Things are still moving sluggishly for me here in the Red Stick. No word from Dave, but, good news, no word from Jason either (thank God for the block feature on AIM). I've still been feeling a little depressed lately and still having some trouble sleeping, but the funny, or sad, part is that when it comes to depression I'm a seasoned pro. It's absurdly easy to identify depressed thoughts and objectively remove them. Still, though, cognitive therapy takes more work than you would believe, so I've been moving around like a zombie lately. It doesn't help that still in waiting in limbo for a job to come through and for a class to come in.
In apartment news, I chipped a plate of Ashley's. I didn't think much of it at first...Amanda and I made sure to superglue the chipped part so it wouldn't scratch anyone/thing, but then Ashley came home and noticed. I don't think I've ever seen the girl more disappointed or passive aggressive in my life. The guilt train left the station and I was on board. I've spent at least an hour or two (it seems) searching the Internet for her stupid plate. But it's nowhere to be found. To make up for it and for eating some of her special king cake (which I didn't know was special), I bought her a brand new king cake from Whole Foods. Which, she can't eat because she doesn't like icing on her king cake. Hence, the special ordered one that I had previously taken a bite or two out of.
So, with lingering feelings of guilt, depression, and loneliness, I boldly face the new day. Don't worry, reader, I'm fine. Actually, Mardi Gras is coming up which will give me the perfect emotional lift. Every year my friends and I take a trip on Saturday to walk Bourbon and see the parades and come back to Baton Rouge late Sunday morning. Then maybe I'll go home and be pampered for a while. Yes, things will be looking up soon, and if they don't...well, I have that king cake in the kitchen to eat and a chipped plate to eat it on.
By the way, if you know of or have a soft square/square round white plate with the word mainstays on the bottom, I'd be willing to negotiate. Thanks.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Wednesday, January 30, 2008
Monday, January 28, 2008
Bad Battery
Here in the Red Stick we've been having a typical Louisiana winter--a couple of warm days followed by a col streak. The only thing that's worse than the indecisive weather is what it does to my car. i use to think that col weather was bad for the car battery, period, but turns out that it's worse for the battery to be exposed to alternating warm and cold periods in quick succession. What does this mean? It means that at 8 o'clock this morning, my car wouldn't start.
It's actually been a real bad day for me anyway, not just because of the car. I got zero hours of sleep last night because of the incessant thoughts that went on in my head. It's Dave again. A single text message on Saturday night sent me back into the usual "does he? will he?" cycle. Hot, passionate scenarios followed by cold rationalization. That's what happened last night. Why won't he? Why does he? Is he just being friendly? Is he flirting? No, he's not flirting. Put that out of your head. You two hardly know each other. It's not like he's Anderson Cooper or something.
Hot, cold. Hot, cold. It wears down the battery in my car, and it wore down my mind until the world took on a monocolored hue. I lay in bed and stared at my ceiling for hours and arrived at the cold truth. Why was I obsessing about Dave? Why didn't I just be patient and wait for Mr. Right, as Amanda always suggests. See, the truth is, I'm lonely. I've never had a relationship...I've never even been to a restaurant for a date or anything like that. I lay in bed, feeling so lonely it almost hurt. And there wasn't an arm to comfort me...there wasn't even a response to a text message from Dave. Hot, cold, hot, cold. Jesus said the truth would set you free; he never said it would help you sleep.
It's actually been a real bad day for me anyway, not just because of the car. I got zero hours of sleep last night because of the incessant thoughts that went on in my head. It's Dave again. A single text message on Saturday night sent me back into the usual "does he? will he?" cycle. Hot, passionate scenarios followed by cold rationalization. That's what happened last night. Why won't he? Why does he? Is he just being friendly? Is he flirting? No, he's not flirting. Put that out of your head. You two hardly know each other. It's not like he's Anderson Cooper or something.
Hot, cold. Hot, cold. It wears down the battery in my car, and it wore down my mind until the world took on a monocolored hue. I lay in bed and stared at my ceiling for hours and arrived at the cold truth. Why was I obsessing about Dave? Why didn't I just be patient and wait for Mr. Right, as Amanda always suggests. See, the truth is, I'm lonely. I've never had a relationship...I've never even been to a restaurant for a date or anything like that. I lay in bed, feeling so lonely it almost hurt. And there wasn't an arm to comfort me...there wasn't even a response to a text message from Dave. Hot, cold, hot, cold. Jesus said the truth would set you free; he never said it would help you sleep.
Sunday, January 27, 2008
Political Structures
Report:
The Republic of Heterosexuality is a true republic in the fact that its citizens choose representatives of their sexuality in order to lead their nation. For example, The Female Party's representatives range from Martha Stewart to Oprah to Audrey Hepburn and, yes, even Hillary Clinton. The representatives, in short, represent a certain aspect of their femininity, be it the motherly charm of Mrs. Cleaver or the savvy satire of Carrie Bradshaw. Likewise, the Male Party has its representatives: George Clooney, John Wayne, Bruce Lee, Ronald Reagan, Napoleon. In short, any man that represents the three ideals of men: the ability to attract women, the ability to kick ass, and the charisma needed to lead other ass-kicking, women-attracting men.
In contrast, the Nation of Queeria is a true democracy: a free-for-all where every voice clamors for attention. Perhaps it's because of our time spent in the closet, but the need to assert individuality leads to a general discordance and overall bitchiness in most dialogue. The people of Queeria don't like to follow; they've were once enslaved to the concepts and attitudes of the Republic and do not relinquish that freedom easily. Yes, the Nation of Queeria is an entire nation of immigrants...similar to the history of colonial America, ironically. Outcasts who survive using ingenuity and a certain fearlessness and each other. Perhaps that is the only thing that keeps our nation together: a need for our neighbors against the much larger, better resourced Republic against whom we constantly struggle.
So, you have a large nation of followers, a small nation of independent thinkers, and an ongoing separation between the two. Of course, our talk of politics will eventually lead to the idea of war between the two nations, but take heart. Their uprising is our revolution. Funny, to think how hard those in colonial America fought for our nation's freedom, and how hard we fight for ours. Whose nation is more patriotic: the one with all the Congress seats, or the underdog who doesn't quit struggling?
Sincerely,
Your Spy
The Republic of Heterosexuality is a true republic in the fact that its citizens choose representatives of their sexuality in order to lead their nation. For example, The Female Party's representatives range from Martha Stewart to Oprah to Audrey Hepburn and, yes, even Hillary Clinton. The representatives, in short, represent a certain aspect of their femininity, be it the motherly charm of Mrs. Cleaver or the savvy satire of Carrie Bradshaw. Likewise, the Male Party has its representatives: George Clooney, John Wayne, Bruce Lee, Ronald Reagan, Napoleon. In short, any man that represents the three ideals of men: the ability to attract women, the ability to kick ass, and the charisma needed to lead other ass-kicking, women-attracting men.
