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What are your interests and hobbies besides popular music?

My tastes range from the sublime to the ridiculous, an inexplicable amalgam of the highbrow, middlebrow, and lowbrow, with a healthy dose of sheer geekiness thrown into the mix:

• American history

  Especially the Civil War and the decades leading up to it (1810-1860). Not so coincidentally, it's the time period on which my Ph.D. research was focused.

• Shakespeare

  Particularly the tragedies. More than any other writer, he tells you what it means to be human in the face of all the horrible things that life can throw at you. My favorite? It's a toss-up between Hamlet and Othello.

• William Faulkner

  Absalom, Absalom! is my all-time favorite novel. It also gets my vote as the finest in all of American literature, Melville's Moby Dick notwithstanding. Since U.S. television isn't about to do it, I would love for the BBC to produce a mini-series based on it. A 1959 movie was based on another great Faulkner novel, The Sound and the Fury, but it's frankly awful. It focuses on just a small part of the overall story, and Yul Brenner was so horribly miscast as Jason Compson that the screenwriters had to modify the storyline just to accommodate his obviously non-Southern accent. Fortunately, in 2014 James Franco directed and starred in a vastly superior "arthouse" film version of The Sound and the Fury: no, it doesn't quite do the novel justice, but it's nevertheless admirable and, unlike the 1959 movie, well worth seeing. And why hasn't somebody yet turned The Bear into the incredible film it ought to be? If I had several tens of millions of dollars to dispose of as I saw fit, I would personally finance it! (Are you listening, Bill Gates?)

• F. Scott Fitzgerald

  The single most beautiful prose stylist of American literature. Anyone with a lick o' sense knows how great The Great Gatsby is—a concise, flawless diamond of a novel—but don't overlook Tender Is the Night. Incidentally, I should state for the record that, although he's referred to in "Being Boring" ("a famous writer in the 1920s"), I became a devotee of Fitzgerald nearly two decades before there even were such a thing as "Pet Shop Boys." I've read all of his novels (not that there's many—only five) and nearly all (at least 90%) of his short stories.

• T.S. Eliot

  Because I know that time is always time
  And place is always and only place
  And what is actual is actual only for one time
  And only for one place
          — from Ash-Wednesday (1930)

• comic books

  Although I no longer collect comic books, they were an extremely important part of my childhood. From ages 6 to 12 I was an obsessive devotee—to DC Comics in particular and, even more especially, to Justice League of America. I bought every issue of JLA from 1962 until around 1969. And I have to confess to a persistent nostalgic fascination: whenever possible I caught episodes of their recent animated revival on the Cartoon Network, and I'm absolutely thrilled that a live-action film was finally made after all these years. I even liked it. I've also thoroughly enjoyed the X-Men movies, even if they did muck up the Dark Phoenix saga. It was understandable and forgivable, but a mucking up nonetheless. As a child I owned a copy of the very first issue of X-Men, but it vanished somewhere along the line. When I think about how much that would be worth today—

• writing
  
  
• teaching
  
  
• instructional design

  It's what paid the bills. And it was a great way for a rather introverted geek like me to indulge his lifelong love of learning and teaching.
  

• HTML
  
  
• websurfing
  
  
• cats

  We're "catless" now, our last kitty having passed away in early 2005 at the age of 20, which roughly equates to a human living to be 100. (Our other kitty had died two years earlier at the age of 18.) Although we haven't ruled out the possibility down the road of sharing our home with one or more other cats, we're currently enjoying the freedom of not owning any pets. It certainly makes it easier to take vacations, doesn't it?

  By the way, just because one likes cats doesn't mean one likes Andrew Lloyd Webber's Cats. On the contrary, I intensely dislike it. More about my theatrical tastes below.

• Sudoku

  I've become thoroughly addicted to these logical number puzzles. I complete at least one and often two or three of them nearly every day. I like them at the "difficult" level; they're not nearly as much fun when they're too easy. I know, it seems a tremendous time-waster. But some researchers believe that it may help stave off Alzheimer's, so it may prove worthwhile.

• long walks

  I try to walk at least two miles a day—three or more if time and weather permit.

• the outdoors

  I have near-fetishes for, conversely, both dense forests and big open fields. And nothing quite matches the feeling of being out on a boat.

