May 16, 2005
by Brent Kellogg
Imagine if you will. You're the news editor for a semi-popular website
called the Genoa City News and you've got to come up with a story or two for
Monday about the events in this town. No matter how many times you look at
your notes nothing jumps off the page. Yes, there's Michael Baldwin's
Russian Roulette marriage proposal, but you need something more. Something
that once again points out how slimy the elite socialites conduct their
affairs. You gather the GCN crew for a meeting. You ask for ideas. All you
get are you blank stares.
So you look at your notes again. This time the name Damon Porter leaps out
at you. You recoil as images of the Jabot Cosmetics lab rat walking on the
furniture, sniffing incense and drinking green tea come into focus. You hold
back an urge to hurl as Porter offers to play papa to Daniel Romalotti while
he's porking the teenager's mother then assumes the role of a spiteful troll
on ether attempting to get even with Dominic Hughes by slicing and dicing
him with a Samurai sword.
You remember too how Porter and Phyllis Summers so worried they'd go to
prison for the remainder of their meaningless lives for a crime they didn't
commit and how Phyllis turned out to be the real man who put her own future
at risk in order to save him. Later, despite how madly in love Phyllis was,
she dropped Damon like a bad crack habit when his former wife blew into
town, conveniently took up with Malfunction Winters, lived the good life a
few weeks with no income, then chose to pick up her life where it left off
with Porter.
Instead of leaving town quietly, instead of getting away when the getting
was good and chances were high that nobody would miss him, that Porter's
employer would not notice he didn't give a termination notice, that Jabot's
chief skunk oil sniffer would not recall that on February 3 she told Porter
he was quite possibly the company's last hope, that she expected him to be
prepared to work long hours, "pull a few all-nighters" and "experiment" with
cranking out a new product line, Porter had to make another big fat
nonsensical production of it.
Hoping she didn't mind that he hadn't called first, that he hadn't checked
before making the long, one-hour drive each way to the Newman Ponderosa and
would be so lucky as to find her home, Porter told Phyllis he'd heard about
the tragic accident her son had been in [It was in all the papers] and he
just had to know how she was holding up.
Phyllis thanked him for caring at a time when she's not "seeing many
friendly faces" but didn't think it odd that for a man who once wanted to be
her son's father Porter had not first asked how Daniel was holding up. Nor
did she mention the lack of friendly faces was due in part to the fact she's
going around calling people freaks.
Voilá, the net effect was that Phyllis has a son so deep in a hole he may
never get out. A son so despised by the entire city the police didn't bother
looking for evidence; didn't lift a finger to manufacture evidence as they'd
done when she and Damon were fighting for their freedom.
To deflect all attention away from the obvious fact she's got enough money
to buy her own home and had money to post Daniel's bail - and wasn't it so
amazing the serious charges against her son didn't even require a bail
hearing or the posting of bond with a bondsman - Phyllis added that on top
of everything else the Newman's had thrown her off the ponderosa.
As for what Damon could do to help Phyllis said he was doing it. Just coming
all that way to ask how she's doing meant so damn much. During these trying
times there are so "few" people she can count on. As for where she'll be
moving Phyllis said a room had opened up at the Abbott Hotel. She and her
son were moving post haste albeit it just slightly longer than by the
weekend Mrs. Nikki Newman had told her to be gone by.
Damon let all the information seep into his clogged memory receptacles
before leaping from the seemingly impossible to the utterly pointless notion
that she move into his old pod. Since he's leaving town, and apparently
hasn't bothered to inform the landlord, or will just keep on paying rent on
a place he'll probably never use again, she and Daniel could have the place
all to themselves.
And again, this didn't seem to bother Phyllis. She didn't ask how one rents
a pod, decides to leave, and at the last minute offers it to anyone in need.
She didn't need to ask where Damon was going, either, as he was quick to
tell her. He and his formerly estranged wife, the same Adrienne Markham who
only days ago was being porked by Malfunction Winters, had decided they
should get their marriage back on track.