In contrast, the Nation of Queeria is a true democracy: a free-for-all where every voice clamors for attention. Perhaps it's because of our time spent in the closet, but the need to assert individuality leads to a general discordance and overall bitchiness in most dialogue. The people of Queeria don't like to follow; they've were once enslaved to the concepts and attitudes of the Republic and do not relinquish that freedom easily. Yes, the Nation of Queeria is an entire nation of immigrants...similar to the history of colonial America, ironically. Outcasts who survive using ingenuity and a certain fearlessness and each other. Perhaps that is the only thing that keeps our nation together: a need for our neighbors against the much larger, better resourced Republic against whom we constantly struggle.
So, you have a large nation of followers, a small nation of independent thinkers, and an ongoing separation between the two. Of course, our talk of politics will eventually lead to the idea of war between the two nations, but take heart. Their uprising is our revolution. Funny, to think how hard those in colonial America fought for our nation's freedom, and how hard we fight for ours. Whose nation is more patriotic: the one with all the Congress seats, or the underdog who doesn't quit struggling?
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Celebrity Candy: The Cause
My friends and I consider Queen Latifah our cause, since we weren't able to find anything else we all agreed upon. Think about it. She's black, a woman, heavyset (and damn proud of it!), and (allegedly!) a lesbian. She has EVERYTHING going against her, and yet she's FABULOUS!!! Queen, marry me. I'll be such a good beard, you'll need to shave twice a day.
Please support Queen by clicking here
The Five Gay Archetypes
An archetype, for those of you who don't know, is an idealized model of a person or object. The concept is of particular importance in Jungian psychology, where an archetype are innate, universal dispositions that are reflected from our collective conscience. Ouch, look at all those big words. Anyway, my short but colorful forays into Queeria have led me to believe that there are five archetypes for the gay man, a reflection of our collective conscience.
Femme Fagale
-you'll recognize this one from all the movies he's in...outlandish clothing, a voice as high-pitched as a dog whistle...if the overly expressive hand gestures weren't your first clue, then the overly gelled hair should indicate this archetype
The Savvy Sodomite
-looking for a database of irrelevant and little-known facts about the world of Broadway? Or the history of Russian ballet? How about a complete knowledge of fine wines? Look no further than this archetype, the skinny, fit, well-dressed (but not over the top), manicured specimen of a gay man. The consider themselves witty, and sometimes they are
The Happy Homosexual
-often overweight and without any male companion to speak of, these happy-go-lucky fellas are often blessed with the companionship of female friends a harem strong...while fashion is not their top priority, neither is it of no concern...these are the gay friends that married women will seek to help decorate their homes or try to hook them up with a fellow happy
The "I Can't Believe I'm Not Straight" Gay
-you can't believe, they can't believe it, their parents sure as hell can't...lacking many of the vitals of the gay stereotype, these former jocks and quiet intellectuals still wear polo shirts, don't know what America's Top Model is, and haven't a clue as to whose gay in Hollywood and who isn't...the only thing that makes them undeniably gay is the fact that they like to have sex with men
The Pappa Bear
-this ultra masculine gay man with the handlebar moustache and leather whip serves as the polar opposite to the Femme Fagale...unrestrained homosexuality is the name of his game, so gym goers beware...he can bench press 350 and yes, he's winking at you
Femme Fagale
-you'll recognize this one from all the movies he's in...outlandish clothing, a voice as high-pitched as a dog whistle...if the overly expressive hand gestures weren't your first clue, then the overly gelled hair should indicate this archetype
The Savvy Sodomite
-looking for a database of irrelevant and little-known facts about the world of Broadway? Or the history of Russian ballet? How about a complete knowledge of fine wines? Look no further than this archetype, the skinny, fit, well-dressed (but not over the top), manicured specimen of a gay man. The consider themselves witty, and sometimes they are
The Happy Homosexual
-often overweight and without any male companion to speak of, these happy-go-lucky fellas are often blessed with the companionship of female friends a harem strong...while fashion is not their top priority, neither is it of no concern...these are the gay friends that married women will seek to help decorate their homes or try to hook them up with a fellow happy
The "I Can't Believe I'm Not Straight" Gay
-you can't believe, they can't believe it, their parents sure as hell can't...lacking many of the vitals of the gay stereotype, these former jocks and quiet intellectuals still wear polo shirts, don't know what America's Top Model is, and haven't a clue as to whose gay in Hollywood and who isn't...the only thing that makes them undeniably gay is the fact that they like to have sex with men
The Pappa Bear
-this ultra masculine gay man with the handlebar moustache and leather whip serves as the polar opposite to the Femme Fagale...unrestrained homosexuality is the name of his game, so gym goers beware...he can bench press 350 and yes, he's winking at you
Thursday, January 24, 2008
Celebrity Candy: The Guy You Hate to Drool Over
C'mon, you KNOW you love to see pictures of this guy. Just jump on the bandwagon already.
The Lone Man on the Island
Oh, school. How best to describe it? It's like being a hamster, running in a wheel...no, scratch that. It's like being stuck under the hamster wheel, where the constant motion slowly peels the skin off your back one millimeter at a time. This year, the biggest wheel for me is English 2025: Fiction. Yuck. I thought I was done with English two years ago, when I still thought I was going to be an English major. I figured that I liked to read, so I would like to be an English major, right? Wrong.
So, this semester, I'm finishing up my English requirement with this fiction class. Our first book is Robinson Crusoe. Talk about a snooze fest. One British guy all alone on an island. He doesn't even masturbate. I mean, literally, nothing sexual at ALL. What's a horny little gay boy to do?
But I admit, something in the book actually inspired me. Scary, huh? Abridged version of Robinson Crusoe: man wants money and adventure, goes on ship, storm on the ocean, stranded on island alone, finds footprint, cannibals that scare him, gets rescued, yada yada. And it made me think about the kids who use to tease me in high school. One, in particular. He was a horrible classmate (my age, but got held back so he was one class below me); always calling me queer and gay or at the very least making references to my face and behind my back. I was never scared of him, I don't believe, but I do think I might have been scared of the truth he was presenting to me. Did he know I was gay before I did? No, but I wasn't ready to come out, and I wasn't ready to be confronted with my homosexuality. The sad, and ironic, part is that I'm pretty sure he was, is, gay (or at the very very least bisexual, whatever that means). This seems a pretty common pattern throughout a lot of gay men's lives: the tormentors are the tormented. Nowadays, I think I pity him, but I'll also be the first to say that I'm still a wee bit angry at him.
So, what does all this have to do with Robinson Crusoe? Crusoe was tossed around on the ocean, isolated on an island, and fearful of his his neighbors ("invaders"). The life of my tormentor is comparable. Let us say I'm correct, which I am. I'll call my high school tormentor, Tort, to make things simple. Tort is so deep in the closet he's finding old Christmas presents. Suddenly, he experiences thoughts and emotions that confuse him, thoughts of attraction to other men (the tumultuous sea). Tort denies himself further and ends up in a place where he can never be happy (isolated on the deserted island). He is confronted by evidence of other homosexuals and homosexual activity; confusion and fear becomes anger at the constant intrusions onto his otherwise well structured life (the cannibals on the island). If he's lucky, one day he'll encounter someone to take him off the island and back to the Port of Queeria, but most likely it will never be that way. So many men are destined to be the Crusoe on the island for the rest of their lives, alienated from the one place they could be comfortable.
