I TURNED 40 : second installment

WELCOME BACK TO "WHAT I DID OVER SUMMER VACATION PART I," SECOND INSTALLMENT, IN WHICH I WILL SHARE EVEN MORE PICTURES AND ANECDOTES.

          When last we left my 40th birthday party, Sugar the pretty pony had just come 'round the corner to visit.

Look at my pretty pretty purple tail... I'm a little birthday pony.

Me and Anthony hangin' with Sugar

          Sugar was immediately surrounded by friends and family eager to pet and praise. My mom had a vegetable platter nearby, so we started feeding baby carrots to Sugar. That was totally fun because of her snuffly horse mouth. Way cute.

Matt with Sugar, Julie with Sugar, Doug making out with Sugar

Aunt Wanda and Lauren with the pony of honor

          After a while, we decided to release the pony and her handler, since they weren't going to let any of us RIDE the pony. But whatever. Anthony, Lauren & Eric, and my stepmom and I all followed Sugar out to her little trailer and got to see all her party clothes and costumes. We waved a fond farewell as the pony was chauffered away...

The birthday pony cake

          Anthony made my official birthday cake, which was chocolate, of the bundt persuasion, and topped with chocolate frosting and MY LITTLE PONIES yes it was! I felt guilty cutting into it. But not that guilty. It was delicious and then gone.

Anthony goes berserk, resulting in the tragic death of the pony pinata

          I LOVE pinatas. I love busting the crap out of them. I love it when adults nervously suffer the indignity of a blindfold and a crowd of people spinning them in circles and then yelling directions at them while the blind one swings a gaily festooned stick around in the air.

          Little did we know that typically gentle Anthony would be the one to bash that little crepe paper pony wide open in a whirlwind of power and fury. Actually, I was not that surprised because I know the warrior that lurks within the quiet man, but everybody else was stunned and excited. During Anthony's sudden attack on the pinata, he even bashed a bird feeder to smithereens and sent shrapnel flying!

          Later on in the day, fired up on candy, I grabbed the poor crippled pinata pony and savagely broke one of its remaining legs, then threw the corpse on the ground and stomped the shit out of it. My Aunt Penney witnessed my act of brutality and said, "Gosh, Tommy, we've never seen that dark & violent side of you..."

          Judging by the pinata incident, if Anthony and I were warriors or soldiers (don't laugh), Anthony would be the one to inflict the mortal wound on our enemy, and I would be the one to run up and kick him while he's down, shouting, "Yeah! Take THAT!"

The best stick pony. (But don't tell the others)

          At the end of the party my mom seemed surprised that I actually wanted to KEEP the stick ponies, and other pony decorations, including the little rocking singing pony. She was like, "But isn't there such a thing as TOO MANY ponies?"

          No. There is not.

          I allowed guests to each take one plush hanging pony and one collapsible pony as souvenirs, but the rest were all MINE. Especially the stick ponies and the little flocked ponies.

          People kept asking me how it felt to be 40, and I kept saying it felt fine. But the next morning I woke up and looked in the mirror. I looked like SHIT.

Wait, I'm HOW old?!

WHAT I DID OVER SUMMER VACATION PART 1 : I turned 40

This picture is kind of dark and blurry, but maybe that's appropriate for the occasion?

          Well, I turned 40 this summer, on July 4th. I don't hate it, due in large part to the fact that 4 is my favorite number, and turning 40 on July 4th seems kind of cool. And I felt very loved indeed, since my husband, my mom, and my Aunt Wanda put together an amazing party for me, with a PONY theme! I bet I'm the envy of every other 40-year-old man out there. Right? Because all 40-year-old men love ponies?



A pre-birthday strawberry shortcake at Aunt Wanda's



Anthony created these handmade invitations using prints of an old photo of me



At left: me and my handsome husband Anthony. At right: me with my dad & my mom.

          I feel very lucky that although divorced, my parents get along well with each other for special occasions that involve lil' ol' me. My stepdad and my stepmom are very cool about it, too. Not everybody can say that!
          NOTE ON PHOTOS: All the photos that have black borders around them are courtesy of my awesome sister-in-law, Lauren. She took tons of pictures that day, and then had them printed in a beautiful photo book, which I scanned so I could share them.  :)
          The photos WITHOUT black borders were taken with my cell phone, probably by me unless I'm IN the picture, and then Anthony probably took it. Unless HE'S in the picture, TOO, and then the pony probably took it.

Three shots of the enchanting pony decor, some of which was official "My Little Pony"

          Every little detail of the decorations was tailor-made for me. There were balloons in my favorite colors, teal blue and black, and even black HEART balloons!

Little collapsible ponies, little flocked ponies, pony pinata, rocking pony that sings... (it really does!)

