18 February 2008


I'm probably not the first person to ponder this, but I suddenly just wondered: Is happiness the death of Art? Practically every actor I know dreads personal happiness, 'cuz they're afraid it'll somehow syphon off their ability to do angst on stage.

Two thoughts:

  1. Are actors just stupid, being unable to separate their personal lives from their "jobs?"
  2. I'm completely unable to cite any good art that doesn't represent some sort of emotional turmoil, and that's kinda depressing.

The most remarkable thing happened to me at the Font of Dionysus.

I'm kinda used to being invisible to hot young gay guys – it's kinda de rigeur. But I was just sitting here typing away at the bar, and an older man sidled up to place an order. He was, if a day, fifty, but in really good shape. Clearly works out. Great skin. Trendy haircut. Nice glasses.

Gave me one glance, and completely dismissed me.

Now, generally, I'm not attracted to men who're older than me, but suddenly I was forced to consider why and elderly gay man would look me up and down once, and decide I wasn't even worth acknowledging!

It's almost enough to drive an image-conscious gay to the gym.


Apropos of nothing: A.Pants is a total freak for Celine Dion, and yet I still find myself smitten by him.

That's some powerful mojo, my friends.

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