Good Like Sunkist, Made Me Wanna Know: Who Done This?

The answer to the above is, quite obviously, Marky Mark. I love Mark Wahlberg. I mean, oh my God I just absolutely love him. Usually, I don't really go in for beefcake, so the response Wahlberg elicits from my lady parts is a somewhat unexpected one. For the most part, the men I crush on, celebrity-wise, are sort of weird looking, dark and/or mysterious, waifish or schlubby, artsy and probably gay. That's just my style, I guess. And then there's Mark. Oh, Mark. Mark Wahlberg makes me want to put a giant, poster-sized version of his Calvin Klein advertisement on my wall and draw a big red heart around his head in permanent marker, along with "Sab & Marky Mark 4EVA." You know, just like Mark himself did in the masterpiece "Fear"; just knifed "Nicole 4EVA" all up on those glistening pecs. I also consider that Mark is not so much acting in any of his films as he is displaying facets of his actual persona. Thus, I've not bothered to learn the name of Marky's character in "Fear," even though I think about "Fear" and how it applies to my life at least once a week, because as far as I'm concerned that was just Marky Mark demonstrating what would happen if he had a psychotic break and Alyssa Milano were hanging around wearing a high waisted thong.

Maybe I like Mark Wahlberg because he doesn't seem like he'd be very smart and there's something strangely comforting about the thought of falling asleep in the strong arms of a Boston accent. On the other hand, maybe I like Marky Mark because I think he's secretly SO smart. Like, tortured genius level of intellect. Maybe I like that I can totally picture Mark Wahlberg secretly sitting in a dimly lit room, reading, oh, I dunno, "Waiting for Godot" or some other piece of existential literature, pausing, mid page, to look into the single flickering, fluorescent light and saying, so quietly not even he is sure he's spoken aloud "Why doesn't anybody take me SERIOUSLY?" And maybe that question would be fair. Mark Wahlberg works so hard! Just think of all the enjoyable films he's been in! Maybe not GREAT films, but films you'd watch. Films you'd watch and probably say "Oh, that's Mark Wahlberg. You know, I actually really enjoy watching him on camera. He seems to be a pretty hard working actor. I wonder why nobody takes him seriously?"

There's no reason Mark Wahlberg shouldn't be taken seriously; he seems like a great guy! I picture Mark hanging with all of his bros at a basketball court in Southie (is Marky Mark even from Southie? I just assume everyone from Boston is from a hardscrabble, Catholic, Southie upbringing). Mark is obviously wearing some sort of stained wife beater, or possibly no shirt at all. Look at that crazy Mark! I know he sleeps around, but he just seems so sweet! I bet he's really good to his mom. See how he ties that bandana around his head?! Watch as he sensually poses against a chain link fence. Oh, now he's using two cinderblocks as weights! I guess that's how they do it in hardscrabble Southie! No real weights, just two cinderblocks on either end of some industrial rebar stolen from the foundation of the new bank building that seems like it will just NEVER be finished. But then, that's Southie: broken dreams as far as the eye can see. The only distraction from disappointment is to hone one's shimmering pectorals and make love under the influence of Guinness on all those cold, cold Boston nights. Is that the woman who sings on "Gonna Make You Sweat (Everybody Dance Now)?" You know, the kind of fat lady with the impressive wail that they replaced in the video? God, that skinny bitch's lip sync-ing was AWFUL. Just the worst. America's obsession with weight is so embarrassing.

I really don't know very much about the actual life of Mark Wahlberg. My research for this blog consisted of watching the "Good Vibrations" video on repeat and looking at a lot of shirtless photos. Didn't Marky Mark get married not long ago? To a lady he had a kid or two with? I'm not entirely sure about this because it's the sort of news I would hear, process, then choose to ignore upon deciding its effect on my fantasies of having a Funky Bunch reunion tour made in my honor would be entirely too negative. I did recently read a blurb where Mark himself claimed he was in talks to make a movie with teen heartthrob, Justin Bieber. My response to this gossip was first "WHAT?!" and then "OMG FINALLY!!" Mark needs to be on film more often. Particularly in the sort of fun, frothy films which would star Justin Bieber and allow me to fantasize about hanging out with my husband, Mark, and his little bro (though they're not genetically related, just close from their time in the orphanage in Southie,) Justin. "Mark!" I'd say "Don't fight over me!" I'd have to say this a lot because Mark would often be jealous of strange men. "Oh baby," he'd respond, face streaked with tears, belying his tough talk, "Oh, baby it just drives me crazy to see anyone look at you that way." And I would smile, because I'd know he'd care. Then, my love, Mark Wahlberg, would rip off his shirt. "You drive, Biebz," he'd command, one beefy arm looped round my shoulder, and we'd all share a good laugh as the Corvette stuttered into the sunset, because Justin is not a very good driver. Not a very good driver at all.