Wow. Did I get all of that from an English class? I'm kind of impressed...maybe I won't skip the next class, after all.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
So, this semester, I'm finishing up my English requirement with this fiction class. Our first book is Robinson Crusoe. Talk about a snooze fest. One British guy all alone on an island. He doesn't even masturbate. I mean, literally, nothing sexual at ALL. What's a horny little gay boy to do?
But I admit, something in the book actually inspired me. Scary, huh? Abridged version of Robinson Crusoe: man wants money and adventure, goes on ship, storm on the ocean, stranded on island alone, finds footprint, cannibals that scare him, gets rescued, yada yada. And it made me think about the kids who use to tease me in high school. One, in particular. He was a horrible classmate (my age, but got held back so he was one class below me); always calling me queer and gay or at the very least making references to my face and behind my back. I was never scared of him, I don't believe, but I do think I might have been scared of the truth he was presenting to me. Did he know I was gay before I did? No, but I wasn't ready to come out, and I wasn't ready to be confronted with my homosexuality. The sad, and ironic, part is that I'm pretty sure he was, is, gay (or at the very very least bisexual, whatever that means). This seems a pretty common pattern throughout a lot of gay men's lives: the tormentors are the tormented. Nowadays, I think I pity him, but I'll also be the first to say that I'm still a wee bit angry at him.
So, what does all this have to do with Robinson Crusoe? Crusoe was tossed around on the ocean, isolated on an island, and fearful of his his neighbors ("invaders"). The life of my tormentor is comparable. Let us say I'm correct, which I am. I'll call my high school tormentor, Tort, to make things simple. Tort is so deep in the closet he's finding old Christmas presents. Suddenly, he experiences thoughts and emotions that confuse him, thoughts of attraction to other men (the tumultuous sea). Tort denies himself further and ends up in a place where he can never be happy (isolated on the deserted island). He is confronted by evidence of other homosexuals and homosexual activity; confusion and fear becomes anger at the constant intrusions onto his otherwise well structured life (the cannibals on the island). If he's lucky, one day he'll encounter someone to take him off the island and back to the Port of Queeria, but most likely it will never be that way. So many men are destined to be the Crusoe on the island for the rest of their lives, alienated from the one place they could be comfortable.
Wow. Did I get all of that from an English class? I'm kind of impressed...maybe I won't skip the next class, after all.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Tuesday, January 22, 2008
R.I.P., Heath Ledger
Rest in peace, Heath Ledger. I think Heath's death can yet serve a great purpose by opening the door to debating the availability and misuse of prescription drugs in today's makret and homes. Our thoughts go to his family, of course, but let us also keep all those children, men, and women who have lost their lives from overdose in our hearts and prayers.
With deep respect for those who have passed,
Your Spy
Monday, January 21, 2008
Where's Our MLK?
Today is Martin Luther King Day, a time designated to the American populace to reflect on our diversity and living together in peace. We are also meant to use this time to honor a great man who used nonviolence to achieve change within his community and the whole nation. Thanks in large part to Dr. King and his message, desegregation occurred and the African-America population has secured its civil rights.
If you watch the tube or read the paper, you've probably heard the phrase "the next great civil rights movement" in conjunction with the gay community and its issues, i.e. gay marriage, hate crimes, etc. It's true that as a minority we find ourselves with less right and privileges than others. But my question is: is there really a civil rights movement going on? Remember, I've spent way too much time in the Republic of Heterosexuality; I've noticed plenty of derogatory remarks, but only when a specific event or person is mentioned beforehand. They're not talking about what we're doing. They're not noticing our demands of recognition. We just aren't that much of a subject of interest. Sure, there are some sympathizers out there, but not nearly enough to accept us as fellow citizens, with the full rights thereof.
We don't have a Dr. King. We don't have the strength that the African-American community did. Why's that? First, the African-American community was segregated; every town or city had a certain section where black people lived and associated with one another on a daily basis. This gave them a strength of community that we do not have. Of course, many major cities have "gayborhoods". The Castro District in San Fransisco or the Greenwich Village in New York City are good examples. And in those cities there is a strong representation of the gay community. But elsewhere, not so much. Second, the black community couldn't help but be judged on first contact; they couldn't hide the color of their skin. Unfortunately, it's all too easy for people to hide their sexuality...even from themselves. Finally, they had someone like Dr. King; a strong, charismatic person who was well received by the entire populace and the judgement of history, especially because he advocated the practice of nonviolence. We don't have a Dr. King, a figurehead for our civil rights movement, and we sorely need one.
So is there a gay civil rights movement? I don't think so. Then again, maybe I've been in the Republic way too long. Maybe I'm not seeing what's there. I just hope there's something I'm missing.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
If you watch the tube or read the paper, you've probably heard the phrase "the next great civil rights movement" in conjunction with the gay community and its issues, i.e. gay marriage, hate crimes, etc. It's true that as a minority we find ourselves with less right and privileges than others. But my question is: is there really a civil rights movement going on? Remember, I've spent way too much time in the Republic of Heterosexuality; I've noticed plenty of derogatory remarks, but only when a specific event or person is mentioned beforehand. They're not talking about what we're doing. They're not noticing our demands of recognition. We just aren't that much of a subject of interest. Sure, there are some sympathizers out there, but not nearly enough to accept us as fellow citizens, with the full rights thereof.
We don't have a Dr. King. We don't have the strength that the African-American community did. Why's that? First, the African-American community was segregated; every town or city had a certain section where black people lived and associated with one another on a daily basis. This gave them a strength of community that we do not have. Of course, many major cities have "gayborhoods". The Castro District in San Fransisco or the Greenwich Village in New York City are good examples. And in those cities there is a strong representation of the gay community. But elsewhere, not so much. Second, the black community couldn't help but be judged on first contact; they couldn't hide the color of their skin. Unfortunately, it's all too easy for people to hide their sexuality...even from themselves. Finally, they had someone like Dr. King; a strong, charismatic person who was well received by the entire populace and the judgement of history, especially because he advocated the practice of nonviolence. We don't have a Dr. King, a figurehead for our civil rights movement, and we sorely need one.
So is there a gay civil rights movement? I don't think so. Then again, maybe I've been in the Republic way too long. Maybe I'm not seeing what's there. I just hope there's something I'm missing.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Sunday, January 20, 2008
Celebrity Candy: Mr. No-Shirt
I know this photo's been around for a while, but this is one of the best to me. We should just enjoy it while we can, because now that he has a baby on the way I have the bad feeling he's gonna go the Brad Pitt route...........
Obama Makes the GLBT Community Happy....
“If we are honest with ourselves, we must admit that none of our hands are entirely clean. If we’re honest with ourselves, we’ll acknowledge that our own community has not always been true to King’s vision of a beloved community. We have scorned our gay brothers and sisters instead of embracing them."
-Barack Obama
So spoke the presidential candidate at a sermon at the Ebenezer Baptist Church. Is Senator Obama our community's best chance for greater equality on a national level? Survey says yes, since, right now, he seems like a safer bet than Hillary at getting the Democratic nod. However, this race is wild (and it hasn't even started yet!) so that could always change...stay tuned.
