In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the Empire State Building.
Sometimes we spend our entire day at work looking at the computer screen.
And then something will remind us to turn around and look out the window.
And we’ll spend a few minutes staring at the Empire State Building.
And we’ll think about all the people inside.
Most of them are probably staring at the computer, or talking on the phone or yelling at their assistants or getting yelled at by their boss. Others are no doubt eating or riding the elevator or omg maybe even having sex? For a second it seems like life would be so much more exciting in the Empire State Building!
But then the thought passes, and we turn around and get back to work.
Filed under: Architecture, GWB Project, New York City, Photography | Leave a Comment
Tags: Breaks, Clouds, Computers, The Empire State Building, Thoughts
In which The Gay Recluse goes to Broadway.
Ohai, so did anyone else see these crazy new storefronts in Washington Heights, on Broadway between 160 and 161? (We didn’t think so.) They went in a few weeks ago — during the middle of the night — and there’s still no signage or anything else to indicate what’s going on.
Here’s store number 1, between a Dunkin Donuts and a clothing store.
Whoas, is this some kind of art installation? (But wtf, not in Williamsburg!?) To us, it kinda looks like a tawdry set for a Victorian brothel. (It would be better without the nasty fluorescent light, though!)
We love how the table is set for two. And hey, the necklace on the tree is a nice touch!
We’ve never seen anyone inside, though, so any rendezvous will have to take place in our imagination.
Here’s store number two, which is just a few doors down. This one’s between a Chinese take-out and a new and rather garish bodega that we’ve been referring to as “Whole Foods Washington Heights.”
Here you can look at — but apparently not buy — a straw elephant and a treasure trove of antique bottles and costume jewelry. Fun! Or fun? But srsly, why? Maybe it’s a publicity stunt, but for what?
More romantically, we like to think of it as a somewhat more benign sign of our new recession economy, where trade is built on useless images and mysterious purpose.
If so, it’s not surprising to find this in Washington Heights, which has always proved inimical to the purer forms of capitalism that have possessed the rest of Manhattan.
Filed under: Architecture, Capitalism, Communism, Conspiracy, Dissonance, Dream, Fashion, New York City, Retail, Washington Heights | 9 Comments
Tags: Broadway, Brothels, Costume Jewelry, Installations, Questions, Storefronts, Uptown
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 are the unapologetic bigots, the ones who are like fags should die. In a way, we almost prefer these assholes to the ones who claim to “tolerate” the gays, as if we should be grateful not to be rounded up and sent to the concentration camps.
A lot of parents cry when their children come out, because they know there’s an increased chance that their child will be murdered, a likelihood that their child — no matter how smart or creative — will be pushed to the margins of productive society and made to feel useless and small, and a certainty that they will suffer the indignity of legal inequality.
There’s obvs no chance that anything is going to change with regard to the first two factors, at least not in this lifetime. (Sorry, parents!)
But as for the third, why not level the playing field? Haters and bigots, you should be consoled by the idea that you can still hate — that’s not being outlawed! — and you can still rejoice as gays all over the world are still tortured and beaten! Remember: gay marriage does not represent the end of homophobia any more than the election of Barack Obama represents the end of racism.
Let’s just admit it: to vote no on Proposition 8 will not create even the tiniest ripple in the ocean of hatred reserved for gays. Which of course is not a reason to vote yes.
To even the most dull witted among you, we ask: have you not stood at the shoreline, thrown rocks at the sea and walked away satisfied?
Filed under: Capitalism, Communism, Competitions, Disease, Dissonance, Gay, Law, Pessimism, Sickness | 3 Comments
Tags: Bloggers, California, Fifty Dollars, Gift Certificates, Haters, Homophobia, John McCain, Proposition 8, Sarah Palin, Vote No on Prop 8
In which The Gay Recluse becomes sad and nervous, yet tries to remain hopeful.
Today we were talking to our mother, who was telling us how disappointed she is in some of her old (in every sense) friends who are voting for McCain.
