUN! to commercial, and hope that Mae West hasn't drank so much bourbon, she slurs up her lines. Ah, the days of Radio Days, complete with studio audiences, and a good ten years before the cough button!
"That's the last time I mix Rexaulti, poppers, and boxed Chardonnay!" The stars began to twinkle through the clouds around two in the morning, when I ultimately succumbed to my cat's sad eyes, and let him out into the night. I popped my head out the screen door when I did this (I wanted to check for witches w/ruby slippers, of course), and I nodded to my praying neighbors, who were looking at me for some reason. It made me think about how much Hispanic culture never forgot the importance of "social interaction" during good times & bad. It reminded me of the world I used to remember, when we surrounded ourselves with friends & family - rather than social apps.
As I closed my door and went back to the couch, I killed the TV and put 🎶Dark Side of the Moon🎶on my Bose. As the melancholy music filled the darkness, I settled back into the throw pillows, pulled up an afghan, and folded my hands across my chest. As Pink Floyd began Breathe (In The Air), I was reminded of the Robert Frost quote: "Good fences make good neighbors." I thought about how much my own neighbors have changed over the years, and how they finally treat me like a person, rather than the maricon with the nice hedge wall.
The walls that separate our lives from each other are very easy to take down. We just need to set aside our phones for a bit, and drink in the beauty that already surrounds us - as in our faces as an unexpected thunderstorm. I genuinely believe that when these things happen, it's done because God wants our attention - and to remind us of the importance of actually talking - and *listening* - to each other. We have free will of course, so it's our choice whether or not we hear him, but as a man who's never forgotten the past, I feel it's important that we do ...
Because you see, if we listen closely, once the storm subsides, we'll hear the little details - like a cat exploring the early-morning lawn, as the few remaining raindrops run, run, run down it paws. 💧💧💧
And that was the very last thing on my mind, when I closed my eyes and finally went to sleep - as the morning sun made a prism on the dark side of my rainbow flag. 🏳️🌈
- Sir Dave
As I closed my door and went back to the couch, I killed the TV and put 🎶Dark Side of the Moon🎶on my Bose. As the melancholy music filled the darkness, I settled back into the throw pillows, pulled up an afghan, and folded my hands across my chest. As Pink Floyd began Breathe (In The Air), I was reminded of the Robert Frost quote: "Good fences make good neighbors." I thought about how much my own neighbors have changed over the years, and how they finally treat me like a person, rather than the maricon with the nice hedge wall.
The walls that separate our lives from each other are very easy to take down. We just need to set aside our phones for a bit, and drink in the beauty that already surrounds us - as in our faces as an unexpected thunderstorm. I genuinely believe that when these things happen, it's done because God wants our attention - and to remind us of the importance of actually talking - and *listening* - to each other. We have free will of course, so it's our choice whether or not we hear him, but as a man who's never forgotten the past, I feel it's important that we do ...
Because you see, if we listen closely, once the storm subsides, we'll hear the little details - like a cat exploring the early-morning lawn, as the few remaining raindrops run, run, run down it paws. 💧💧💧
And that was the very last thing on my mind, when I closed my eyes and finally went to sleep - as the morning sun made a prism on the dark side of my rainbow flag. 🏳️🌈
- Sir Dave