Laid Bare: Essays and Observations by Judson, Tom (read 50 shades of grey .TXT) 📕

LAID BARE

Essays and Observations

by

Tom Judson

About the Author

Tom Judson has written music and lyrics for film, television and the theater. He has acted both on and off-Broadway and on various stages throughout the world. His writing has appeared on numerous websites and blogs and in many different magazines and newspapers. For his work in gay adult films (as “Gus Mattox”) he was awarded the GayVN Performer of the Year Award and is, as of this writing, the oldest recipient of that honor.

LAID BARE: ESSAYS AND OBSERVATIONS ©2011 Tom Judson

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

Cover photograph by John Skalicky

Cover design by Tom Judson

Earlier versions of these essays have appeared in Unzipped Magazine, Equity News, Blue Magazine, as well as various websites and blogs.

for Irwin and Arlene

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

THEY’RE PLAYING OUR SONG

TRADE WINDS

HOUSES OF WORSHIP

AN EMPTY BOWL

HOWARD, WE HARDLY KNEW YE

THE BEAUTY CURSE

THE CHURCH OF ME

THE LONGEST MILE

A MILLION MEN

LITTLE MISS INDIAN GIVER

RIGATONI WITH SAUSAGE AND FENNEL

HIM AND HIS SHADOW

RECOUNTING THE ABBOTTS

“DID YOU HAVE A VIEW?”

SEPTEMBER 25, 1 A.M.

CICCIOLINA, MISS AMERICA AND ME

COME OUT, COME OUT WHEREVER YOU ARE

NORMAN RAE

THE HOUSE PAINTER

PANHANDLE MANHANDLE

RATTLESNAKES HAVE BEEN OBSERVED

WE SHALL COME REJOICING

ALL WE OWE IOWA

MY HUCKLEBERRY FRIENDS

“...SO THAT WE MAY BRING YOU...”

SHOPLIFTING FIRE

VINO E CUCINA

OYSTERS, ROCKEFELLER?

SO, THIS GUY CHECKS IN TO A HOSPITAL...

WINDS FROM THE SOUTH

INTRODUCTION

My husband, Bruce, loved American popular music. Coming of age in the late 1970’s he was particularly fond of the more esoteric sounds of that era: artists like Bryan Ferry, The New York Dolls and—especially—Patti Smith. His tastes weren’t limited to the current scene, though; he also listened to the Phil Spector catalog and early Beatles. But his favorite records were the R&B singles from Motown. He knew all the great vocal groups coming out of Detroit in the 60’s and 70’s.

And that’s because he always wanted to be a backup singer. Specifically, Bruce wanted to be a Pip. An unlikely ambition for a skinny Jewish guy from Scarsdale, perhaps, but Bruce was convinced that the Pips had the best backup arrangements going. Especially on “Midnight Train to Georgia”.

It’s worth noting that Bruce didn’t want to be the star. The Pips were not in the spotlight, but they were essential. Being a Pip seemed to me to be the goal of someone who was comfortable with his place in the world. I was the hambone actor/composer in the family, but Bruce truly relished his role as the supportive spouse who rushes to the stage at the end of the performance with a huge bouquet of flowers.

When he would talk about The Pips, though, things were different. He took center stage in any discussion of their records. Bruce’s demeanor could best be described as “animated” (He’s fucking hyper! his father would say.) While I sat in a chair listening to the backing vocal of “Midnight Train to Georgia” Bruce would stand in front of me like a boxer in the ring, dancing his weight from one foot to the other, waiting to see my reaction to the song. He was right: The Pips rock on this record. Their backup almost stands on its own as a parallel song to Gladys Knight’s lead. “A superstar, but he didn’t get far…” “It’s his and hers alone…” “I know you will…” These aren’t echoes of the song—they’re separate, independent lyric phrases that form a counterpoint to the main tune.

In his quest to become a Pip, Bruce would put on his red satin dinner jacket and play the 45 R.P.M. of “Midnight Train to Georgia” over and over while improvising Soul Train choreography in our living room. His enthusiasm may have outweighed his talent, but he gave it 100% and would beam like a kid when the needle lifted out of the groove at the end of the record.

Life with Bruce was very, very good. He died of AIDS in 1996 before ever becoming a Pip.

My reliable backup was gone. I stumbled numbly around New York for a couple of years trying to figure out how the people I passed on the street could wear such happy expressions on their faces. Clearly the world had come to an end; why didn’t they realize it?

I wished I could just fade away and be done with it.

But director Rob Marshall, gay porn impresario Chi Chi Larue and fate had other plans for me; I became a chorus boy, adult film star “Gus Mattox” and a writer (in that order.)

But what about Bruce? Apart from picking his bones clean for story ideas, how did my late husband fit into my new life A.B. (After Bruce)?

Starting with “Winds From the South” Bruce became a familiar presence on gusmattox.com. I’d slip references to him into my blog and he appeared in the background in several essays. Bruce died fifteen years ago but he continues to inform how I view my own experiences and the world at large. Like the spider swallowed by the Old Lady, he has wriggled and jiggled and tickled his way inside me, becoming an essential part of my being.

Bruce Birnbaum’s contribution to the essays and stories in this collection is not insignificant; his spirit provided the backup that enabled me to write them.

I guess you could say Bruce became a Pip after all.

They’re Playing Our Song

I seem to be dating again. Not entirely by design, but I’ve been asked out recently by several attractive guys and I thought it might be interesting to see what I’ve been missing these past three years. Yes, it’s been that long between my last date and this recent flurry. Since being widowed a decade ago I’ve warbled duets with a feller or three, but we always seem to be singing in different keys. Believe me, I sure can pick ‘em.

There was the beautiful