Tuesday, June 18, 2013

So Gaily Main-Streaming

On Stevie B's blog this morning I read a poignant ode to Pride month. "A call to arms" as Stevie called it. (And I must say I'm also impressed with his partner Fuzzy's social media progress, considering I had to literally board a plane to "friend" him.) If you haven't read Stevie's post, you should. (Pride Month)

The process of coming out involves a leap of faith. When I took that leap, I was keenly aware of what I leaving behind... A "normal" life. My parents' expectations. My church's grace. An identity forged from childhood around what I assumed I was supposed to be, not who I knew I really was.

What I wasn't expecting was the beauty of all I was about to inherit as reward for having made the leap.

One of those magical gifts was automatic induction into membership of "The Gay Community". Nothing like a club or fraternity; no formal charter, rules of behavior, risk of banishment or elected leadership. More like a meta-ethnicity with an extremely rich history and a demographic so diverse, it's a wonder we see eye-to-eye on anything. I paid my initial dues just by coming out. How much more dues I would pay would be up to me. It still is.

While I understand where the author of Stevie's article is coming from, I can't say I entirely agree with his sentiment. Is our Community really diminished when a couple of polo-and-khaki-clad preppy-gays wants to move to the suburbs and raise kids? Is it assimilationist if they want to a be part of their mixed neighborhood community there? Would Harvey Milk approve? I don't know about that, but he did sacrifice all fighting for the right of everyone to live their lives freely and honestly. Even if it's their choice to be a "tamed" gay, whatever that means.

In my twenty years within The Gay Community, I've seen some of the changes against which the author is railing. The evil he calls "mainstreaming". At last year's Pride parade I marveled at the attendance. Not an insignificant number of the hundreds of thousands lining the streets were straight people, including families with children. This was not the case twenty years ago.

Twenty years ago I remember walking through the park during Pride and stopping at a booth which offered prizes for throwing the most rubber dildos through a cartoon character's cut-out butthole. Even as I chuckled, I felt an awkward sense of self-consiousness as I questioned the wisdom of the few parents who brought their children to Pride.

Now the park is overflowing with kids. Laughing, playing, rolling in strollers and riding on broad shoulders. Some of their parents are gay but a lot of the parents are straight. Pride has gotten tamer. Does that make it lamer? Maybe for some, but I welcome the change. Whatever we've lost to mainstreaming, look at what we've gained. We wouldn't be where we are, and we could absolutely not get where we want to go without our straight allies. They are the ones giving equal marriage rights majority support. Not us. They're doing that.

It's natural to feel nostalgia for the things you leave behind on the road to something better. It's also a given that each generation will claim an attachment to the glorious achievements of themselves and their elders while expressing worry and doubt as to whether the next generation has what it takes to be entrusted with the legacy of our common heritage. As if we had a choice in the matter.

I remember reading a similar article twenty years ago. The author was mourning the demise of the language of Polari, and what this said about the future of The Gay Community. I empathized, but I also wondered... Is it really a sad thing that we don't need a secret gay language anymore? Isn't it a sign of progress that we now can communicate in plain English without fear and with nothing to hide? Wasn't the whole purpose of Polari to allow The Gay Community to exist while still blending in with the mainstream?

These worries are natural and not completely unwarranted. But it's my feeling that The Gay Community will continue to exist just fine so long as:

  • We continue to celebrate Pride.
  • We remain inclusive and resist all attempts, from without or within, to impose any single concept of it means to be gay, lesbian, bisexual or transgendered.
  • We never forget the sacrifices of those who came before us, and whose accomplishments gave us not only a reason for pride, but also for hope.
  • We relentlessly impress these history lessons on the next generation. (Notice I didn't say "the next generation of gays".)
  • We keep paying our dues, so that, just maybe, future generations might include us in their Pride commemorations.

Trust me, in twenty years one of today's skater bois will be writing alarmist screeds bemoaning how the young gays are selling their souls for the sake of assimilation. How much The Gay Community has changed since the good ol' days when he first came out. And this will make me smile to read. And trust me when I say in twenty years we will still be fighting – now in alliance with the mainstream – for basic human rights. If not here, then in Uganda or Russia or China or the Ukraine.

But if not here, wouldn't that be wonderful?







