"Love and Anarchy": A prank war at a Stockholm publishing house, with two gay teases and male nudity

 Love and Anarchy appeared on my Netflix recommendations.  I clicked to see what it was about, forgetting that on Netflix, "click" means "start."  And since I was eating a bowl of Cheerios, I let it continue.

Link to the n*de photos

Scene 1: A harried middle-aged man and woman in a fancy house coordinating their calendars and telling their preteen son "No gaming at the breakfast table."  Dad is played by Johannes Bah Kuhnke, sweating below.

The woman chugs some espresso, talking about how this is her first day on the job. Teenage daughter comes in, not wearing the coat Dad bought for her.  This causes a crisis. Nuclear family squabbles.  Yawn. 

The woman goes upstairs, locks herself in the bathroom, and masturbates to porn on her cell phone.  Are we supposed to be titilated or judgmental, or are we to assume that she's having marital problems?  Everybody masturbates, but nobody admits that they do.

Scene 2: She is walking through a square in downtown Stockholm, at dusk or pre-dawn, checking her cell phone.  An older guy welcomes her to his publishing house.   He shows her to her new office, which is a disaster-area of books and manuscripts: the former senior editor was a bit of a hoarder.  

The older guy may be Ronni, the Publishing Company CEO, played by Bjorn Kjellman. He didn't have much of a physique in the 1990s, but he was rather well hung.

Scene 3: The woman -- Sofie -- giving a speech to the staff.  She's an independent consultant who saves publishing companies from bankruptcy by pushing them into the digital age, whether they like it or not. As she is ignoring a question about layoffs, a hot young guy comes in late and accidentally spills his drink over his crotch.  While he is dabbing at his bulge with a napkin, Sofie stares, mesmerized.

Scene 4: Sofie in her office, grimacing at the clutter.  Books --- ugh -- they might as well be stone tablets! As someone with a library of about 4,000 books, I am not amused.

 She piles some armloads of the relics outside her door to be trashed, and sees the hot young guy (Bjorn Mosten, top photo, left, and below) on a ladder drilling (and drilling...and drilling).  Receptionist tells her that he's Max, the IT Guy.  

"He doesn't usually do much drilling." 

 "Well, tell him to drill quietly!"

Max scoffs.  "How am I supposed to do my job?"  Receptionist doesn't answer; she's staring at his butt.  He storms out.

Scene 5: A publication meeting.  We are introduced to the Literary Drector (elderly guy) and the PR director (young woman), plus the intern who handles the social media presence (5000 followers on Instagram!).  PR Director wants to publish a novel "full of gay sex and drugs at an ayahuasca retreat," while Literary Director wants to publish a book of poetry about fir trees.   

Sofie suggests skipping the fir tree poems and tweaking the "gay sex and drugs" novel to draw the interest of heterosexual men. Heterosexist enabler!

Scene 5:  Dinner with the family.  Sofie complaining about how old-fashioned her clients are.  They don't even have digital book contracts!   Suddenly she gets a phone call and rushes upstairs, annoying her husband: "We're eating!"

It's a subplot about her elderly father, complaining about the working class unionizing.  She tells him to stop watching the news; it's upsetting and useless.

Scene 6:  Sofie in bed, reading a book while Husband snores.  Hey, I thought she hated books!  She sneaks into the bathroom to masturbate. 

Scene 7:  At work, they are signing the contract with the woman who wrote the "gay sex and drugs" novel. they just want some final revisions.  While Literary Director is trying to figure out how to take her photo with one of those newfangled cell phones, a Famous Author walks by, and he rushes out to hun: "I didn't see you at the club!"  Is Literary Director gay? 

Nope -- it was just a gay tease. 

It appears that the Famos Author sent the Gay-Sex-and-Drugs Author a dick pic (how did they even meet?), so PR Director wants to dump him, even though he's been their biggest moneymaker for 30 years. Literary Director asks what his dick has to do with his writing talent.  All literary geniuses have scandals.

Scene 8: Sofie reading reports.  Max starts drilling again. Drilling, drilling...She rushes out in a huff and demands that he not drill during work hours.  He says "What a bitch!" and storms off.  They'll be screwing by Episode 3. 

Scene 9:  Night.  Sofie still in the office, working.  Husband Johan is filming, so she calls the sitter to say that she'll be late, and please put the kids to bed.

Everyone's gone, so why not masturbate?   In an office with the blinds open, so anyone who comes into the main suite can see her?  At least close the blinds!

