represent

The movie was good and that was the good part. Usually the gay film festival movies are just not worth it. But the gay men pack the houses anyway, more for the social experience I suppose than for quality films. And, of course, the possibility of seeing penis on the big screen. Or maybe they're just really desperate for images of gay life represented in film. But if its really, really bad representation, what's the point? Documentaries are usually a safer bet than the fictional films, and It Came From Kuchar lives up to this theory. The Kuchar brothers are twins, both of whom have been making "underground," experimental films for something like fifty years. They're totally wacky, not following any conventions in their work or personal lives. Outsider cinema from head to toe, socially awkward and not afraid to show it. They received an award from the festival on the night of the screening. They both got up in front of full audience at the castro theatre and rambled on, only vaguely on topic, and it was great. The audience loved it. And maybe that's why people show up to see these films - the possibility of coming in contact with something obscure and strange, but amazingly fabulous and totally camped out. But with films like Greek Pete, which sadly got two screenings, the festival insults its audience by thinking that semi-hardcore sex scenes are going to make up for a pointless and depressingly dull look at the world of escorts in london.

The date with the guy that I met in Rockridge, but who lives in san francisco, where I'm going to be living again very soon, which led me to the Kuchar film was confusing. Do I like him or not, or am I just desperate? Does he like me or not? He seemed really smart and interested in a lot of different things. He has some money. He's a real live successful San Francisco homosexual. This is their city. And yes, I'm jealous. But then not jealous and just sad. And then not sad, just defiant. And then not defiant, just sleepy. Being on date a with someone is also kind of like being on date with yourself. I mean, if you're at all self-conscious, which I am just a tad. I notice all the bad habits I have which I thought would have been squashed by now. I don't speak loud enough. That's because I'm uncomfortable in public. Or with certain people. Well, most people. Especially when surrounded by a bunch of loud gay men. But then that's true when around a bunch of loud straight people, too. Not only don't I talk loud enough, but I'm so uncomfortable I can't think of anything to say anyway. And then I drop my fork on the floor with a splash. We start talking about Isabelle Huppert and then I've got something to say. I worship that woman's screen image. M. Streep, eat your heart out. Then my chopsticks fly up in the air. Splash. At his place, we eat lychee ice cream instead of drinking beer and there's three reasons why I shouldn't stay. But of course I do stay because I'm so open to the experience. And that's it, I should have just left. But then the sex was hot. But now there's not going to be anymore sex so does it matter. I realize how desperate I am when I go on a date. How just barely holding on I really am.