Midterms

Approaching my half-century mark (am I admitting to that? I guess I am) in a couple of  days, I, like so many before me, preoccupy myself by looking backwards as I hurtle forwards. I'm especially fascinated by those remote college years (can "Rock Lobster" be really that old?). It's not that I regard those days with any particularly burnished glow, nor do I have any remote desire to revisit that time. But still, I look back.

The following is an excerpt from a project I've been working on called "Midterms." I conducted a series of interviews with  a group of college friends who ran together as a sort of tribe Freshman year. I interwove those interviews together to explore who were were then and how we relate to each other now. It was quite revealing, and more than a little nostalgic. I had hoped to get it formatted and sent off to my cohorts before my birthday, but, alas, life intruded. So, until I can get it completed (soon! soon!) I offer the introduction:

In the fall of 1980, just shy of my eighteenth birthday, I arrived on the blustery shores of Evanston, Illinois, leaving behind my moped, my job at Daisy's Chinese Kitchen, my Dungeons & Dragons friends and my New Jersey family to embark on a new life as a freshman at Northwestern University. I had little idea of what I would find there, and no real expectations; all I knew was that it was "away," and that was a good thing. In truth, I felt half-formed, opaque. Searching, but not knowing what for. I was passionately Christian (thought not in an institutional way— I preferred to communicate directly with God); ostensibly straight; devout to sci-fi and fantasy; and in love with wandering Times Square (in its previous seedier incarnation), letting its streetlights guide me where they would. I had secrets, but they were hidden, even from me. 

What I got from my four years of Northwestern, more than a desultory education and the degree, was an identity. I fell in with a group of diverse, gay, and, I must say, fascinating people who were unlike anyone I had ever known. Denis O’Hare. Frank DeCaro. Harry Althaus. Timothy Engle. Darren Perkins. This cluster of friends formed the nucleus of what was known variously as "The Army," "The Group" or “That Loud Group Over There.” Through them, little by little, the shell that was me was filled. They shepherded my coming out with wit and understanding, and under their tutelage I learned much— about music, about film, about the Art of Being Gay. So many discoveries: with Denis I made the switch from Jesus to Sartre, finding that existentialism suited me much better. Frank informed my music library, and showed me the joys of dancing alone in one's room. Harry, well Harry introduced me to so many things: my first gay bar, my first sushi... Tim taught me about the power of tenacity and the genius that was Sondheim. Darren was the only one I could not even approach; he flitted in like a rarified species, dazzling and inexplicable, and flitted out almost as quickly. But really, all of them had that effect on me. I would mostly sit and listen, not daring to compete; I always remember feeling like Armistead Maupin’s Mary Ann in a room of Anna Madrigals.

Since graduating, we have of course all moved away and moved on. We’ve weaved in and out of each others’ lives, lost touch, and found each other again. The connection, though, is always there. Recently, rooting through the jumbled and faded photos from that time in college, I reencountered many other friends, important to me at the time, who are long lost now. So many people drift out of our lives, or are jettisoned. So why have these particular friends remained? I have a theory, of course, personal to me: I think that during these college years I was shaped into who I am today, and that these friends, so vital in that shaping, has left bits of their DNA ingrained in me forever. They can never be strange, or truly absent; they are, in the best sense of the word, Family.

And now, with my encroaching birthday in December, we will all have crossed that half-century mark. Better yet, we are all here, and all healthy, which is nothing to sneeze at. There's not a lot I remember about college (my memories seem to be archived on a disk with an antiquated format) so I wanted to gather recollections and stories of that time before they were lost for good, and to commemorate this half-century mark. Through individual Skype chats I’ve found that I’m not alone in my faulty recall, but when pieced together a pretty energetic narrative emerges...

Happy Birthday to all of us! Have a wonderful, and safe, end of the year!

Double Dip for Denis

Kudos to my friend Denis O'Hare, who I've written about previously here and here. It was Good Friday for Denis last week, who not only had a movie opening, but (and this is the exciting part)—was in the New York Times Crossword Puzzle!

Ah, swoon.

The movie was "The Eagle," starring Channing Tatum (or is it Tatum Channing?) and Jamie "Billy Elliot" Bell. Denis got to ride a horse, wear a breast-plate, the whole nine yards. Haven't seen it yet (hey, my kid had to make a totem pole devoted to early-African-American surveyor and almanac-maker Benjamin Banneker —it's as exciting as it sounds—why a totem pole for Black History Month? Don't ask me, it's progressive) but I plan to. Poor Channing endured some extra-testicular torture on set which sounded pretty painful.

"The boiling water poured where?"

But enough of Hollywood. What warms the cockles (and not in the Channing Tatum way) of my heart is Mr. O'Hare's inclusion in Friday's crossword. I'm a pretty religious devotee of the NYT crossword; I sit down with my iPad and do it pretty much every day but Saturday (best time: 7:46 on Monday). So I let out a scream of surprise when I saw 32-Down: "Actor O'Hare from 'Milk.'" It's odd, to say the least, when one part of your life pops up in another.

Here's the puzzle, completed, courtesy of the most excellent crossword blogger Rex Parker (http://rexwordpuzzle.blogspot.com/):

My time? A deplorable 1:57. But it was worth it. 

Interview with a Vampire: A chat with Denis O'Hare

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Freaks and Geeks

I’m surrounded by superheroes, pirates, Navi natives, Yu Gi Oh! characters and sexy nurses. A busy day on Hollywood Boulevard? Nah, I’m at Comic-Con!

