You know, it’s kinda funny.
When I was younger, I always felt out of my age. My mind and soul, as pretentious as this may sound, were larger than my body, requiring more elbow room for anecdotes not yet experienced and emotional roller coasters yet to begin. When I was ten, I felt thirteen. When I was thirteen, I felt sixteen. When I was sixteen, I felt nineteen. When I was nineteen, I felt twenty-five. When I was twenty-five, I felt thirty. And now, just shy of a dozen weeks before my thirtieth birthday, I feel… ancient.
No, wait… that’s not really funny at all.
Anyone who has known me for a long time will attest that reality television is… not my favorite. Most of it is just cameras rolling on attention-seekers hoping to be famous for nothing, and I’ve never been one to believe in easy rewards. So I actually surprised myself when I started watching RuPaul’s Drag Race on Logo. It may be reality television, but these ladyboys deserve the spotlight as well as demand it. This post will assume you’re up-to-date on the current season and know a bit about previous seasons, so if you’re still catching up, maybe turn away now.
I didn’t really get into Drag Race until recently though. I caught snippets of Season Two at the bars I went to (I’d rather go out on a Monday evening than a Friday night, but that’s another post all together). Then I started watching Season Four when there were only 4 or 5 queens remaining, then caught myself up on Seasons Two, Three, Four and All Stars via Netflix, LogoTV.com, and iTunes. Season Five is the first one I’ve seen as it’s aired from the beginning, and until they announce the winner in two weeks, I will be an emotional wreck. I have very strong feelings about the outcome, not only because I want the girl I like most to win, but the three queens remaining represent three very different aspects of not only drag culture, but American society as a whole. I’ll be scoring them on my own terms, using Ru’s own four defining criteria: Charisma, Uniqueness, Nerve, and Talent. Please note the below are just my observations and opinions. No one paid me to write this, and I certainly mean no offense to any of the contestants mentioned, or not mentioned, below for my opinions as a viewer.
Throughout my life I’ve always been interested in Greek myth. I loved learning how people explained natural phenomena and human behavior before science proved it. Though they all hold a place in my heart, the one story that resonates within me still is the story of Echo and Narcissus, the woeful nymph and her unrequited love. Continue reading
As a knitter, and a male knitter at that, I get asked incredibly often why I knit, and what made me want to start. These are questions that don’t have straightforward, chatting-me-up-on-the-bus kinds of answers, and frankly, I’m a little tired of answering them. But I will attempt to do so here.
I suppose I should start with what made me want to start. It’s a long list of confluences of events, really, but like a large percentage of knitters out there, my grandmother was my first exposure to the craft. Neither of my grandmothers were huge knitters, as far as I know, but my maternal grandmother was the one I would see whip out the needles most often. Ever since I was little it fascinated me, how two little sticks could make fabric out of yarn. I picked up crocheting when I was about five years old, but all that means is that I would single chain for yards and yards and yards until I got bored. I called them “long bookmarks” and I think my record was a 100-foot long chain. I’d run all over the house with it like a ribbon behind me, and while I honestly didn’t notice at the time, I’m pretty sure my mom thought I was nuts. Continue reading
It’s been a busy month for lil ole Thomers, lots of changes at work and the poor health to show for it. Normally, I don’t get sick often, but in the past month I’ve had stomach flu, a nasty airport-induced cold, and a fever combined with sore throat that refuses to go away.
Well this has been a hell of a month.
The pinnacle of October, for me anyway, lays ahead with my week in Chicago for Vogue Knitting Live. I bought my tickets months and months ago, and have had plenty of time to prepare, but of course, I did not.
As September came to a close, I thought to myself, self, I thought, it’s time to start cleaning the apartment and knit me some swatches for the workshops I’m attending. But of course, I did not.
I came out at an early age.
When I was eight years old, I distinctly remember my mom talking to me about gay people, what that meant, and explained how my aunt wasn’t bringing her “friend” home for holidays, it was her girlfriend, and that to my mom, they were both part of our family. She laid it down that being gay is something to embrace about oneself, not be ashamed of, and to let me know that if I ever thought I was gay, I was still her son and it wouldn’t change how much she loved me.
When I came out to friends and family five years later, I asked my mom about that conversation, and what prompted her to have it with me, and she told me that she knew I was gay since I was two years old. It wasn’t because I had a brief fascination with wearing dresses as a toddler, though that may have been part of it, it was more how I reacted to things. What caught my attention when watching a TV show or movie. My responses to things other people said. From an early age I had an idea of what was important to me, what was at my core, and she picked up on it and when she felt the time was right, encouraged me to always be myself.
I love you, mom.
But this post is about what comes later and mom, if you’re reading this, well, you’ve been warned.