February 2, 2001 GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE 11

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Ascending to heaven aboard the Number 6 bus

by M.T. "the Big Tipper" Martone

This morning, as I lean luxuriously into the elegant, attenuated street sign that bears testimony to the presence of my true one even when its arrival seems merely a dream, I must shout to the skies, “I am in love, yes in love, with my bus!"

My comrades in waiting glance at me from the corners of their eyes and edge away nervously as I elaborate. Specifically, I'm in love with the busses that bear me daily to my place of employ, about the city on my important journeys, and in the evening, back unto my home. Over a period of time, it has become clear to me that this is no crush or passing infatuation, but a deep, reciprocal relationship.

It is true that I've gotten a free bus pass with my last two jobs. (A fact that you may roll up in your car insurance bill and smoke.) Despite this less than savory detail, my love is no charade cheapened by the fact that I've not proven my commitment with gifts. Since when is that any true measure of a relationship?

Love demands respect. I have my fare or pass ready when the bus arrives. I maneuver the aisles as gracefully as possible, and sprawl not on the seats. I keep my feet tucked in. I do not spit or eat powerfully scented foods on the bus. Nor do I drink beverages out of paper bags, then leave the bottles to roll the aisles long after I have departed for my destination. I listen not to music on a Walkman so loudly that people are not only disturbed by my Rasputina, but also concerned for my aural well being.

Love is exuberant and appreciative. I wink

at babies, and always stand to give my seat to a person who seems to need one. I look at the driver, greet her cheerfully, and laugh at her jokes, even if they're painful, or it's been a crappy day and I'm not in the mood.

Most of all, love is patient. And I prove my faith daily with sometimes ludicrously long waits. But as my chariot noses around the corner, its sly brow of lights beaming its intent to bear me eternally and safely unto my many destinations, any annoyance is laughed off and all is forgiven.

My friends have not been as supportive as I'd like. Their protestations are endless.

"Why would you walk to catch a ride when you can take one straight from home?" I may have to walk a bit, but is it any farther than the distance from which they'd have to park their car at the end destination?

"You have to stand in the rain and snow." And the sun. It's nice to have a reason to be outside and have a little meditative time every day.

"I don't like the people who ride the bus." I have not yet been required to dine with, much less bed or marry, anyone who was my seatmate, no matter how intimately we squished thighsides for that unforgettable thirty minutes. In eight years I've had no parking tickets or moving violations, and the bus has rarely made me late when it wasn't my own damned fault in the first place.

The engine of true love, though, ne'er runs smooth, and our relationship was tested just this past week. Morning usually sees me at the

bus stop, chipper, timely, and happy to greet the day. Whom shall I sit next to today? Hello brothers and sisters! I smile gently at the nodding heads of my sleepy fellow travelers. Ah, humanity. That morning, however, saw the rise of a far less compassionate sun. From the moment I reluctantly dragged my butt out the door, I was in no mood. The people standing at the stop dangled cigarettes from their idiot lips. The bus took so long to arrive I was doomed to a late arrival at work. Because the bus was late, it was packed, and I was squashed into a short person's hell of alien bosoms and bellies and the odd elbow jabbing me in the neck.

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Soon, my mind was consumed by a barelycontained silent excoriation of the sullen office workers and stultified corporate drones and smelly drooling children and dumb-ass students with their dumb asses hanging out of their dumb-ass pants. By the time I was disgorged at my stop, I felt like I'd been run through some nasty, gummy pasta machine of humanity.

When I was ready to go home, I was calmer. I waited shyly for the bus. Was the feeling gone? I boarded nervously, but relaxed as I wedged into a window seat, took out a book, and started to read. My bus was here for me. A bad morning was just that, and we made our peace on the long, quiet ride home.

I imagine that when we die it is like this. We stand and wait together with those who have fallen nearby, and wait for buses to our various destinations. I wave by the Valhalla Ex-

press, and watch a few of my compatriots board a creaky short bus to heaven. A small man gets on one that says Metro Base; apparently to go to the beginning of the line and start again.

I might be nervous as the minutes pass, but I've got nothing but time now. A gleaming coach then breaks the horizon, and as I read the LED display across the front, I know I've been as good as I possibly could have been.

The brakes hiss, the door flaps open, and I climb the steps and press my pass into the palm of Saint Vincent de Paul himself. There are plenty of open seats, and the air smells faintly of mothballs and musty books. I look around at my eternal companions, and they smile at me. The bus pulls out and away from my stop for the last time, and as it climbs the hill, anyone left at the bus stop would have quickly lost sight of the sign: "Goodwill/ Salvation Army."

I thought I'd share the news of a piece of mine that's just been published. If you're poking around your local bookstore and see a chunky silver paperback called Sex and Single Girls (published by Seal Press, 2000), check out my piece. Um, my essay. It's called "How Do You Do That Thing You Do?" and will tell you more than I really wanted anyone to know about my entrée into the world of lesbian sex. What the hell was I thinking?

Burning questions? Contact me at the Chronicle, attention Big Tips, P.O. Box 5426, Cleveland 44101, or fax to 216-631-1052, or e-mail to martone@drizzle.com.

Two more films to chase away the winter blues

Reviewed by Anthony Glassman

A few weeks ago, we reviewed two of the four films about LGBT people that the Cleveland Cinematheque has on their JanuaryFebruary calendar.

Now it's time for the other two films. One is rather odd; it was made for the Lifetime cable channel but has played the festival circuit. The other is a dark, gritty miasma of urban legends and revenge fantasies gone awry.