When she pressed them as to why, all they could offer was that they “didn’t like” Obama. As my mother understood, that’s code for “I’m racist.”
You see, these were not traditional Republicans, but — at least nominally, until now — liberal Democrats she met in the early 1970s, while fighting for women’s equality. That these people could betray everything they fought for is truly incomprehensible to our mother.
It goes without saying that every person in this county is on some level racist. (And sexist and homophobic and probably ten others, too.)
The only difference is that some try to acknowledge these irrational impulses and move beyond them, whereas others succumb.
And then there are those — like our mother’s friends — who have grown brittle and soulless in their old age. They have apparently lost the ability to think rationally, and so have forgotten former lessons and small victories.
Which is depressing to think about, not only in terms of the election, but as we consider the prospective hardening of our own souls as we grow older. Can anyone really deny the temptation to shut down, to give in to the relentless stereotypes with which we are constantly bombarded? Have you not seen this in your own friends, who after a certain age begin to look fearful, so that it’s suddenly quite easy to see them as old men and women voting for tomorrow’s McCain?
Thankfully, we have our mother’s example. She’s seventy-five and hasn’t forgotten anything (or at least anything important)!
And for that we’re grateful.
Filed under: Capitalism, Government, GWB Project, Memory, Orchids, Pessimism, Politicians, The Gay Recluse | 2 Comments
Tags: Aging, Barack Obama, Ex-friends, Friends, Homophobia, John McCain, Mothers, Racism, Sarah Palin, Sexism, Women's Rights
In which The Gay Recluse takes a drive.
Yesterday we were in Dupont Circle, and today we were in Northern Westchester, where we like to go each year to 1) pick up mulch for the garden, 2) pig out on fresh donuts and hot cider, and 3) buy apples.
There have been times in the past when we’ve fantasized about moving to Westchester.
But today was not one of them! The thought of having to drive everywhere made our skin itch, and then the orchard — which was packed — was out of donuts! We wanted to be back in Dupont Circle, walking to Sunday brunch with a group of our intelligent and creative (albeit imaginary) gay friends.
But then we went to the mall in White Plains, where we ate at the Cheesecake Factory and started to miss Dupont Circle a little less. Hey, say what you want about manufactured upscale suburbia, but that cheesecake was really pretty good!
Then we took these photographs from the parking garage. Lol.
The air smelled like fall and the sun was bright.
On the way home we got stuck in traffic.
We spent the whole time discussing ideal places to live. Dupont Circle, Paris, Vienna, Berlin, Portland (Oregon or Maine, whatevs), Albuquerque and Boston were all raised as possibilities. The assumption is that we’ll never be afford to move south of where we are now in Manhattan, and Brooklyn has too many personal ghosts to make the list.
In the end, we couldn’t come up with anywhere that didn’t have some pretty serious drawbacks.
It looks like we’re going to be in Washington Heights for quite a while.
There could be better fates.
But there could certainly be much worse.
Filed under: Capitalism, Longing, Search, The Autumn Garden, Washington Heights, Weather | 2 Comments
Tags: Cheesecake Factory, Cider, Donuts, Drives, Leaves, Moving, Mulch, Westchester
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 three part essay,” 2) “Even non-Ivy leaguer and New York Times Books Review editor Sam Tanenhaus can’t keep Updike’s balls out of his mouth this Sunday,” and 3) “Sam Tanenhaus and John Updike Do 69,” this post at Gawker is not that scenario. Basically, the running joke here is that gay cocksucking is implicitly funny, and so it’s even funnier to imagine a bunch of straights doing it. Ha, ha — get it? By vapidly praising Updike, Grossman is — get ready for it — sucking his dick! Lolz! No wait, this is even better: Tanenhaus and Updike are 69ing!!! Omg, hilarious!!! No really, this is great stuff!
