Everybody in the pool

Ah, the Olympics: Day after day of guys in those tights-like swimsuits, splashing away... Actually I see fewer full-body suits this time around than I was expecting, and a disturbing number of the men wearing them are just plain weird-looking, aside from the fetishy qualities of their apparel.

The Hub is a former swimmer, so he's paying more attention to the actual sport than the outfits. Me, I lose interest once the athletes hit the water. That's why I'm typing this very entry instead of watching the latest exploits of "the Thorpedo" and ... uh, those other guys.

The joys of being a truly shallow person: if you ask me, clothes really do make the man, and I like these clothes A LOT.

Bat vibes

Never mind why, but the Hub and I found ourselves in a theme park outside Gotham City last week. The only "attraction" either of us was particularly interested in was called something like "Batman: The Adventure". We'd seen a very hot Batman at a party several years ago and learned that his suit came from this same attraction, so we wanted to see it in action, ideally hugging the skin of some athletic stud.

The exterior set was appealing--an amalgam of Gotham and the Joker's hideout--but the actual show (which is simply a "show," and not a ride of any kind, which was fine by me) took place on an indoor stage, big enough to accomodate a cast of 10 or 15 plus several motorcycles. And flame-throwing devices.

Motorcycles and fire: that was pretty much the whole show. Bad guys on cycles shooting fire, Batman on his cycle shooting more fire. Back to the bad guys. Back to Batman. The main bad guy turned out to be the Joker (wearing a rubber Joker mask), and he, too, employed the m/f combo. (On second thought, he had no motorcycle--more like a customized dune buggy.) All the dialogue was prerecorded--a wise choice, since it's performed 3 times a day for months on end, and you don't want your cast (mostly athletes rather than actors) losing their minds, particularly not when wielding flame-throwers. The entire thing was over in just over 15 minutes. No deathtraps, no threatened unmaskings, no kinky bondage to warp the psyches of the pre-teen audience for life, nothing but motorcycles and fire. Even the batsuit was a letdown: sort of like one of those grade-Z Halloween outfits; nothing like the sexy one we'd seen at the party.

In short, a real bat-bummer. Nice gift shop, though--and in this world of branded "experiences" and synchronistic "attractions," is't that what's it all really about?

Barney Rocks!

I've noticed a few folks arriving at this here blog by way of another one, namely (postmodernbarney.com), so I've been checking it out off and on. Dorian's writing is really sharp and funny, particularly in this entry from August 6, 2004 on "the gayest comic of all time." Hilarious, and I now know that I really, really need a copy of the aptly named Sensation Comics #1.

Added bonus: Dorian shares my hots for the character Wildcat (or at least I think he does), and provides a very juicy, very shirtless photo of Jason Statham to make his case for the Transporter star to play the role on film. Now if only someone would make a film adaptation of one of the two Batman-forced-to-fight-Wildcat-or-else comics in my collection...

Local Afternoon In (okay, so it's a little forced...)

Didn't quite make it to any National Night Out events tonight after all, though I did visit my local police station to pay a parking ticket earlier in the day. I find myself paying these in person whenever possible, since I figure I ought to get a little something in return for my 10-40 bucks, specifically a few extended glimpses at some men in uniform. Mission accomplished today, only the sights were fairly limited and there was a great deal of standing around in a depressingly dank and cramped hallway waiting for the overworked (female) dispatcher to handle half a dozen other calls and walk-ins before me. Not very sexy at all. I felt like I was on the set of the quintessential episode of Cops, complete with distraught white-trash father complaining about his daughter coming home last night high as a kite. "I understand, sir, but what do you want us to do about it?" the dispatcher kept saying. The dad could never quite manage an answer to that question, and I didn't stick around long enough to suggest one myself.

Picture This

Fewer messages here lately because my posting time has been occupied with the BEGINNINGS saga--the 50th chapter of which will be posted shortly--and some improvements to the links pages of my main site. And, for the first time in about 10 years, I've been bitten by the IM bug.

I've always hated this particular technological innovation--the ability to be interrupted by complete strangers when I'm busy (I was one of the first people to sign up for the Do Not Call Registry)--and I really, truly do not enjoy communicating with people I don't know by means of little text messages back and forth....

Except, it has dawned on me of late, as a means of conducting bat-business with fellow travelers. There are limits to the torments I can inflict upon myself, and even batplay with the Hub has its limitations, simply because it doesn't carry the same soul-baring weight for him that it does for me. But the realm of shared storytelling with masked villains, that's a whole nother ballgame. (Obligatory proviso: I ain't lookin' for no real-life encounters. Perfectly happy on that front. Not even really looking for new villains--got my hands full with a couple already, who shall remain nameless. But if you think you've got what it takes to take me down, drop me a line and see if you pass muster.)

From time to time I get e-mails and IMs from strangers complimenting me on the single photo of my batsuit currently floating around online. (I envision a new page of self-portaits on the SECRET ROOM site, but haven't done much to make it happe yet.) It feels weird, mostly good but still weird, to be told I look hot, because in my Bruce Wayne existence, that doesn't usually happen except when the Hub says it. (Maybe it would if I were listening closer, but I had many years' experience shutting that side of me down.) I realize the positive comments come from fellow fetishists who are probably focussing more on the suit than the man inside it, but that doesn't bother me at all--I mean, I do the same, after all, with both cops and batmen. (Speaking of the former, here's another reminder that National Night Out is Tuesday, Aug 3. Get out there and get friendly with your neighborhood boys in blue!) (Then send me the pix!)

As I think I've often written here before, on some level my masked face is the real one. Unmask me and I look like anybody else. But by putting on a disguise, I become the man I really am: which is to say, the man of my dreams. The self I keep hidden from the rest of the world. And it feels ... okay, nice to have that self strike a chord in other men with similar dreams.