We were lucky to have scored some last minute tickets to the sold-out event, due to the largesse of the our favorite undead friend, Denis O’Hare. He’d been flown to the event to sign autographs and participate in a True Blood panel in the grand ballroom by HBO, from whence all good things flow. Being the Vampire King of Mississippi has its privileges, and one of them is that he could get us a few passes, plus (miraculously) an opportunity to valet park right in the heart of bedlam.

We went on the spur of the moment. Unfortunately, spur of the moment is not the best way to approach the madness that is Comic Con. It’s not a place for the casual tourist. It’s like Disneyland plus Halloween in West Hollywood plus the Rose Bowl Flea Market. It’s like Mardi Gras for Geeks.

(Ironically, the term “geek” seems to have reached near-cool status, what with iPhones, “The Big Bang Theory” and Michael Cera. Has the moniker “nerd” been similarly elevated, or is it still in wedgie-land? What’s the difference between a geek and a nerd? Discuss.)

Does this bag make me look fat?

I thought Comic-Con would be this one big room full of people in costumes handing out free stuff and a panoply of stars on high, flashing their smiles in benediction. Hmmm… not quite. For one thing, it’s not just in the Convention Center. Comic-Con spreads and infiltrates ALL of downtown San Diego. Every hotel nearby has themed elevators and giant screens pulsating with some high action fantasy flick or television show. Panels and symposiums are held at multiple venues. The local hotdog-and-popcorn store has a giant Predator on display. The whole town’s been taken over. You can’t escape it.

Get out! The Star Wars impersonators are here already! You’re next!

There were people in costumes a’plenty, but since we live near Hollywood and Highland, where superheroes and movie characters are parading every day, it’s not such a big deal. (Though, I have to admit the full-sized Iron Man outfit worn by the Robert Downey look-alike who strolled into the Hard Rock Hotel was pretty impressive.) As for free stuff, up and down the streets you’re assaulted with people wanting to give you things (giant bags, coupons, playing cards, bracelets, enough postcards to fell a Tree of Souls) but unless you’d be sharing this booty with your fellow D&D players at your next wizarding campaign, you’ll have little use for most of it.

Inside, there was swag to be had, but it comes at a price. You could get a free Alien “Want a Hug?” T-shirt (promoting the upcoming BluRay trilogy release) but you’d have to stand in line a couple of hours to get it. You might be able to get your “Next Generation” poster signed by most of the major Star Trek actors, but that would mean signing up ahead of time and waiting a generation to do so. Like I said, the convention’s not for popping in and “taking a look.”

There are treasure to be had, but you had to know where to find them, and when to find them. Looking to have Thelma from “Good Times” sign an autographed photo? She’s over there in row 399, next to the Disney vintage memorabilia! (and looking damned good, too). Want to meet an comics illustrator you’ve always admired? He’s over in Artist Alley! Chewbacca’s going to be giving autographs at noon right by that concession stand!

See my movie... or perish!

While Hollywood did have a huge presence— giant displays of the next superhero movie plus clips blaring from giant screens—the geek quotient remained, happily, quite high. Lots of gaming opportunities abounded (the new PS3 motion-sensor wand is pretty cool), and for those in the market for vintage comic books or alien bobble-heads or collectible Dr. Who paraphernalia, this was the place to be. And where else are you going to attend panels on how the upcoming Batman comic series will be drawn or how to break into the manga market? People dressed up, not because they’re trying to land an acting job or to look beautiful, but because it made them happy. There’s something kind of fun and pure about that. Also, it's a little creepy. But mostly fun.

Don’t get me wrong. I’ve got an inner geek the size of an Ent. Hey, I’m a guy who read all of the Lord of the Rings to my sisters and created a mini Middle Earth in our basement, complete with Toaster cornbread for lembas and hidden rings. And I bid and won tickets on ebay to see the entire trilogy of LOTR back to back on the big screen. I don’t own a cape, but I was pretty stoked to be at Comic-Con.

We didn’t actually see that much of Denis because he had a full publicity schedule the entire time he was down there, and anytime he set foot in public fans swarmed and converged on him like high-speed zombies, asking for photos, which he graciously acceded to, being the courtly King of Mississippi and all (perhaps we'll get him to write a word or two about his experiences at Comic-Con later). Doug, who has little interest in animation or comic books and a dislike of crowds, went to the True Blood panel and schmoozed it up with Alan Ball and Vampire Bill. That left me and Benjamin to get our geek on. I bought him a Clone Trooper Cody uniform, and we hit the floor.

It was an action-figure paradise for Ben. He also got a Ben 10 comic book which was subsequently signed by all four creators. Benj was a little less than enthused by the signatures (as in, couldn’t care less) but the seller assured me he’d appreciate it when he’s older. Taking no chances, and knowing the fate of most of Benj’s books, I also got a plastic sleeve to store the comic in.  As for myself, I partook of an Alien face hugger fan, plus an adorable vibrating/chirping Tribble to give to a two-year-old we know (really, we’re giving it away, I swear…).

And then it was time to go. We inch our car out into the street like we’re Rod Taylor and Tippi Hedren in The Birds. We drive slowly through downtown. Outside, there’s a sort of benign chaos. Paper’s blowing everywhere, hordes of people in various outfits mill around on the streets. It looks a little like 28 Days Later set at a street fair. Time to get back to reality.