More Summertime Thrills

This weekend was a roller-coaster ride. Basically lots of fun and good music and beautiful downtown hipsters and entertaining guests and thought-provoking art and stuff. More of a good thing at P.S. 1, an unbelievable final show of Kiki & Herb, glam-rock brilliance at the Hedwig movie, bumping into friends everywhere I went, and more cute guys than you could shake your stick at. Great, right? A hot time in the old town, right? So what’s had me in such a funk during all the down time, what’s had me furrowing my brow the moment I’m left on my own to catch my breath? Well, it’s been the nature of a lot of the good stuff, frankly. Namely, being reminded of what I lack — someone local to make me feel and warm and fuzzy inside, someone to play my better half when I go out and do all this kinda stuff, someone to bust a groove with in a richer way than “just friends” can offer.

At P.S. 1, for instance, there were dozens and dozens of what I would consider my target demographic: the exact type of tiny, scruffy, clever-looking hipster types that I prefer. Thing is, I didn’t seem to turn any heads, especially not in the midst of such a comely crowd. There was also a wonderful visit from someone pretty swell who reminded me of something I took for granted back when I had my golden opportunity.

So I want a boyfriend. Big deal. Could I have anything more cliché to whine about? I tell ya, though, I’m actually pretty grateful I can narrow down my demons to just this for the time being. It’s refreshing to feel like the issues troubling me most these days are the ones that they write pop songs about, because it’s more fun to wallow that way.

Bleah. Anyway, here are some scenes from the good moments…

Elektra — Assassin, Advertising Whore

Just in case you thought the comic book industry was a hotbed of feminism, think again. sure, it hets a lotof lip service, what with all those strong women flying around, kicking ass, and taking names, but every so often you see something to remind you that women in comics are often more appreciated for their tights and superhuman proportions than their abilities to stand up for themselves. Case in point, this little announcement, this little news item from the Comics Continuum, about Elektra, usually portrayed as one of comicdom’s fiercer, tougher, more self-reliant women:

MARVEL MAKEs ELEKTRA A MODEL

Marvel Comics continues to aggressively promote its Elektra character, announcing a deal with Karin Models on Thursday.

Karin Models is an international modeling agency, representing such clients as Rebecca Romijn-stamos and Estella Warren and current Yves saint Laurent girl Liliana Dominguez.

Karin will develop a portfolio for the character that will include drawings from her comic books as well as tailor-made images for advertisers created by Marvel’s artists. Just as it would for any other model in its roster, Karin will then pitch Elektra to a wide variety of the world’s top companies including clothing, makeup, and jewelry.

“We are going to treat Elektra just like we treat any other top model at Karin,” said scott Lipps President, Karin Models. “She’s beautiful, sexy and approachable. Quite simply, she is the Ultimate model. The only difference we foresee in representing a comic book character is that she won’t be able to go on casting calls.”

Marvel vice-president, licensing, Ellen Sevin said, “Elektra is every man’s fantasy and women aspire to look like her. Karin was extremely excited to bring her into its fold and we cannot imagine any fashion company having a better representative than her to show off their products. There is no doubt that she will be a survivor in the cut-throat fashion business — especially given her lethal martial arts training.”

Lucky for them, a comic book character won’t actually be able to eviscerate her agent for suggesting she lose a little weight before she takes a break from her assassin work to peddle lipstick and panties.

Gay Bar Syndrome

The amazing thing about gay bars, at least for me, is that I somehow feel self-conscious and invisible all at the same time. A brilliant combo, which does nothing but encourage my tendency to fidget (and I’m not much of a drinker, so the caffeine and sugar in the endless 3-dollar Cokes don’t help much, either) and get distracted easily. What’s worse is that I lose any skill I have to make idle or funny conversation, even with people I already know, let alone with anyone new. Sure, a lifetime of supressing wallflower tendencies has given me some ability to conduct myself with some composure, but basically I still fold under the pressure to be casual about hanging out in a bar. I should probably just get drunk once and for all. (That’s another bit of trivia for you: I’ve never gotten drunk, because I never really liked anything that would get me there.) Of course, I’m totally jaded about being around flogging demos or public sex or tranny whores or anything like that, it’s just the social graces of being a barfly that escape me.

Pincushion

I’m really squeamish about needles, and all the blood I’ve been giving the last few months has only made things worse, rather than more tolerable through repitition. I guess part of the problem is that every time I give blood for a test now, it’s a mortifying reminder of what’s going on with me. I’m giving a few ounces of blood every couple of months to see whether or not the virus in me is still being suppressed.

