2007-06-14 - 9:24 p.m.
Well, I have to tell you that I quite enjoyed the SOPRANOS finale. I have read tons of articles from various pundits ridiculing the show for not concluding with a big old climax – Tony Soprano getting shot or arrested or even getting away with it all.
Man, from some of these articles, you’d think that the writers were personally insulted by writer-director David Chase’s decision to end In Media Rerum, as it were. “It went out with a big yawn!” the pundits sneer. “After all the build up – it came to nothing!”
And, admittedly, I would not have minded seeing Tony or even Carmela getting killed or “whacked” as those folks in the mobster biz put it, but I can’t say I am overly displeased by the dangling-chad-like ending that actually resulted. If you are a regular follower of my beautiful blog-a-licious blog, you will have read several months ago about my thoughts on the finale.
I recall writing a few months ago about meeting a fat Italian goombah who claimed he had appeared in the final season of the series. – and how he predicted that the show would end with an “and then I woke up” ending in which Tony awakens from a good night’s sleep to discover that everything in the series has been but a dream, and that he is really the manager of a Wal Mart somewhere in the Midwest.
The idea is that the various supporting characters of the show would just be doofs working at the Wal Mart – it would have been of a Wizard of Oz thing with the Scarecrow and the Tin Man turning out to be the folks in Kansas.
Yet, I can now officially report that the fat goombah who told me all this is well and truly, as they say, full of shit. No “and then I woke up.” Just a normal-ish scene taking place at a diner, with the characters settling down to a quiet dinner, or maybe a mob hit – we’ll never know. Quite irresolute and unsettled, I must say. But, you know what – that’s fabulous!
I mean, what do you want? The show has always been about moral ambiguity, about how people behave and their consequences are often strangely unrelated. How there is ultimately no cause and effect between performing evil deeds and the results that rise from them. The implication of the show has always been that if there is a God, he is likely to be a mobster, a goombah, who approves of Tony’s brutal “get what you can and feel good about it” philosophy and world view.
If you think about it, the only way the show could have ended is with this kind of a black out. It’s like a writer for the New York Times put it: The Sopranos’ story is going to keep going – maybe Tony will be arrested, maybe he won’t, maybe the gang war will continue, maybe it won’t. The story will continue, but we just won’t be allowed to watch it any more.
In any case, I thought the finale was the “farewell” episode, but which managed to maintain the spirit and tone of the entire series. Back in the day, when I was an actor, we had a phrase for the last performance of some long running play that we had appeared in. “It doesn’t have to be the best, it just has to be the last.”
These are the thoughts that run through my head when I am sitting behind my little desk here in the computer commons at the library, and I have a lull between cretinously stupid customers. Oh my – it is amazing to me how people can be so stupid, it really is. People are so dumb it sometimes makes my teeth grind. They are so idiotic they make my eyes roll. They are so dimwitted it makes my tongue flop around in my mouth.
I have become remarkably short-tempered with stupidity, I must confess. I just can’t stand it any more! It seems to me that you really do not have any right to be as stupid as some of these people are. Nor do you have the right to go someplace and expect someone to do everything FOR you so you can send your e-mail or download your illegal music MP3s or whatnot.
The questions I get asked! The inveterate stupidity is just appalling, it really is. And the way they do yell at one! It really does take you quite close to the breaking point. I can’t tell you how I have to literally bite the inside of my mouth to keep from snarling, “Well I might be dumb and not get what you’re talking about, but at least I have a computer at home!” That is something I could not say, though. It would not go down too well.
Mind you, I do think it is a wonderful thing that the city of Santa Monica provides all these delightful computer terminals for creepy middle aged black men to use to watch pornography. It’s almost frightening how many troll-like gentlemen come up here to watch porno on the free computers. Now me, as pervy as I am, I would be embarrassed to do that.
I mean, just look over there. There’s a gentleman watching the most scrofulous heterosexual porn ever – it’s a fat lady bouncing up and down on a gigantic pink penis, and that’s a fact. He has one hand sort of sneakily snaking inside his basketball shorts. Oh, I can see that, I can. I am not seeing any jiggle – if he actually started playing with himself, I would have to call the security guards on him.
