You've been a sinful boy...time for the BUTT SPANKING!
Today my room got cleaned out a bit *gasp*, because a whole bunch of crap old schoolwork is being tossed out, and what did I uncover? "The Kid", by Dan Savage.
Now, I like Dan, for several reasons (not the least of which is that we share a name). I suppose there are those that would shy from his acidic sense of humour, but it has always amused me, even when I don't agree with what he has to say. He's a funny writer indeed, and what gets me most about his work is the sheer defiance in it. Here is someone who has lived a lifetime; his body of work shows that much. (Unless he's a big fat lier. But I doubt it.) And still there is a sense he has something to prove; that he has nothing to prove. What a paradox, eh?
No, no paradoxes, it's 2 in the bloody morning...
Anyway, I am feeling vaguely guilty because my mom bought me that book ages ago, and I haven't finished reading it yet, despite how funny it is. God, I need a longer attention span.
I remembered when I pulled that book out how odd it was to read Savage's chapter on his adolescence, and to try to picture the creator of these sardonic witticisms as a kid. I hadn't really thought about it, but Savage is incredibly a product of a gay Catholic kid upbringing; where else would he learn to respond with sly jabs only superficially disguised as helpful? Where else would he learn to see homo-eroticism in everthing? Quiet, I'm on a roll.
So then my mind HAS to ask..."So what kind of childhood did Michael Musto have?"
Good god, I don't even want to contemplate it.
My mother wants to read the book after me, as well as Pat, so I have to make sure I finish it soon, because there's no way I will give the book away before I can have a meaningful conversation about it.
The cat has been chasing a moth around the living room tonight, including between my legs...it's so cute. I haven't seen the ole' fatso this active in a long time. She keeps crying, it's really cute.
I need to go to bed. After I eat.
Now, I like Dan, for several reasons (not the least of which is that we share a name). I suppose there are those that would shy from his acidic sense of humour, but it has always amused me, even when I don't agree with what he has to say. He's a funny writer indeed, and what gets me most about his work is the sheer defiance in it. Here is someone who has lived a lifetime; his body of work shows that much. (Unless he's a big fat lier. But I doubt it.) And still there is a sense he has something to prove; that he has nothing to prove. What a paradox, eh?
No, no paradoxes, it's 2 in the bloody morning...
Anyway, I am feeling vaguely guilty because my mom bought me that book ages ago, and I haven't finished reading it yet, despite how funny it is. God, I need a longer attention span.
I remembered when I pulled that book out how odd it was to read Savage's chapter on his adolescence, and to try to picture the creator of these sardonic witticisms as a kid. I hadn't really thought about it, but Savage is incredibly a product of a gay Catholic kid upbringing; where else would he learn to respond with sly jabs only superficially disguised as helpful? Where else would he learn to see homo-eroticism in everthing? Quiet, I'm on a roll.
So then my mind HAS to ask..."So what kind of childhood did Michael Musto have?"
Good god, I don't even want to contemplate it.
My mother wants to read the book after me, as well as Pat, so I have to make sure I finish it soon, because there's no way I will give the book away before I can have a meaningful conversation about it.
The cat has been chasing a moth around the living room tonight, including between my legs...it's so cute. I haven't seen the ole' fatso this active in a long time. She keeps crying, it's really cute.
I need to go to bed. After I eat.