Rating Rating Porn
So I was cruising the usual blog suspects, reading news articles about Zac Efron and trying to find a high-def version of the Star Trek teaser trailer, when I spotted a little snippet from one of my fave blogs complaining about the latest video from a popular gay porn website. It's one of those sites that feature "straight men" biting the pillow and allowing other men to put penises in their bums for some sum of money. I have a little trouble believing that, but we'll get to that later.
Point is, he was complaining that the model who had bottomed in the video was a bad actor. I use the term actor; he didn't, but he was describing the poor facial expressions and lack of, shall we say, spirit in the same way the Roger Ebert does in his reviews of movies.
I suppose it isn't hard to appreciate the irony here: I'm ranting about another guy ranting about porn. But I've noticed a steady increase in the practice of rating and reviewing pornography. It isn't hard to see that this new trend comes from the Internet itself and the ability to blog to your heart's content about what matters to you. And what matters to a lot of men? Sex, of course. Masturbation. The freedom of a man's penis.
My only problem is, rating pornography seems a little over the top. I remember my theatre professor saying that watching and enjoying any kind of theatre (or for that matter, any kind of entertainment) requires the willing suspension of disbelief. Your penis does not willing suspend its disbelief. Why need suspension when the concept of belief doesn't even exist in that pretty little pink helmet it wears? I guess I see the penis as a ravenous dog that is never satisfied; it will take any boner, er, bone that is thrown at it. Does it care if it's a cut of USDA choice meat? No. Because, in the end, your penis will have its way. So download whatever is closest and feed the beast, because you may not get another chance in the next 24 hours. So What are you waiting for? Step to it!
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Point is, he was complaining that the model who had bottomed in the video was a bad actor. I use the term actor; he didn't, but he was describing the poor facial expressions and lack of, shall we say, spirit in the same way the Roger Ebert does in his reviews of movies.
I suppose it isn't hard to appreciate the irony here: I'm ranting about another guy ranting about porn. But I've noticed a steady increase in the practice of rating and reviewing pornography. It isn't hard to see that this new trend comes from the Internet itself and the ability to blog to your heart's content about what matters to you. And what matters to a lot of men? Sex, of course. Masturbation. The freedom of a man's penis.
My only problem is, rating pornography seems a little over the top. I remember my theatre professor saying that watching and enjoying any kind of theatre (or for that matter, any kind of entertainment) requires the willing suspension of disbelief. Your penis does not willing suspend its disbelief. Why need suspension when the concept of belief doesn't even exist in that pretty little pink helmet it wears? I guess I see the penis as a ravenous dog that is never satisfied; it will take any boner, er, bone that is thrown at it. Does it care if it's a cut of USDA choice meat? No. Because, in the end, your penis will have its way. So download whatever is closest and feed the beast, because you may not get another chance in the next 24 hours. So What are you waiting for? Step to it!
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Saturday, January 19, 2008
The AIM Game
Dave and I are at it again.
By "it", I mean the harmless chit-chat on America Online's Instant Messenger, more commonly known as AIM. Light banter, small jokes, a little smiley now and then. Nothing too serious. Which, of course, is the problem.
AIM is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's the least intrusive way to communicate. A simple "hey" can be responded to at the other chatter's discretion. A screen name can even be blocked, if the instigator becomes annoying enough. It's pretty consequence-free, with small room for embarrassment. On the other hand, it's impersonal. Most importantly, you can't pick up inflection. Is he inviting me to watch movies with him and his friends of his own volition? Or does he feel pressured? Did he pick up a pity-me tone? Am I being paranoid? (the answer to that is always yes; but, in my defense, all spies are conditioned to be paranoid as a safety precaution).
So, nothing comes out of it. Unfortunately, I always end up telling myself that it's just harmless chit-chat. But now, writing this, I don't think it is. It just keeps giving me hope that one day he and I will hook-up. Which, in turn, makes me feel mildly to severely pathetic. Which starts a whole cycle of self-analysis and cross-examination that would make even the bravest psychologist twitch.
For now, I'll keep playing, hoping to come out a winner.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
By "it", I mean the harmless chit-chat on America Online's Instant Messenger, more commonly known as AIM. Light banter, small jokes, a little smiley now and then. Nothing too serious. Which, of course, is the problem.
AIM is a double-edged sword. On the one hand, it's the least intrusive way to communicate. A simple "hey" can be responded to at the other chatter's discretion. A screen name can even be blocked, if the instigator becomes annoying enough. It's pretty consequence-free, with small room for embarrassment. On the other hand, it's impersonal. Most importantly, you can't pick up inflection. Is he inviting me to watch movies with him and his friends of his own volition? Or does he feel pressured? Did he pick up a pity-me tone? Am I being paranoid? (the answer to that is always yes; but, in my defense, all spies are conditioned to be paranoid as a safety precaution).
So, nothing comes out of it. Unfortunately, I always end up telling myself that it's just harmless chit-chat. But now, writing this, I don't think it is. It just keeps giving me hope that one day he and I will hook-up. Which, in turn, makes me feel mildly to severely pathetic. Which starts a whole cycle of self-analysis and cross-examination that would make even the bravest psychologist twitch.
For now, I'll keep playing, hoping to come out a winner.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Fun Things To Do
If you're stuck in the apartment with friends, if it's raining outside, and if you happen to have a copy of Hairspray (as any good gay man should), you may find this drinking game particularly fun. Here are the rules: you drink...
1) Every time someone says "Baltimore" (including the opening number)
2) Every time someone says "Corny Collins"
3) Every time someone says "Tracy Turnblat"
4) Whenever Zac Efron winks
5) To toast Queen Latifah after her number "Come So Far..."
6) When a particular word of your choice is mentioned in every song; for example, 'Mamma' in "Welcome to the '60s" or 'stop' in "You Can't Stop the Beat"
Like I said, if you find yourself stuck in the apartment, that's no excuse not to get schwasted and have fun, right? Right.
1) Every time someone says "Baltimore" (including the opening number)
2) Every time someone says "Corny Collins"
3) Every time someone says "Tracy Turnblat"
4) Whenever Zac Efron winks
5) To toast Queen Latifah after her number "Come So Far..."
6) When a particular word of your choice is mentioned in every song; for example, 'Mamma' in "Welcome to the '60s" or 'stop' in "You Can't Stop the Beat"
Like I said, if you find yourself stuck in the apartment, that's no excuse not to get schwasted and have fun, right? Right.
Friday, January 18, 2008
The Magician's Flourish
I read Perezhilton.com. I admit it. But the wonderful thing is, once I came out to my friends, that sort of behavior was acceptable. Critiquing my female friends' clothing? Not only acceptable, but desired. Watching romantic comedies? Dishing out gossip? Wearing tight pants? Putting gel in my hair? All acceptable for the gay man. Being gay gives you a great amount of freedom if you think about it. The full range of sexuality is available. For example, you can wear pink and talk with a lisp and know all the names of famous Russian ballerinas. Or, you can wear leather on a daily basis, ride motorcycles, and have enough chest hair to put a grizzly bear to shame. You can be whatever you want, because you're gay! Most of society rejects you, so why not do whatever the hell you want?
