Theater In Portland And Tigard, How To Dress

 

 

At some point I’ll probably get used to going to live theater, but it hasn’t happened yet. Actors and clowns still feel a little suspicious. So do writers, but what’re you gonna do.

 

No one dresses to write, everyone dresses for the theater, at least everyone with gray hair and I’ve got a Q-tip load of it. Students, and for the show I saw there was a bunch of them, don’t see live theater as a chance to dress up.

 

A downtown Portland stage showed Fun Home.

It was narrated by the daughter of the lead character, unless she was the lead since she was in her forties and also flashed back to her college and middle school years with actors wearing the same clothes so no one got confused.

 

The story combined her coming out of the closet in college and reflecting on what it was like growing up with a gay married man dad in a demanding marriage, which means it includes a wife in denial about her husbands secret life.

 

His secret life included taking his three kids to New York on a museum holiday, with him cruising gay clubs at night while telling his kids tucked into their sleeping bags, “I’m going out for a paper.”

 

They were suspicious.

 

So there I was, watching what seemed to be the life story of my uncle’s husband who’d been married twenty years with kids before he woke up to being gay. Middle age gay is different than young and wild gay, but no one told him.

 

Needless to say, I’ve been around gay guys enough to relax the idea that they’re a threat to me. From uncle’s wedding, to his husband’s funeral, to meeting his crowd, I know enough about gay men and women to feel secure, not that it matters. But still, a straight married guy commenting on gay life treads close to the homophobe line.

 

Describing my cashmere v-neck sweater, white linen shirt, black skinny jeans, and shined black boots isn’t a gay threat. I was going to live theater, man, time to dress it up. Add a slick blue blazer to tie it all together and I was set.

 

The wife and I talked about it on the way home, whether or not Fun Home was the most gay play we’d ever seen. Because she grew up in LA with a theatrical mom, she’s seen more than me. Where I grew up we had Little Theater On the Bay and I don’t know who saw those shows.

 

“That was a pretty gay play,” I said.

“You sound like a homophobe,” she said, not unexpected.

“No one needs your protection in the car, honey, but since gay was a theme, it seemed pretty gay.”

“Of course that’s what you focused on,” she said. This is where the line gets closer.

“Well, the dad was pretty gay, and I’m a dad, so I sort of identified with him.”

“Did you see yourself?”

“I saw a man uncomfortable in his own skin, which I can relate to. Did you relate to the narrator?” I asked.

“It seemed like the dad and daughter both had identity issues.”

“The dad was married with kids and hopped out with the boys at every chance. The daughter seemed pretty sure about herself. Who do you think had the biggest problem.”

“Oh, the father.”

“I think it was the mom. She knew her husband was going out but stayed married and kept everything normal. Or as normal as she could. The guy was a jackass with no consideration for her. Like she trapped him with marriage and kids and he needed an escape.”

“Is that how you feel?”

“Right, it’s about me. Keep asking and I’ll escape right out the door driving down I-5.”

“That would be dramatic.”

“Not as dramatic as the gay man’s wife. She carried the show in her denial, looking the other way, and for the way she took the verbal abuse he dealt.”

“Do you think she turned him gay?”

 

This is the trick question so many fail. Like Lady Gaga says, we’re born the way we are. No one turns us into straight or gay, and no therapy changes the equation. But a married couple can still spar the question.

 

I think the answer is people need to get used to themselves. If you’re gay, be gay. If you’re not gay, you’re not. And if you have a wife who loves proving a point, count yourself lucky. And wear a cashmere sweater and white linen shirt when you go to live theater.

 

===

Five days later we saw Trail at Tigard’s Broadway Rose. Two guys hiking the Appalachian Trail after not seeing each other for twelve years where they reveal a deep buried secret from their past.

Hmmmm.

 

I wore…my cashmere and linen. Hey, if it’s live theater I’m going top shelf.

 

In a story of ‘The One That Got Away’ I joined an audience of old people enjoying a nostalgic moment. I looked around at lots of gray haired heads wondering why we’re all there on a Sunday afternoon instead of watching football. And I’m one of them?

 

After the show the crowd made it’s way down the stairs. I waited on a large old man with a cane balancing his way along the handrail.

 

I waved him by. He stopped and waved me by.

 

“Go ahead,” I said.

“No, you go.”

“After you.”

“I’m waiting for you.”

“You first, sir.”

“Listen, just walk down the steps, would you?”

“No. I’m not going first to cushion your fall. Move out.”

Even with my rare finery on I still found a way to jackass up the moment by bullying an old man. Not at my best, but wtf?

Showtime is the right time for better manners.

 

I’m working on it and planning my next go to hell outfit.