• cactuses (or if you insist on the Latin, cacti) and succulents

  I'd never had much luck growing plants—nearly everything I ever planted died in very short order—until I discovered the joys of desert vegetation. I now have more than a hundred species of cactuses and succulents in my "living collection." Put 'em out on a patio or deck, in a window, or in some other spot with lots of sunlight (except for those few that prefer the shade: watch out for those!), water 'em once every two or three weeks (but don't water them at all during their annual dormant period), and from time to time you'll enjoy some marvelous blossoms. Besides, they're so damn butch! You do, however, quickly learn to wear nice, thick gloves when working with them, no matter how butch you think you are.
  

• RuPaul's Drag Race

  Just because I'm a gay man doesn't mean I'm automatically a fan of drag. I'm not. Never have been. It's not that I hate it or think it's "wrong"; it's just that I've always been pretty much indifferent to it. But I am a fan—a big one—of RuPaul's Drag Race. And if that's a paradox, I can explain it with one proper noun: RuPaul. Not only does he know how to create and sustain a thoroughly engaging, thoroughly enjoyable show, but I don't think I'm exaggerating one bit when I also say there's never been a smarter, savvier, more talented drag queen on the face of the planet. In fact, when you get right down to it, there's probably never been a smarter, savvier, more talented game/reality show host, period. (P.S. – When I first wrote about RuPaul in my 1994 book Rock on the Wild Side, I wouldn't have dreamed that by this time, nearly a quarter-century later, he would have become a major fixture of popular culture.)

• Six Feet Under

  Its wonderful first season and at times astounding final season (the concluding episode of which brought tears to my eyes) made the occasional frustrations of Seasons 2-4 well worth it. Now answer these questions—

  • Why were they given the family name Fisher? And why may the names Ruth, David, and Claire also be significant?
  • Why was it necessary that Nathaniel (Nate) Fisher, Sr. and Jr., father and son, both die during the course of the series?
  • Why are the seeming throwaway lines in the final episode in which Anthony asks Brenda whether it hurts to have a baby, to which she replies that it does, terribly important?

  —and perhaps all will be revealed. But if you want me to share my own answers, here you go.

• Game of Thrones

  I was a late-comer; I didn't start watching at all until halfway through its fifth season, and I didn't become hooked until about halfway through the sixth. I then went back and watched all of the earlier seasons to catch up. And that's crucial with as intricately plotted a show as this. It almost seemed to be drowning in subplots at one point, but it brilliantly, very satisfyingly came together again into an epic whole. That, together with marvelous writing and acting, easily made it the best thing on television. And that's right up through its final season—which, unlike many of my fellow fans, I still loved, including its somewhat controversial conclusion. (Spoiler alert: GOT is a tragedy. To borrow a line from the show, "If you think this has a happy ending, you haven't been paying attention.")

• Deadwood

  A #@%!ing brilliant re/deconstruction of the old American West, with singularly rich writing and characterization. Let Shakespeare mud-wrestle with Zane Grey while the censors are safely locked away in the nearest bordello—it might look and sound something like this. It's a cryin' shame that this brilliant series ran for only three short seasons for a total of just 36 episodes. Fortunately, more than a decade later, its creators were able to produce a superb TV movie postlude featuring nearly all of the original cast, set ten years after the original storyline, which proved every bit as awesome while satisfyingly managing to tie up a few loose ends.

• Rome

  The most enjoyable ancient history lesson since I, Claudius. Its creators very astutely interwove two different types of aesthetic experience: those of observing how known historical conclusions unfold (such as the events leading up to Julius Caesar's assassination) and of being surprised by unknown fictional outcomes (such as the respective fates of Lucius Vorenus and his wife, Niobe). The first season was, I believe, markedly better than the second, and its deliberate deviations from the historical record were at times jarring (if dramatic). But it nevertheless surpassed in quality 99.99% of everything else that's ever been on television.

• Babylon 5

  A big, sprawling, epic science-fiction novel for television. I was disappointed in its fifth and final season, but Seasons 2-4 made it, in my opinion, the finest sci-fi show ever and the best television program of any genre at the time. (I almost forgot to breathe during the unforgettable Season 2 episode "The Coming of Shadows.") Of its various subplots, the story of Londo Mollari, G'Kar, and their respective planets was the stuff of high tragedy.

• Star Trek

  In nearly all of its assorted permutations. Hell, I even liked Enterprise, despite its serious flaws in execution. I have to say, however, that the episode of Voyager where Janeway and Paris devolve into giant salamanders, mate, and produce offspring before reverting to their normal selves almost finished me off for good.

