My work for today was canceled without warning and I found myself wondering what to do. What is it that I do when I’m not working? I couldn’t remember so I decided to go see a movie.

Last Thursday I went to the opening of a gallery exhibition to see my friend, Jared, the photographer responsible for the images you see on this page. He is one of those people I see infrequently whose company I always enjoy until I remember that he is infuriating. Other than that I would marry him, but the point of this mention is that he saw Across The Universe recently and wanted to know my opinion.

My opinion was that I felt bitter because I waited for nine months for that movie to come out and then found myself with no time to see the damn thing. It was released nationwide on Johnny’s birthday and where was I? Not at the theater as planned.

So I checked my local listings this morning only to discover that it wasn’t playing in any of my preferred theaters, but rather in the sad, dilapidated Mann cinema I typically avoid. It turned out well with an unheard of $3.50 matinee price and a deserted, old school auditorium.

Going through the process of preparing myself for disappointment after such a long anticipation was wise, but entirely unwarranted. From the first note sung in the opening scene to the closing credits I was in awe. The trailer put emphasis on the surreal aspects of the feature and that can sometimes be a warning. Thankfully the whimsical, art school orgy bits blended seamlessly with reality much in the way I often impose my own fantasies on my everyday life.

After the movie I couldn’t get home fast enough to buy the soundtrack. I called Jared so we could have the discussion we should have had on Thursday. He asked me to sum up my experience in a single sentence (yeah, he’s one of those). I told him that it was like visiting a museum on acid and all of the paintings were singing to entertain me. That stopped him in his tracks.

Go see the freaking flick, please. Even if it’s only for the shockingly homoerotic Army induction sequence. I haven’t felt so artistically molested by a movie since The Cook, the Thief, His Wife & Her Lover. The arrangements of the Beatles songs are simply sublime and incredibly moving. I’m including a selection here because during that scene of the movie I almost dropped my nachos I was crying so hard.

Tomorrow my friend Michelle and I are going to see So You Think You Can Dance. It’s the results show so there won’t be as much dancing, but OneRepublic will be performing their song “Apologize” and I’m almost as excited about that as the possibility of seeing some more of Neil’s flesh live and in person!

Here is the Timbaland remix that I can’t stop playing in the car.

When I started working in porn it never occurred to me that I would have to come up with a porn name. My work isn’t that type of work so I just figured I would use my real name. It’s not like I’m running for office any time soon and it shouldn’t matter anyway. So yesterday Chris Steele was putting the credits together for a new movie and found no alias for me on the cast sheet. He called my office and asked me for my porn name as if he were double checking that I wanted extra mayo on my sandwich for lunch.

I take these things very seriously. The last thing I want is some lame moniker following me around forever. When I paused, Chris became slightly annoyed and told me I had five minutes to come up with a porn name. I did what any sensible person would do in a crisis situation like that - I dialed up an anagram generator site! You can’t trust those porn name generators for anything more than a drunken giggle. And when you work in my trade you develop a high tolerance for smut-oriented humor.

In a pinch I always find my work under pressure is nothing short of brilliant. In just a few minutes I had run enough letter combinations to come up with something humorous enough not to draw ridicule, but still cool enough to glisten with a little dignity and even conjure similar tones of my real name.

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Lord Jello Rod!

circa 2001

Last Week

In a follow-up to my previous post, I thought it might be fun to open a can of worms. It’s painfully obvious for me or any other living, breathing human to be attracted to Mason Wyler. What about those other people that unknowingly harvest our devotion for mysterious reasons?

This is a call out to all readers of Hazzard Ahead. Who are the guys that circumnavigate all of your defenses, the ones you’d willingly leave the country for or who can seem to do no wrong to deter your devotion? We all have them. Sometimes we’re embarrassed by the fact because they’re too obvious or too perverse. Who cares? Let this blog be your therapy. Sing out to your peers that you’re in love with Tony Danza! Why not?

