The Great Dane

My new, most-prized possession is a poster I just had framed. It's from a production of Hamlet done in 1995, and every time I look at it I'm filled with hope and awe, and it makes me giggle. It's a simple black background with a silver drawing of the face of the actor who played Hamlet. It's very stark and evokes images of small, studio productions of the masterwork done in basements. Fresh. Raw. Vital.

And, yet I'm sure this production was none of those things. I regret that I missed it. I've actually done five different versions of Hamlet, essentially playing all of the boys except the prince himself. In one production I also substituted for the queen in one scene, and I have memorably brought Ophelia to life at an audition that won me a standing ovation. I've studied the prince and learned his speeches, but never played him. I'm really much more suited to the king, and soon will be of the age where I could reasonably play him, if in fact I was still acting.

I love the play. For years I made it a ritual of re-reading the play. I considered it my play, and if I ever do come into some money the first thing I will do is direct my production of it. I haven't visited Denmark in nearly a decade and need to go back. I miss the Dane.

As I said, I didn't see the production advertised in the poster that hangs in my hall, but I really wish I had. You see, it starred Keanu Reeves. Just think of the exquisite agony of sitting through his Hamlet.

I've seen three filmed versions of the play: Olivier, Gibson, and Branaugh. Of the three, I have to say that I think the production starring Mel Gibson was the most satisfying. Olivier acted as if he owned the role, far to arrogant for me; Branaugh filmed his performance at the last possible moment, after he'd played the role in several productions on stage and before major reconstructive surgery would have been required to portray the tortured youth. He had no interest in, let alone love for the prince left. He simply collected a pay check. Gibson didn't try to do anything but entertain. He didn't treat the text as sacred, and wasn't afraid of the humor or the charm. He was thrilling in the role. I'm sure Keanu's Hamlet was quite earnest and loud, but oh, how I wish I'd seen it. I remember the reviews for Keanu's Hamlet. The line that sticks out is, "He got all the words in the right order." Can we honestly expect more from Keanu. And I would have stood and cheered.

As turgid as I imagine the production must have truly been, I still love to think of Keanu Reeves playing Hamlet. Think of it: we live in a world where Keanu Reeves can tackle the greatest theatrical creation the English language has ever produced. He wrestled the Great Dane for his own reasons in front of paying audiences, and I have no doubt it is finest achievement. Some would think Mr. Reeves demonstrated hubris, but I believe it was courage. He dared to dream and risk and face absolute certain ridicule. He had to have known that he would be an utter failure in the eyes of most of the world, and yet every night for weeks he stepped onto a darkened stage and began, "A little more than kin, and less than kind." "O, that this too, too solid flesh would melt..." and of course, "To be, or not to be. That is the question." The exepected "dude" at the end of the most famous dramatic line ever written need not be spoken. It hangs in the air waiting for the audience to fill in the blank. I can see him bouncing in place, flipping hair out of his eyes, readying for the fight with Laertes; standing defiant, jaw thrust forward to the king; whispering monotone to Horatio, "The rest is silence." I wonder if the gravedigger was able to evoke a brief, honest human moment from Keanu/Hamlet and make him smile, or whether Keanu/Hamlet made the audience feel anything but boredom. I hope someone other than his mother saw it for what it was.

I know I would have loved every iambic-pentametric moment. In a world where Keanu Reeves can play Hamlet, anything can happen. And if he did nothing else, the one bit of pure magic he did create that no one else has done: Keanu Reeves turned the dark English tragedy into a symbol of hope for all those who choose to see it.

I May Be a Misanthrope

It's a quarter to ten. I've been at work all day, and reading for class all evening. I was expecting the package that UPS was supposed to have delivered on Thursday, and then again on Friday. It did not arrive today. If it doesn't arrive tomorrow, I will be initiating a full-on frontal attack against UPS. I hate them.

Why is it acceptable for businesses to conduct business so that it is convenient for them? Particularly high on my list of ineptitude is a cashier who makes a line of customers wait while she waits for a stack of singles to be delivered from the customer service desk. Or customer service people who tell you that if it appears on their computer screen it is a divine communication and cannot, under any circumstances, be erroneous.

Yes, it was a bad day at work.