But hey, we’re here not just to criticize but to help! Here are a few simple rules for straight-guy literary critics who want to lose that dudebro sheen and acquire a hip, “post-gay” aura by throwing around gay-sex imagery: 1) be sure to mock straight sex just as often as gay sex (see, e.g., Wonkette), 2) remember that a lot of guys are still getting persecuted at best and executed at worst all over the world for sucking cock, so whatever joke you tell better be pretty fucking funny to make it worth walking across some very thin ice, 3) if you have doubts, e-mail us a draft and we’ll be happy to be serve as a test audience, or 4) stfu and go suck some cock — and we mean this in the most literal sense — it’ll make us all happier.
Filed under: Dissonance, Drivel, Gay, Quotes, Sickness, Stereotypes, The Gay Recluse, Writers-American | 2 Comments
Tags: Cocksuckers, Dudebros, Literary Critics, Post-gay, Rules, Straights
On Change in Washington, DC
In which The Gay Recluse returns to Dupont Circle.
For the past few days we’ve been staying at a hotel not far from Dupont Circle, which is the same neighborhood where we lived after college and before law school.
Mostly it makes us wonder: why did we ever move? It’s so nice around here!
It’s filled with charming rowhouses, good restaurants, cozy bars and lots of intelligent and serious gay couples! (The ones sitting outside at the sidewalk cafes intently discussing the new jobs they will soon be getting once — dare we say it? — Obama sweeps into town.)
Sigh. We’re kinda jealous! Life here seems like it would be so much less abrasive than in Washington Heights (particularly as we remember how last week some four-year kid threw a rock at us and told us to “fucking quit pushing him around” when we gently nudged him to the side so that we could walk past on the sidewalk in front of our house.)
If we lived in Dupont Circle, our life might be a dream, but it might also seem kind of unreal.
Life in Washington Heights never feels unreal. Lol.
Here in Dupont Circle, we walked by the Safeway on 17th Street, where we used to go shopping, this almost twenty years ago.
It’s been totally revamped, so that it now has gleaming piles of exotic fruit and lush bouquets instead of aisles and aisles of Wesson vegetable oil, coke and frosted flakes.
The last time we were in that Safeway, we were still young.
Now it’s probably safe to say that we’re in the middle of our life.
It makes us think about the next time we come back to Dupont Circle, and what will be here then.
And if we’ll still notice or care.
Filed under: Architecture, Dream, Government, History, Landscape, Memory, Travel | 2 Comments
Tags: Dupont Circle, Gay Couples, Jobs in the Obama Administration, Safeway, Washington Heights
In which The Gay Recluse learns about drugs and manners.
So today we attended a panel discussion on the issue of trademarks and pharmaceuticals.
Naming a new drug is sort of like naming a band except it’s even harder!
Because you can’t promise more than you can deliver — e.g., Cancercure — or minimize the side effects, e.g., Safeforall.
Plus you want the letters to look different than anything else when they’re written out, because guess what: sometimes pharmacists can’t tell the difference between “Americo” and “Omerica” when your doctor scrawls out a prescription on a piece of paper. (Those drug names might not be exactly right, but you get the idea.)
So anyway, we were sitting there listening when we realized that we had forgotten to turn off our cell phone.
And we didn’t want to do it then, because it makes this annoying series of beeps when you turn it off. (As for this great “feature,” srsly, wtf?)
So we decided to put the phone under our leg, so that if someone called us, the ring would be greatly reduced, if not altogether muted. (Kind of like farting into a cushion?) Still — even though we don’t get many calls on our cell phone — we were nervous!
Then a phone rang! For a second we thought it was ours, but it actually came from across the room. It pretty much sounded like a bullhorn. Then it rang again. And one more time.
Guess what? Even though everyone was like wtf, the guy answered it. “Hello?” he said, and not in a whisper, either, but as if he was in his office. Or in any case, certainly not with 100 or so other people listening to a lecture on trademarks and pharmaceuticals.
But then he finally seemed to remember where he was: “Hey, I’m going to have to call you back, ok?” he said, “I’m in a session…great, bye.”
Although we were kind of shocked, in a way, we kind of admired him. (Though not enough to feel any remorse when our own cell phone didn’t ring.)
