Granted, I am emotionally vulnerable, having just left my family behind in the Philippines. Add to the fact that I am afraid that the plane must crash because I am in it. God cannot possibly allow me to continue living, being in a happy well-adjusted homosexual relationship, it would make Pat Roberston a liar and rock his brand of Christianity to the core. All these factors have combined to make me a wreck on the flight home.
In the crowded flight to Chicago, I tried to stay awake as long as possible so that I can sleep through the night when I get home. Consequently, I watched all the movies that the airplane's personal video screen had to offer. By coincidence, these seem to be all the movies that my boyfriend Brian refused to go see. Dreamer, Pride and Prejudice, Just Like Heaven, it's a chick flick film festival and I've got free tickets. What could be better? I've got dinner, a movie and no obligatory blowjob afterwards.
At first, I had been surreptitiously dabbing at my eyes whenever the tears started to fall. I mean, even though I am a homo, it is kind of embarrassing to be crying in public. It's so freaking unmanly you know, to have your mascara running. Plus, red-rimmed eyes and a runny nose are just not pretty anywhere outside of a coke binge.
But by time Dakota Fanning and her horse Sonya in Dreamer were separated, I was bawling openly. The guy sitting next to me was clearly getting uncomfortable, especially when my snot rags started overflowing into his tray table. I was at the point when I had already used up all my tissues and was now blowing my nose into the used wet ones, creating huge holes in them.
We encountered unexpected turbulence. It was very rocky. The captain had put up the Fasten Seat Belt signs. I was sure that was it, my final hours. I was praying that it would all be over soon so I don't have to endure Jennifer Lopez anymore in An Unfinished Life. I had often hoped that if I were to die, at least I would've been watching an artsy, foreign film with subtitles, so I can die with some dignity.
Fortunately, Satan was on my side and I continued to live.
The last movie I saw before the plane landed was In Her Shoes. Loved, loved, loved the movie. I will list all the things I love about this movie and you can call me a fag because it's true and I don't care: superb Toni Collette; boozy, sexy Cameron Diaz; Shirley Maclaine in an old folks home; Mark Feuerstein, the sexiest Jewish actor ever--I would so like to make out with him; strappy Jimmy Choos; poetry by e.e. cummings and Elizabeth Bishop.
The only thing that was bad in the movie, and I am nitpicking here, is that I didn't love the way Cameron Diaz read e.e. cummings' "i carry your heart with me" in the final scene. I don't think she gave it the gravitas that it deserved. I mean, this poem is one of the most beautiful love poems ever and I just didn't feel it coming from her. You know who would do this poem justice? Alec Baldwin, whose narration in every movie I've heard him in is just fucking perfect. You should watch Prelude to A Kiss and listen to his narration. That man has a gift; he can make the word 'diarrhea' sound sexy. He could read this poem and make me swoon and lick his thick, hairy chest.
i carry your heart with me(i carry it in
my heart)i am never without it(anywhere
i go you go,my dear; and whatever is done
by only me is your doing,my darling)
no fate(for you are my fate,my sweet)i want
no world(for beautiful you are my world,my true)
and it's you are whatever a moon has always meant
and whatever a sun will always sing is you
here is the deepest secret nobody knows
(here is the root of the root and the bud of the bud
and the sky of the sky of a tree called life;which grows
higher than the soul can hope or mind can hide)
and this is the wonder that's keeping the stars apart
i carry your heart(i carry it in my heart)
There is truth in this poem, because no matter how far I go, the people I love are always with me. The words to the poem were still in my head when I got home to my boyfriend Brian and afterwards, when I was e.e. cumming on his face...
Another poem from In Her Shoes: "One Art" by Elizabeth Bishop, which is about loss, also touched me. Boy, you guys must think I am a real faggity-fag-fag.
Also in the movie: "Let Evening Come" by Jane Kenyon
My favorite e.e. cummings books
This is part of a series of posts about my vacation in February of '06 in the Philippines. Read the rest here:
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