Archive for the ‘Sickness’ Category

In which The Gay Recluse seeks to vex. Oh noes! It seems that we’ve upset Reader Arundel with our obsessive-compulsive need to repeat the same or similar photographic images over and over! Here’s what Arundel wrote: Hi. I forget where I first came across your blog, but I enjoy your posts and insights. Thank you. […]


In which The Gay Recluse watches movies. Tonight we watched Seduced and Abandoned, the 1964 film by Italian director Pietro Germi. Set in a small town in Sicily, it follows a family with a 15-year-old girl who in a moment of passion sort of consents (but sort of not) to have sex with her older […]


In which The Gay Recluse loves Robert Bresson. In Diary of a Country Priest (1951), Robert Bresson offers us a portrait of a beautiful and painfully sensitive young priest who has just arrived to his new parish. For reasons that are never quite explained, the priest is mocked and detested by the local citizens; those […]


In which The Gay Recluse is like, srsly, wtf? There’s really nothing we can say about Proposition 8 that hasn’t already been said, but we’re going to add our two cents anyway, just because it’s the right thing to do. (Oh and supposedly we’ll be eligible for a $50 gift certificate on Amazon.) Obvs there […]


In which The Gay Recluse says wtf, dudebro? Although it’s not impossible to imagine a scenario in which a straight-guy literary critic does not expose himself as a moronic dudebro as he mocks other straight guys by writing 1) “Lev Grossman fellates Updike with a knowing look as Updike cradles his bald head in a […]


In which The Gay Recluse confronts the reality of the past through the eyes of the present. We recently found out that one of our nephews was having “trouble” at college. One day he woke up and realized that he couldn’t get out of bed. So he stayed there for a week, until someone called […]


In which The Gay Recluse remembers David Foster Wallace. When we turned 28 or 29, our friend Marla gave us a copy of Infinite Jest. We spent the next month or so locked in our room reading it, pretending to be sick and not going to work. To say it was Pynchonesque doesn’t really do […]