All it takes is the magic words: "I'm gay.". Then, with a swish of a cape and a puff of smoke: bam! Where once there stood a timid, awkward young man now stands an outlandish, in-your-face, we're-queer-and-we're-here gay man. The transition is something from a Las Vegas show. All you need to complete the picture is a chorus line and sequenced outfits. Which a lot of gay men have.
Would that everyone was so entertained by magic acts. But I've noticed that a lot of people don't like change. Is that why coming out is often met with such resistance? Do people resent the fact that where once stood a person they knew and loved, now there is someone different? And all within the space of two words. Most people like security and comfort; the fact that people can change so suddenly threatens their worldview. If a son or brother or friend can change so quickly, what else can go?
They want to know the secret behind the magic trick. But here's the thing: it's all smoke-and-mirrors. It's the same person on the stage, just with a little different lighting. Or maybe it's even deeper than that. Maybe what they resent is that the person before was the illusion, a trick, a deceit on their minds. This person now, he's the real deal. No more magic. Maybe it's not that people dislike the show. Maybe they just don't like it when the show ends.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Thursday, January 17, 2008
Update
So apparently the CDC reads my blog. They must have been the Big Number Twelve. Ha
Click http://http//www.cdc.gov/od/oc/media/pressrel/2008/t080116.htm to read their official statement.
P.S. I love how they have initials for us. MSM. Men who've had sex with men. Obviously, they have to to cover everybody, but still, it's a little too close to S&M for my taste. Guess I'm just weird like that.
Click http://http//www.cdc.gov/od/oc/media/pressrel/2008/t080116.htm to read their official statement.
P.S. I love how they have initials for us. MSM. Men who've had sex with men. Obviously, they have to to cover everybody, but still, it's a little too close to S&M for my taste. Guess I'm just weird like that.
Here We Go Again...
You may have seen this picture or something similar recently. This, as I understand it, is a photo of the new staph strain that appears to be completely drug-resistant. Many articles have been appearing on the net, but so far I haven't seen that much coverage on the national news nor the political arena.
According to an article on npr.org, the drug resistant restrain has been noticeably apparent among gay and bisexual men, due to the high numbers of sexual partners and questionable sexual practices. It's cropped up in San Fransisco, Los Angeles, New York, even Boston. Sporadic cases were noticed six years ago, but now the number seems to be on a sharp incline. Across the country, a few men have died. Does any of this sound familiar?
It should. The problem is, it doesn't seem to be hitting home. I suggest reading And The Band Played On by Randy Shilts. This pattern seems to, terrifyingly, correlate directly tot the early days of the HIV/AIDS plauge that afflicted America most noticeably in the '80's. Then, as now, early cases were underreported and doctors' cries went unheeded. Unsafe sexual practices continued to rage on. Taking the fact that this new strain appears to be concentrated among the gay population, appears to be spread through sexual contact, and carries with it a risk of death, we are faced in the seemingly same predicament as we were some thirty odd years ago. My how soon we forget.
However, it should be noted that it's not the same. There are several factors that we have going for us. The first is that simple soap and water may prove to be the best way to inhibit the spread. The second is that we, as a community AND a country, have gone through something like this before. Wiser heads may prevail. Finally, we have something that the 1980's didn't have: the Internet. Already, the information is spreading in a wonderfully efficient way. We already know about the infection, and interested parties are probably already taking heed. Medical personnel can spread information more quickly, providing more efficient treatments. In short, we know that we can survive. Hopefully, though, we do more than just survive...we help those, gay, straight, bi or asexual for all I care, to relieve the pain and find a cure, or at least a treatment.
Please take some time to read this article, it's very informative: http://www.npr.org/templates/story/story.php?storyId=18086925
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Tuesday, January 15, 2008
Back in the Saddle
Time: 13:25
Location: The Red Stick
Well, it's back to the 'ole grind here in Baton Rouge. Classes have started up again, and while the majority of them seem interesting, you can rest assured that eventually I'll be up to my neck in assignments, papers, and student organization crap. No matter. For those of you who don't know, I'm a Anthropology/Sociology double major, so my classes aren't too hard. This also explains the general nature of my blog...I've read dozens upon dozens of accounts of culture or sociological theory, but when it comes to the Nation of Queeria the guidebook is hopelessly outdated (or it's never been written).
On that note, life is pretty dull. Dave, my crush, hasn't been talking to me as much lately, which I take to mean his roomates are back in the apartment and thus he has someone to talk to again. A former, how should I say this?......a former beau has been trying to hit me up again. For purposes of this blog, his name is Jason and I lost my virginity to him. This was a couple of months ago. Yes, I've been a virgin for 20 odd years, so sue me. I wished that things could have worked out between us, but the second time we did it I felt an emotion that could only be revulsion, and when you feel something that strongly it kind of takes the erection right out of you. I breathed a sigh of relief when he informed me that he now had a boyfriend (btw, total bitch move...he made sure to IM me all the time, "I'm with my boyfriend"), because it meant he could reject me and I could get away scott-free. Of course, they broke up after a month and now he's hounding me to come sleep with him. I've had to resort to blocking him on AIM.
So, to recap, I have a boy chasing after me that I don't want, a boy I'm chasing after who doesn't want me, a mouse infestation in the archaeology lab where I work, homework ALREADY, and student organization crap that's already got me in hot water. I think I'm getting saddle burn already.
P.S. Expect regular updates from now on. I'm also going to start pushing the advertising button, using a few tricks that I've got up my sleeve. A guy's gotta make a living.
Location: The Red Stick
Well, it's back to the 'ole grind here in Baton Rouge. Classes have started up again, and while the majority of them seem interesting, you can rest assured that eventually I'll be up to my neck in assignments, papers, and student organization crap. No matter. For those of you who don't know, I'm a Anthropology/Sociology double major, so my classes aren't too hard. This also explains the general nature of my blog...I've read dozens upon dozens of accounts of culture or sociological theory, but when it comes to the Nation of Queeria the guidebook is hopelessly outdated (or it's never been written).
On that note, life is pretty dull. Dave, my crush, hasn't been talking to me as much lately, which I take to mean his roomates are back in the apartment and thus he has someone to talk to again. A former, how should I say this?......a former beau has been trying to hit me up again. For purposes of this blog, his name is Jason and I lost my virginity to him. This was a couple of months ago. Yes, I've been a virgin for 20 odd years, so sue me. I wished that things could have worked out between us, but the second time we did it I felt an emotion that could only be revulsion, and when you feel something that strongly it kind of takes the erection right out of you. I breathed a sigh of relief when he informed me that he now had a boyfriend (btw, total bitch move...he made sure to IM me all the time, "I'm with my boyfriend"), because it meant he could reject me and I could get away scott-free. Of course, they broke up after a month and now he's hounding me to come sleep with him. I've had to resort to blocking him on AIM.
So, to recap, I have a boy chasing after me that I don't want, a boy I'm chasing after who doesn't want me, a mouse infestation in the archaeology lab where I work, homework ALREADY, and student organization crap that's already got me in hot water. I think I'm getting saddle burn already.
P.S. Expect regular updates from now on. I'm also going to start pushing the advertising button, using a few tricks that I've got up my sleeve. A guy's gotta make a living.
