Going Out on a Limb
There’s been something I’ve wanted to talk about but have refrained from doing so for a long time because it’s a ‘hot button issue’ and I’m a lowly ‘indie author’ who’s supposed to keep her mouth shut if she wants to make sales.
Tired of that.
This is my blog. This is my place to say whatever the hell I want to–in fact, that’s the very reason this blog even exists.
Something’s bothering me. A discussion with a good friend on FB sparked this post. If you are not a good friend you may want to leave now.
So this is happening
I am sad. More than anything else, truly, I’m just sad over the whole thing. Not only it is some Made-For-TV BS…well…at my advanced age I have come to understand that, with very exceptions, nothing will ever beat the original. No matter what the original is.
For me the original is
Do you see the difference? Never mind skin-tone. Do you see it?
I was born in 1966. Just around the time I started becoming ‘aware’ and some might say ‘of age’ this, well this, Gender Bending Thing came along. Mostly in the form of Glam Rock–which I loved, mostly because the music was great and MTV hadn’t been invented yet. Sorry. No, not really. Growing up I quickly came to understand that there were TWO types of ‘orientation’; straight and fag. Sorry. No, not sorry. Not editing history for you. If you’re a Snowflake…bye-bye.
I wasn’t sure what ‘fag’ was although it was said with disgust most of the time. I didn’t understand exactly why–even though I was being raised Roman Catholic and Baptist–because all I could see was two guys who thought the world of each other. Wasn’t that LOVE? Wasn’t that I was taught in CCD every Tuesday and in Sunday School at the crack of dawn every Sunday morning? So…what was the problem, man?
I didn’t get it. I didn’t really care.
Then, as I grew a bit older, ‘fag’ became ‘gay’ which splintered into ‘homosexual’ and ‘lesbian’. I readily accepted that two women could fall in love and be happy with each other forever just as much as two ‘fags’ could do. Right? Why not?
Over the years after that it all got really muddled and confused and, ya know, sorta f’d up. On an “Medical Center” I watched Robert Reed–Mr. Brady!–say he felt like a woman and under go a sex change operation. I think I was 9. (He didn’t make a very pretty woman at the end…ick. Sorry. Not sorry.)
Going against my parent’s grain I felt that People were People and all of them should be treated equally. I didn’t really understand the desires of any of the above–especially not the desire to undergo such drastic surgery (then again, you can’t get within two feet of me with a needle full of penicillin either, so….whatever.) They couldn’t understand my ‘liberalness’ not that they were real die-hard conservatives either, each always voted their conscience and neither was affiliated with any party so far as I’m aware. Although, I confess, one of my most treasured possessions from my mother is a pin that reads; AuH2O. I wear it, every now and then, just to confuse the hell out of people. Another that reads: Archie Bunker For President 1972.
I loved Archie. Screw you if you don’t understand all of his nuances.
I could easily opine about my tye-dye, fringe, clog, bell-bottom, halter-top, peace-sign-giving, Make-Love-Not-War saying, yep even ‘oink oink’ grunting phase that lasted, well, a very long time. I hated Disco.
I’ll spare you that.🙂
In the end, here in 2016, I don’t give a flying fig less what bathroom anyone uses. I really don’t. I freely admit that I have used the Men’s Room at times. Oh, yes, I have.
Glad you asked.
Because the line at the Ladies was out the door and around the corner. I had to pee damnit!
Us ladies take a bit longer than men to urinate. There’s so much more involved in the process and it causes a backup in the line. When one HAS TO GO then they really just HAVE TO GO. There’s no arguing with that. None.
So I marched right in to the Men’s Room where the was NO LINE. I walked right past the men pissing at the urinals. Opened the nearest stall door. Locked it. And let it flow, baby. Yes, the looks on the faces of those men were utterly priceless. Conversation stopped. The entire bathroom fell silent. Even the guys in the stalls seemed to sense a woman’s presence. They stared at me as I walked in. They said nothing. They stared at me as I walked out with grins on their faces that grew wider with each step I took. They said nothing. I went back to doing whatever it was I had been doing–mostly it was a concert, Bowie actually and another time Cinderella–yah, I’m that fucking old.
Several times over the course of my life I’ve had occasion where I could use the Ladies Room and every once in a while have opened the door to find someone standing there who quite obviously wasn’t born with female plumbing. Don’t like that phrase, click it, it’s gonna get worse in a few paragraphs.
Honestly, the look on my face must have been just as priceless as those on the faces of the men gathered at the urinals. Like those men, I never said a word. I didn’t feel threatened. I didn’t feel that person didn’t belong there. I never once thought I should ‘report’ them for any reason whatsoever. In hindsight, I suppose that’s because they gazed back at with the same shock tinged with a bit of fear. They weren’t doing anything harmful. They just had to pee. So I never cared.