My stepdad, Dan, being a good sport with a bow on his head. You have to do that with bald heads.

Hanging pony garlands: Threat or ill omen?

          At one point between presents and cake, my mom came over to me and said, "I know you would have loved having Courtney Love as a special guest at your 40th birthday party, but we couldn't get her. We have someone else, instead, which I hope will be just as good. They're about to come around the side of the house right now..."
          I froze in terror, staring at the corner of the house, wondering who or what was about to come around the corner. After a few breathless moments, all was revealed...

Sugar, the little birthday pony

          My mom had hired an ACTUAL LIVE PONY to make an appearance! Her name is Sugar, and she was done up in My Little Pony style with a purple tail, purple-painted hooves, and flowers braided into her mane. Admit it, you're jealous! My mom asked me if it was a good surprise, and I said, "Yes, and Sugar is definitely more sanitary than Courtney Love!"
          Julie and I were a little concerned that Sugar would notice the hanging garland ponies and take it as some sort of threat.
          There are more pictures to share, but I'll save it for a second birthday post, so the page doesn't take forever to load. Can you hardly wait?

SQUIRMLES & PUNCH BALLS

          While out shopping with my mom, I found these in a novelty paper goods store. Dude, I used to LOVE punch balls! I made my Grampa get them for me at K-Mart all the time (right before riding the little coin-operated carousel, airplane, and pony in front of the store), and just go batshit on it. For a gentle kid I sure enjoyed giving a punch ball a vicious rapid pummeling. Also loved the way a punch ball just keeps coming back for more. It HAS to, 'cause it's on a leash! That punch ball is your BITCH. It's like a hyper, suicidal yo-yo.
          And Squirmles! Totally exciting because they move almost like they're ALIIIVE. When I was little I loved any sort of fake pet. Pet rocks, invisible dogs, whatever. Squirmles are bigger, softer pipe cleaners you can name. And don't underestimate the transformative magic of googly eyes.
          Anyway, I had to buy these because they gave me a rush of childhood joy.

Squirmles & Punch Balls: that's how I roll, bitches.

JOCK STRAP : mystery solved

          Way back when I was getting ready to enter the 7th grade, they required all boys to obtain jock straps for P.E. To my shame I was never able to figure out how it worked, even though it certainly isn't that complicated. Recently it suddenly dawned on me in a moment of forehead-smacking clarity that I had confused the "strap" with the "cup," thinking they were one and the same when in fact they are not. Come with me on this lifelong journey from ignorance to understanding.
          It was during the last dying days of the summer of 1983. My dad had taken me to Army Navy, which is a dreadful place for a "sensitive" boy to find himself during the nightmare blur of days leading up to the first day of junior high. Most of the Army Navy is devoted to fishing, hunting, camping, and sporting. Lots of plaid, brown, beige, and camouflage. I was more of a unicorn, Scratch 'n' Sniff sticker, stuffed animal kind of boy, so I totally felt like I was in enemy territory.
          I swear no one told me about the cup. Or if they did, they didn't bother to explain it was something separate that is placed into the jock strap pouch that goes over your junk. I really had no idea. I was in a blind haze of denial, mortified that I had to go out and buy something specifically for my PENIS & BALLS. It seemed like a form of torture, an intentional humiliation forced on me by the public school system. I was pretty sure girls did not have a checklist that included tampons and Gynelotrimin.
           I resentfully stomped into the Army Navy dressing room and glared at the ugly beige standard issue jock strap. It looked kind of like an old pair of underpants that had fallen apart from wear until all that was left was the elastic band, and that mysterious pouch. A pouch facing OUTWARD with snaps to fasten it shut. How the hell was my google supposed to fit into that? And get SNAPPED IN?!
           My bits were firmly attached to my body (still are), and as far as I knew detachable penises only existed in novelty songs.* It was baffling.
          "How is everything going in there?" my dad called from outside the dressing room.
          "Fine!" I blurted, turning the jockstrap inside-out and yanking it up my thighs to see if that made more sense. It didn't, because I was still convinced my junk was supposed to go INTO the snapping pouch, otherwise what's it for?
          "You need any help in there?"
          "NO!" I screeched, stuffing my balls into the pouch and getting horribly tangled in the strap. Wrong. All wrong. I gave up and pulled it back off.
          I emerged grimly from the dressing room, insisting everything was great, the strap is just nifty, let's GO, Dad.
          On the first day of junior high my best friend and I hunkered in the corner of the boys' locker room, wide-eyed and disgusted, trying to appear as inconspicuous and NOT gay as possible. We both rolled our eyes and shook our heads at the idea of the jock strap and agreed we would NEVER wear one of those things. I don't remember if I actually threw it away, or just kept it in my P.E. locker in case I ever had to prove I had one.
          It should go without saying that I couldn't WATCH the other boys and observe how they donned their straps and dealt with the pouch, any more than I could just walk up to one of them and say, "Excuse me, may I ask you for some help with my jock?" For a bullied little pudgy gay nerd, the only way to even SURVIVE in P.E. was to keep your head down, not make eye contact with anyone, and strive for invisibility.
          A few weeks ago I caught some of "America's Funniest Videos," and saw a disturbing clip of two little league boys knocking the baseball against their athletic cup-protected crotches. A little light went off in my brain. Athletic cup. An athletic cup is one of those hard plastic thingies, which must be what goes...
          INTO THE POUCH!
          My jaw dropped. I smacked my forehead. Not having been an athletically inclined boy, the idea of special gear to protect your crotch was just never a practical reality, and not something that ever would have occurred to me. And if either of my parents had started to say, "Do you understand what a jock strap is for?" I would have interrupted, "YES, I understand everything, I have no questions, now can we talk about something ELSE?"
          I guess in today's world a scared little queer boy faced with jock strap uncertainty could use the internet for help. But then his parents would probably just find pictures of men in jock straps in the family computer's history, and that would spark a whole dilemma of its own.


