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Brian Boitano's "Lincoln Portrait" and "Appalachian Spring" by Aaron Copeland What I love about Brian's skating is his simple, bold, sweeping, powerful movements. During the 1993-94 season, Brian, the 1988 Olympic Cham...

#BrianBoitano 🤩💥😍
THIS is what I wanted to see more of in the #olympics.
Rather than just all this jumping and spinning to make technical points.
susanfieldofgold.blogspot.com/2012/01/bria...

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FBF in honor of the Winter Olympics...Halloween of 1988, when I came up with my version of Gold medalist Brian Boitano's outfit from his iconic long program...😎🙏❤️🎶⛸️🥇⭐️🇺🇲🌎 #winterolympics #calgaryolympics #brianboitano #calgary1988 #wwbbd

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Happy Birthday to Brian Boitano (b. Oct. 22, 1963)

Olympic gold medalist and figure skating legend who came out in 2013.

#BrianBoitano #QueerHistory #Olympian #FigureSkating

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Triple Axel
I pretend to be ill
so I can watch figure skating at Lillehammer. It’s 1994
and my mom and I are united in our hatred of Elvis Stojko whose quads feel empty
like a bear bluff-charging.
We watch Grinkov and Gordeeva in seafoam velvet. She cleaves
to him, weightless, a single
cloud formation. When she skates alone for the first time, after
his heart attack, their daughter will pat her arm gently.
There is Paul Wylie’s evangelical ass in tights, but I only have eyes for Brian Boitano, queerly electric in a pirate’s outfit
tearing through the long program until he falls on the triple axel combo shattered
our gasps
the floral quilt tossed aside to peer closer at the screen

Six years ago in Calgary
it was The Battle of the Brians with Orser and Boitano dance fighting, one Brian in classic black, the other in blue sequins, two comets against the drab orange arena. Shakespearean rivalry of gays, those lines
of beauty, still closeted,
but couldn’t I see it
even then?

Triple Axel I pretend to be ill so I can watch figure skating at Lillehammer. It’s 1994 and my mom and I are united in our hatred of Elvis Stojko whose quads feel empty like a bear bluff-charging. We watch Grinkov and Gordeeva in seafoam velvet. She cleaves to him, weightless, a single cloud formation. When she skates alone for the first time, after his heart attack, their daughter will pat her arm gently. There is Paul Wylie’s evangelical ass in tights, but I only have eyes for Brian Boitano, queerly electric in a pirate’s outfit tearing through the long program until he falls on the triple axel combo shattered our gasps the floral quilt tossed aside to peer closer at the screen Six years ago in Calgary it was The Battle of the Brians with Orser and Boitano dance fighting, one Brian in classic black, the other in blue sequins, two comets against the drab orange arena. Shakespearean rivalry of gays, those lines of beauty, still closeted, but couldn’t I see it even then?

Six years ago in Calgary
it was The Battle of the Brians with Orser and Boitano dance fighting, one Brian in classic black, the other in blue sequins, two comets against the drab orange arena. Shakespearean rivalry of gays, those lines
of beauty, still closeted,
but couldn’t I see it
even then?
This: the gayest thing to watch
in Chilliwack at the time. Both Brians locked in combat. Galindo screaming for joy at the US Championship. Voice of Toller Cranston in our ears, smooth
as fresh ice. They all dance around me, skates winking fire, gold trim, epaulettes, death
spiral of AIDS before
the cocktail. It spins us
still, and we are snow
under the blade.

Six years ago in Calgary it was The Battle of the Brians with Orser and Boitano dance fighting, one Brian in classic black, the other in blue sequins, two comets against the drab orange arena. Shakespearean rivalry of gays, those lines of beauty, still closeted, but couldn’t I see it even then? This: the gayest thing to watch in Chilliwack at the time. Both Brians locked in combat. Galindo screaming for joy at the US Championship. Voice of Toller Cranston in our ears, smooth as fresh ice. They all dance around me, skates winking fire, gold trim, epaulettes, death spiral of AIDS before the cocktail. It spins us still, and we are snow under the blade.

I won’t come out until
1996, when Orser glides to Neil Diamond. “The Story of My Life.” If I’d waited a year, I might have ridden Ellen’s wave. Instead, it’s Brian
and Brian who push me
out of the stands. Those gods in blue fire. Suspending
their long cold war
to spin me, once
again
and then
hurl me through space.

I won’t come out until 1996, when Orser glides to Neil Diamond. “The Story of My Life.” If I’d waited a year, I might have ridden Ellen’s wave. Instead, it’s Brian and Brian who push me out of the stands. Those gods in blue fire. Suspending their long cold war to spin me, once again and then hurl me through space.

I Hate Parties.  A suspicious cat peers around a corner in blue tones surrounded by confetti.

I Hate Parties. A suspicious cat peers around a corner in blue tones surrounded by confetti.

Just a reminder while you’re watching the Olympics that there’s a poem in I Hate Parties about Olympic figure-skating and the Battle of the Brians! You can pre-order a copy from your local bookstores!

#olympics2024
#cbc
#brianboitano
#brianorser

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