I still don’t. Well, I didn’t, until I had to use the bathroom at Stop & Shop recently. I was alone in the Ladies. The outer door opened. I saw a pair of very colorful sneakers beneath my stall door. They stayed there. I looked up. I saw a girl peering in at me. She stayed there. I felt uncomfortable. After a few seconds I said: “Can I help you?”
As her feet crossed below the door she meekly returned, “Just making sure you’re not a guy.”
I was floored! Absolutely FLOORED!
I finished my business and got out of there ASAP without ever seeing her face. What I did notice was that no one accompanied her into the Ladies and no one was waiting for her outside of it. Think on that for a few seconds.
Ok, so hopefully by now, you’ve come to understand that Aunty Moon isn’t an absolutely horrible bitch who holds people to impossible standards. If not…click out.
Back to “Rocky Horror Picture Show”.
This is a movie my mother once WON tickets to through WNLC–when it was still an AM station–then GAVE AWAY because she forbade me to see it. Ever.
Roman Catholic. Baptist. Remember?
I mean EVER. My curfew was 9pm on school nights and 11pm on weekend nights. I couldn’t have gone to a mid-night screening no matter what.
I heard ALL about it through high school! My friends were absolutely abuzz about this flick! They made me listen to the soundtrack and look at things I couldn’t possibly understand because I hadn’t SEEN THE MOVIE.
I was totally confused. My mind reeled.
In 1984 I met the man who would become my husband. He had played ‘Eddie’ in the mid-night showing of the “Rocky Horror Picture Show” for a while and he talked about it at great length. I tried to follow along. I couldn’t make it. I just nodded and smiled wherever I thought it was proper to do so.
In 1990—four years after I married my husband–the movie came to home release on VHS. hahaha. Yeah. I know. I’m old.
We RENTED it from BLOCKBUSTER
(fuck off, asshole, but go ahead laugh you old fart! LOL)
I was…I was…well let’s face it I never ever in my life thought that a MAN could look so fucking HOT in bustier and high heels! The MUSIC! It was totally awesome!
After the first viewing and my husband shouting out at the proper intervals to give me the interactive experience…I finally got it! I finally understood what all my friends had been talking about and why my Roman Catholic mother never wanted me to see it.
What a GREAT MOVIE!
We scrimped. We saved. We bought it. On VHS.
Some years later, we bought it on DVD and we watched it endlessly until I knew all of the words to all of the songs and could give out all of the Audience Participation Parts with much confidence and glee. Well, ya know, until someone absconded with it and now…poof…Gone With the Wind.
Now comes the re-make.
Honestly…just…why? Can someone answer me that simple question. With ALL of the re-makes to come out lately…all of which sucked salty monkey balls….why? What’s the damn point? Especially when it’s Made-For-TV. TV today is so NOT what it was when I was young. No, it’s a great big mushy…wet spot…now. Except, while the evidence is there, no orgasm actually took place.
I won’t get into the more colorful aspects of this re-make because honestly, once again, all I really want to KNOW is WHY?
Frank-n-Furter was a MAN. There was no mistaking that fact. None. He was a
Who once totally knocked my socks off! The FIRST time I saw this scene my jaw hit the floor and I was totally turned-on. You feelin’ me, play’a? LOL
And, although somehow it may have been lost in translation, there’s a huge difference between a transvestite and a transexual/transgendered person.
The re-casting changes the entire arc the movie. just to pander to Today’s Audience. It does so much like the casting of Idris Elba changes the entire arc of “The Gunslinger”. He’s a great actor, don’t get me wrong, the guy’s got chops. While, at first, I was against the idea of casting him, I have come around. I think he’ll make a very good ‘Roland’ and I hope the role catapults him to where he really should be in Hollywood. But in casting a more colorful male for the role of ‘Roland’ it destroys the entire arc of ‘Odetta/Detta’. Now she needs to be a white woman. Some will bitch about that. Thankfully, according to IMDB that role has yet to be cast. So we’ll see how that pans out.
In casting a black transgendered person in the role of ‘Frank-n-Furter’, FOX has done the same as Hollywood has done with ‘Roland’. If you don’t understand that let me be crude about it: Frank without a Furter…ain’t ‘Frank-n-Furter’. Got it? It’s just ‘Thor’ with tits. (We all know well that’s going!)
We don’t need more ‘diversity’ in books and films. We need more TRUTH. We need backers/producers/casting people/directors to stick to the writer’s vision of the characters they created from nothing at all and not a bunch of egomaniacal people looking to jump off the shoulders of greater people just so they can have a stab at leaving what they consider to be a good mark on the world.
If you’re unhappy with that idea then change it. Get up off your own duff and change it. Open a publishing house. Open a theater troupe. Open a studio. Put your own cheeks on the line.
At least have enough humility (a good thing, BTW), even a sense of nobility, to not misappropriate things from other creators.
Once Upon a Time in a Land Far Far Away there was a saying:
Do Your Own Thing.
I think it still holds true.
NOW…go ahead…hold my feet to the fire at will. But, ya know, only if you own an asbestos suit. I fire back.