*please excuse my creative license, "Detachable Penis" by King Missile didn't come out until 1992.

OC FAIR 2011



Views from the Ferris Wheel

          Before we skibbled off to Comic-Con, we had already planned to take in the OC Fair the Sunday after with our friend Matt. I wasn't sure if I was really up to it, since I was wiped out and crabby from the con, but the fair sounded fun and distracting.

This was the first ride we went on, that pins you against the wall with centrifugal force

          My stomach was giving me some... "problems," but I was so excited by all the pretty lights and frantic noise and motion that I just toughed it out and went on rides and ate chocolate-covered bacon, a BBQ pork sundae, and a deep-fried Twinkie anyway. This may not have been the best idea I've had recently.

Anthony & Matt on "Cyclone"

          The thing was, once we started going on rides and stuff, I felt great! I couldn't believe I'd regained my energy so quickly. I was like, "I may have just turned 40, but I know how to have a good time!"

Matt & me on "Cyclone"

"The Cyclone." I love this ride. It's simple and fun and looks cool. And maybe you'll get to go to Oz.

          We even perused the arts & crafts exhibit and discovered this really amazing woodworker named Fred Rose, who had done all these really unusual half-organic sculptures. There was a creepy "cabinet of curiosities" element to his work that all three of us really dug.

This is just a mere sampling of some of his smaller pieces, but it had his name so I snapped this pic so I wouldn't forget.

          Here's the Fred Rose website: http://fredrosestudio.com/

          We had a great time, but later that night, maybe around 2 in the morning, I woke up and thought I was DYING. My stomach was cramping like a mutha, and felt like a burning pit of nausea. My head was throbbing, my skin felt like it was being pricked by fiery needles, and I could hardly walk. I was really light-headed and almost afraid I was gonna pass out on the bathroom floor. I was only half-conscious of sinking to the floor and just laying there for I don't know how long, in misery. Oh, and did I mention I was sweating profusely? That was a nice extra touch.
          I somehow managed not to throw up by sheer force of will. I kept thinking of what I'd eaten at the fair and just REFUSED to revisit that. Around 3:30 in the morning I took a bath, thinking it might sooth my furious stomach. Then I ended up lying on the bathroom floor for another unspecified amount of time. I eventually made it out to the couch, and stayed there in a fetal twist of delirium through the entire next day.
          When Anthony woke up and discovered my sorry state, he went and got me Pepto, Tums, and ginger ale. Which helped a lot. But I kept starting to remember what I'd eaten at the fair, and then my stomach would start to go into this horrible massive churn, and I'd have to will myself to forget, to pretend it NEVER HAPPENED.
          It took a little over 24 hours for me to feel normal again, and I still feel weak and emptied out, like one of those whole vanilla beans that Martha Stewart likes to pry open and scrape out brutally with a sharp knife.

ERNEST GOES TO WONDERLAND : Tim Burton's painful "Alice"

          I know it came out quite a while ago, but it was on cable this morning, and I ended up watching the last half of it, with the same nauseating mixture of bafflement and disappointment I felt when we first saw it in the theater in 3D.