Sometimes the best solution to a problem is just to pray that it goes away quickly, and then pretend that it never happened at all.
This is where the line between imagination and memory becomes very thin.
Filed under: Animals, Law, Memory, Science, Travel | 2 Comments
Tags: Anxiety, Cell Phones, Conferences, Cushions, Imagination, Manners, Opera, Pharmaceuticals, Trademarks
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.
Today we had to get up early — we’re flying to Washington, DC.
We’re attending a joint session of U.S. Congress on the issue of reducing gay stereotypes in Hollywood films and teevee shows. (Ha ha — we wish — we’re actually going for a legal conferenzzzzzzz.)
There’s something comforting about these conferences, though, where the economy and politics take a back seat to the endless machinations of the law.
Filed under: Architecture, Government, GWB Project, Stereotypes, Washington Heights | Leave a Comment
Tags: Conferences, Mornings, The George Washington Bridge, The Law, Washington DC
In which The Gay Recluse loves orchids, yet feels ambivalent about teevee.
This week we’ve been catching up on Season Two of Mad Men.
We’re not here to criticize the show, which is srsly one of the best on teevee these days.
It’s basically everything you want in a drama: three-dimensional characters, interesting stories, good dialogue, beautifully composed sets and costumes. It’s a genuinely literary endeavor, and we’re almost never bored or particularly frustrated when we watch.
Yet as we observe Don Draper, the handsome and brooding and oddly cerebral (anti?)hero who — like Tony Soprano — drinks and fucks and punches his way through a tortured mid-life crisis, we cannot help but feel somewhat fatigued by how fucking straight he is. After 35+ years of intense teevee absorption, we want something that looks a little bit more like the world we live in, and not some Hollywood dreamland (no matter how intelligently it’s constructed, as with Mad Men.)
We’re not suggesting that Don Draper needs some M2M action to somehow legitimize him (or the show).
We want a completely different show! In short, we’re looking forward to the day when themes of alienation and loneliness can be presented through an attractive (to the extent that can be objective) and aggressive — and sexually magnetic — character who is not a straight guy.
We crave this in the same way we crave someone who’s not a straight white guy to be elected to the presidency; ultimately it’s not a question of logic — there’s no particular policy that Barack Obama holds that couldn’t also be held by a white-guy candidate — but we nevertheless want someone who at least superficially (though ideally more than that) reflects the world around us, and by “world” we mean “city.”
We hope Obama wins! Yet even if he does, as for our prospective teevee show, we understand that we’ll probably be watching this from beyond the grave.
Filed under: Capitalism, Conspiracy, Fashion, Gay, GWB Project, Longing, Television, The Gay Recluse | 8 Comments
Tags: Alienation, Barack Obama, Brooding, Don Draper, Dudebros, Mad Men, The Sopranos, Tony Soprano
In which The Gay Recluse holds a contest. Sort of.
It’s been a while since we’ve posted a hot gay statue, but how about we all take a break from all this election bullshit and admire something truly timeless?
This just in from devoted hot-gay-statue submitter CBNY who explains:
Pièce de la Résistance: the 2000-year-old Hercules, in the newish Greco/Roman sculpture galleries at the Met Museum. Buff And Handsome clearly go back a long way.
We like the sound of that! Let’s check this guy out shall we?
Whoas — hot! Srsly, have we (as in civilization) gone down the drain in the last 2000 years, or what?
Smokin. No steroids, either!
Fuck David Beckham — and srsly, why is he a gay icon? — this guy is 1000 x hotter.
We’re not into pain, but this is still hot.
Big stick. (And as we all know, not afraid to use it.)
Smokin’ legs, too! Damn, this guy is flawless.
CBNY, thanks for that much-needed break from the electoral college map!