That Adrienne has a job in Atlantic City was a major selling point. It just
so happens the company Adrienne will be working for provides aid to Africa
for all the good it does as AIDS eats Africa alive.
As for being unemployed, Porter isn't worried. As a "topnotch chemist" he'll
have no trouble finding work. Maybe not at a company like Jabot where he
didn't really have to work and actually spent more time off the job than on
and got to screw the boss' wife, but a job nonetheless. If that doesn't work
out there's always his horse ranch in Georgia.
Giving Damon one of her infamous flicks of middle-finger patronization,
Phyllis told him how "lucky" he is. "Not many people get a second chance to
make things work right," she blathered, as if she hasn't been given third
and fourth chances and still can't get it right. One thing is for sure,
however. Phyllis will always be in Damon's heart. She'll always be his
"angel". Better yet, he's got her email address much like Mac Browning has
Billy Abbott's email address.
Spoon-fed monosyllabic C-grade horse farmer that he is, Damon embarrassed
himself one final time for good measure. If Phyllis, or "that boy", ever
need anything he's but a phone call away. Like Phyllis will ever mention his
name again. Like once Damon is gone he won't be out of sight, out of mind.
Damon's Daze Nearly Done
April 29, 2005
by Michael Kelly
The Genoa City News has confirmed that Keith Hamilton Cobb (Damon Porter)
will be departing Genoa City on May 23. While this reporter is unaware
whether or not it was Cobb's choice or that of the Y&R suits that he
vamoose, I think we can all agree that despite Cobb's highly touted debut in
May 2003 as the Georgia horse breeder and lab rat who was snapped up by
Jabot Cosmetics to fill the toxic goop creating void while head chemist
Ashley Carlton was on maternity leave, the character of Damon failed to
catch on with viewers and the two front burner story lines Y&R scribes
foisted upon us and Porter himself were complete failures.
Prior to the beginning of the quest to find the rare Japanese orchid and use
it to concoct a miracle hair straightener that was intended to be Jabot's
"magic bullet" debacle (his first story line dud), Porter flitted aimlessly
from one Genoa City flirtation with a local dame to another including Dru
Winters, Victoria Newman and Diane Jenkins before he finally shacked up with
Phyllis Abbott before her divorce from Jabot's then CEO Jack Abbott was
final. The chemistry between the two of them was more than adequate and
fortunately, despite a racist remark wheezed by Dru Winters, the ebony and
ivory racial mix wasn't a factor in the relationship and Porter even bonded
(some would say in a creepy way) with Phyllis' teenage son Daniel Romalotti.
It's safe to say Porter was no great shakes a chemist because after Dru
Winters absconded with the previously untested hair straightening dreck it
caused her hair to fall out. He also spent months away from the company
wrestling with legal and emotional problems resulting from the arrival in
town of lowlife Dominic Hughes, who murdered Damon's son Elias eight years
before (Porter's second story line pile of dung).
Porter swinging a Samurai sword and slicing Hughes nearly to death stunt
won't be soon forgotten (and neither will the insipid and drawn out attempt
on the inept Detective Weber's part to prove Damon and Phyllis conspired to
off Hughes) but the attempt on the writers' part to engage viewers
emotionally during scenes in which a near death Damon is reunited with Elias
and in a later fantasy played football with the boy wasn't successful and
just seemed kind of cheesy.
The writers toiled in vain to enrich Porter's past and to make the sadness
of his plight resonate with Y&R watchers by introducing his ex-wife Adrienne
Markham, but they only succeeded in creating yet another ill-defined,
aimless character and soon thereafter fans were subjected to a lame, tedious
triangle involving the divorced couple and the recently resurrected Malcolm
Winters. Since there's been no announcement regarding a Lisa Canning
(Adrienne) departure, viewers will be denied the profound relief of seeing
her and Cobb leave Y&R together and will likely be forced to endure further
lackluster, faux romantic scenes involving her and Shemar Moore's Malcolm.
Scuttlebutt has it Cobb is being sacrificed at this time because the thought
to be back for only 6 months Moore has been persuaded to extend his
contract. If that's the case, Y&R's obviously sending the message that it
can't afford to pay two African American adonai on the show simultaneously
for an extended period of time.