Monday, June 17, 2013

Happy Father's Day

Since I can't call Dad on Father's Day any more, I try to find creative ways to observe the day in a way that honors the memories I have of him. This year I spent the day drinking brandy old-fashions in underpants with zero elasticity left in the waistband.


Thursday, June 13, 2013

Splash & Flash

A continuation of yesterday's post making fun of the swimwear I found in my latest UnderGear catalog.




If anyone begins to appear suspicious,
distract them by comparing penile
enhancement surgery scars.


Who says cruising on a budget means having to choose between liquor or pool couture? You can have it both ways with this crafty low-rise "napkini", some assembly required. So creatively stylish, nobody needs to know you acquired this hot little number from the lido deck buffet. Seriously, don't tell anyone.




Wondering how to show your Log Cabin stripes on your next gay cruise? Nobody will remember you voted for Romney after hoisting this red, white and blue mankini. Guaranteed to make any patriot act, if you're not the center of attention when entering your next tea dance or tea party meeting, you're sure to turn heads when you leave. You see, this new glory is actually a thong. God Bless America!
Oh say can you see?



A treat for all the senses, one whiff of this getup will have all the boys thinking "escort". After all, you can't possibly be the only queer on the boat who lost his virginity in the backseat of his mom's Ford Escort. If you're not too hot to touch, then your ass must be parked in the shade. Guaranteed to keep its new-car smell for seven days or 7,000 miles. (Void if exposed to chlorine. Or moisture. Or ultraviolet radiation.)





Wednesday, June 12, 2013

Pool Shock

BosGuy posted today about his Summer diet. He's motivated by the idea of taking his shirt off at the beach. I've met BosGuy and, while he unfortunately wasn't shirtless at the time, I really don't think that will be a problem. But I understand how people tend to be their own worst critics. Especially gay men when it comes to their own physiques.

My motivation lately has been twofold. One was celebrating my birthday last month and seeing the photos. As I mentioned in my last post, I'd really planned to start after New Years so I could be in shape by my birthday, but instead I was heavier than ever. This got me back in the park running the day I got home.

Then Stevie B convinced me to join him and his Denver gang on a Caribbean cruise. I found his tales of bears frolicking in hot, frothy whirlpool tubs to be appallingly unhygienic, yet erotically compelling. Thinking back on the conversation, I may have invited myself.

So my new goal is to be able to board a ship with thousands of gays and still feel comfortable sitting by the pool. With my shirt off. To help me envision this goal, I've taken to clipping pages from the swimwear section of my Under Gear catalog. (Formerly International Male. Which I guess after 34 years, started to sound gay.)

Thus begins my new feature: Splash & Flash. Enjoy.



Remember that scout jamboree where the other boys teased you mercilessly when, instead of flinging yourself with youthful abandon from the rope swing into the ice cold lake, your little white knuckles refused to let go? And then, when you did finally get the nerve to jump, your triumph morphed into humiliation when you realized you surfaced ten feet away from your trunks?

Well we do. That's why we designed the exclusive Belted Bikini. Splash headlong into the deep end with confidence knowing your ship nickname probably won't be Pink Raisin. Not this summer.

Roadkill Armadillo temporary tattoo
sold separately.

Not a fan of classic houndstooth? Our Belted Bikini is also available in faux denim.


And because nobody learned from Pajama Jeans, we also offer a faux denim trunk that's sure to put some Dukes in your Daisy.





Tuesday, June 4, 2013

Shopaphobic, Part 2

"So whatcha end up buyin'?" I'm so glad you asked, BosGuy.

Waiting until after Christmas to shop for clothes is a mixed experience. Sure, there are plenty of mark-downs and clearance sales to save you money, and the malls are less frantic with lots of easy parking.

But there was also a temptation to put it off a month or two. See, I kind of let myself go leading up to the holiday season. It happens to a lot of people, right? So why buy new clothes at a time I'm feeling my dumpiest when I have every intention of getting back on track and doing something about it?

Just as soon as the wave of New Years Resolutioners give up hope and wash back out of the gym. Who wants to deal with those losers, right?

When we got to Macy's I was relieved to see JB was leading me to the mens' jeans section and not the muumuu department. When I selected a pair of dark blue 34" Levis to take to the fitting room, JB handed me the same pair in 36". "Just in case," he said.