Wednesday, January 9, 2008
The Truth About Fantasy
Time: 21:58
Location: The Sticks
When I was still in high school (aka when I was still WAY behind enemy lines), I would indulge my sexual appetite by playing out certain scenarios in my head. The boys of my high school would be repulsed, no doubt, to discover that they ALL a part of my twisted world where every boy was gay and indulged in sexual activites of varying degrees of homosexuality for my sheer amusement and pleasure. When I say all, I mean all: two grades above me and two grades below me. Keep in mind that there were less than a 100 people in my high school; that's the entire high school. The football jocks received their just desserts for any indiscretion towards me by playing out my tiniest fantasy. At the time, it wasn't about a sense of revenge. It was about survival.
Why are so many gay men creative? Is it some genetic, inherent trait, or do we, as a community, share this bond because of a share experience. Most, if not all, spend some portion of their life in the closet. I know of no one who popped out of the uterus belting out verses from Cher, but correct me if I'm wrong. Spending that time as a spy in the RoH taught me a valuable thing about my imagination: I needed it. There was no one sympathetic to Queeria's causes. No other gay boy to experiment with. Experimentation didn't come until college. To this day, I've only been out on two dates. I've never had a boyfriend. Why is this litany of woe important? It explains why I needed my imagination, my fantasies. It was the only way to express myself, even if it was only to myself. It was survival.
You read or hear stories about war veterans who were prisonsers of war, how they did what they had to in order to survive. They usually don't like to talk about it and are quick to change the subject unless pressed by a reporter or the blank page of a manuscript. You do what you have to do. I feel, in some small part, the same. And while I did what I had to do, I still retain a certain sense of embarassment and shame that I used the boys I knew the way I did. They may not realize it, but they led double lives. The life they lived in school and on the field and with friends and family, and the life that went on inside my head. Was I doing that on purpose? Bringing them to my "level", as it were? I don't think so...that sounds a little too Freudian to me, and if Ashley has taught me anything, it's that no psychologist takes much credit with Freud anymore.
I wonder, though. Did my exercises in imagination prove fruitful? Did I ever really hurt anyone? And, most importantly, didn't I deserve a little catharsis? The citizens of the Republic, especially those of the Male Party, may find no justice in my actions. But I think my fellows in Queeria would. I think, just maybe, it's a bond we share...maybe not the in depth sexual fantasies, but the use of our imaginations to survive for as long as we did amidst the enemy with no one to comfot us but ourselves.
Location: The Sticks
When I was still in high school (aka when I was still WAY behind enemy lines), I would indulge my sexual appetite by playing out certain scenarios in my head. The boys of my high school would be repulsed, no doubt, to discover that they ALL a part of my twisted world where every boy was gay and indulged in sexual activites of varying degrees of homosexuality for my sheer amusement and pleasure. When I say all, I mean all: two grades above me and two grades below me. Keep in mind that there were less than a 100 people in my high school; that's the entire high school. The football jocks received their just desserts for any indiscretion towards me by playing out my tiniest fantasy. At the time, it wasn't about a sense of revenge. It was about survival.
Why are so many gay men creative? Is it some genetic, inherent trait, or do we, as a community, share this bond because of a share experience. Most, if not all, spend some portion of their life in the closet. I know of no one who popped out of the uterus belting out verses from Cher, but correct me if I'm wrong. Spending that time as a spy in the RoH taught me a valuable thing about my imagination: I needed it. There was no one sympathetic to Queeria's causes. No other gay boy to experiment with. Experimentation didn't come until college. To this day, I've only been out on two dates. I've never had a boyfriend. Why is this litany of woe important? It explains why I needed my imagination, my fantasies. It was the only way to express myself, even if it was only to myself. It was survival.
You read or hear stories about war veterans who were prisonsers of war, how they did what they had to in order to survive. They usually don't like to talk about it and are quick to change the subject unless pressed by a reporter or the blank page of a manuscript. You do what you have to do. I feel, in some small part, the same. And while I did what I had to do, I still retain a certain sense of embarassment and shame that I used the boys I knew the way I did. They may not realize it, but they led double lives. The life they lived in school and on the field and with friends and family, and the life that went on inside my head. Was I doing that on purpose? Bringing them to my "level", as it were? I don't think so...that sounds a little too Freudian to me, and if Ashley has taught me anything, it's that no psychologist takes much credit with Freud anymore.
I wonder, though. Did my exercises in imagination prove fruitful? Did I ever really hurt anyone? And, most importantly, didn't I deserve a little catharsis? The citizens of the Republic, especially those of the Male Party, may find no justice in my actions. But I think my fellows in Queeria would. I think, just maybe, it's a bond we share...maybe not the in depth sexual fantasies, but the use of our imaginations to survive for as long as we did amidst the enemy with no one to comfot us but ourselves.
Tuesday, January 8, 2008
After the BCS Bowl
Time: 14:24
Location: The Red Stick
I just returned from a two-day hiatus in New Orleans. Ashley was kind enough to open her home to us, so we drove in on Sunday night ot avoid the traffic and hung out on Monday until it was time to watch the game. After the Tigers won (and really, who thought they wouldn't?) we drifted on down to Bourbon Street.
It was about three or so hours into the night when Dave showed up. Confession: I am insanely attracted to Dave. Insanely. He has these great eyes and nice face and ok body...but what really drives me wild is the voice. It's deep and soft, and I just want to wrap myself in it like a comfy old blanket. The good news is, he's gay. The bad news is, he isn't attracted to me at all.
Is there anything worse? I look at Dave and I see potential boyfriend material, not just a quick hookup (although I wouldn't be opposed to that either!). But no matter how coy I play or how desperate I am, it doesn't matter. He is immune to my charms. And my drunken text messages. And my drunken AIM conversations. In a way, really, I almost feel bad for him. I've told him that I'm attracted to him. I've asked him out on a date. He knows this. But due to mutual friends, we still maintain contact with one another. The craziest thing is that at times it feels like we're ex-boyfriends and everybody is avoiding the pink elephant in the room.
The saddest part of this is that I feel to blame. I've tried. I've deleted his AIM screename from my buddy list, taken off his phone number from my cell, everything I could think. Then, shortly before the Bowl, he initiated contact again. And I was hooked.
Awkward feelings and a pounding headache don't do wonders for one's attitude, so Amanda and I left Bourbon around 3:30, which for, those of you who don't know, is early. Sometimes I think I should try to be straight; boys seem to be so much trouble. Then I listen to my girlfriends, and realize that women are crazy, as a species, and only a straight man would try to touch that with a ten foot pole.
Location: The Red Stick
I just returned from a two-day hiatus in New Orleans. Ashley was kind enough to open her home to us, so we drove in on Sunday night ot avoid the traffic and hung out on Monday until it was time to watch the game. After the Tigers won (and really, who thought they wouldn't?) we drifted on down to Bourbon Street.
It was about three or so hours into the night when Dave showed up. Confession: I am insanely attracted to Dave. Insanely. He has these great eyes and nice face and ok body...but what really drives me wild is the voice. It's deep and soft, and I just want to wrap myself in it like a comfy old blanket. The good news is, he's gay. The bad news is, he isn't attracted to me at all.