The Hot Gay Statue round-up:
- Rules and Guidelines
- Dan Savage Endorsement
- Washington Heights (New York City)
- Washington, DC
- The London Eye Clarifies an Important Issue
- Florence (Italy)
- The Park Avenue Amory (Upper East Side/NYC)
- Murray Hill (New York City)
- Madrid (Spain)
- Los Angeles
- Philadelphia
- The London Eye: “In Your Face”
- The J-Man Inspires
- George Washington
- Georgia (Republic of)
- New Orleans
- Columbus Circle (New York City)
- Two Davids (Florence)
- Franco Harris Statue (Pittsburgh)
- London Firefighters and Other Heroes
- Columbus Circle Mall (New York City)
- Miami
- Paris
- Grand Central Station (New York City)
- Albany, New York
- Chicago
- Albany, New York (Hot Gay Statute)
Filed under: Competitions, Gay, Hot Gay Statues, Longing, Obsession | 6 Comments
Tags: Gay, Hercules, Hot Gay Statues, The Metropolitan Museum of Art
In which The Gay Recluse loves birch trees. 
We considered sweeping up the leaves.
But decided that — for the moment — they look better where they are.
Filed under: City Pattern Project, Landscape, The Autumn Garden | Leave a Comment
Tags: Birch Trees, Bricks, Fall, Procrastination
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with birds.
Recently one of our oldest friends from high school got in touch.
He moved to the city and found our address in the alumni directory. We haven’t seen him since our ten-year reunion, which was — ouch — twelve years ago.
It’s strange how someone you haven’t thought about in years can suddenly appear. But sometimes there’s a reason!
We played on the same hockey team, under a coach who was quite possibly the meanest, most miserable bastage we’ve ever met. It was not just that he was a screamer who broke chalk boards in between periods and threw hockey sticks dangerously close to our heads — and yes, kids puking after sprints (“boardbusters”) at the end of a practice was not unusual — but the way he belittled us (collectively and individually) for doing anything from say, not backchecking to turning in a subpar essay in one of our classes. Any minor infraction could get you benched at a minimum or — most cruelly — demoted to the junior varsity, whose ranks were filled with losers who played just for fun.* This was at a point in our lives when we — like most of the kids on the varsity — had left home in large degree to play hockey, so the idea of saying “fuck you asshole, we’re so out of here” was not really conceivable, because we had all been playing hockey since the time we could walk. Some kids respond positively to this kind of “disclipinary approach,” but we just wilted and felt shitty, knowing that we were failing at the one thing to which we had devoted our entire life to that point. (We finally did quit senior year, after we broke out in a rash before the season had even started and were actively fantasizing about hurling ourselves from the school tower.)
*Note to IHeartRR: this is not a belief we currently hold, but yes, sadly we were once raging junior-varsity bigots.
For many years — as we quickly learned in a few e-mails exchanged with our friend — this coach haunted our dreams. There’s no question in our mind that adolescents are particularly vulnerable to a certain type of win-at-all-cost egomaniacal torture commonly found in organized sports — not to mention the rampant homophobia — and as result often emerge from these situations with emotional wounds that can last a lifetime.
Perhaps this is the reason our friend found us after all of these years.
It will be good to see him, so that together we can release these old demons, and let them fly away.
Filed under: Animals, Architecture, Athletes, Competitions, Disease, Dissonance, GWB Project, Health, Longing, Memory, Resignation, Ruins | 2 Comments
Tags: Bastages, Birds, Demons, Friends, High school, Hockey, Junior Varsity, Varsity
In which The Gay Recluse is always late.
This morning we reluctantly got out of bed at 7:15 am — instead of our usual 7:30 — so that we would have enough time to do everything we needed to do and catch the 8:20 train instead of the 8:30, because we had an important 9:00 am meeting and the commute is closer to 40 minutes.
Thus logic would dictate that we should have had plenty of time, assuming we didn’t fritter it away.
And we started off pretty well, too!
We didn’t linger in the shower, or stand paralyzed by indecision in front of our shirts in the closet, trying to remember the fragments of a fading dream from the previous night.
To the contrary, we glided through these basic preparations with an assured ease that — giddy with our success — left us considering the idea of returning to bed for a short nap.
