This past weekend was my 3rd experience of DC's annual Gay Pride celebration (well, not just Gay -- really it was the Pride of the GLBTQQA community ... I'm proposing we add the acronym 'WTHE' to the long string of letters, signifying "Who The Hell Else?"). And although I have been a member of the GLBTQQAWTHE community for a short 4 years, this small amount of time really accounts for the bulk of my 'life'; the previous 24 seeming like a forgotten dream.
Yes that's right, I said it -- FOUR years ago. I was 24 when I officially came out -- and I took my sweet-assed time doing it, too. Circumstances being what they were growing up, there was no fertile ground in which to tend this delicate flower. But hell -- listening to Christina Auguilera's "I Am Beautiful" enough times can compel anyone to come to bizarre and dramatic revelations ... and disclosures.
So now, 4 years into my personal renaissance, I feel that the myriad of gay experiences packed into my brief history has brought me full circle; I have come back to analyze that previous thrust of pride in myself that was necessary to finally come out of the closet.
Coming out to friends and family requires a paradigm shift, and a braveness to stare into a vast unknown and say "Eh ... screw it, I'm moving forward!". Despite our personal doubts, and those quiet voices inside our heads that say "AH! Be careful, this might not be safe!" ... we leap ...
... and hit the ground running, a whole new world to explore. What interests me is that the personal doubts and often problematic negative self-talk do not go away with coming out; there is an entirely new set of problems that challenge how we view ourselves. Namely dating.
I find that the internal conflict which postponed my coming out is somewhat similar to my current struggle in identifying a place in the world of male relationships. Will I be rejected? Will I lose my dignity, will someone care (sing it girl)? Isn't it better to never show my feelings? Isn't it easier just to keep everything inside? Won't I avoid pain if I never connect with someone else ... again?
This pattern of thinking has led me down the slippery slope of cynicism. It is the fear that things won't turn out right in the end, and then becoming disenchanted with the dating process altogether.
In opening the closet door, gay people become vulnerable. We cannot control what others think or how they will react to us. Similarly, opening the 'relationship door' brings its own trials of dealing with people who do not treat us the way we want to be treated -- and sometimes that stings.
I've been trying to talk down that cranky cynic in my interior monologue by reinstating the pride it took to finally come out to friends and family. Coming out came with a price: stress, difficulty, some pain, and an opening of self that required a genuineness which was sometimes hard to swallow.
Relationships come with a similar price; I have to sacrifice myself to the occasional sting of the beehive to finally reach the honey. Accepting this as the way of things continues to give me the pride to open that relationship door just a bit further. It is an affirmation of self that says, "I'm a good person, even though people don't always treat me that way."
... and I'm pretty damn proud of that ...
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Friday, June 13, 2008
Spreading my seed
Now really, it is quite tacky to put a suggestive title on a blog just to confuse (and entice) the reader into thinking that we will be talking about sex ... but since we're on the subject, why the hell not?!?
Rest assured- this gardener has done precious little germination in months past, so the seed that I intend to spread has nothing to do with my irrigation system. Oh no friends, we are talking about love here. LOVE.
The 'heart' shape is the ubiquitous symbol of love, and its origins have been debated by historians for years (particularly because it looks nothing like a real heart). The most likely (and sinfully delicious) theory is that the shape comes from the silphium (syphilis?) plant in northern Africa, around 500 B.C.E. Used as a one-stop shop for common ailments and disease (like Windex in My Big Fat Greek Wedding), silphium was also believed to prevent undesired pregnancies. The seeds of the silphium plant are the shape we have adopted as the 'heart'.
Basically, our symbol for love is a prophylactic.
It makes sense ... love meaning we want the pleasure of sex without the pain of raising little shits. But the transition from the symbolic "no baby here" to "oh baby be mine!" is interesting, and further complicates the mysterious dynamic between emotional and physical love, sex and genuine caring. Throw "I 'heart' you mom" into the mix, and it just gets plain gruesome.
But, like many symbols, its present-day meaning has morphed from its original intent. When I see a heart-shape the last thing I think about is birth control. Instead, I think of compassion, intimacy, and sometimes vomiting in my mouth.
Apparently the need to stop popping out little brats overwhelmed the supply of silphium- it is now extinct (hence it was a commodity, quite like the sponge-worthy Seinfeld episodes). Perhaps it is time to reconsider and change this antiquated symbol of love ... why not something more modern ... like a condom?
*Cupid shoots arrow into a Trojan ... extra-large*
So the next time you're strapping on a rubber to hold back the seed, consider the jocular link between the latex and love. And for god's sake, pray that your 'heart' doesn't get broken.