Prop 8 Overturned: Welcome to the Land of the Obvious!

Well, it's been a week. A test of the human will to overcome small trials, which is why I haven't been here to bloggify in a while. I'm sorry, I know there are many people who have been bitterly mourning this absence, but don't worry! There will be some typically moaning coverage of my experiences, filled with the angst and ennui you crave. There will be both durm and strang aplenty. Right now, though, I just want to take a little time out and post about something other than myself, a person I'm finding particularly boring at the moment. I'm tired and I'm just sort of barely able to eke out a little strang, and the ability to durm again seems far-off. So, something else! Let's talk! Or, rather, let me talk at you and you look interested, kay?

So, Prop 8 got repealed. Which is a good thing. A great thing, really. I've been listening to Culture Club all day in celebration. Of course, if you let yourself think about it too much,it's a victory that starts to look a little dingy. A little small. All these years, all this technology and modern learning and we celebrate with thanks and joy and relief that people who want to get married are allowed to do so? In a single state? Why should this even be an issue? Why should it even be a question? And of course, the decision to overturn this decision wasn't made by the people. In truth it really had nothing much to do with the people at all, no glorious demonstrations of public opinion, no sea changes in the mind set of the majority. Don't get me wrong, I still think this is a victory, and one worth praising. I think that people are slowly, achingly slowly, starting to realize that maybe all human beings deserve human rights, but what I want to talk about now is those other people. Those people, that majority, who believed gay marriage is wrong, and more than likely still do. And belief is, I think, an essential word, here. It seems the whole argument over gay marriage and, by extension, the belief that maybe, just possibly, there is a whole spectrum of sexual interest and definition and that all of it could be worth respecting, comes down to two sides, and those sides argue with either belief or logic. To me and many others like me (including those judges in California), it seems obvious, it seems logical that gay marriage should be legal and that gays should have rights. For a lot of people though, voting people, they cannot shake the belief that this lifestyle is wrong. And that, the more I think about and the older I get, just makes me feel very sad. For them.

Yesterday I was at the grocery store and I saw a guy I went to high school with. He was about two years behind me in school, and I didn't know him all that well, but we were involved in some of the same activities (theater, mostly) and so I was familiar with him peripherally. He had always been, as far as I could tell, flamboyantly, obviously, unquestionably gay. In school I just assumed it was a known fact and didn't give the situation any further thought. Frankly, I found the boy a little on the annoying side. Sort of catty. But, beyond that, I didn't really spend much time considering him or find him all that interesting. Then one day I said something to a friend about him and she told me how he was taking a girl from another school to our homecoming. Well that's sweet of him to do, I said, picking at my lunch and not particularly interested.

"Why is that sweet?" asked my friend.

Well, I told her, it's sweet of him to take that girl so that she'll be able to have a date.

My friend crinkled up her forehead, looking confused, and told me she wasn't sure what I meant since he was dating the girl, since she was, after all his girlfriend. Well at this I did a spit take. I think I probably laughed, too, which isn't very polite, I know, but, I mean, really? I mean seriously? There was no way in hell this guy was straight, just absolutely no way, and I told my friend that. She shrugged. She's his girlfriend, she repeated. Well, I didn't say anything more. I had no doubt in my mind that the kid was anything but straight, but it wasn't really any of my business.

Not long after that, one of my best friends came out. While none of her friends cared, and although I knew, from the experience of other friends, that coming out in our community was no small step, I was flabbergasted by the cruelty she was met with. Did she get beaten up? No. She wasn't shoved into lockers or punched or kicked or anything like that, but the viciousness with which people reacted to her was shocking nonetheless. I remember one day, as I waited with her and several other people in the library for classes to start, a girl walking up to this friend of mine. I didn't know the girl, and neither did my friend, but there she was. "So, what," the girl said, her voice filled with contempt, with disgust, "you like pussy now?"

