Ciao, The Movie

In this year’s San Francisco Gay & Lesbian Film Festival, there is a film called Ciao. I had known about this film for quite some time (more on that later) and had been waiting for it for quite some time. So thankfully, my wait is almost over.

Several years ago, I discovered this impossibly beautiful Italian man. Seriously impossibly beautiful. I’d found his personal website and immediately there was a contentious and unnecessary dissing of the Mac. Well, you can imagine how that played with me. Oh, it all stayed good natured, and of course now he’s a Mac user (though I can’t take credit for that one: times change and all that). We’ve stayed in touch for years now, hoping that time and tide would find a way for us to meet in person. It was this man who told me about Ciao. He’s co-starring in it and is a writer on the project.

Out of the blue a couple of months ago, I was contacted by a man called Yen Tan. He’d been reading my blog for quite some time, having found my blog through this rascal. His email, in addition to praising my writing (which at some level makes me a bit uncomfortable), he talked about his movie…and of course you can see where this is going.

In that serendipity and simultaneity that I expect in San Francisco but am still surprised by, the director of the movie—in which the Italian Mac-hater was starring—had invited me to attend the showing at the film festival, where time and tide collided, finally, and I’ll finally meet the impossibly handsome Italian!

Yen Tan knows my fascination and aspiration to screenwriting, and as if he hasn’t already been generous and gracious enough, he found some time to spend with me and the Canine Creative.

All of this generosity of spirit and actuality from Yen Tan is more than I can measure. I’m so looking forward to viewing his film, and you really should be, too.

Ciao will be showing Sunday, June 22nd, and Wednesday, June 25th. Info and tickets available here.

In the film’s press kit I found this image (click to enlarge):

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I can’t wait for this film, and for Yen Tan, and for Alessandro. This is a story that should have been given voice a long time ago. And they’re giving it to all of us now.

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<br/> <br/> “Hidden within every ending is the seed of a new beginning.”

No Winning For Losing

There was an interesting (and extraordinarily) painful discussion this evening. Short, not sweet. It came from nowhere, swept through the core of me, and whisked itself away, taking a significant part of me with it. A part that I couldn’t afford to lose.

The conversation went something like this:

ME: [making some reference to having no interest in men these days]
HIM: So does that mean you’re going to start [vulgar description of a heterosex act].
ME: Maybe I should think about women. At least they act like grown-ups.
HIM: Well, aren’t you just above everyone else.
ME: No, I’m outside of everyone else.

It was a sucker-punch on his part, because he knew the things I have suffered because of lover and friends. Betrayal. Lies. Selfishness. A best friend whose selfish and petty actions destroyed a years-long friendship in a matter of moments as if he planned it from the start. And for what? A meaningless titillation and something he absolutely knew would be dangerously hurtful to me. And of course, the expected response to being confronted? Lies.

But at least he got some affirmation of his sexual attractiveness from a much younger man. And the crew behind him, the rest of the gang moving slowly enough and in small enough steps to push me out of the main because my directness often threatened, my disagreement with the status quo of a hirsute ghetto often disrupted the safe, incestuous bubble of contentedness and-we-can’t-have-that-can-we? Offers of comfort that felt more self-serving than selfless (we can’t have around someone who reminds us of the world of pain outside those doors of this vault).

But the aftermath of the conversation continues to erode my state of mind, diminishing those thoughts that had any lilt to them. There happened to be very little pain today—a lovely change of pace—but this lack of sunny-side thoughts threatens whatever got me to this detente between self and body. Still threatens.

So no, I don’t feel above any of these people, I feel estranged, am estranged. And for a bunch of people who still mainly act like 15-yr-olds (comic books, video games, treating others as disposable sexual objects while expecting others to respect their own relationships, dances, almost cruel attention to detail in, of all things, dance remixes!), I’m just old. Death of a loved one never stole the joy out of my life, but it did leave my eyes permanently open and leave me utterly unable to ignore consequences. Of anything.

And, at least relative to those people, I am alone.