But then we spent a few seconds admiring the golden hue of the sun on the Washington Heights rooftops.
And when the seagulls arrived, how could we resist taking a few photos?
Maddeningly, the birds were not taking our mental direction to circle toward us at an angle that would best highlight their wingspans and the position of the bridge!
And then we remembered that we had to spritz the orchids, which took a few minutes, because the water bottle was empty.
And then — omg, we almost forgot! — Dante needed a pill for his asthma!
Then we had to floss and brush! In the old days, we would have blown this off, but now we’re addicted to flossing, especially with the mint-flavored variety we have.
Needless to say, by this point we had used up all of our surplus time and were officially cutting it close.
We grabbed our backpack, said goodbye to the cats, practically fell down eight flights of stairs (always faster than the shitty elevator, which has not been upgraded since its installation in 1914, because it would cost the landlord $20, and he only nets $40k/month.)
We sprinted across Broadway and over to Amsterdam Avenue, where there was too much traffic to cross. As we waited for the light, we could feel the ground trembling beneath our feet: the train was entering the station.
We sprinted down the steps and through the turnstile, just in time to hear the officious ding-dong and subsequent rattle of the closing subway doors. The conductor was just a few feet away from us and he looked straight through our imploring gaze. In his world, we didn’t exist.
We bitterly watched the train as it accelerated out of the station and resisted the temptation to wave at everyone who was on it, as if we were having the last laugh. But in truth we had lost: it was 8:21 and the next train wouldn’t arrive for ten minutes, meaning we would definitely be late for our meeting. We aimlessly drifted down the endless platform, which had never seemed more desolate.
We watched a pair of rats scurry along the opposite platform and admired a few subterranean masterpieces from which the advertising banners had been stripped off. Resigned to our fate, we pulled out the latest issue of New York Magazine and wished that we, too, had a two-tiered garden in the sky.
Filed under: Animals, Architecture, Dissonance, Fashion, GWB Project, Health, Obsession, Pessimism, Subway | 2 Comments
Tags: Breakfast, Cats, Delays, Floss, Mint Flavors, Pills, Procrastination, Rituals, Seagulls, Shower, Toothpaste
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with seagulls.
Today we heard a story about a woman who used to work at one of our former employers.
At the time, we barely knew “Nan.” She was older and had a severe haircut and wore monochromatic outfits that kind of screamed Midwest/suburban*: she was based at an office outside of St. Louis, so all of us in New York made fun of her whenever she tried to tell us what to do. We pretended to be vaguely insulted that she had more authority than we did, even though she had been working at the same company for twenty years.
*Please note that she – like us — was in fact from a suburb in the Midwest, but unlike us still lived there. While we regret to have judged her on the basis of her hair, clothes and geographic home, and would certainly treat the situation differently today, it was true that — as sometimes happens — she played to the stereotype in ways that made her a vulnerable target to us, i.e., her new subordinates in New York City, who also had other reasons to distrust and resent her (our company was being acquired by hers). We should also add that none of this rose to the level of open antagonism on either side, and ultimately — as so often happens in corporate America — money carried the day. All of this happened approximately fifteen years ago, when we were young(er) and stupid(er). We apologize to anyone who was offended by our initial characterization.
But just today we learned that, using her cubicle as a headquarters and a base of operations, she was known to have run a business making and selling — of all things — candles. (This obvs had nothing to do with the business of our employer.)
If this is true — and possibly even if it isn’t — we are now in love with Nan.
If you’re running a business within a business, we want to hear about it.
Is there a more subversive (or artistic) gesture to be made in the year 2008?
If so, we haven’t heard about it.
So the next time you’re feeling suffocated at your corporate job, light a candle and think of Nan.
Then call her up and order some candles.
If you’re lucky, she may hire you to sell.
And you’ll remember what it’s like to be alive.
Filed under: Animals, Dissonance, GWB Project | 4 Comments
Tags: Candles, Cubicles, Nan, Seagulls
In which Dante and Zephyr brace for November.