• Dark Shadows

  It was cheesy, I know—but the cheese was very tasty indeed. The plots, often lifted wholesale from "horror classics," were so byzantine that I can't help but admire it. The failed 1991 remake was technically much superior, but it didn't have nearly the intricacy or nuance (yes, nuance!) of the original. The 1795 flashback that related how Barnabas Collins became a vampire was probably the best and least derivative storyline, but actually my all-time favorite was the genuinely terrifying "Ghost of Quentin Collins" plot, adapted from Henry James's The Turn of the Screw.* And I loved the way they could take their time unfolding the stories oh-so-gradually. That's something only a good soap opera can do. Besides, it was just about the gayest thing on U.S. television in the 1960s, despite the fact that back then they certainly couldn't be overt about it. (Then again, the nefarious Count Petofi came dangerously close, as if Oscar Wilde had been an extremely powerful 150-year-old sorcerer with a murderous boy-toy in tow.)

  And, in case you're wondering, I liked (not loved, but liked) the Tim Burton/Johnny Depp cinematic "retcon" in May 2012. Purists were dismayed by its irreverent, deconstructive approach, but I'm no purist. (Besides, the original was never very pure to begin with.) My favorite scene was a quick and terribly subtle "Easter egg" for longtime fans: when Dr. Hoffman says that young David Collins believes his late mother possesses "some sort of cyclic immortality," the camera focuses on him with a fireplace blazing in the background. If you're not a devotee of the original TV show, you wouldn't grasp the significance.

  *An October 2009 update: In an amazing coincidence (or is it?), these two favorite DS plots of mine have now been released as "standalones"—Dark Shadows: The Vampire Curse and Dark Shadows: The Haunting of Collinwood—each of which boils about three months' worth of episodes down to a single DVD detailing the essence of those particular stories, without the concurrent overlapping plotlines. If you're the least bit inclined, I recommend them highly.

• The Outer Limits

  The original series from the sixties—not the comparatively lame more recent version. I wasn't even ten years old when one episode ("The Sixth Finger," if I recall) scared me so much that I locked myself in the bathroom and wouldn't come out for an hour. You can't make up precious memories like that!

• Universal Studios horror movies of the 1930s—and one in particular

  I love Dracula, The Mummy, and Frankenstein, but even more than those, the latter's vastly superior sequel, The Bride of Frankenstein. A lot of people don't realize it, but The Bride is actually a dark comedy—or, as its director James Whale allegedly described it, "a comedy about death"—filled with iconic scenes and imagery. And name an actor or actress aside from Elsa Lanchester who achieved absolute screen immortality with so little time on-screen: less than five minutes. I kid you not when I say that The Bride of Frankenstein is my all-time favorite film—though I have to admit that The Godfather is a close second.

• The Godfather trilogy

  And here's why—because the tale of Michael Corleone is probably the single greatest tragedy to emerge from the popular arts in twentieth-century America. Yes, tragedy, and I mean that in its highest sense. Remember the concluding line from Shakespeare's Sonnet 94, quoted in "If There Was Love": "Lilies that fester smell far worse than weeds." That's what it's all about—the gradual, horrible rotting and death of a great soul. But, oh, how I wish Julia Roberts (Coppola's original choice) or even Wynona Ryder (after Roberts fell through, and who more looked the part anyway) could have portrayed Mary Corleone in the third film* as previously planned. Then it might have been perfect.

  *Contrary to common opinion, Godfather III is actually a pretty good movie. It just suffers from the inevitable comparison with its two predecessors, which were among the greatest films of the second half of the twentieth century. A final chapter that's merely "pretty good" therefore ends up seeming worse than it really is. Of course, Sophia Coppola's lackluster performance as Mary Corleone didn't help. But even she wasn't as horribly bad as commonly claimed. She just wasn't very good, though one might regard her apparent state of perpetual befuddlement as befitting the character.

Also, before I injured my back some years ago, I loved to play racquetball; to do so now would court hospitalization.

And if you allow me to distinguish between theater music and "popular music," I must note my love of Stephen Sondheim's Sweeney Todd, some of Andrew Lloyd Webber's work (I thoroughly enjoy Jesus Christ Superstar, Evita, and The Phantom of the Opera, but I can do without the rest), and the delightful but tragically curtailed collaboration of Howard Ashman and Alan Menken (specifically The Little Shop of Horrors and Beauty and the Beast). The classic team of Rodgers and Hammerstein is, in general, a bit syrupy for my taste, but they had their undeniable moments. Take "Some Enchanted Evening" in South Pacific or the reprise of "You'll Never Walk Alone" at the end of Carousel. I'm not ashamed to say they make me cry every time, dammit.

 

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