So I worry about my health a little more when I go to the lab, and I also feel self-conscious about the scrutiny of the women at the lab. I know they have to be cautious with everyone, but I can’t deny that I’m part of the reason they have to be.

Today, I went to give some blood for my HIV genotyping test, and the woman taking the samples was new at the job, or at least so nervous or unskilled it seemed that way. She had trouble finding a vein, and spent a little too much time trying to intercept it without withdrawing the needle. It hurt like hell, and left my arm sore for the rest of the afternoon. That just made me more anxious, and I was feeling a little woozy again, except this time it was from nerves instead of hunger, like last time.

Hunting Mutie Scum

The sentinelsOK, so the X-Men have this recurring menace to fight called the sentinels, right? And the sentinels are supposed to be these badass giant robots programmed to hunt down mutants and capture or destroy them. sure, that sounds great, but the simple fact of the matter is that the sentinels have never looked all that tough. In fact, they’ve always looked silly. They look like nothing more than over-sized old-skool generic super-villains in bad helmets and big shoes. For decades we’ve been asked to just trust that they’re as scary as we’re told they are.

Thankfully, Grant Morrison and Frank Quitely have taken over the reins for the time being, and are delivering a totally chilling update of the sentinels that finally seem as deadly and efficient as they were always meant to be. Instead of being these lumbering anthropomorphic hulks, the new sentinels are these highly specialized Battlebots made out of available spare parts, looking more like insects and sea creatures and stuff. They look like robots, you know? Highly specialized, adapted to various functions, not wasting mass or materials on the trappings of a humanoid form. Totally creepy. In a nice touch, the new, lean, and mean sentinels keep using spare parts from old sentinels, like those goofy helmets, and working them into their unorthodox forms. If you ask me, it’s a lot creepier to see a killer robot with a half-dozen pincer arms and a video camera for a face, rather than some 60s-throwback shiny purple mannequin.

It’s this kind of radical rethinking of comic-book mainstays that I really like. More than just a flashy update, this approach looks at the basic idea of something that’s been around for a while — in this case, constantly evolving killer robots — and questions how that idea is more likely to manifest itself. so not only does it strike a more realistic note (by itself an irrelevent achievement in the world of superhero comics), but it has a more profound emotional impact because it abandons a hackneyed tradition (giant mannequins) and draws on some more primally menacing associations (faceless creatures, technology run amok). When the sentinels still bore some resemblance to people, fighting them always seemed to be just another brawl. With these newer forms, calling to mind images of industrial accidents and alien autopsies, they finally become these unnatural killing machines that won’t stop until their last moving part is prevented from completing its function.

Warming Up for Summer

My official recommendation for the weekend is to get your ass over to P.S. 1 this saturday afternoon for the kickoff to their 2001 summer Warm Up series. Those funk-loving Venezuelan cuties Los Amigos Invisibles are gonna be playing, and there’s always a bevy of good DJs and cute arty types. In case you miss this week, there’ll also be some prime booty-shaking opportunities that saturday after when Basement Jaxx and the Viva Brazil Dancers do their bit at Central Park summerstage. For all my griping about the heat and the humidity, I admit in my better moments that NY-Fuckin’-C can be a great place to spend the summer.

As Featured in the New York Times

Photo by Rebecca Cooney for New York TodayGo and see what the Rumpus Room actually looks like in this article, which containa lots of cool pics of the pad, as well as the most unflattering picture of me ever seen by human eyes. It’s a very complimentery article, but I winced a little while reading it to see how even the simplest remarks can be misinterpreted by someone who doesn’t already know you, and who has to summarize you. Am I a vicitim of media manipultion? Or just a Virgo control freak who likes things just so?

The article is a bit weird: It’s loaded with little embellishments and things that miss the point, but I can see how someone who didn’t know me well could come to those conclusions. For instance, I don’t actively collect action figures, but I never throw anything away so I’ve found myself owning a bunch after years of getting a kick out of them. (By the way, I only have a couple dozen, not a couple hundred.) And I’m not all that zealous about home improvement, either. I painted my bathroom after two years of procrastinating about the day-long project. It also makes me seem really, really gay, but I guess I am. Whatever. It’s a nice, flattering article, even though it features a disturbingly unflattering picture of me in the photo slideshow.

You can see what a museum of various, uncurated pop junk the Rumpus Room really is. There aren’t any carefully cultivated collections of anything, but there are lots and lots of cool things lying around. If nothing else, a close look at the photos reveals just how many treasures there are to be found in thrift stores and sidewalk junk piles. After all, I don’t own a stick of new furniture, only thrift scores and trash relics abandoned by assorted friends and strangers. Behold the scavenger!