Teens Like Phil

I recently worked on a project that I feel so excited about, and find so important to share.  The film, Teens Like Phil, deals with the bond of friendship and love, corrupted by fear and violence, between two young men.  Throughout the past year we have heard about a pronounced uptick in teen suicide and bullying.  Whether that uptick is the result of increased awareness or an actual rise in self inflicted violence is debatable, but hardly the point.  There are kids out there dying for being who they are and believing that that is not enough to warrant living.  As a man who understands what that felt like, I want to implore you to seek out those who may not know that there is light and joy at the end of that tunnel.

Isolation is a self-perpetuating condition.  It's strange how, once we feel abandoned, betrayed, antagonized, or ridiculed by a particular person or group of people, we begin to remove ourselves from the general society at large.  We begin to fear first the cause of our tumult, and then the world beyond it, because we begin to believe the awfulness that surrounds and is directed towards us.  We start to believe the diminished sense of place and worth that comes with such relentless contempt, and suddenly we are on a precipitous downhill course until we stand on a cliff edge, with nowhere to go and nowhere to turn.

The thing is, there is always somewhere to turn.  The first thing to realize is that giving up is not an option.  It never is.  There is a difference between acquiescing graciously and deciding to give up.  The former denotes a full fight to live the breadth of your time here.  It means that you have experienced everything that is part and parcel with living, and done so wholly, no matter how long your life may be.  The latter is the total antithesis of all that entails.  It is an inability to see beyond this moment, to know that the world is infinitely more joyous, and terrifying, than this.  It refuses to acknowledge the vast resources of your spirit, and your strength that far exceeds what you can imagine.

I want all of you to remember, if the path you're on is fraught with obstacles and hurts that you cannot fathom coming out of, to call to mind the proverbial light.  It's always there.  Whether from God, or the Universe, or your own Spirit; I don't care how you define it.  Find it.  Hold it.  And remind yourself of it constantly.  Because the path will eventually clear.  And know that you are a member of a community.  There is always someone who cares, or is willing to care.  All you need to do is seek it out.

I beseech those of you who have gone through your own trials, your own deep hurts, to seek out those in turmoil.  Give them the benediction of your compassion, your empathy, and your understanding.  It is so desperately needed.  I know I'm proselytizing, but fuck that.  It is important and needs to be shared.  People are dying because they feel isolated, ostracized, and alone.  People on the very cusp of their lives, who through the cruelty of others, will now never know the joy of a life fully lived.  That is the greatest shame.

One Size Does Not Fit All

My ex-roommate was thoroughly mortified by the show Hoarders, and for good reason.  No one ever wants to sink that low.  It's mortifying.  It's embarrassing.  It shows people your taste in clothes from the Seventies.  But the deeper issue is the emotional barricade these people put up through accumulating stuff.  Almost a bit like the drama we occupy ourselves with in life.  For example, say you have been seeing someone.  Gabe, perhaps.  Funny, warm, great smile, good body, motivated, and you feel so at ease around him.  You always have fun, laughing at yourselves over ice cream, feeling like fatties.  But you're just dating.  Something doesn't feel right.  Maybe he's a little too tall, or doesn't make enough money, or has a strange laugh that reminds you of the lovechild of a ghoul and a car engine revving.  So you continue to date around.

And then, out of the blue, you meet the perfect man at Barney's or better yet, Crunch.  He checks every box on your list.  Lawyer?  Check.  Apartment in a really classy co-op on the Upper West?  Check. Thighs that Michelangelo used to model the David?  Double check.  Huge fig leaf?  I think my nips just got hard. And his name?  Lorenzo.  The next week you indulge in three or seven cocktails (who counts?) at dinner with Lorenzo, who likes your arms and shows you how big that fig leaf is.  It is nirvana.  Angels sing and trumpets blare.  You realize that you have met the ONE.   You will now be featured on Barefoot Contessa, one of Ina's ridiculously happy, turtleneck clad gays of uncertain but affluent financial means.  Your days will consist of a hugely satisfying job working in advertising for Vanity Fair, commuting between the co-op and the Hamptons, milk painting the shabby chic dresser you found for the foyer entrance.  Idyllic doesn't describe it; Webster's can't define it.

You revel in your new found Apollo and the wondrous world you plan to build together.  Bliss, all in one week.  So what if he hasn't called in three days after your last date at Five Guys?  He is the ONE.  He knows the special bond you have formed, all over cooing words and bubble time in the hot tub.  Gabe, of the great smile, who's seen you as a sloppy mess after being out, and still wanted to take you home to cuddle, calls you to go out to a street faire in the Village this weekend.  But you're busy.  You're waiting for Lo-Ren-Zo.  You're on Cloud Nine.

Hmm.  He still hasn't called.  You check your voicemail.  Nothing.  A few more days go by.  Nothing.  You are in the dumps.  You call Gabe back and agree to go to the faire.  It's something to do.  You're a little sullen, a little pouty, and a whole lot of sass when you meet him.  Nothing is going to lift your spirits.  You are mourning the loss of your caviar dreams.  Oh look, one of your favorite food trucks, that sells the best Belgian waffles outside of Brussels, is parked on the corner.  You get one, and share it with Gabe, who comments that you look like an overly satisfied chipmunk.  That makes you chortle, which makes you cough, as you've just aspirated the powdered sugar on your bite of waffle.  Gabe (damn that smile) laughs at you.  You glare, but you're not mad.  He's just so warm, so comfortable, so funny.  Then suddenly you realize it.  Maybe it really is a quiet thing.  Maybe this is your Robin Leach dream.  And just at that moment, Gabe hands you a taster glass of champagne.  You smile back at him.  A smile of recognition.  And those jeans you bought at Barney's when you met...what's his name?  Oh yeah, they don't fit anymore.