Tag Archives: clothes

Disney: Excitement

Travel

IMG_0582Things blind you in the World. You lose site of your behaviour at 100%, 60%, 40% levels of excitement relavite to the heart-racing thing you’re exposed to, while discovering things in the Parks. You come around the corner and there’s Goofy in a cowboy hat! Goofy! OMFG! HI! Then you notice he’s not noticing you. Then you notice the line for photographs. 100, 60, 40. Just like the forced perspective of all the buildings along Main Street.

In this fete of excitement you discover things about people you love. Things that may make you either love them more or question the whole foundation of your relationship.

Case in point: Lunch at T-Rex Restaurant. We’re stuffed to the gills on massive burgers and nachos and we’re walking it off in the gift shop. A section in the back is a Build-a-Bear outlet that had been modified into “build a Dino” in keeping with the whole restaurant theme. Nice. I’ve never been in one and wandered in for a browse. I’m looking at the different “breeds” of dinos you can get when I hear a manly girl scream.

“Look at these cute shorts!!”

Yes. It’s SharkBoy and he’s holding up a pair of cargo pants, sized for a baby or a baby dino or someone with serious medical problems. He’s gushing like a prom queen stuck in the football team’s locker room. The only other time I’ve seen him excited like this was when we bought lightsabers at our first trip to Disney. He immediately picks out an orange Raptor and thrusts it into my hand to get the attendant to stuff it while he wanders the isles looking for cuter outfits.

Not sure if you’ve ever done the “Build A Bear/Dino” experience. The stuffing machine attendant gives you a cloth heart that you have to rub, blow on, give a kiss, make a wish and CRAM into the centre of your creation. Yeah, I had to do that part. I wished nobody was watching.

At the end of the whole process (including making a birth certificate – say hello to Kiki2, newly adopted by yours truly, Libido Suiddlygoot), SharkBoy discovers a tiny pair of cammo tighty whiteys that illicit a final peal of delight and an extra reach for his wallet. Now, those were cute. I admit it.

Did this experience soil our relationship? Hardly. It made me love him more. It’s a rare moment to see this kind of behaviour from him and it also makes me love Disney even more.

The Lesson: From Root To Twit

Personal Bits

It’s 1996 and I’m working in a quiet cafe just inside the doors of a fading gay favorite gym called The Bloor Valley Club. All the members had to cut through my dining area to get to the change rooms or the cardio area, giving me a great vantage point for people watching. In the spring of that year a regular to the gym started to slowly, shyly, order snacks and cappuccinos from me and in doing so, started friendly small talk.

He was a nice guy. We started to talk about books and books into movies and theatre. We talked about music and pop culture and various gossip. We would make comments at the day time TV playing over the bar and confess our secret shames in the love of soap operas. We would shout out answers to quiz shows and try to outsmart each other. He was sharply funny and subtly witty and could smile easily. You can guess where this is leading: after several weeks of chatting, when he inevitably asked me out on date, I turned him down.

Why? Because he had long hair.

He had a slight goatee, stunning blue eyes and was over 6’2″. Because he was a regular to the gym, I noted that he had tree trunk legs and I could get glimpses of chest hair through his workout clothes. But I couldn’t get past the shoulder-blade length hair! His mane wasn’t ratty or look pre-Tyra makeover or anything, it was just long. At the time I was trying to pigeon hole my tastes into a well defined scheme: skinheads and ubermacho tattooed motorcycle freaks. I was so hell bent on self conditioning I couldn’t see myself being with any other type of guy.

I let him down rather inelegantly too. I did let him know I only dated smoothed headed dudes because of a “shaving” fetish I claimed to have at the time. I don’t recall his reaction but I do remember there was an awkward silence after my shot through his heart. I remember him walking away in disappointment.

A week or so passed and I was doing waitressy things, as one does when they work in a small restaurant. The front door opened and down the hallway towards the cafe came a tall, goatee’d man with the slightest 5 o’clock shadow adorning his genetically perfect cranium. Of course, my whoremoans went into overload as time slowed down as he walked towards me like a hot chick in a Michael Bay movie. Yes, it was my “friend”. He had cut all his hair off and had gone skinhead. He. Looked. Amazing.

I know my eyes said “HELLO!” and I think I said, “Hello!” and he leaned in close and said: “This is what you’re missing.”

And never said another word to me ever again.

Best of Clist – Helpful!

General

Insert RAM jokes here

Naked computer repair / service call by hung man
I offer training sessions were I can teach you how to use certain things on your computer and online from downloading your entertainment to running social pages like MySpace and face book. I can give your computer a tune up so it runs fast again. I check your computer properly for viruses. I can also set up your new computer and transfer over some of the old information you want to keep from your previous system. Well I repair your system I do it in the nude or can dress to your taste. I am a well endowed man. This is a paid computer service call. I am not an escort. I have an average build I am mostly straight but comfortable with my body and I am willing to fix any ones computer in the nude. I travel to you and I can arrange evening appointments to fit your scedual. So why not treat yourself and get more out of your repair mail me for pics and any questions.

