Good Time Charlie has been disobedient and not been a very good blogger lately – but that’s all going to change this week. So now that I’m back I promise to be more consistent. Like a lover that you like to have around and who doesn’t grow annoying with the passing days. And now that my last directing job (oh wait, can I actually call what I do a job?) is over I can get back to my incoherent rambling on a more regular but not fiber-induced consistency.
What I was going to talk about was The Gays. Just in general – as a species. The population is growing at an alarming rate, which is to say the least… alarming. So did you know that The Gays now even have their own Gay Top Model? Seriously. It’s in Vancouver. And it’s brilliant… I mean a disgrace. No, really it is a lot of fun. The boys (and I say boys because as I’m aging gracefully into the hills of time there’s no other way to describe them) came out both literally and figuratively to a book reading I was doing at Little Sisters Bookstore. So first I have to give a shout out to Little Sisters in Vancouver who has been sooooo amazing to me over the years hosting DVD, book, and magazine signings. They are such an important part of our community so I encourage you to support them and buy all my books.
So I’m at the reading and I’m sooooo nervous – we have a great group of people but suddenly I have to talk and read and my mouth was dry and I was sweating…I was a hot mess. I think it’s way easier to speak to a massive group of people or to a camera than it is to speak in an intimate group. So there I am – dry mouth, sweating buckets, barely able to complete a coherent sentence (much like this blog)…
And guess who walks in?
My arch nemesis… Sean Horlor. The guy has some hit TV show called Don’t Quit Your Gay Job and he’s a published poet and all tattoos and muscles and stuff. Jerk, right? So he starts chucking gay pulp at me like it’s going out of print, and I’m getting paper cuts across my retinas from novel pages teeming with prose and superfluous adjectives describing over and over again the weight and circumference of various protagonist’s manhood. Finally, I can’t take it anymore and I yell out at the fiend, “Hey, what’s your problem, jerk? I’m trying to finish chapter 2 of Boy Midflight here for my patient audience of twenty-six in relative peace!”
“I’ll tell you what my problem is you overly styled bear cub…” Sean snarls from around a bookshelf nearly toppling over with copies of James Lear’s The Back Passage. Damn the Brit for being so clever with his well plotted erotica…
“Bear cub?!” I interrupt him in a mystified whimper.
“Well you are packing on the pounds, Mr. David. I could only assume it was intentional.”
My loyal audience giggled collectively and a few even turned their chairs to face Sean. He was stealing my spotlight, he was insulting me (even if I was comfortable in my new cub-ness), and my retinas were still bleeding from his damn perfect throwing arm having chucked a good half dozen copies of his own poetry Made Beautiful By Use at me upon his entrance. Made Beautiful By Use… I picked up a copy and turned it over in my hands. What was that supposed to even mean, anyway? His snarky intellectualism and imitation Zac Efron hair were really starting to rub me and not in the right way.
“Just what is this about, Sean?”
“It’s about you calling me a Little Skater Punk…”
“Don’t even pretend not to remember. In our Xtra West interview, my blog… ring a bell?”
“Seriously? What a throwback! That was like…a seriously long time ago…” I stammer, still incredulous.
“It was December 9th, 2009 and it still hurts. I don’t even skateboard, man.”
We met eyes again for the very first time. Well I guess not again if it was the first time but you get the idea. It wasn’t romance just… common ground. Respect I guess. Next thing I knew we had our arms around each other awkwardly posing for photos and pretending not to desperately loathe each other.
I think I did a better job. But then, hey, I’m an actor. And I’m not that fat. I just have a big head. A big head spells success when you work in TV. Then again, so does Zac Efron-esque cool hair. Guess it’s a toss up. From here on I promise to never (only occasionally) rib Sean Horlor. After all, I only like to bug people I hate.
FYI – I may or may not have lied about all of this.