I am a Faggot

I don't believe anyone has actually called me a faggot to my face since high school. But I'm quite sure the term has been applied to me behind my back on more than one occasion. Now, it seems the blogs that I read are all abuzz over Isaiah Washington having the nerve to use the word in civilization -- if a Hollywood soundstage could be considered civilization.

But, I have to say the I applaud Mr. Washington. It takes a certain brand of moxy to brazenly flaunt Hollywood political correctness and speak your mind. To not only display, but to glory in your own arrogance and ignorance in such a public manner is truly awe inspiring. I only wish Mr. Washington had the nerve to stand on the highest mountain and yell, "I hate faggots!" I'd ask him to run for president.

Not there was any doubt in Mr. Knight's mind how Mr. Washington felt, I'm sure. Long before a gay man learns to identify other gay men in covert ways, he develops his ability to sense homophobia. I, myself, learned to identify it rather late in life. But now that I have the power, so to speak, I do not hate homophobes. I truly, truly pity them. Homophobia is a mental disorder and a lifestyle choice. Homophobes either can't help how they feel, or they've chosen a lifestyle of hate that I don't particularly agree with. I can only pity them and pray that when Jesus comes back he takes pity on those poor souls who ferociously disregard his teachings.

Whether they know it or not, some of the most charming, smartest people I know are homophobic. Honestly, some of my best friends are homophobic. I can see them get antsy if I mention dating, and they never, ever introduce me to anyone they think I might like. And I carefully help them preserve their safe little asexual image of me. I am forever going to a be a favorite bachelor uncle for several people. For a lot of people I know, I'm their token gay friend. My presence in their lives is proof positive that they themselves are hip and accepting, but they don't want to talk about it.

As I grow and mature, I find that I can still like certain people in spite of their misguided lifestyle choice. But I find myself chosing to spend less time with them, even if it means I spend more time alone. I prefer to pity them from afar. And like Mr. Washington, I have an immense respect for their brave decision to cling to their beliefs, no matter out antiquated and ignorant they may be. I simply pity them.

Most Hated

Today it was decided that we will be terminating another employee. The manager who has to do it is not happy about it, and further does not like the fact that I'm telling him how it has to be done. So, I'm on another "Most-Hated" List.

Being the HR person in a small company is, just simply, a no-win proposition. My current arrangement is complicated by the fact that the CEO is extremely volatile and the only two people in the tri-state area who seem able to calm him down are me and his ten-month-old daughter. Since her schedule is packed with teething and pooping, I'm left with the majority of the responsibility of soothing our savage beast. To his defense, the CEO has to deal with such indescribable stupidity that his rants more often than not are restrained in comparison to the provocation.

Anyway, although I wasn't in the meeting and although I had absolutely NOTHING to do with the termination decision, a very high-ranking manager, who frequently does not get his way, sneered, "Well, we all know it's the HR guy who really runs the company."

That's not the first time someone has made that comment, and I don't know why I'm offended. While the CEO only listens to my suggestions maybe five percent of the time, it's five percent more than most. Still he has his own mind and the most I can ever do is delay him from doing something. If he's going to do something, it's done. But I seem to be the face that everyone is associating with "No." And lately a lot of people are being told, "No."

I have three secretaries bickering over who should do what, and who called whom, and said what, and I just can't take it. I'd like to slap all three of them and tell them to grow up, and this afternoon I metaphorically did that to two of them. The third, of course is the most difficult and refuses to meet. She gets one more chance to respond positively tomorrow and then I'm taking it to a higher authority.

And I thought that one of the benefits to being gay was that you didn't have to deal with children.

The Shiny, Happy People and Vampires

I have never understood why certain people take an instant dislike to me. What, WHAT, is not to love? Still, over the general course of my life some people have actually had the nerve to exhibit their lack of breeding and good taste, and shun my presence.

And, over the general course of my life, I've been able to categorize these people into two sweeping categories. The first is typified by a certain recently-pseudo successful actor who is receiving more national attention than he deserves and who, when his current television show is canceled will shrivel into his rightful place as a misspelled index entry in the history of American entertainment. Still, said actor does possess a certain amount of focus and self confidence and the ability to quantify a person to the point that he can instantly determine whether that person will translate into any tangible value for him. While I admire and respect such skill and focus, I generally loathe people who possess those qualities to the exclusion of all other human traits. I call these people Vampires.

