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Wow. You look just like him!

Wow. You look just like him!

I know. I owe you an I Fell In Love With A Bar Boy Post having left off last time in the middle of a train of thought, and I need to finish that off before Ndro’s tub of popcorn goes stale. But it was a long weekend and yesterday’s article on Ryan Gosling tickled a memory or two so I thought I’d go with this one first. Mostly because I’d written the bulk of this post a few months ago; it only needed some minor adjustments. Besides, posting the denouement entry from the anticipated trilogy on April Fool’s Day would have been an iffy proposition. Y’all are a suspicious lot. Smart, but suspicious. And rightly so. In any case, this tale too is more about me than it is about Noom. But then Noom’s part is what makes it worth telling and unlike with the next one it’s about me fucking with him in the past rather than how my fucking with him might affect our future.

Years ago when the Rocket Man could still fit inside of a rocket, being the young stud on the town that I was I bought a stylish white fedora to wear when out, about, and on the prowl. It lasted for two nights. Both of which I spent being told how much I looked like Elton John. Not that that was necessarily a bad thing back then. Those were the days when Elton was at the height of his popularity and was considered by many to be pretty hot. Those were also the days when he still thought people believed he was straight. Like no one ever saw that coming. And not that I didn’t get laid thanks to that hat on both nights either. ‘Cuz I did. But Elton John was just not the persona I was trying to project. Maybe if I was a bottom I would have stuck with that look. But those were the days of disco, and I pictured myself more of a John Travolta clone. Oh. Wait a minute . . . .

Fast forward a few years: Despite having done a post about Ryan Gosling yesterday, and even though he seems to be everyone in Hollywood’s idea of hotness, I’ve only seen two of his movies. He just doesn’t quite do it for me. I’d have to see him naked before I decided whether or not to kick him out of bed. One of his movies I did see – I can’t remember what the other was but can remember looking at him and thinking, “Really?” – was Blue Valentine. I went to see it at the theatre with my friend Dave, who I’ve known for like 100 years now. When Gosling came on the screen, Dave, who didn’t know who he was either, went silent. The hit me with his elbow. “Dude! That’s you!” he whispered. He didn’t mean then, but back in my 30s. And it bugged the crap out of him. For the rest of the flick every time Gosling’s face came on the screen he’d mutter, “Jesus!” The similarities in his mind ruined the movie for him. I didn’t take it as a compliment. But then it could have been worse. The similarity could instead have been with Dennis Hopper in Blue Velvet.

elton

Fast forward a few years: Maybe it’s just straight guy’s gaydar pinging without them knowing it. Another old friend called me after watching Kevin Spacey’s homoage to Bobby Darin, Beyond The Sea, on DVD. He’d had the same experience as Dave, and had been just as bothered by what he considered the resemblance of Spacey during the scenes filmed at Big Sur. The era was right, the similar ages at the respective times were right, the idea that we could pass for twins was just not right in my book. So, okay. Maybe the pornstach I rocked in those days wasn’t the best idea.

So I watched the movie. Unfortunately. I like Kevin Spacey (as an actor), but if I were looking for a role of his with a resemblance to yours truly I’d probably go with Seven instead. Not for his look so much as his general attitude and demeanor. Though when I get out of bed in the morning, physically these days I’m probably a better match for Keyser Söze.

Fast forward a few years: Noom – my bar boy friend and current love of my life – and I were in Chiang Mai late one afternoon having breakfast at an open-air dive across the street from the Tha Pae Gate. It’s one of Noom’s preferred establishment as the bill never totals more than 200 baht for the two of us for breakfast or dinner. As busy and popular as the place is, it still manages to be an oasis of tranquility while sitting a mere three feet from the congested street where unmuffled tuk tuk engines and diesel fumes battle for supremacy. There is an outdoor area where we usually sit, shaded by trees and surrounded by plumeria that glow in the sun like a dream by Van Gogh. Next door is a small used book store with one of its outside racks facing the restaurant’s tables. On this visit, I spotted a book staring at me by Hunter S. Thompson, one I hadn’t read. I went over and bought it. It cost more than our meal. I browsed through the book with Noom sitting across from me at the table while we waited for our food to arrive. That would usually be a cue for Noom to chat away noisily about nothing. I love the dude, but his ego needs constant attention and being ignored brings out the chatterbox in him. Instead there was dead silence.

gosling

“What?”

“Dat you!”

It took me a minute to realize he was referring to the picture of Hunter on the book’s cover. In my defense, I’d like to remind you that Johnny Depp portrayed Hunter in a movie. Twice. Just sayin’. And fortunately the book wasn’t The Great Shark Hunt, or I’d be once again cursing the day I’d ever bought that damn white fedora. Instead I tried not to read too much into the book’s title being Better Than Sex.

I laughed, shrugged off the idea of there being any resemblance between the two of us and told him that no, that picture was not me. Noom wasn’t buying it. And like Dave’s reaction to Blue Valentine and like with Kevin Spacey’s version of what Bobby Darin looked like is his stoner days, Hunter S. Thompson’s far too familiar looking countenance bothered Noom. Greatly. He grabbed the book out of may hands, eyeballed the cover photo and then me, and then the cover again. He thumbed through the book looking for further photographic proof, found none, and decided despite my protestations he was right.

“Why you on dat book?”

“Really, that’s not me. Us old farang all just look alike.”

hunter

He scowled, flipped through the book’s pages again thinking somehow further proof would have magically appeared over the last minute, mumbling, “Yet, you,” as he did so. Our food arrived. Still with a skeptical snarl on his face, he laid the book down on the table. With its cover and ‘my photo’ face down. And then got busy communing with his meal. As Noom always does when there is food in front of him.

Back in our hotel room that night I’d laid the book on the nightstand next to our bed, not unusual as I always have a book next to my bed. Noom turned it over to hide the picture again before he slipped into bed. And then later slipped it into the nightstand drawer when he reached for the lube. I haven’t a clue why that book cover bothered him so much. He’s a Buddhist who now considers himself a Hindu. But he’s not a Muslim. And it’s not like he isn’t used to me staring at him.

Early the next morning, using the bathroom first, I placed the book so that Hunter’s picture was eyeballing the toilet. Because that’s how I roll. When I went back in later, Noom had turned the book around so its back cover faced outward. Maybe he’s just not a fan of Hunter S. Thompson. And though I hadn’t planned it that way, on our flight back to Bangkok he sat to the left of me and wasn’t happy about having Hunter staring at him for the entire flight. But that’s what you get when you always demand the window seat.

It’s a shame I don’t hold onto books I’ve read but pass them on to friends to read instead. Otherwise I would have packed that one to take with me on my next visit to Thailand. Maybe I’ll pick up a copy of Blue Valentine to screen for Noom instead.

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