Despite the melodramatic efforts on the part of the scribes, Damon Porter
was little more than a mumbling loser who roamed his apartment barefoot,
walked on his furniture like an ape and embodied every New Age conceit in
the book. It's almost as if Y&R execs thought, "Hey, let's hire that well
known soap hunk from ABC so we'll not only grab viewers from the competition
but also fill the black matinee idol slot Shemar's exit left glaringly
vacant in the process" before they had a fully realized character on paper
to offer Cobb. Putting the cart before the horse is never a smart move.
As for Porter, perhaps he can track down his former paramour, the former
cancer researcher and initiator of the hair straightening orchid fiasco
Vanessa Lehner (who's supposedly still in town waiting to hear from Kneel
Winters about a job at NE) and leave Genoa City with a smile after all the
hackneyed tragedy and trauma he - as well as hapless viewers - have endured.
February 3, 2005
If this was not the biggest screaming firehose of absurdity to hit Genoa
City this week perhaps it was Ashley Carlton's summation of Damon Porter to
tell the lab rat that he could very possibly be Jabot's last hope. Forget
that Victor Newman is right now doing his best to save the toxic cosmetics
company by eliminating the deadwood and that Carlton is no longer in any
position of power and had her ass fired because of the piss-poor decisions
she's made, Carlton told Porter that the summons she issued for him sounded
urgent because she'd meant it to sound urgent.
Moreover, she and Porter are all that remain of Jabot's toxic chemical lab.
They are the last line of defense when it comes to product development at a
time when Jabot should not be experimenting with new product but
concentrating on existing product. Their toughest job lay ahead.
Porter's jaw was jacked. His mouth open wide enough to catch a dingbat. A
job? For him? Hadn't he been fired by now? Hadn't anyone noticed he hasn't
been on the job for months? Weren't Jabot employees losing their jobs left
and right? Well, yes. They are. But those employees, the ones that really do
all the work, are so much "fat" whereas Porter is "muscle." Carlton actually
said this much to Porter's flattery.
You mean it, Mrs. Carlton? I've still got a job?
"Silly boy. Does Sharon Newman have a job? Does Phyllis Summers have a job?
Does Dru Winters have a job? Does Jack Abbott not work out of Jabot now that
he's CEO at Chancellor Industries and was told never to so much as appear to
be working at Jabot again lest Jabot lose millions of law suit settlement
money? Of course you've got a job!" Carlton did not say, but should have
given how beyond belief this conversation was.
One caveat, however. Porter must be prepared to work. He might have to pull
a few all-nighters. Would that interfere with those talks with his dead son?
It better not. There is much to be done starting with a trip to Paris. Yes,
from what Carlton implied it seems she'll be flying to France at great
expensive to discuss with chemical vendors there the possibility that they
make available to Jabot their very best and latest ingredients for the new
product line she intends to whip out.
While Carlton is off on this folly Porter will be expected to be in the lab
concocting stuff. "Experimenting" as Carlton so aptly put it. What Jabot
needs now is to fix something that isn't broken. It's "signature" product
doesn't scream at customers "buy me" loud enough. A new and improved product
line is required. Something that will say "let us blow your mind" when all
customers want is a damn good stinking skunk oil that makes them smell less
human.
You got that?
Freaking A, Porter got it alright. He also got a blank check. Hopefully one
that won't bounce when he starts ordering extra skunks from the skunk farm.
Oh boy, oh boy! Porter is "pumped". But there's one thing he needs to know
before he can start creating those love potions.
"Does your family know?" he asked.
Hell! Do bears crap in the woods? Of course the Abbotts don't know what this
sperm-stealing baby-killing lunatic is doing. In addition to everything
above, that's what makes it so stupid.
Damn, but what Porter didn't burst a gut laughing. Yeah, baby. Let's get it
on. Let's rock. Let's fight the good fight.
It's In His Kiss!