My own Korova Milk Bar Fixture

I Can Be Adjusted
Are you a white male that loves to watch TV and have a human footstool under your feet? If you are straight that is fine. If you do not want to have sex that is fine as well. I can be naked or wear clothes. Do you have a buddy and want to play cards together? I can lay on the ground and the both of you can put your feet on me. I will massage them and pamper them. Why rest them on the floor when you can rest them on a live carpet? If you are gay then even better. You can read a book while you ignore me under your feet or do work on your computer while I lay on the floor.
If you want you can watch porn & I will give you the best blow job ever. You do not need to suck me.

England Memory #4 – Knife Fight Edition

England

My first weekend in London, my brother and his boyfriend invite me down to their neighbourhood to experience my first English pub, outside the touristy Earls Court area. The Prince of Wales pub, just outside the tube station at Brixton (now closed down, I think) was smoky, loud and packed. My brother forced me to buy a round of drinks from my fast dwindling finances, just so I could experience bar service in London.

I had 1000 questions, like “Is the beer really warm?” (yes) and “Do I tip?” (is the barman sexy?) and “Am I going to have to buy all the rounds, every time?” (no, maybe, yes, how drunk are we?), but instead my brother just thrusted me towards the bar and let me experience it as it was.

Which was really why I was in England, really. I was a 21 year old green kid fresh from Ontario, living in England on advice from an OCAD recruiter, who thought if I was serious about being an artists, I needed to get away from my middle class life (I wasn’t accepted into their school, BTW).

Over the din of the bar, I shout the orders at the barman. He shouts back. I falter. I have no clue what he just said. The noise and his Scottish accent throws me. My first real Scotsman! He has a red goatee! I tipped him.

I went back a few times to get rounds for our table. 11pm came way too fast and I wound up spending most of the evening chatting up the barman, which lead to us making plans to go back to his place after they closed up the bar. My brother was upset that I had been in London for a week and managed to “tap off” so quickly.

We get back to the barman’s place via a cab that travelled deeper into the south of London (more south than I’ve ever been). Lovely house. Could barmen afford houses in south London? Did I care? We run upstairs, enter his bedroom, shucking clothes like they were on fire. Did I notice that the bedroom was full of cardboard boxes? Did that matter?

We’re about to get into the real meat and potatoes of shagging when the frond door the floor swings open.

“Stay here,” he says and grabs his shorts, leaving the bedroom, shutting the door behind him. Naively, I lay back and wait for his return, not even wondering why he would stop our coupling to go talk to his “flat mate”.

Muffled noises come from beyond the bedroom door. Louder muffled voices. Louder muffled voices punctuated with breaking furniture. Glass breaks. Shouts.

At this point, my pants are on and I’m heading for the top of the stairs. The barman is on his way up, with his chest covered in blood. I don’t see any cuts on him so I don’t ask where it came from, but he offers up an explanation of sorts: his boyfriend (“You have a boyfriend?” “Donnae everyone?” “Were you going to tell me?”) came home unexpectedly and after discussing their current living arrangements, had somehow managed to shove himself through the French doors that lead out from the dining room. As I descend the stairs, I can see that most of the furniture is at 90 degrees to whatever angle it should be at. No sign of the boyfriend, thankfully.

As the front door closes behind me, I manage to ask: “Where is the nearest minicab from here?”

Slam.

I did manage to find a cab. And relating the story back to my brother nearly got me shipped back to Toronto.

Villains

Celebs and Media

One of the first memories I have is the Disney movie 101 Dalmatians. I was 9 or so when I first laid eye on Cruella DaVille. Cloned from Phyllis Diller and Joan Collins’ lesbian relationship, Cruella scared the crap out of me. Her boisterous attitude, the long cigarette, the out of control hair, mysterious all-covering fur coats all combined to remind me of the worst of my mother. But seeing how this is a post about Disney villains and not some pseudo Freudian inner sexual rant, I will continue.

There are strict rules about how we perceive a villain in the Wonderful World of Disney. The fastest way I can describe it is this: they’re either male or female. Congratz, you say! Hear me out:

The Men. All Disney Male Villains (DMVs) MUST have a British accent. Why? Because to Americans, a good North London born and bred voice sounds pompous and condescending, making our hatred gland secrete ire for anyone smarter than us. With the pompousness, comes a pseudo-homosexual undertone designed to sexually offset kids’ budding sexuality in the audience (or hetero parents, for that matter). Oddly enough I know no homosexual who actually disliked a Disney villain, male or female (females do rate higher though). The best male villains rolled their r’s and swirled their hands in large circles (from the wrist) when flamboyantly revealing their sick and twisted plots to a captive hero. When confronting their nemesis, DMVs looked upon their goody goody enemies with half closed eyes and big bottom lips, jutted out in feigned interest. This was usually followed by the DMV placing the hero in such a complex trap, the gods themselves couldn’t ex the machina.