At that moment Max comes in -- she said don't drill during working hours -- and sees her.  He snaps a photo and leaves.

More Max after the break

Skeezix of Gasoline Alley: 1930s Gay Icon

When I was a kid, Dad would call me Skeezix when I misbehaved:
"Put down that comic book and clean your room, Skeezix!"

Particularly when my misbehaving had some connection to same-sex desire, like when Bill and I became a "mama and a papa", when I was disappointed at the lack of muscles at A Little Bit O'Heaven., or when I asked for a statue of a naked man for Christmas.

He never used that name on my brother or sister, just me.  I had no idea why.

One day I stumbled upon a book in my Aunt Nora's attic, starring a boy named Skeezix.  Turns out that he was from the long-running comic strip Gasoline Alley (1918-).  Originally about four buddies who hung around in an alley to talk about cars, it took a domestic turn on February 14, 1921, when Walt Wallet found a baby on his doorstep, and named him Skeezix.

The strips were now about a single dad raising a small child -- who aged in real time. Every day in the strip corresponded to a day in real life.

By the late 1930s, when my father was a kid, Skeezix was a teenager, and the undeniable star of the comic strip.  You could buy Skeezix toys, clothes, shoes, ice cream, coloring books, pin-backs, sheet music, and a full line of big little books.

He starred in three radio series and two movies (played by Jimmy Lyndon of Tom Brown's School Days fame, 

The strip was not known for beefcake -- Walt was rather pudgy -- but Skeezix got some shirtless and underwear shots, and displayed a nice physique.

And he had a buddy to bond with, Spud, who accompanied him on the adventures Skeezix in Africa (1934) and Skeezix at the Military Academy (1938).

So my father connected my homoerotic hijinks to the  shirtless, buddy-bonding, arguably gay Skeezix of his childhood.

The gay symbolism didn't last.  Skeezix got a girlfriend, Nina Clock (pronounced Nine-a).

He graduated from high school, served in World War II, and returned to run the gas station.  He married Nina, and had two kids: Chipper and Clovia.

Left: The bisexual Scotty Beckett played Skeezix's brother in Gasoline Alley (1951).

Chipper served in the Vietnam War, and became a physician's assistant as the job was just starting out.  He met his wife through a computer dating service.

Clovia grew up, managed the gas station after Skeezix retired, and married Slim Skinner.  They had two kids: Gretchen and Rover (born in 1978).

Rover grew up, graduated from high school, and married Hoogy Boogle.  They had a son, Boog, in 2004.  As of 2022, he is 18 years old, and has a girlfriend, Polly. 

The first and second generations don't appear much anymore, since Walt Wallet is over 120 years old, and Skeezix over 100, but none of the cartoonists want to mention iconic characters dying.

Six generations of Wallets, Skinners, Boggles, and Bumps, and you'd be hard pressed to find anyone in  who isn't involved in a hetero-romance.  There are no confirmed bachelor uncles or maiden aunts anywhere to provide queer subtexts (except for the outsider characters Rufus and Joel).  Gasoline Alley remains a holdout from the time when gay people were assumed not to exist.

Yet for kids growing up in the 1930s, there was Skeezix.

See also:  Dad buys me a n*ked man for Christmas

Rufus and Joel, the gay couple of Gasoline Alley

Tom Brown's School Days

The Life of Riley: Bullying Boys into Girl Craziness.  

Melvin Mellblom: Sad Swedish-Thai model with muscles, a constantly changing hair color, and a backside. With Peebles and Algerian d*cks

  

Link to the n*de photos

I was drawn to Melvin Mellblom on the teen idol website because he posts a blurry muscle photo.  Who would do that?  

And because of his name.  When I was in high school, bullies used "Melvin" to disparage kids that they considered clumsy, awkward, or book-smart. And God help you if that was really your name!  

Most actors saddled with the name Melvin change it to Mel.  Google lists only three who didn't: Melvin van Peebles (n*de on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends), Bonez Estivez, and Gregg (left). So why didn't this Mellblom fellow avoid the giggling and change it to Mel?

Melvin (really?  not Mel?) was born in Sweden, but moved to Thailand at age three, so he speaks Swedish, Thai, and English.   His Instagram and Facebook pages say that he is an actor, model, and social media influencer, but there are no acting roles listed on the IMDB, and only two on his professional resume:

The music video Without You (2016), by Marcus & Martinus, a Norwegian dance pop duo.  A boy wanders around some temples and historic sites in Thailand, being sad, crying, screaming, and looking at photos of his ex-girlfriend. 