OK. That may be a bit extreme. I’ll tell you what - I’ll start the ball rolling. Here is a list of guys I would board a train with and never look back and the reason why. I expect a similar response from our beloved readers.

Mason Wyler - Only if his relationship dissolved amicably and my body was better than his.

Milo Ventimiglia - If he begged me to be his undisputed life partner after I found him drunk and disoriented in an alleyway. Oh, and he would have to agree that his name was pronounced Mee Low.

David Krumholtz - When he proved mathematically that I would be his ideal lover.

David Boreanaz - Do I really NEED a reason? The man is hotter than Kilauea and I would gladly impersonate a woman to collect some of his seed.

Well, that was slightly more graphic than I had planned, but you get the point. We want to know who your sexual heroes are. Let it rip people, it’s a holiday weekend!

Last week I met Mason Wyler for the first time. I work as a photo assistant to the still photographer for our movies. It’s amusing because I’m the photo editor, which means I’m the guy that decides what coverage we need from a shoot and then I play the role of the photographer’s “boy” on set. It’s a nice change of pace from a typical day at the office.

Mason was the first model scheduled for stills so it was early in the morning and we had yet to decide exactly how we would light/dress the set. Naturally I was stunned by Mason’s good looks, but in my business delicious guys you want to lick lunch off of are about as rare as Mukluks in Nome. No, it wasn’t until well into the shoot that I realized this guy was more than just another alarmingly hot slab of meat.

Permit me to digress for a moment. I have probably mentioned on several occasions on this site that I detest the term “porn star” because it is so overly and incorrectly used. Johnny is a porn star and there’s no doubt in anyone’s mind about that. If you whip out your naughty on video that does not qualify you as a “star” in my opinion. And, frankly, my opinion matters. I see beautiful models, built models, models with incredible sexual energy and/or chemistry and any combination thereof. Johnny looks like a movie star, fucks like it’s the eve of the apocalypse and strategically cares for his body, which houses a golden heart and a thoughtful mind. That’s a star, baby! Now back to the story at hand.

As a porn consumer it isn’t easy to spot the guys that are packing attractive attributes off the scope of what’s visually appealing. After Mason dazzled me with his humor, dorky demeanor and surprisingly good repertoire of UK accents on the set I found my interest piqued. And let me tell you, sister - that doesn’t happen all that much these days.

In the afternoon we went out for coffee. I wasn’t interested in a warm beverage, I just wanted to spend some time with him. There, I said it! On the drive he explained to me that he wasn’t really into “the hip” and preferred older music and classic movies. I suppose this was somewhat inspired by the CD I was playing at the time. He said he really wanted to explore more great films from the not-so-distant past as well as sure-fire classics and it was all I could do to keep from pulling the car over and saying, “Move in with me. You’ll never have another dull moment!” If restraint was an Olympic event, I would be a gold medalist. He must have thought it odd that I drove his ass five miles for coffee and didn’t even order anything for myself…

You may be wondering why I’ve bothered to bring all of this up and you’ll be happy to know I’m about to explain. In a period of my life when my priorities are sadly out of whack and I feel particularly bad about myself, having a very fictional crush on someone out of reach does a great deal to realign my focus. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but in the week that has passed since that shoot I’ve found myself thinking about “me” more and how I’ve been in an abusive relationship with myself for months. There isn’t a whole lot I can do about my current situation, though acknowledging my toxic “lifestyle” is certainly a step above trying to make my hamster wheel turn faster. (Didn’t think I could work that in didja, Johnny?)

If you were a fan of Mason Wyler before, I’m here to tell you that your fantasies are more than justified. If you have no idea who the hell he is then read his Wikipedia page. You’ll be impressed. He brought a pleasant ray of sunshine into an otherwise dismal May for me and I’m certain he can do the same for you - even from a distance.

Mason is distracted by what I’m sure was something entirely revolting and inappropriate that came out of my mouth.