I guess that was JB's subtle way of saying my current relaxed fits have been looking a bit tense of late. And he had a point. The 36's fit perfectly. Waist size is just a number, I told myself. Like my age. Only this number doesn't necessarily have increment each year. I will buy these comfortable 36-inch jeans, but only to pose next to them in my "after" pictures by my next birthday. In May.

"Who are you talking to??" JB asked from outside the changing room door.

Fast forward to two weeks ago. I was looking through the photos from my birthday trip to Denver and was struck by how much I resembled my older, heavier brother. This reminded me of the promise I made to myself in that changing room five months ago. I may have missed my deadline, but I resolved to keep the promise.

I'm no longer officially obese as a BMI below 30 puts me
firmly in the "overweight" zone. Yay! At this rate I'll be
buying 34's next Christmas.





Thursday, May 30, 2013

Shopaphobic

Last December when JB asked me what I wanted for Christmas, I said all I wanted was a shopping trip to buy new clothes. It wasn't the clothes that were to be my gift. All of our holiday shopping gets charged to our joint account anyway. (The spirit of giving takes a back seat to the accumulation of miles and double miles. We're kind of of sky-mile whores that way.) It was shopping for clothes with JB that was my Christmas present.

I didn't always see being born gay as a blessing, not like I do now. I love my gay life and wouldn't trade it for anything. But in an ironic twist of fate, God also gifted my lonely X chromosome with red-green color-blindness. I've always considered this a cruel double-whammy, since my color-blindness cancels out some of the culturally stereotypical "benefits" of homosexuality (e.g., fashion sense and interior design skills) while doing nothing to abate any of the culturally stereotypical disadvantages (e.g., lisping and throwing like a girl).

In other words, asking me to differentiate "mauve" from "magenta" will elicit the same blank stare as asking me to explain how "earned run average" differs from "runs batted in". See what I mean? Thank goodness my unbridled promiscuity is intact.

Long story short: shopping for my own clothes would end in disaster without help. Lots of patient help.

One of the cool speckled tee-shirts JB picked out for me.

Tuesday, May 28, 2013

Nice To See You Stevie B

"Dammit, you weren't supposed to be taller than me," I disappointedly told Stevie B a week ago last Friday.

In a text conversation maybe two years ago, I told Stevie I probably shouldn't make short jokes because, for all I know, he could be a "little person". When he never disputed my half-joking assertion, I mentally prepared myself for the possibility our Stevie might be an adorable nugget.

Adorable, yes. But bite-sized? Sadly not. It turns out we're exactly the same height. But while I was wearing flat-soled shoes, Stevie had on the snazziest pair of hiking boots I ever saw. The boots, of course, came with a story that made me laugh. Not to mention being a much more suitable choice of footwear than my Puma driving shoes for our hike in the Rockies.

The foundation of our friendship has always been humor. Stevie can make me laugh so easily that I'm laughing as I type this. In our text conversations I'll typically express my amusement with a generous sprinkling of LOLs and emoji. But I noticed a long time ago that Stevie doesn't rely on such affectations in his casual writing. Even when we started conversing on the phone by voice, I could tell Stevie wasn't nearly as much of a chuckler, giggler, guffawer or belly-laugher as I am. Not even nervous laughter, something I try (and invariably fail) to suppress.

So I was happily surprised upon meeting him in person to see how much Stevie really does laugh. His laughter is expressed mostly through his eyes and with his smile. I have a theory about people with this quiet type of laughter; that their humor often tends to be droll and observational. They find the humor in a situation without necessarily feeling the need to interject themselves into it. They're far more interested in maintaining the purity of the satire intrinsic to the situation as it naturally reveals itself. Sort of like the Heisenberg uncertainty principle of comedy. Or Jane Goodall observing chimps.

This, of course, will make perfect sense to those who follow his blog. To enjoy Stevie's humor, all one must do is read or listen. While not absolutely necessary, an intermediate-to-advanced grasp of American, British and Japanese pop-culture is highly recommended. And for best results, binge-watch every season of Dynasty on Netflix, even if you saw it in the 80's.

Stevie's laughter, on the other hand, is best enjoyed face to face. Which, if you're close to 5'11", shouldn't require one of you to stand on a phone book, box, chair or table.

This is Stevie B laughing. Which – considering I was purposely
posing him by that sign on a busy pedestrian bridge in dangerous
proximity to high voltage – might have been nervous laughter.