Carrie Nations

You were either a Dawson Leary or a Pacey Wittier girl. Was it the intelligent, sensitive boy next door or the wise-cracking, sexual bad boy? For me, it was always Dawson, no questions asked.

Then after several seasons, along came Jack McPhee. The boy from a troubled family who stole Joey away from Dawson. His sensitivity wasn’t as angsty as Dawson’s, yet he seemed to have more of an excuse to have “woe is me” moments. He was the perfect brother to his sister, a great friend and even Dawson couldn’t hate him for too long. Jack McPhee shook things up for me. I started doubting my dedication to Dawson once his character appeared.

It was the green jacket that he wore that started it all. The characters all wore clothes from J-Crew that season and Jack McPhee sported a green jacket with a white stripe going down the sleeves. He wore it in almost every episode that he first appeared in. Dusty wore that same jacket. It was his favorite. We used to call it his “hip 90s jacket” and I’m not sure why we called it this, but it was the only thing it was referred to as.

He and I had been going out on and off throughout high school and I considered him my best friend. He, along with several other friends of ours, would meet after school on Wednesdays at my house to watch Dawson’s Creek. We called ourselves “The DC Crew”. Dusty and I would wait after everyone left to talk about the episodes and how we wished we lived in Capeside.

“I’d wanna be Jen,” I’d tell him, because I never could stand Joey. To me, Jen was the true gem of the show.

“I think I’d be Jack,” Dusty would say and then we’d kiss for hours until my lips would start hurting.

“I can’t believe Jack is gay,” my friend Jeremy said after the episode in which Jack revealed to the others that he was indeed gay. “I’m so not watching this show anymore. I don’t know what I’d do if one of my friends were gay. I’d probably stop talking to him.”

We were all shocked. I believe it was the first time we were ever introduced to a gay character on a TV show that we watched, and the fact that it was Jack McPhee, this totally un-gay personality. Jack McPhee, Joey Potter’s boyfriend. Jack McPhee, Dawson’s arch nemises – we just couldn’t believe it. And … he was wearing the “hip 90s jacket.”

“You know what that means don’t you?” Jeremy teased. “Dusty must be gay too if he and Jack have the same taste in clothes.” And we’d all laugh, including Dusty even though the statement would always just kind of hang in the air. It was not the first time the question of sexuality lingered around Dusty. The boys in our class had called him a fag plenty of times because of he could get any girl he wanted, yet he refuse sex from everyone of them. The fact that he got every part he tried out for in every school play and his awesome fashion sense certainly didn’t help.

“Would a gay guy wanna do this?” Dusty would ask me after I’d give him his fifth blowjob for the week. And I’d find myself thinking, sure he would. I’m not the one getting oral pleasure, you are.

But then Jack came along. He shook up Joey, he shook up Dawson, he shook up me and he shook up Dusty. A week after that episode, Dusty and I were sitting by my pool sharing a cigarette and we watched as the fire fell onto his “hip 90s jacket” burning a small hole.

“I hate this jacket anyway,” he said.

“You love it.” I said.

“It’s stupid.”

“It’s hip,” I insisted.

“It’s ugly.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m gay.”

There are moments in my life that stick out more than others. I remember how I felt crying in the bathroom after I lost my virginity. I can remember my tremors of excitment when the boy I met on vacation removed my pantyhose from underneath my party dress. I remember seeing my mom cry as she drove off from dropping me off at my college dorm for the first time. The moment Dusty told me he was gay will always be fresh in my memory and the lump it created in my throat is irreplaceable.

I can’t watch Dawson’s Creek anymore without being bitter, because I refuse to believe it was anything else.

Dawson’s Creek made my boyfriend gay. There, I said it.

Carrie Nations hopes no one was harmed by the mention of the word “blowjobs.” She’s still trying to get that stain out of her blue dress. You can impeach her at sundaysgirl@gmail.com.

By Joel Murphy

(In no particular order.)