Yet, there is no doubt that he is oh-so-gently giving himself a little bit of the party in his pants. And, sitting not ten feet away, is a mother and her five year old kid, who, fortunately, is rather oblivious to what’s going on. That’s fortunate, because otherwise he’s going to need several years of therapy.
Meanwhile, over there, there is a gentleman – really very handsome – whom I actually recognize from gay.com. He is a guy in his late 30s or early 40s, very professional, with a strong widow’s peak (not a faux hawk) and a d’artangnan beard. If you saw his profile, you’d recognize it instantly. And there he is, putting up an ad on Craigslist, pretty as you please, looking for a hook up. He’s using the free computer to get some post-work action. Now, why he’s reduced to using a free computer at the library for his action, instead of his office computer or his home laptop, is unclear. But, hey, this is as good as it gets for him clearly.
Not two tables away from him is this young guy – in his late 20s – probably homeless, in a dirty black set of trakkies and a scruffy shirt. He’s heterosexual, as you can see from the way he is scanning the Craigslist Erotic Services section for naked women. He’s not writing any e-mails, though, so it’s clear he’s just looking for eye candy to masturbate to later on. Whatever. I myself am so grossed out by the idea of using public computers for porny stuff that I won’t even the disgusting myspace on it.
Which is not to say that I am a saint, no, not at all. For almost immediately after work, I shlepped on over to the Y, and I had my swim. And, after my swim, as I was getting dressed, I noticed the same young bald Latin kid whom I had played with, oh, about three weeks ago. He was a total cholo!
Shaved bald head, sensitive eyes, a little fanny-tickle goatee. Super cute! He was lurking about in the locker room, like I did myself when I was a kid. No one was paying him any heed, and he was just ogling the guys as they slipped out of their underwear or toweled themselves off.
I was surprised to discover that he was wearing a T-shirt that pronounced him as being one of the YMCA cleaning staff – and that notion was doubly underscored by the fact that he was desultorily cleaning the countertop of one of the sinks. I had totally boinked one of the janitors! That gave an even dirty backstory to our liaison previously: It was totally a workplace fuck for him!
The young man caught my eye – and I caught his eye.
“Hey,” he grunted, nodding.
“Hey,” I grunted in response.
Without another word, I looked him straight in the eye, and then I turned and walked out of the room. A second or two later, for discretion’s sake, he followed me. We silently walked to the unused fire staircase, the same place we had sex the last time.
As the door shut, we climbed up the staircase to the mezzanine level. There was no door on this level, so if anyone opened the doors on the floor above or the floor below, there would be as many as 20 seconds for us to readjust ourselves if need be. The young Chulo unzipped his jeans and slid them down, revealing a pair of crisp, white designer briefs. He slid those down, too, and I dropped to my knees to administer some fellatio to his hard, engorged, uncircumsized pinga. He sighed and moaned gently, in a most satisfying manner.
“I wan’ fuck you!” he whispered, throatily, his English not so good. “I got condom. Please!”
I frowned and stopped sucking for a minute.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t get fucked,” I replied.
“Then you fuck me!”
And with no more ado, he turned around grabbed my dick and slapped the condom on it. He spat on his finger and lubed up his ass with his saliva. I grabbed him from behind and entered him. He grunted and grabbed the stair banister, letting it thump with a loud “bong!”
I got into a good rhythm, sliding up his “Housekeeping” shirt so I could rub his smooth olive-colored back. I licked the back of his shaven neck, and he trembled. And he shot a nice load all over the stairs while I pumped inside him. Almost immediately afterwards, though, he muttered, “Thanks, bud” and zipped himself up. He ran upstairs, leaving me downstairs. And then I guess he went back to the laundry room. I returned to the locker room, and had myself a nice shower, thank you very much. I daresay that if I am going to be able to continue shtupping the Y’s staff, it will be quite an incentive to continue working out. Yes it will.
