Some people (ahem) need to wait until after their son comes out to show their support. Not Nate’s dad. In a letter that was posted this morning to Facebook by the pro-gay clothing and accessory brand FCKH8, the unidentified father writes his son an inspirational letter of acceptance after…
RIP to the The Rocky Horror Show Broadway Revival. It was one of the most mind-blowing things I had ever seen on stage. I am not sure if it is a case of Don’t Tell Mom the Babysitter’s Dead wherein I was so obsessed with it upon initial consumption I am unable to assess an accurate review open maturity. But I saw the revival fall of my senior year and loved it. My parents and Alexandra and I went on a double date to New York for the day. We excitedly rode NJ Transit there and fought through hand-written notes in the seat behind my parents on the way back. But the show was great. And queer. The cast was wearing highly suggestive costumes that included fishnets and buckles. If only my dear girlfriend knew the inner monologue as I caught a glimpse of the berries of one of the male “phantoms” peaking out from his codpiece. In actuality it’s possible that I did address this to her in an attempt to overcompensate for the Mia-Farrowing (read: highly expressive facial reaction) my face was doing. A simple lean in, “Oh my god, he is literally hanging out of his costume.” Inner monologue goes, “Phew. No suspicions that I am gay. I’m not gay. Am I gay?”
It was my girlfriend, Alexandra’s birthday and I had this great idea -convince student photographer and fellow theatre tragedy, Rachel to take some romantic photos of us. The trick to it was masquerading that we were actually the subjects of a photo project for Rachel. We were anything but romantic in our Old Navy performance fleece ensembles, forcing kisses in the courtyard across from the band room. The gift wrapped result was a series of 5x7’s collaged together showing our best (worst?) moments. Lots of chapped lips and you’re-on-Accutane-skin and uncomfortable head to head laughing. No wonder Alex’s dad put post-it’s over our lip-locked faces. Charming? Gay?
Alexandra slapped me right across the face. My high school girlfriend and I were paired together for a musical number at school. It was “Master of the House” from Les Mis. Familiar? It’s a bunch of toothless drunks celebrating and humiliating the innkeeper in a light, comedic moment. On the final dress before we left for the State Thespian Conference (which is like the playoffs for high school actors) this bitch starts beating me. The choreography suggested a lot of foot stomping and hair-pulling but it was the gusto in which she let her open hand hit my flesh that in retrospect suggests it wasn’t always peachy-keen in our world. She was pissed that she had forgotten her tap shoes and couldn’t take tap class at the conference. I was pissed that she was taking it out on me (and also probably because I liked boys and was dating her.) So this whole final dress rehearsal became a physical fight of improvised bites and hits where we both - laughed - laughed as we hit one another. SO method. SO unhealthy. SO, dare I say, gay?