The second category I just recently (tonight, actually) identified. Their the people who have to form a clique. The criteria to be part of the clique could be anything..."We wear Wonder Woman underoos on Wednesday..." and the implied message from these people is, "...and you don't!" In every situation these people seem to band together and begin the process of identifying "them." The chorus is full of these tedious people. I've been a member for two and a half years, and I still haven't fully determined the criteria for becoming part of the cliques. It has something to do with sexual desirability, income potential, and dental hygiene, but I can't quite make it out. Whatever it is, I don't fit.

For years, with both groups of people, I would worry about how could I get these people to recognize that I'm ADORABLE! Then, said actor from the first group made me realize that I could do nothing to demonstrate my value in his world, so I learned to stay as far away from him, and eventually people like him, as I possibly could.

However, the second group has been trickier for me to deal with. There is something about the challenge of, "You can't hang out with us," that is irresistible to me. "Yes I can, and you're going to love it!" is almost my genetically encoded response. But lately I've decided not only that I will never be a meaningful part of any clique, but that -- and here's the revelation -- those people generally are not worth MY time. I DON'T NEED THEM. People who can only socialize with an approved category of people are pathetic, intellectually stagnating cousin fuckers. I hereby resolve not to spend another second worrying about them.

And now to bed...

Expensive White Leather Jackets

I had premonitions, but I ignored them. I saw a green convertible and I always think of him. I found myself looking up at the sky and remembered a random conversation. In the past such reflections would make me antsy, guilt ridden. Sad. Today they were just random thoughts that darted through my mind while I walked up Broadway to Jewel.

I had a poster framed and had picked it up. It was getting late in the afternoon and I started to think about actually making dinner. I had everything that I needed except an onion, so I decided to walk up Broadway from Diversey to the Jewell on Addison. That's my old neighborhood, and I was surprised this afternoon by how much I actually seemed to miss it. Then I wandered into the over-crowded Jewell and was thankful that I'd moved. I stood behind a woman who obviously thought the "12 Items or Less" sign emblazoned on a huge sign over the register meant multiples of twelve. I gave up trying to conceal my contempt for her when she popped open her yet-to-be-paid-for peanuts and started chomping on them. I thought about making a scene but decided that I had too much class for anything more than my ultimate death stare.

It was after I'd paid for my groceries that I saw him. He was much grayer than I remembered, obviously aged. And he was wearing a white leather jacket. Not that I was more fetchingly attired in my down coat, but, seriously, a white leather jacket! It was clear he'd seen me and there was absolutely no way I could pretend I didn't see him, so I manufactured my best prom queen smile and exchanged "How are ya's," and walked past without missing a beat. I didn't look back.

I haven't seen Jonathan in at least eight years. I actually thought he'd left Chicago. In one of our last conversations he said that it lacked enough culture for him. I might have had to sit on my hands so as not to slap him. I first met Jonathan while going through a very, very difficult period, which cannot be blogged about. I really struggled with our friendship. I thought that my feelings of inferiority were all in my head, but after years of having to beg for his attention and being told what he was giving up to spend time with me, I ended the friendship. When I did it we hadn't seen each other in months because I refused to be the one to initate getting together. He never did. Finally I simply sent him an e-mail and said good-bye. Not the most mature way of handling the situation, I admit. I suppose I could simply have let it drift away, but at the time I really wanted that particular door nailed shut.

Jonathan did not take being dumped, even by a platonic friend, well. He left me an angry voice message, which I did not listen to before I deleted it. Since then I've run into him a few times. I acknowledge him, but do not stand around and get caught up. I am his inferior and I got that message on more than one occasion: like when he called me at work to say he was going to stop by to take me to lunch, only for me to run an errand and find him having lunch with friends, whom he did not introduce me to, at a sidewalk cafe. He never stopped at my office. Or perhaps the time he simply stood me up because something better came up. Or his withering comment about my first one-bedroom apartment. The list could go on forever. I simply decided that if I was inferior to him, I needed to be inferior in my own social space.

Since then I've built a pretty successful career, nearly completed a master's degree, and bought my own home. I'm sure he knows none of this and thinks I'm still writing memos and serving eggs for a living, hoping to be cast in another storefront production. I'm pretty happy with my life.

And I don't wear white leather jackets.