Friends! Srsly — if McCain is such a “maverick,” why can’t he just admit that not every cat is a lolcat? Why is McCain such a Grumpy McNasty? Not every cat is a lolcat!
Filed under: Government, Not Every Cat a Lolcat, Politicians | Leave a Comment
Tags: Debates, Mavericks, McCain, November, Obama
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with birds.
Lately we’ve finally gotten around to uploading all of our old compact disks onto iTunes.
It’s kind of torturous, trying to remember whatever possessed us to like bands such as _____ or _____ or even _______. We ended up throwing a bunch into the garbage after deciding that there was really no circumstance under which we could ever envision wanting to hear them again.
A few have been more rewarding, though.
When we listened to Warehouse, Hüsker Dü’s final record, we couldn’t help but remember our senior year in college, when we were obsessed with it.
Especially the last two songs, which we used to literally play for hours on repeat while we tried to grind out a paper on whatever.
It was like an addiction, but let’s be frank: there are worse things to be addicted to than the last two songs of Warehouse!
We used to drive our downstairs neighbor crazy, and then act insulted when she asked us to turn it down at three in the morning. That’s probably why we’re getting all this sonic payback in Washington Heights!
That was also the year that our friend’s brother visited us at college.
He was from Minneapolis, and told us that “everyone” knew that Bob Mould and Grant Hart were gay (but not Greg Norton, who ironically enough “looked” gay). He was like, “yeah, they even played at some AIDS benefit.”
Proof! We couldn’t believe it! (Even though we had scrutinized their lyrics for clues, imagining that this was the unstated reason we loved their music so much.)
It would be easy to say that those songs gave us hope or courage, but — given that we were still years away from coming out — that would probably be a stretch.
But we were comforted by these most brutal expressions of longing and anger.
When we listen to Warehouse now, we no longer have any inclination to play it over and over again.
The music has not changed, but we have.
What’s bittersweet about this is the understanding that no music — not even Hüsker Dü — can deliver us the way it used to.
And we are left craving nothing so much as silence and sleep.
Filed under: Animals, Capitalism, Good Rock, Health, Longing, Memory, Obsession | 1 Comment
Tags: Birds, Cornell, Hüsker Dü, Warehouse
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with the George Washington Bridge.
Sometimes we think about what Manhattan looked like 500 years ago.
When it was covered with trees and rivers and lakes.
In some ways it was probably a lot more beautiful, or at least unspoiled. It was hard to get a taxi then!
A part of us would like to see that now.
But a part of us would miss the bridge, which is the perfect complement to this natural beauty, even that which exists in our imagination.
Filed under: Architecture, GWB Project, Infrastructure, Landscape, Memory, New York City | Leave a Comment
Tags: Boats, Manhattan, Shorelines, The George Washington Bridge
On Shade Flowers
In which The Gay Recluse enjoys shade plants.
Recently we were reminded of a past obsession.
There was a part of us that missed being young, filled with longing, even if — as we knew at the time — what we wanted was unattainable.
But the greater part of us was relieved not to be possessed, or constrained, by this former obsession.
It was also painful to think of what had ensued.
But also rewarding, in a way.
At this moment our life seemed very much like our garden, where some of the loveliest flowers bloom late in the season, and only in the shade.
Filed under: Brooklyn, Capitalism, Dissonance, Health, Longing, Memory, Obsession, The Autumn Garden | Leave a Comment
Tags: Gardens, Japanese Anemones, Music, Past, Shade
In which The Gay Recluse becomes increasingly obsessed with manhole covers.
Sometimes when you brush away the leaves and organic debris, you find a manhole cover from 10,000 years ago, when New York City was first being constructed.
Whenever anyone asks me for something to put into a time capsule, I tell them not to bother. The manhole covers will last longer and look better than anything I could give them.
–Andy Warhol
Filed under: Capitalism, City Pattern Project, Infrastructure | Leave a Comment
Tags: Andy Warhol, Leaves, Manhole Covers, Patterns
The Gay Recluse 