The price of gas. It cost me almost fifty bucks to fill up my gas tank the other day, which is insane. I’m ready to buy an electric car or take a bicycle everywhere. Why aren’t we drilling in Alaska? I don’t care about the enviromental concerns. At this point, if you told me kicking a dolphin could save me a buck or two per gallon, I’d nail field goals with Flipper.

Our government. I miss the days when I used to worry about Big Brother watching my every move. After seeing how inadequate our governments was at handling the fallout from Hurricane Katrina, I realize that even if there was a top secret government agency watching my every move, it would probably be run by one of George Bush’s college buddies and it wouldn’t be the least bit effective.

Presidential election bumper stickers. Either your guy won or he lost – it doesn’t matter because the election is over. Take the bumper sticker off your car. Letting the world know that you voted for John Kerry isn’t going to fix shit in this country, it’s just going to show everyone that you backed a loser.

The way they package CDs.

Books For Dummies. If you are reading one of these books, you are obviously a moron. No really, it says so right in the title. Personally, if I want to learn something new, I don’t need to be insulted while doing it. So, I will continue to stay away from this series unless they change the name to “Books for Otherwise Intellegent People Who Happen to Be Unknowledgeable On This Particular Topic.”

PG-13 movies. Stop watering down R-rated movies so that kids can get into them. I’m 24-years-old and I want to see more violence and nudity in movies than your average 13-year-old can handle. Besides, teenagers are broke. I actually have a job and a car I can use to drive to the movie theater. Make movies for me. I miss the days when your average cop movie always found a way to lead the investigation into a strip club for some random nudity. Can’t we bring that back? How about some graphic violence? Stop cutting away during the best parts. Hopefully the recent success of good R-rated movies like The 40 Year Old Virgin and Wedding Crashers will convince Hollywood to stop watering shit down.

Jimmy Fallon.

Reality TV. It’s had a nice run, but I think it’s time to just let it die in peace like every other stupid fad. There is nothing real about it anymore. I love watching a bunch of average people fighting and hooking up as much as the next person, but these days all of the reality contestants look like out of work actors and the shows seem more scripted than some of the serious dramas out there. I’d rather have them put five more CSIs on the air than have to watch a Martha Stewart Apprentice show or Big Brother 37.

Televisions inside minivans. Every time my brother and I are driving down the road and we see a minivan with a little television screen showing some random Disney movie, we both get pissed off. Now, my brother gets upset because he feels that kids today spend too much time staring at television screens. He thinks that kids don’t need tv screens in cars, portable video games and all of the other televisions in public places that keep popping up to keep children quiet and save parents from actually having to do any parenting. But my anger comes from somewhere else – I’ve read stories about showing porn on these minivan screens, so everytime I see a one showing Aladdin, I just feel cheated.

The new passing cone feature on Madden 2006.

Jimmy Fallon.

Feeling like an old man. As I mentioned above, I’m only 24, but I feel like I’m 60. More and more I find myself saying stuff like “these kids today” and “when I was young.” I’m not sure what is going on with me lately, but I was in 7-11 the other day and I couldn’t get over how expensive candy bars have gotten. You used to be able to get three Mr. Goodbars for 99 cents. You just had to walk up a hill in the snow to get them.

The loss of peace and quiet. I was at a Redskins game recently where they had a moment of silence for someone who had died and still you could hear people talking or yelling out random shit the whole time. Why can’t people be quiet anymore? You can’t even go into your local library or movie theater these days without some dumbass talking loudly on their cellphone. Why can’t people just take a moment and shut the fuck up? Trust me, your conversation isn’t interesting enough for everyone in the room to be listening to, so just hang up the phone and shut your mouth. When did we get so dependant on cell phones anyway? How did we make it so long without talking to our friends and family ever five minutes, yet now we can’t live with out them. I hate cell phones and I hate talking to people. I tell you, every day I get closer and closer to just living in a cave.

Joel Murphy is the creator of Hobo Trashcan, which is probably the reason why he has his own column. He also has some really hot friends. You can contact him at: murphyslaw@hobotrashcan.com