The Glass Character: transvestism

Showing posts with label transvestism. Show all posts

Tuesday, October 8, 2013

Who wore it better? You decide

I have this habit of blogging first thing in the morning, and last thing at night. The rest of the time I am in purgatory.

No, sorry, I mean. . .

I mean that the editing process, the next step in preparing The Glass Character for publication in the spring, makes me feel kind of like I have glue in my veins. Or sludge. The process is oh, so long, so hard, extremely tiring and frustrating, and an all-around pain in the ass.

But soft! What's this? What light through yonder window breaks?

And why?

Why on earth is Harold Lloyd, our Harold Lloyd, our dishy silent comic-of-a-lifetime, our inspiration for the most aggravating and perhaps hopeless novel in human history, why is OUR Harold Lloyd dressed like a girl?

Oh, he looks beautiful, mind. That's not the issue. The turban, feathers, etc. are, well, rather becoming on him. He smiles softly, beguilingly. He looks not only comfortable, but content.

No, this isn't a Before/After shot, it's Carmen Miranda, famous for her banana-headed tropical outfits and shimmying around the stage. I can't imagine Harold shimmying - well, actually, he DID do a "shimmie" in one of his earliest pictures. I just find the resemblance striking, is all, though it could be that Harold is a touch more feminine.

FEMININE?!

I don't see him that way, never have, though a person I used to call my friend said (having watched her first and last Harold Lloyd movie): "Why do you like him? I thought he was gay." As if that's all that matters about any human being, a quick way to dismiss, to write off.

I have a bit of an insight here: this bizarre magazine cover (which I am convinced is real: it appears in too many places not to be, including in its original form on auction sites) could possibly have something to do with his lifelong involvement in Masonic orders and the Shriners. I've always been convinced these fellows are just a sort of Dull Men's Club, but lately, what with all this Illuminati stuff coming out, and all these TV shows that claim the image on the American $1 bill is some Satanic thing-or-other, you never know. Then there was all this CIA stuff during the Cold War, the mind games and experiments. Surely Harold wouldn't be mixed up in all that, would he? He looks too innocent. Or was this just a get-up for one of his pictures? I can't remember one where he looked quite so fetching.

And orange is definitely his colour.

http://margaretgunnng.blogspot.ca/2013/04/the-glass-character-synopsis.html

http://members.shaw.ca/margaret_gunning/betterthanlife.htm

Tuesday, November 20, 2012

I hate clowns

I hate clowns, I hate clowns, I truly hate clowns,

They always depress me and drag my soul down.

When somebody puts on such strange things to wear,

The human condition is truly laid bare.

I ask, what's the point of all this tom-foolery?

It triggers in me a deep incredulity.

Now here is a clown who caused me great dread.

In childhood this creep rented space in my head.

His name was Milky, which was awfully scary,

Just clowning and whoring for Twin Pines, the dairy.

Before John Wayne Gacy came ambling along,

There was this guy here. And he was just wrong.

He wore stars and stripes for some unknown reason,

Though flag mutilation's a high form of treason.

Back when I lived near old Detroit town,

I saw a strange act performed by a clown.

When he mounted his friend, to my child's mind,

of course he

Was riding on Bozo, just playing at horsey.

When I saw this old photo of black-and-white clowns,

I climbed on a bridge and just threw myself down.

There's Milky and Bozo, the two that were lovers,

Jingles, and Whatsis - who cares, they're all mothers.

This clown guy I mentioned, and those of his ilk

Did a lot of hard-selling by sucking down milk.

In Milky the dairy thought they would invest - right?

Then found out that he was a flaming transvestite.

Twin Pines weren't aware that they'd started a fashion.

Soon clowns 'round the world drank their milk with a passion.

And poor Pagliaccio was filled with a rage,

So he drank milk, then killed his poor wife right on-stage.

With hijinks like this, some dark force was released.

The ringmasters shot themselves: all were deceased.

Clowns threw nasty fits, banged their heads on the wall:

These Komedy Kapers weren't funny at all.

If this gets much weirder, I'm going to be sick.

I've never laughed once when a clown did his trick.

I can't speak for you, but I think this is rude -

I never knew clowns were this nasty and lewd.

Milky is dust now, and Bozo is dead.

Their romance still haunts me and lurks in my head.

I hate clowns, I hate them, I'll never be free,

They never will get one guffaw out of me.

Friday, June 22, 2012

Was Hermann Goering a transvestite? You decide

It's waaaaaay too late, and I am waaaaaaay too sick with this flu-thingama-jiggy to even be out of bed right now. But just a short time ago, while looking for something else, I came across a couple of pages that fascinated me. In fact, it made my jaw drop. It was an account of someone who had special duties during World War II: to keep Hermann Goering supplied with lacy panties, silk stockings and all the latest Paris creations so he could dress his chubby frame in elegant satins and high heels and parade around in front of the mirror. Just for the sake of comfort: those stiff Nazi uniforms do chafe in some very private places, don't you see?

The only trouble is, though I remember parts of this information in excruciating detail, probably more detail than I want, I don't remember which book it was in! This is worse than Mary Astor's diary (which I finally found in a really filthy book called Hollywood Babylon, not that I actually have a copy). I went through both David Niven books (again, because I really did think it was in there: it's the sort of story he loved to tell in his memoirs, very Carry-On/Catch-22-ish military stuff).

It's not there. Not in the Babble-on book either. So what does that leave? What have I been reading lately? Is it in my book of medical myths (when you sneeze, does your heart stop? If you cross your eyes will they get stuck that way?) or somewhere in the Marion Meade biography of Dorothy Parker, one of my favorite books in the whole wide world? Doesn't seem too damn likely. Dorothy Parker liked men who were men (in spite of the fact that she repeatedly referred to her effeminate husband Alan Campbell as "a fawn's ass").

So I don't have the hard evidence I was hoping for, but these photos do offer compelling hints of those private passions which he practiced behind closed doors. So it's up to you to decide: WAS Hermann Goering a transvestite? Was one of the most vicious human beings who ever lived just a strutting, primping, mascara-slathering, boa-swishing drag queen?