Tarhearted.

MASTERS OF THE UNIVERSE?

How excited was I to come home to a jug of white wine and disc 1 of He-Man and The Masters of the Universe, compliments of my netflix queue? SO EXCITED.

As it turns out, my excitement was unfounded. I hadn't seen the show in well over a decade and I'm starting to understand that some childish things are best left behind. This show is a MESS. I watched two episodes and kept thinking, huh?

There is essentially no back story given, except in the opening credits when He-Man (who is a total Mary, by the way) explains that he is also Adam, Prince of Eternia. Okay, so that's like the whole Jem/Jerrika thing from Jem and the Holograms. Got it. But then who is Tila? Or The Sorceress? What is their connection to Adam? What is The Castle of Greyskull? The series begins just assuming that we know these things or that a back story is inferred.

A back story is NOT infered, y'all. I was really confused!

Also, it bugged me that nobody could figure out that Adam and He-Man were the same person. Adam wears a pink blouse, and He-Man wear furry shorts without a shirt. This is the only difference between the two. Couldn't Adam have worn glasses and had slicked back hair a la Clark Kent? Even Jerika had simple hair that became wild and glamorous when she transformed into Jem.

The whole series is full of holes and questions and seemed to be an extended commercial for action figures. In fact, when the series ran in britain they weren't allowed to run commercials for the action figures during the show because it was a violation of their laws. Makes sense to me.

Also, each episode ends with a cheap ass moral. The first episode ends with He-Man speaking to us. "Remember, kids... the right way is the best way."

No shit, He-Man!

Now I'm mad about it. Not because I didn't enjoy watching the disc, but because I once salivated at the very mention of that show and owned all of the action figures.

I was a victim of marketing! Man, what a sucka ass kid I was.

MY FACE IS A METH.

I am really afraid of meth, y'all.

I come from a rural part of Washington State, where meth labs would constantly blow up and make the evening news. I've never tried meth, and this is due in large part to the scabbly legged meth freaks who used to hang out by the totem poles in front of Kountry Korners Gas Station and bum change. I've seen too much.

I thought I'd escaped meth when I left the country for the big city until I found out all the Chelsea gays were tweaked out on it. Annyoing, but still avoidable. Who goes to Chelsea? I'm an East Side Gay, thank you very much. As much as I avoid it in real life, I will admit to obsessively watching "faces of meth" videos on youtube or occasionally saying to the boyfriend, "We need to clean house. This place looks like a meth den!"

I'm so scared or meth I regurlarly have nightmares that I'm addicted to it. In these nightmares I'm living on the street and I look at an old photo  of a happier, healthier me. In this photo my hair and skin looks perfect in such a way it never does in real life, meth or no. I'm doing something healthy like finishing a marathon or playing tennis (again, yeah right). At this point in the dream I catch a glimpse of myself in a store window displaying television sets and I see that my skin and teeth have detiorated to such a point that I don't recognize myseld anymore and I crumble to the ground in tears, knowing that I have lost myself forever.

What was the point of this? Oh yeah. My skin looks bad today.

HAVE A NICE DAY.

I always say "thank you" while handing a hobo spare change. Because of my years in retail, the very act of extending my hand and dropping change into the hand of another just forces it out of me.

OMG CUTE!

My tar heart is melting and making room for American Eskimo dogs. Seriously, look:

Suck it, pugs. You got replaced!

MARATHON 30.

I hope you all had as nice a long weekend as I did. I managed to hit Central Park and Coney Island, did some shopping, attended two barbecues, and see some theater. All while drunk! Hurray!

I attended the newest installment of The Ensemble Studio Theatre's (their spelling, not mine) one act series, Marathon. This is the 30th installment, believe it or not. It's quite high profile, and included a piece written by Neil LaBute and directed by Andrew McCarthy.

You know what? I don't really care for LaBute's plays. I know, I know... it seems like I should like plays about hateful rich people who do horrible things to one another while they deal with their neurosis. I write a blog called Tarhearted, for Christ's sake. But you know what? I just don't.

You know what I loved though? The final piece, entitled Okay by Taylor Mac. I loved that. In fact, I believe my exact words as I accosted the director were, "I'm RETARDED for that play!" Okay, as described by the playwright's new dramatist profile, is about a teenage girl giving birth in the girl's room at her senior prom. As kids enter the girls room, including two coke heads and two closeted jocks looking for a place to have a boy-on-boy tryst (my favorite part), what we are watching is nothing short of the beginning of the end of the American empire.

This little play was campier than it sounds and a hell of a lot funnier, but I was surprised at how affecting it was. As one girl smokes a cigarette and delivers a nine minute monologue about Iraq to her girlfriend between key bumps of coke I actually got goose bumps. I went from laughing to being teary-eyed to having the chills to laughing again. I can't recommend this show enough.

It's so refreshing to see plays that aren't about spoiled crackers and their boring ass problems. The theater's unwillingness to be inclusive is literally killing it, but that's another entry.