Is there anything worse? I look at Dave and I see potential boyfriend material, not just a quick hookup (although I wouldn't be opposed to that either!). But no matter how coy I play or how desperate I am, it doesn't matter. He is immune to my charms. And my drunken text messages. And my drunken AIM conversations. In a way, really, I almost feel bad for him. I've told him that I'm attracted to him. I've asked him out on a date. He knows this. But due to mutual friends, we still maintain contact with one another. The craziest thing is that at times it feels like we're ex-boyfriends and everybody is avoiding the pink elephant in the room.
The saddest part of this is that I feel to blame. I've tried. I've deleted his AIM screename from my buddy list, taken off his phone number from my cell, everything I could think. Then, shortly before the Bowl, he initiated contact again. And I was hooked.
Awkward feelings and a pounding headache don't do wonders for one's attitude, so Amanda and I left Bourbon around 3:30, which for, those of you who don't know, is early. Sometimes I think I should try to be straight; boys seem to be so much trouble. Then I listen to my girlfriends, and realize that women are crazy, as a species, and only a straight man would try to touch that with a ten foot pole.
Saturday, January 5, 2008
The Cowardly Lion
I didn't come out to my parents as planned. A part was my own cowardice, another part was that it never felt like the right time. The right time. I should put that in quotations from now on. I have this fantasy running in my mind of a time when my parents and I are sitting at the dinner table, with the TV on in the other room, and we hear a news report about gays in the military or gays in the school systems or gays in Boy Scouts. My father and mother would comment, and before they could say anything too bad I would jump in and say: "Wait, Mom and Dad, before you say something you would later regret! I'm gay." They would stare flabbergasted, then both would burst into tears and hug me and offer me $1,000.00 in cash to spend at The Pub in New Orleans.
Right.
Enter the cowardice. There were several times throughout the alloted two days that I could have said, "Mom, Dad, can I talk to you two for a minute?" But I couldn't bring myself to do it. For one thing, it's hard to come out to your parents when they're watching an episode of Andy Griffith. It was Ashley who made me think of the Cowardly Lion, when she told me that I was making excuses. What gave the Cowardly Lion courage? It was when the Wizard gave him medals: evidence of his courage. It occurs to me that I have no evidence of courage. I have never done anything paticularly courageous. I wish they gave out medals for coming out, so I would know that I could get something out of it.
How materialistic is that? But, on some level, it's my reasoning. The result of the conversation is an unknown. What do I have after that's sure? The support of my friends? Hah. Will my friends help me pay my rent, my car note, my taxes, my groceries, my gas? I am being materialistic, but it's because I rely on my parents for all my materials. Taking stock, I've truly begun to realize just how extensive their support is, how much I gain to lose. I know that it's shallow, but it's a shallow world we live in. I'm a full-time college student trying to get into grad school.
There I go again, making excuses. I guess I'm just afraid to tell the truth. Jesus said the truth would set us free. But does it? I mean, look where it got him!
Maybe I've just gotten too comfortable behind enemy lines. It's not in the nature of a spy to reveal himself. Can diplomacy work? Can the enemy become the ally? I've never been good with words or social situations. Maybe my diplomacy isn't up to task.
For now, I'll just spend time with my friends. We're going to New Orleans for the BCS Bowl, and there's a boy. There always is. Until then....
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Right.
Enter the cowardice. There were several times throughout the alloted two days that I could have said, "Mom, Dad, can I talk to you two for a minute?" But I couldn't bring myself to do it. For one thing, it's hard to come out to your parents when they're watching an episode of Andy Griffith. It was Ashley who made me think of the Cowardly Lion, when she told me that I was making excuses. What gave the Cowardly Lion courage? It was when the Wizard gave him medals: evidence of his courage. It occurs to me that I have no evidence of courage. I have never done anything paticularly courageous. I wish they gave out medals for coming out, so I would know that I could get something out of it.
How materialistic is that? But, on some level, it's my reasoning. The result of the conversation is an unknown. What do I have after that's sure? The support of my friends? Hah. Will my friends help me pay my rent, my car note, my taxes, my groceries, my gas? I am being materialistic, but it's because I rely on my parents for all my materials. Taking stock, I've truly begun to realize just how extensive their support is, how much I gain to lose. I know that it's shallow, but it's a shallow world we live in. I'm a full-time college student trying to get into grad school.
There I go again, making excuses. I guess I'm just afraid to tell the truth. Jesus said the truth would set us free. But does it? I mean, look where it got him!
Maybe I've just gotten too comfortable behind enemy lines. It's not in the nature of a spy to reveal himself. Can diplomacy work? Can the enemy become the ally? I've never been good with words or social situations. Maybe my diplomacy isn't up to task.
For now, I'll just spend time with my friends. We're going to New Orleans for the BCS Bowl, and there's a boy. There always is. Until then....
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Friday, January 4, 2008
Coming Out Is The Hardest Part
When I came out to my friends, it was an ambush plotted by Drunk Me. He waited until I had had a half bottle of tequila in my system before unleashing the truth upon my friends. It was so bad, they didn't even know whether to mention it the day after for fear I wouldn't remember. But, Sober Me was happy, thankful even to Drunk Me. I had kept the secret inside me too long; secrets are like milk really, in that both have an expiring date. And I was way past due on mine.
I feel the same way today. I have the horrible and yet entirely too happpy that when my mom comes into the house today, I may quite literally give her a hug and say "I'm gay" before she even has time to put her purse down. I had planned to tell both my parents, sitting down at dinner, but I'm way too much of a coward for that. I've decided that it's going to be Drunk Me's way or the highway. Time to blurt out word-vomit. Maybe that's the only way. Just blurt out the truth and clean up after the word-vomit.
What is it that's so scary about coming out of the closet ot my parents, to parents in general? Of course part is the fear of rejection and of, for the first time, having to live on my own wihtou finanical help from my parents. But I think there's another side to it. I'm afriad that my parents won't react as parents. They will react as people. As people with opinions and prejudices. I've lived with my parents all my life. I haven't lived with two individual people. Kind of scary, to think about it that way.
Is telling them seperately the way to go? Probably not, but it's the only way a cowardly guy like me can do it. I've always found it easier to tell my mother something than my father. I have a deep respect for my father; if any of the pair will reject me, it's him. That's the hard truth. Which would kill me, of course. My mom will always love me and be on my side. I believe that. I suppose I also believe that mothers in general are more disposed to stick by their children's side. So, it may be cowardice, but it has to be done. If this is the way I'm going to do it, then it's the way I'm going to do it.
Wish me luck.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
I feel the same way today. I have the horrible and yet entirely too happpy that when my mom comes into the house today, I may quite literally give her a hug and say "I'm gay" before she even has time to put her purse down. I had planned to tell both my parents, sitting down at dinner, but I'm way too much of a coward for that. I've decided that it's going to be Drunk Me's way or the highway. Time to blurt out word-vomit. Maybe that's the only way. Just blurt out the truth and clean up after the word-vomit.
What is it that's so scary about coming out of the closet ot my parents, to parents in general? Of course part is the fear of rejection and of, for the first time, having to live on my own wihtou finanical help from my parents. But I think there's another side to it. I'm afriad that my parents won't react as parents. They will react as people. As people with opinions and prejudices. I've lived with my parents all my life. I haven't lived with two individual people. Kind of scary, to think about it that way.