Is it over? I just gotta know
Cause I'm reaching, but where did you go?
Tears are falling, while I'm calling
Can't make it alone, no

I don't like where this research is heading.

And a short, The Gold Star Kid (2017): A boy living in Thailand finds a 20 Euro note, and uses it to pay the restaurant bill of a soldier who reminds him of his dead father  (Algerian actor Rachid Oumakhlouf, n*de on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends).

The IMDB says that the boy is played by Nils Bento Connault.

Melvin's Instagram and Facebook pages begin in 2017, with a lot of modeling photos.  He looks sad in most of them.  No girl-hugging, but he posts "Sorry boys, I like girls," to clear up any misconceptions.

Bummer. 

In February 2020, he posts to fans from bed (on RG Beefcake and Boyfriends).  Some guys comment on his hotness.  So, did you change your mind about liking boys, Mel Baby?

In April 2020, he poses wearing a Sylvester Stallone t-shirt, and gets purple hair.  A pride color?

More after the break.  Caution: Explicit

Dad buys me a n*ked man for Christmas

  

Link to the n*de photos

Not a real n*ked man, of course.

When I was a kid in Rock Island, three local celebrities were praised in the media, advertized in bookstores, and assigned by teachers: 

1. Jazz musician Bix Beiderbecke

2. Poet Carl Sandburg

3. Sculptor Isabel Bloom.

Born Isabel Scherer in 1908, she grew up in Davenport, across the river in Iowa, and studied at Grant Wood's Stone City Art Colony, where she met and married fellow artist John Bloom.  In the 1950s, she began producing distinctive sculptures carved out of Mississippi River stone or molded of mud mixed with concrete.  

They were absolutely atrocious. Angels, fairies, hugging children, mothers hugging babies, cats, doves, bridal couples, snowmen, Santa Clauses, the most maudlin, sentimental, and heteronormative dreck ever imagined.

But everyone in the Quad Cities loved them.  My parents loved them.There were two or three in every room.  Dozens more crossed the state with us to give to our Indiana relatives for Christmas presents.  When an out-of-town friend visited, they always went home with a Isabel Bloom fairy or hugging child.

So I should have anticipated what would happen.

I had just discovered Greek art -- rather, statues of muscular Greek gods, so for Christmas in ninth grade, I  asked for "a statue."  

I meant a desk-sized statue of a n*ked god, like the Belvedere Apollo, but Dad said, "Sure -- let's go down to Isabel Bloom's, and you can pick out the one you want."

I couldn't tell him "No, no...I wanted a naked Greek god, not some stupid boy holding a frog!", so my boyfriend Dan and I had to fake-grin our way through a mid-December visit to the crowded studio in the Village of West Davenport, as we sorted through Angel with Wreath, Unconditional Love, Lovebirds, Boy with Flag...

Eventually Dan wandered off, but my torture continued: Girl with Pumpkin, Newlyweds, Boy Offering Girl Flowers, Baby in Crib, Sleeping Cat...  

Then Dan came running excitedly from a side studio.  "Hey, what about this one?"  It was a n*de male figure, seated, his arms around his knees.   Stylized, not muscular, but a heck of a lot better than the other stuff.

"John's Thinker, " he read from the bottom. 

"Must be a statue of her husband," I said, carefully taking it from his hands.  It felt warm to the touch.  It was thrilling to think that I might be holding an exact likeness of a real n*ked man.

"No, she didn't do this statue, her husband John did," Dad said, frowning.  "It's not a real Isabel Bloom."

"That's ok.  It's different from the others.  I'll take it." 

He looked at me oddly.  "The others are lots nicer ones.  How about First Kiss?"  He held out a statue of a little boy kissing an embarrassed little girl on the cheek.

"I don't want any statues of girls."

"It's a boy and a girl.  That's like two statues for the price of one!"

Was he objecting to the price of John's Thinker?  No, First Kiss cost twice as much.  "This one's cheaper."  

"But..you could use it as a kind of model, you know.  When you want a girl to let you kiss her, just show her the statue."

"Gross!" Dan exclaimed.

"After you discover girls, I mean."

"John's Thinker, please," I said firmly.

Dad shrugged.  "Well, if you're sure that's the one you want.  But I don't know what you're going to do with it, Skeezix." 

 Later I figured out that he always called me Skeezix, after a character in the old Gasoline Alley comic strip, when I expressed same-sex desire, something bizarre and beyond imagining at the time.

I still have the statue.  And someone put an Isabel Bloom angel and cat on my father's grave.

More after the break