Marathon runs May 8th to June 28th. Tickets can be purchased here.

NEW BRITISH INVASION.

Queerty introduced me to British recording artist Jamie Lidell, on whom I'm totally crushing.

He's adorable!

I'm really digging this British invasion of old school soul music. Now if only Amy Winehouse could keep her nose clean...

FAGGOT.

It's a beautiful New York day so The Boyfriend and I decided to attend our annual block party. Grand Street is a lovely area of Williamsburg full of restaurants, art galleries and independent boutiques and every year they close it off to traffic so that bands can play in the street as people peruse outdoor vendors. We were a little early and not too much was happening so we decided to walk up to McCarren Park.

There was a lot going on; sun bathers, kite fliers, and for some reason a kid's marching band. We had stopped at a gallery on the way where we struck up a nice conversation with the woman who worked there, and The Boyfriend commented on how everybody in the neighborhood was being unusually friendly. It was true. Williamsburg did seem unusually low on pretense.

And then we saw them.

There was a grandpa in jean shorts, a bulldog looking father, and a filthy little kid. The bulldog looking father was shouting at a hipster girl on a bicycle in thick Brooklynese.

"Don't get in my fucking way! I'm from New York fucking City, bitch!"

As far as I could tell the girl had simply ridden past them, but these things happen. As much as I'd like to pretend otherwise, I am part of the population that gentrified Williamsburg and took it from people like this family. I understand their frustration, as now the neighborhood is being taken from me by rich people with condos.

Anyway, we rolled our eyes and decided to give them a wide girth. The Boyfriend had to go to the public men's room to pee while I waited outside. Annoyingly, grandpa in jean shorts had to go as well. He came out just before The Boyfriend and did a charming impression as he walked down the stone ramp.

"Dis is how faggots and lesbeens come out, " he said as he fluttered down the ramp, adding in his best effete voice, 'do I get an award?" His family laughed as if this was the best impression they'd ever seen. I was less amused. Faggots and lesbians act totally differently, and what's this about awards? They give out awards? I've been overlooked for twenty-seven years!

As The Boyfriend came out to join me and we walked away the entire trashy family shouted as us in Brooklynese; grandpa in jean shorts, bulldog looking father, and filthy child.

"Fucking faggots! Go back to California!" So on and so on. There was also something shouted about pepperoni, but I didn't quite catch it. Folks from Brooklyn love pepperoni.

It was clear that this family had come to the park specifically to spend the day baiting hipsters and faggots and the like. Funny, my family always went to Sears! Anyway, as we walked away The boyfriend was seething with anger for not fighting back. I get his point, but why bother? It didn't really anger me, which was surprising. This sort of thing happens every so often and usually I do feel angry or hurt, but this family was so pitiful it didn't affect me. They are part of a dying breed, and good riddance.

Those who are against gay rights say that we are trying to change their way of life and, at least for my part, that is absolutely true. It is time for people to change. It's time for people to throw out their old fashioned prejudices, their religion based fears, and their hatred of intellectualism. It is tired. Not just in New York, but all over these United States, gay rights is just one part of the move towards what a lot of people, not just fags, are fighting for: sanity.

As for us faggots... we can probably expect a lot more incidents like this in light of the Supreme Court decision in California this week, and that's fine. I quietly smiled to myself today because I know that my time is coming, and sooner rather than later. And when it does the enemies of sanity, equality, art, intellectualism... these folks will all have to shape up or quietly fade away. I know deep inside that we will win, and when we do, girl...

You better work.

xoxo
Joshua Conkel
A Faggot

AN ANGEL HAS NO MEMORY.

Actor John Phillip Law has died at age 70. He was best known for his portrayal of hunky angel Pygar in the glamorous space opera Barbarella.

It's one of my favorite films of all time and Pygar was probably one of my earliest confusing gay crushes. I'll miss him terribly. Let's watch a clip and think of him.

Goodbye, John! You were too beautiful for this world!

HOORAY!

The California Supreme Court has just ruled that the state's ban on gay marriage is unconstitutional!

This is terrific news for anybody who is not an idiot.

Suck it, Arizona!

NO, YOU GET OUTTA MY HEAD.

Hi. Thanks for meeting me here.

Can I be honest with you about something?

Yeah, it's about Ashlee Simpson.

I KNOW! Listen, I know. It's just that I really like her new song Outta My Head (Ay Ya Ya). I know it's vapid, but that hasn't stopped me from listening to it non-stop. I love it so much I want to get married to it.

No, YOU listen! I know she spells her own name wrong, but she's not so bad. The Saturday Night Live thing was a result of Acid Reflux, and, also, she's designed tops for Wet Seal, so you know she's crafty and multi-faceted. And besides, she can't be too bad because gorgeous but dumb Pete Wentz stuck his dick in her and knocked her up with his seed. Their baby probably already has a line of earrings at Target or something.

This song is SO good. Seriously, listen to it. The video is a little weird. It's almost as if they made five different videos and Ashlee was like, "I can't decide". Then they edited all five of them together.