ATTENTION, ANYONE WITH CONTACT INFO FOR WILL DECKER. PLEASE SEND IT ME AT

davidkbuch55@yahoo.com

rollin and tumblrin

   

   Both of my loyal reasders are probably aware of my new scamperings on tumblr, namely http://iloveagenre.tumblr.com and its' heavybreathing kid brother http:/dial-a-lad.tumblr.com. They're both good sources of momentary visual and erotic diversion, but lacking in depth.

  Dear reader, am I capable of depth? am I a mere gibbering dilettante, rolling in pools of my own fluids, my harlequin costume darkly stained as a biscuit bag? Go to my livejournal, where,as davidbuch5, I intend to chronicle the day-to-day life, culinary, vinous, cinematic and even sexual,of a country-inhabitant who is queer as fuck.

a word to the weird

It's a greyish afternoon in almost - summer Delaware. A few of you might remember my abortive essay in genre fiction, iloveagenre.blogspot.com. Specialists such as James Champagne, Oscar d'
Alessi and George Wines were very generous contributors. As the sky fades to a color like exposed Ilford paper, I ask, no, I beseech everyone of you who have something to say, even if it's only a question, to pipe up. I'm usually perching at Facebook, iloveagenre.com @tumblr.com or buchcond7@gmail.com.

Song of the Loon

Thinking back on the various tributes and remembrances of the late Elizabeth Taylor that I read in the past few weeks, I don't recall much, if any mention of her appearance in George Steven's ponderous but memorable A Place in the Sun. In Stevens' visual strategy, Taylor is often seen at a distance, a prize to be obtained, a goal Montgomery Clift must achieve or die. She was in transition from ingenue roles like Father of the Bride. Sometimes her real uncertainty shines through very effectively.


A Place in the Sun is not a great movie. Stevens tries too hard to make a significant film and fails to make a thoroughly enjoyable one. But there are two and a half great performances here - Montgomery Clift as the ambitious but weak George Eastman, Shelley Winters living comfortably in her role as a factory girl in trouble ( her scene with a doctor she hopes will abort her out-of-wedlock child is still startling) and the freakishly dogged Raymond Burr as the prosecutor at George's murder trial. Get yourself an espresso and enjoy a languid movie that, if not great, is still some kind of classic.

Lady Sings The Truth - movie review

Sidney J. Furie's adaptation of Billie Holiday's memoir Lady Sings The Blues is, to use the kindest
word, a mediocre film. When it is not mediocre, it verges on the idiotic. But when Diana Ross, who plays Miss Holiday ( and does her own singing), is performing in character, LSTB is suddenly transformed into a better-than-respectable work of art. Diana Ross looks as much like Billie Holiday as I look like Morrissey. As a Motown artist, she was always my least favorite. But she has the wit to sing in the manner of Billie Holiday rather than do an impression of Lady Day's singing. If that was all they wanted, they should have cast David Sedaris. ( He does a really swell Lady impression on the audio version of, you guessed it, Holidays on Ice.)
When LSTB - book and film were newly released, there was a resounding chorus of "hey, that's not how I remember it" from friends, admirers, critics and ass scratchers. Holiday's Daily News
pal William Dufty cut, pasted and "collaged" material from decades of interviews, thus generating her best selling autobiography. For the researcher, the book is about as useful as Tennessee Williams' Memoirs, another popular work of fictional nonfiction. Regarding veracity,the movie is
even worse. I love to see Richard Pryor in almost any movie context but why was it necessary to
create Piano Man when Holiday had many accompanists in her all-too-short career. Why couldn't he have played Lester Young, the brilliant sax player who was also lady's closest friend?
Well, we sighed when we heard Diana Ross was being cast as Billie Holiday. Although Furie's movie requires tolerance and generosity ( and maybe half a joint) from its viewer, it's worth seeing for Diana Ross's musical performances and, to a lesser degree, her movie acting. After doing a couple hours of compare / contrast Ross vs. Holiday, Holiday wins. But I have to say Miss Diana Ross could have been a more than adequate jazz singer. Honest.

a personal note - SPOILER ALERT!

Rainer Werner Fassbinder made forty films - or more, depending on whose list you're citing - in a seventeen year period. I recently watched Fox and his Friends, an indictment of the German gay bourgeoisie. It's not as compelling as the epic Year of 13 Moons, but it comes close. I was surprised
to see Karl Boehm, ( Peeping Tom ,1960, Michael Powell) in the role of a posh antique dealer and possible smuggler. Fox wins 500,ooo marks on the national lottery. In 1975, this was enough money to buy an apartment, save a financially strapped business and enjoy the usual lifestyle crap. Fox's woes begin when he signs over the flat to his false lover so that it can be used as
collateral. We see him lying dead of a valium overdose in the Berlin subway. Peeping Tom and Fox's
old lover examine the body and leave. There's nothing they can do now.

as long as he lies perfectly still

In the spring I think of sex and means to end
summertime I like to sit upon the grass
autumn nights I go to parties with my friends
winter time I like to think about the past.
- The Soft Machine ( Volume 2)


- In summer 1979, the year Skylab fell, the queers of Rehoboth Beach speculated exactly where Skylab, as if it would survive its fall intact, would impact.
" It's headed straight for the Pentagon, honey."
" Oh, little Miss Amerika, when will you get your act together, girl?"
" The back yard of Paradise, on a Saturday afternoon, when they're all swigging vodka tonics and wrapping cucumbers in wet briefs."
" Right on Carter's goddamn head."
" Off the pier in Key West at the height of sunset, just as Henry's called a cop 'girlfriend' for the last time."
" Baby, this is some crazy grass. Hmm. It's gonna fall on that club in New York where Warhol and True Man Capott and them hang out. BLAM BABY BLAM! There goes some sorry ass excuses for ... well, hello sailor ..."
" Right on top of your roller skates, Herbert."

If I had an opinion, time and alcohol have worn it away. Memory's wall gets thinner.