Proof? Here are some prime examples:

Jafar (Alladin): Can you say Joan Crawford in reverse mandrag? The droll downcast eyes and harsh uplighting in every scene would make any drag queen jealous. And those lips. I swear to god he’s wearing eyeliner and eye shadow.

Scar (Lion King): Voiced by Jeremy Irons. Remember him? Dead Ringers? Creepy. Scar is pretty much my cornerstone DMV. He explodes at his stupid henchmen, plots three steps ahead of the writers themselves and you know that as soon as he reaches power in the pride, he is going to have a Caligula-esque orgy within hours.

Professor Rattagan (The Great Mouse Detective): Vincent Price’s lilting foppish voice was perfect as the evil master mind nemesis to Basil (“Oh I love it love it love it,” he chants in one scene, like some queen at a Banana Republic year end sale). Mentioning Rattagan’s true self as a rat and you are fed to an obese fag-hag like cat. How’s that for denial?

Judge Claude Frollo (The Hunchback of Notre Dame): The most sexually fragmented character ever created by Disney. Don’t know him? Maybe you remember his voice as MegaByte from Reboot? Or even more obscure as Chairface Chippendale from The Tick (cartoon, not live action)? No? How about the voice of The Supreme Being from Time Bandits? He has a silky commanding voice and deserves better work than the crappy video games he’s been voicing lately. Who can forget his passionate song to a flaming fireplace as he tries to deal with lust and his piousness? While not gay, certainly he was repressed.

Sir Hiss (Robin Hood): Not so much Brit Evil than creepy smarmy sounding snake. With a lisp. And check out that penile head!

Gaston (Beauty and the Beast): No British accent but he is egotistical, narcissistic, body conscious, proud of his hairy chest, mentions his many hunting conquests and reveres his ability to spit. Can you say overcompensation?

Captain Hook (Peter Pan): Fresh cabin boy, anyone?

The Women: In the Disney universe, female villains are either skeletally emaciated or extremely fat, but most certainly are always Vamps, in the post-war, VD spreading way. Definitely Tramps. Their voices may not be played by British actors or have that Eton taught quality, but there is a throaty, gutteral and husky quality to their voice. I suspect these characters are played this way to entice underdeveloped fears of sexually from immature male children, confusing the crap out of them and making them squirm in their theatre seats. The Disney Female Villain (DFV) is always manic and prone to violent mood swings, going from sultry seductress to exploding volcano, swatting their henchmen with solidly placed firebolts or back hands, in seconds. Their make up is extreme, verging into scary clown effect. Their clothes are always ill fitting, either too loose to give a glimpse of side boob (Yzma, played by Ertha Kitt, in The Emperor’s New Groove) or too tight (Ursula, The Little Mermaid) to offer more curvaceous visuals.

The average DFV is overtly sexual:

The Witch (Snow White): A fine start to all of Disney’s villains by creating this rather anti-Christian device of black magic. As a large hag, her eyes are puffy and downright scary. In her true form, she looks down upon all with her half closed, painted lids. She�s the aunt that doesn�t approve of your birth.

Malificent (Sleeping Beauty) and Lady Tremaine (Cinderella): Joan Crawford was obviously the model for these two villainesses! What is it with everyone fearing large shoulders, smoldering eyes and wicked lips? In the end Malificent is run through with a sword while she’s a dragon. I will just shake my head at the sexual imagery here. Lady T was always looking at Cinderella’s buttkus as she cleaned floors.

Ursula (Little Mermaid): Fat. Pat Carrol. Shakes rump a lot. Fearsome.

Madame Mim (Sword In the Stone): I chose her because she’s prime cross over material: British accent AND a woman. Actually Martha Wentworth was born in NYC but she did a great job with the voice. Boastful and a poor dresser.

Cruella de Ville (101 Dalmations, etc): As I mentioned, her frail skinny body kept under layers of furs and loose fitting cocktail dresses is pure Die G�tterd�mmerung harpy sans wings. She came across like she had just polished off a 5th of gin and that would make any Al Anon kid nervous.

To sum up, Villains from Disney are designed for us to hate them for the following didactic reasons: they get our ire by their pompous, overbearing, authority-hating accent and a vague sexual fear, either by grating against our orientation or by confusing us with unleashed passions.