Is telling them seperately the way to go? Probably not, but it's the only way a cowardly guy like me can do it. I've always found it easier to tell my mother something than my father. I have a deep respect for my father; if any of the pair will reject me, it's him. That's the hard truth. Which would kill me, of course. My mom will always love me and be on my side. I believe that. I suppose I also believe that mothers in general are more disposed to stick by their children's side. So, it may be cowardice, but it has to be done. If this is the way I'm going to do it, then it's the way I'm going to do it.
Wish me luck.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Wednesday, January 2, 2008
Is There Such a Thing As a Gay Banker?
Time: 16:19
Location: The Sticks
I'm still in exile in The Sticks. While here, I've been working at the local bank, answering the phones and stuffing envelopes. It's pretty boring stuff, really. But it's just a temp job. What's stranger to me is the fact that people do this kind of thing for a living. It just seems lke the women around me had to settle to do this job. Does anyone grow up wanting to be a banker?
Well, I don't know about growing up, but both my parents were Finance Majors. My sister was a finance major. My grandfather was CEO of a bank. Obviously, they chose these kinds of jobs. But I never could. I'm an Anthropology major myself; my greatest ambition, next to writing, is becoming a forensic anthropologist. A far cry from banking. But it wasn't until I was talking with Ashley that my sexuality even came up as a reason for my liberal art's degree.
"Sure, you hate it cause you're gay."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, have you ever heard of a gay banker?"
I haven't. Obviously, common sense says that out there, somewhere, there is a gay man who works in a bank. It's the same kind of sense that says there must be gay Republicans. It's just a matter of numbers. But you have to admit, gay men are often stereotyped as working in more liberal or creative settings. It's the natural assumption of the Broadway Theory. Basically, it goes like this: a lifetime of being repressed and anonymous and secretive (in the closet) results in an almost pathological need to assert your individuality and creativity in as much as a public space as possible (a Broadway stage).
The problem is, do we start to assume that we're better because we're in these kind of jobs? I think the answer is yes. Which doesn't make me very comfortable. Because when you start looking close enough, you see that isn't necessarily true. The ladies at the bank have to engage customers on an almost minute basis in a very social setting. The loan officers have to figure out creative ways to move their client's money or the bank's money to get the best deal possible. And none of them feel the need to assert their creativity...they let it come out naturally as part of their job.
Is there such a thing as a gay banker? I can only hope so.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Location: The Sticks
I'm still in exile in The Sticks. While here, I've been working at the local bank, answering the phones and stuffing envelopes. It's pretty boring stuff, really. But it's just a temp job. What's stranger to me is the fact that people do this kind of thing for a living. It just seems lke the women around me had to settle to do this job. Does anyone grow up wanting to be a banker?
Well, I don't know about growing up, but both my parents were Finance Majors. My sister was a finance major. My grandfather was CEO of a bank. Obviously, they chose these kinds of jobs. But I never could. I'm an Anthropology major myself; my greatest ambition, next to writing, is becoming a forensic anthropologist. A far cry from banking. But it wasn't until I was talking with Ashley that my sexuality even came up as a reason for my liberal art's degree.
"Sure, you hate it cause you're gay."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
"Well, have you ever heard of a gay banker?"
I haven't. Obviously, common sense says that out there, somewhere, there is a gay man who works in a bank. It's the same kind of sense that says there must be gay Republicans. It's just a matter of numbers. But you have to admit, gay men are often stereotyped as working in more liberal or creative settings. It's the natural assumption of the Broadway Theory. Basically, it goes like this: a lifetime of being repressed and anonymous and secretive (in the closet) results in an almost pathological need to assert your individuality and creativity in as much as a public space as possible (a Broadway stage).
The problem is, do we start to assume that we're better because we're in these kind of jobs? I think the answer is yes. Which doesn't make me very comfortable. Because when you start looking close enough, you see that isn't necessarily true. The ladies at the bank have to engage customers on an almost minute basis in a very social setting. The loan officers have to figure out creative ways to move their client's money or the bank's money to get the best deal possible. And none of them feel the need to assert their creativity...they let it come out naturally as part of their job.
Is there such a thing as a gay banker? I can only hope so.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Tuesday, January 1, 2008
Out of the Closet, Into the Utility Room
Time: 21:26
Location: The Sticks
This is the week I come out to my parents. To be even more precise, this Thursday is the day I do it. I've been thinking a lot about my life as a gay man; it's funny, but I can't help but feel that I'm losing a part of me. I am losing the closeted gay man. What a lot of people don't get about closets is: they can be pretty comfortable. Many gay men live their lives in the kind of closets you see on MTV's Cribs. There is also an important disctinction to make between full disclosure, the closet, and the utility room. A person in the closet is in denial, even from himself or herself. A person who has fully disclosed their sexuality does not care who knows and does their best to make it public knowledge. The utility room is reserved for men like me. Men who share their sexuality with a close circle of friends or perhaps certain family members but doesn't wish to spread the knowledge to certain circles or peoples.
The utility room has been nice, but I suppose the time has come to explore the rest of the house. There's no denying that I'm nervous, maybe even scared. But this is the important thing to realize. I never, never, want to go back to being completelyh closeted. It seems like a waste to me, as though I have not been a whole person for most of my life. Maybe one day I will look back on this time and think the same thing. Ultimately, my line of thinking comes down to this: I am gay, it's not going to c hange, so I should alert my parents to this facet of my life. I can't lie or hold back the truth for ever. Part of loving someonse is being honest with them.
For now, I'll enjoy the quiet before the storm by sitting with my parents and watching the SEC show America why our football is different from your football....or so I'm told.
Sincerely,
Your Spy
Location: The Sticks
This is the week I come out to my parents. To be even more precise, this Thursday is the day I do it. I've been thinking a lot about my life as a gay man; it's funny, but I can't help but feel that I'm losing a part of me. I am losing the closeted gay man. What a lot of people don't get about closets is: they can be pretty comfortable. Many gay men live their lives in the kind of closets you see on MTV's Cribs. There is also an important disctinction to make between full disclosure, the closet, and the utility room. A person in the closet is in denial, even from himself or herself. A person who has fully disclosed their sexuality does not care who knows and does their best to make it public knowledge. The utility room is reserved for men like me. Men who share their sexuality with a close circle of friends or perhaps certain family members but doesn't wish to spread the knowledge to certain circles or peoples.
The utility room has been nice, but I suppose the time has come to explore the rest of the house. There's no denying that I'm nervous, maybe even scared. But this is the important thing to realize. I never, never, want to go back to being completelyh closeted. It seems like a waste to me, as though I have not been a whole person for most of my life. Maybe one day I will look back on this time and think the same thing. Ultimately, my line of thinking comes down to this: I am gay, it's not going to c hange, so I should alert my parents to this facet of my life. I can't lie or hold back the truth for ever. Part of loving someonse is being honest with them.
For now, I'll enjoy the quiet before the storm by sitting with my parents and watching the SEC show America why our football is different from your football....or so I'm told.
Sincerely,
Your Spy