I couldn't imagine what sort of stunted, twisted sense of morality would cause a stranger to walk up to someone just to suggest they hated them, and purely for who they were, not because of something they had done or an offense they had committed. Youth can make people cruel. All those hormones and the confusion and all that, and maybe that girl, that nasty, cruel girl, got older and realized that she had been unkind. I certainly hope so, but I sort of doubt it. I noticed, too, that the boy I had peripherally known, with his girlfriend and his homecoming plans, hung out with a specific group. Rich kids. Popular ones. And, well, the way things worked, it wasn't that anyone I knew who had come out really changed at all after they announced their orientation. None of them suddenly switched from mild-mannered, church attending, clean cut young little lads and ladies and morphed into disco-dancing, fruity drink swilling, bumping and grinding fags or wallet-chain wearing, dog training dykes. Their personalities didn't change, but before they came out, for many of them, they had friends they no longer did once they announced they were gay. And this isn't even going into the shades of sexuality, the mutability of gender, the subtle variants of sexual definition. You were gay or you weren't. I'd always pretty calmly and quietly presented myself as bi, which was seen for the most part as extravagant and bizarre and impossible to understand, the reaction being mostly "What?" Followed by "Do you have naked pillow fights with your friends?" You were either gay or you weren't, and if you were you had better at least be one of those Cosmo holding fruits with good hair and a swish in your hips or those lezzies with a thick neck, a buzz cut and an interest in home repair. Something that could be easily understood. Something that could be boxed up, nice and neat, and shoved to the side. This is us. That, over there, is them. Freakish. Cartoonish. Obscene. As long as that boy could keep saying he was straight and talking about being straight and going with girls, well, that was all right. We could agree not to notice. We could turn our heads.

As with many things, I've come to regard the world as not much more than a macrocosm of the sort of stupid shit that happened in high school. When I see news coverage of anti-gay marriage protesters, red-faced and straining, spitting with anger, I am mostly just reminded of that petty little girl who was so unkind to my friend. It makes me sad. I think most people who believe, passionately and without question, that to be gay is wrong, that it is a choice and a perversion, believe so fully because they haven't had the chance to feel otherwise. They have come from families or communities where this belief is drilled into them from their childhood, and they are so consistently and for so many years denied access to any other opinion that they don't even seek out such education anymore. Their faith is unwavering. They genuinely believe whole huge chunks of people, who are different or believe differently or act differently than they do will be going to hell. And that makes me sad. What a terrible life that must be, to carry around so much hate. What a terrible weight that must be, to think that you are forever walking a very narrow line between right and damnation, eternal and full of pain. And then there are others, a smaller portion, who share many of the qualities of this first group but add to it unmitigated hatred. Cruelty. Anger. All too often, violence. These people are dangerous, but I can't help but feel a little sad for them, too. They are a sort who will never be able to let themselves go and laugh and be happy, because their cruelty to others is almost always turned toward themselves as well. People like this disgust me and make me tired, but I don't want to approach them and I don't want to argue with them. There is no point. Their punishment is having to live with a person like themselves.

There are, of course, less zealous and extreme impediments to equality. There are many more people who just feel confused and put off by people who are openly gay than there are people who believe in the unspeakable atrociousness of gay marriage. Most of these confused folks are just sort of bumbling but well-meaning. I genuinely believe that, although so many horrible things happen at the hands of humans on a regular basis, most people are, for the most part, good. They have jobs and friends and maybe they're not as sensitive as they should be, but they're not evil. Should people be educated in acceptance? Absolutely. There is, without question, a great deal of danger in the sort of everyday, innocent ignorance that is so common in our country (and probably the whole world). I think, though, that the majority of humans can learn to accept one another on the basis of being human, and that's hopeful. I feel sad for those that can't, and I do think the are some who can't, accept people as they are for precisely who they are. I feel sad for them but I don't particularly want to waste my time attempting to convince them to believe otherwise, because it's their loss (and it really is a terrible loss). So Prop 8 got overturned. That guy I saw at the grocery store is in college now, and out. And maybe things can change.