January 5,
2005
by Brent Kellogg
To find anything in the Genoa City history books more convoluting and
patronizing than what Damon Porter did this week one would be hard pressed.
It's as if people like Porter and Daniel Romalotti and Phyllis Summers and
the whole lot of this city's troubled and confused residents are stuck. Mired.
Sexually small and with as much sex appeal
as a rock. This much we know.
What we don't know is when Porter became a queer eye for the straight guy. Sure, there
were signs. The walking on the furniture, the incense sniffing and
Samurai sword fondling. But what's up with a full grown black man telling a white
teenage boy that he feels like part of the boy's family? And by what
stretch of the imagination does Romalotti think he represents family when
he, nor his mother, so much as asked where his father was on Christmas?
It's true that Danny Romalotti is not Daniel's biological father, but after
all the fuss they made about being father and son wouldn't
there have been the slightest inquiry as to where the washed up singer was
during the holiday? Shouldn't Mr. Rock On have at least called? Sent e-mail?
But why digress when the best part has yet to be told.
Trekking all the way out again to the Newman ponderosa without so much as a
clue that either Summers or her son would be there, Porter stopped by
Summers rented tackyroom on Wednesday to say how highly he thinks of the
long-hair and that despite the possibility he might be going to prison will
always be there for Daniel.
As to Daniel's suspicion that his mother has found another man to sleep
with and that this was Porter's sayonara serenade, Porter said he couldn't say for sure that he's been kicked to the curb
because, "it's complicated."
What is so freaking complicated about it? Either he and Phyllis are history
- or they aren't. Oh, but it is so complex because Phyllis has "brought so
much" to Porter's life like, giving him a outlet for sex and enabling his
revenge.
Then it came gushing out of Porter's mouth like the intake pipe at a sewage
treatment plant. Being close to Daniel has made him feel like part of the
family. Being around a young boy entering manhood sort of turns him on.
"It's been a gift and a pleasure," Porter actually said, and as Daniel
fought back tears said that thanks to the immature boy who still goes around
cracking childish pranks, he's come to know himself better.
Call it the fatalist maxim: The only way Porter's soul can really change is
through serious crisis, through near-death apocalypse, through things
getting so dire and tormented and swollen that something finally has to
give, the psycho-spiritual levee at last has to break.
And break it did. It wasn't the slightest bit pretty. It was like finally
purging a massive lump from a cancerous colon.
Porter kissed his hand then put it on Daniel's forehead which was the same
as if he'd kissed Daniel on the mouth. No, Really! That's how slimy it was.
That's when it became clear that there's something seriously wrong in Genoa
City. What's with the adult males going after young boys and girls?
That smile on Daniel's face as he felt Porter's spit on his forehead said a
thousand blissful words too. It's a wonder he didn't tell Porter, "Why stop
there? If you want to kiss me why not just kiss me on the lips? The Devil
knows I can't score with the chicks around here so why don't you and I go
into the bedroom and get serious? Mommy won't be back for awhile. She's at
her lawyers office telling the lawyers how the law works. Whadda you say,
Dame. May I can you Dame? Wasn't your smothering me with creamy words of
being like family really a dodge? Don't you really want to get it on with a
17-year-old studly stallion like me?"
The kiss was nauseating. Small flowers burst into flames. Shockingly,
Porter's lightning bolts of homo eroticism did not strike him dead on the
spot. His kiss opened the locked closet. He's really a namby-pamby
bleeding-heart progressive tofu-loving metrosexual. The Family Research
Council, with its pack of sad sexless parents whose own deeply unhappy
therapy-bound kids will themselves be coming out of the closet as they
discover vibrators and yoga, would have been stunned. Porter's act was
disappointing, if not downright repulsive.
Far from being a semi-humane stance that tacitly supports gays, and far from
being something Porter felt morally obligated to do in deference to his dead
son, many saw Porter's kiss as a surefire sign of the apocalypse. What's
next? Daniel parading around the tackyroom in a full-length flowery ball
gown as Porter flagellates himself with a Children's Illustrated Bible?
Black men can't be going around kissing white boys. That's all there is too
it.