          And by the way, the ONLY thing in the film worthy of 3D was the Cheshire Cat's all-too-brief appearances. There was no other point to the inflated ticket price and stupid glasses.
          I don't know whether to blame Burton, or Disney, or both, for the many horrendous flaws and massive errors in judgment. The only ones involved in the film I DON'T heap loathing upon are the artists directly responsible for the many stunning visuals. I admit it all LOOKS great.
          To begin with, the idea of Alice returning to Wonderland as an adult and having only a hazy memory of her past visit is certainly nothing new. It's been done many times over, pornfully and otherwise. And I don't like it.
          I read part of an interview with Burton before the film came out in which he states that he doesn't really like the original story, or even the original animated Disney movie. It came across sounding like this was Burton's way of "fixing" all the things he felt were wrong with the original story. The end result is a Wonderland stripped of its unique and delightful nonsense. One of the qualities that makes Carroll's work memorable is the wandering & dreamlike anecdotal structure. (or non-structure, as the case may be) Things end abruptly, happen for no apparent reason, and transition in strange nonsensical ways.
          Wonderland should not be linear or plot-driven! Forcing it to be so just makes it feel like Burton &/or Disney don't understand the original property. Who wants a non-dreamlike Wonderland?!
          Johnny Depp used to be cool. Now he has done about 2 "Pirates" movies too many. Some of us are pretty tired of his "Jack Sparrow" shtick. Some of us don't want to see Jack Sparrow aping about and mugging for the kids as the Mad Hatter. Some of us think the Mad Hatter makes a very creepy love interest for Alice, since he first met her when she was 7 and he was already clearly much older. Maybe Disney & Burton think the Hatter/Alice crush element was subtle, but it was not.
          I didn't like the special effects used to make the Queen of Hearts' head look huge. It was distracting. Likewise the awkward elongating of the Knave of Hearts. And the thing about her court wearing fake enlarged prosthetics was totally stupid and not Wonderland-y. Why would they have to use prosthetics when it would be more in keeping with the fantasy to have them just rub a bit of that enlarging cake on whatever they want bigger, or drop a bit of the shrinking stuff on anything to make it smaller? Know what I mean? Rather than swallowing the size-changing stuff, which obviously affects the entire body, just use it topically on certain parts. That's nonsense logic.
          Didn't like the Burton/Disney Dormouse, either. Didn't like her having the voice of an old lady, or being all vicious and wanting to stab things with her sword. That is so unlike the book they should have just used another character entirely. The Dormouse is supposed to be little and cute, dozing drunkenly in a teapot and mumbling bits of stories and songs.
          Epic battles between organized armies do not belong in Wonderland. Neither do prophecies. The residents of Wonderland have short attention spans and very poor organizational skills, and that's part of why I love them. Dum & Dee can occasionally fight it out with pots and pans until they both get winded and fall down, but that's it. If you want epic battles and crap like that, look to Narnia, Middle Earth, or Prydain.
          Also, the POEM is called "Jabberwocky," the creature itself is "the Jabberwock." Yet in the Burton/Disney version, they all refer to the creature as "the Jabberwocky." This is unforgivable. It's like not knowing the difference between Frankenstein the mad scientist, and Frankenstein's MONSTER.
          The worst moment of the entire film, the "bottom of the barrel" moment, is the Mad Hatter's shockingly lame dance of victory after the "Jabberwocky" is slain. It has some stupid name like "the fluffernutter" or whatever, and has no basis from the original books. It's so lame, with anachronistic almost hip-hop music, it makes you feel like you're watching "Ernest Goes To Wonderland." And I do not want to feel like that. I don't need to see Johnny Depp staining Carroll's creative property with a puerile Michael Jackson imitation. But I've already seen it and it cannot be unseen.  :(
          Avril Lavigne over the end credits. Seriously? Who thought Lewis Carroll's classic story would be best honored by Avril fucking Lavigne?! There are not enough words in the English language to describe the injustice. Robert Smith did a much more appropriate song for the soundtrack, called "Very Good Advice," based on the Caterpillar's dialogue from the book. Why didn't they use that instead? Did they just want to make absolutely sure that only 13 year-old Hot Topic shoppers would leave the film happy?
          Did I like ANYTHING about the film? Well, I enjoyed Anne Hathaway, because I like her and thought she was kind of funny. It was weird having the Queen of Hearts from a game of cards, and then the White Queen presumably from a game of Chess, especially since they were supposed to be sisters. But I still liked Hathaway's performance for some reason.
          The Jabberwock looked totally awesome, despite everyone calling it the wrong thing.
          I loved the Cheshire Cat, and thought that one character probably hit the only really appropriate note in the entire film. The way he lazily rolled about in mid-air and appeared and vanished like smoke was great. The big glowing eyes were cool, too.
          Okay, and Alan Rickman voicing the Caterpillar was cool. Visually the Caterpillar was cute and looked right.
          But I would never want to own this movie because it ultimately just pisses me off, as you can tell.

MORE SIGNS

Taken in our condo complex today:

"Wait at least one hour after eating before shitting in the pool."