Urbania

Do you ever get the terrible feeling that you are losing your mind? Do you ever call people, knowing they're not home, and leave message after message on their machine? Do you ever spend days looking for someone you've seen but never spoken to, returning time and again to the places you know they go?

Do you ever intersperse urban legends into the rest of these creepy activities?

Well, if you do, you're Dan Futterman, star of The Birdcage and Judging Amy. He plays the lead in Jon Shear's Urbania, a gritty look at a man seeking revenge in the jungle of the city on the night the clocks get set back for Eastern Standard Time.

Futterman plays Charlie, who is obsessed with urban legends. The linear narrative of the film is interspersed with vignettes illustrating

Chutney Popcorn

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various urban legends: the dog in the microwave, waking up in the bathtub after a onenight stand missing a kidney, that sort of thing.

Apparently Charlie's boyfriend Chris (Matt Keeslar, Psycho Beach Party) left him after they were bashed by a gang of homophobic thugs. Charlie calls Chris repeatedly, over and over again, pouring his heart out into voice mail.

Charlie also goes looking for the "studly" guy whose eye he's caught a few times walking down the street. (I put "studly" in quotes because he looks like his chin is getting ready to declare independence from the rest of his body. Not bad looking, necessarily, just very strange.)

For all intents and purposes, until the last third of the movie, all Charlie does is look for this guy, whose name, incidentally, is Dean (Samuel Ball). He hangs out at the bar Dean frequents, striking up a conversation with Matt, the bartender (Josh Hamilton, Alive, House of Yes) who tells him his own urban legend rags-to-riches story.

Charlie also spends some time with his friend Brett (Alan Cumming; Goldeneye, Spice World, Titus) whose unrequited love for Charlie makes the story even darker and more painful.

Eventually, the intrepid protagonist finds the object of his obsession and spends some time with him,

lighting the darker corners of the film so that the audience can fit the final pieces together.

It's a sick, twisted film of obsession and revenge. It is a horrifying glimpse into the darkest parts of man's psyche. It rocks.

Chutney Popcorn

It's a story as old as time: Girl meets girl, girl's sister gets married, sister can't have a baby, girl offers to get pregnant with sister's husband's semen and give baby to sister, sister changes her mind, wackiness ensues. Really, haven't we seen that story line about a thousand times?

All joking aside, that really is the plot of the movie. Reena (Nisha Ganatra), a young Indian lesbian, is living in an apartment with her girlfriend Lisa (Jill Hennessy, Law & Order, I Shot Andy Warhol) and a whole slew of their friends..

Actually, it might only be two friends, but so many people seem to come and go that it's easy to lose track.

Reena's sister Sarita (Sakina Jaffrey, Daylight, Indian in the Cupboard) marries Mitch (Nick Chinlund, Con Air, Eraser). He's a dork, but he's really into Indian culture, and Meenu (Madhur Jaffrey, Six Degrees of Separation, Cotton Mary), Sarita and Reena's mother, likes him.

Meenu also wants grandchildren. Lots of them.

Sarita and Mitch try and try, and nothing happens. Well, on the baby front, anyway. I'm sure something was happening, or they probably would have stopped trying.

Sarita goes to the OB-GYN and, sadly, not only does her body not produce viable eggs, but she has a rare uterine condition that would render her unable to carry a baby to term even if she could get pregnant.

Everyone is quite sad that the heterosexual daughter will not be able to produce offspring.

Reena, who is viewed by her family as being somewhat flaky, decides that, if her sister can't have a child, she will do it for her. She goes to the doctor, who verifies that she is producing viable ova, and there seems to be no problem with her uterus.

Reena and Sarita then get the joy of embarrassing the hell out of Mitch by making him go to the doctor's office to produce the sperm necessary to fertilize Reena's eggs.

Lisa, Reena, and the turkey baster try to get Reena pregnant. Time and again, it fails. Sarita eventually has a change of heart and decides that she might not be ready for motherhood, so she tells Reena to stop trying.

It's a movie, so of course the news comes too late. Reena discovers shortly afterward that she has succeeded.

There follows a really boring bit filled with enough soul-searching to send a reviewer spiraling into a coma. Luckily, the Cinematheque sends out VHS copies of films for review, and the fast-forward button works.

Actually, it wasn't that bad.

Of course, in the end the baby brings everyone together.

It's a really fun film, filled with the sort of lesbians one remembers from one's youth. Young, kind of punky grrlz fill the screen, interspersed with the Indian culture that Reena's family brings into the mix.

The actors are all wonderful. Sakina Jaffrey, who was also in a memorable Canadian film called Masala, is a welcome addition to any cast. Nick Chinlund's entire character is dorky, so any criticism of him is probably just a dislike for the character. Jill Hennessy is predictably good; she has had one of the most successful careers of any of the cast.

The real gem is writer, director and star Nisha Ganatra. She's just so darn likable as Reena, you hardly notice that she has plunged headlong into parenthood without even thinking it over.

Wait a second, isn't that what most people do?

Anyway, two more great films from the Cleveland Cinematheque, who always keep their eyes open for movies that will appeal to the queer audience in Northeast Ohio. ✓

Urbania plays Thursday, February 8 at 7 pm, and again Sunday, February 11 at 9:15 pm. Chutney Popcorn has showings Friday, February 9 at 7:30 pm and Saturday, February 10 at 5:20 pm.