Rest assured- this gardener has done precious little germination in months past, so the seed that I intend to spread has nothing to do with my irrigation system. Oh no friends, we are talking about love here. LOVE.
The 'heart' shape is the ubiquitous symbol of love, and its origins have been debated by historians for years (particularly because it looks nothing like a real heart). The most likely (and sinfully delicious) theory is that the shape comes from the silphium (syphilis?) plant in northern Africa, around 500 B.C.E. Used as a one-stop shop for common ailments and disease (like Windex in My Big Fat Greek Wedding), silphium was also believed to prevent undesired pregnancies. The seeds of the silphium plant are the shape we have adopted as the 'heart'.
Basically, our symbol for love is a prophylactic.
It makes sense ... love meaning we want the pleasure of sex without the pain of raising little shits. But the transition from the symbolic "no baby here" to "oh baby be mine!" is interesting, and further complicates the mysterious dynamic between emotional and physical love, sex and genuine caring. Throw "I 'heart' you mom" into the mix, and it just gets plain gruesome.
But, like many symbols, its present-day meaning has morphed from its original intent. When I see a heart-shape the last thing I think about is birth control. Instead, I think of compassion, intimacy, and sometimes vomiting in my mouth.
Apparently the need to stop popping out little brats overwhelmed the supply of silphium- it is now extinct (hence it was a commodity, quite like the sponge-worthy Seinfeld episodes). Perhaps it is time to reconsider and change this antiquated symbol of love ... why not something more modern ... like a condom?
*Cupid shoots arrow into a Trojan ... extra-large*
So the next time you're strapping on a rubber to hold back the seed, consider the jocular link between the latex and love. And for god's sake, pray that your 'heart' doesn't get broken.
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
in a (540) New York minute(s)
*cue Rhapsody in Blue*
9 hours ... one city. Mission? Consume a despicable amount of calories, slow down traffic with asinine parking maneuvers, and pay an absurd amount of money to watch people sing and dance on stage.
Mission accomplished.
-Rice to Riches: Think Ben & Jerry's, only for rice pudding aficionados. Adorned with humorous signs like "Eat more, you're already fat!" and "Calories don't count in rice pudding", you hardly need the encouragement to stuff yourself silly with varied flavors such as- pecan pie, mango, almond and coconut, rocky road, raspberry ... the list goes on for about 20 different tastes. And for those of you who can't tolerate something milky and gooey in your mouth (down boy!), you can just have a banal cappuccino.
-GLBT Community Center: I know, I know. Why the hell wouldn't it be called the YMCA? Aside from a refreshing pause from the blistering heat, the community center is home to meetings, support groups, 12-step programs, social events, and more. Imagine, a gathering of gay people together in one happy place ... without alcohol ... *crickets chirping*
-Pommes Frites: Aside from its ability to never be recognized by automated-411 operators (What listing? Pommes Frites. You wanted *pause* 'library', is that correct?), this french fry joint is easy enough to find because of the long line of persons who risk heat stroke outside just to consume oily-hot potato wedges. There is an even longer list of dipping sauces in case your cholesterol just isn't quite high enough- I got the parmesan peppercorn.
-"Lesbian bar": I began doing a search to try and get the name of the actual bar we went to, but being a lesbian bar I figured- eh! Who the hell cares?!? (*dodges salmonella-laced tomatoes*) Two vodkas later, and having endured Barbara Streisand internet-jukeboxed in a bar (...lesbians! *throws hands up in the air*), the prospects of dessert drew us once again into the muggy streets.
-Magnolia Bakery: Famed "Sex and the City" bakery, and host to plenty of tourists acting like they've never seen a cupcake before ("oh my god! that one has frosting! FROSTING!!!" *snaps picture of friend smiling with V-handshape*), Magnolia is a happy host to 3 post-bar scavengers in desperate need of dinner. A chocolate wafer cake layered with whipped cream, a cupcake or two, a slice of carrot cake (somewhat disappointing...) -- and god knows what else, passersby in the street were not surprised to see us scarfing down sugar like Coney Island hotdog competitors. One girl even said to her friend, "You hit him on the head, I'll grab the cupcakes". But honestly, they aren't good enough to inspire violence.
-The Lion King: Barreling through Times Square in desperate search of street parking (along with unicorns, elves, and other fantastical creatures), we finally made it (on time!) to the theater. This is the part where words completely fail me -- in all truthfulness, you have to see it for yourself. While the audience clapped and cheered in between scenes, I found myself transfixed, gaping uncontrollably towards the stage- unsure if I had imagined it all, but convinced that even my musically-minded mind could not even begin to construct that perfect synthesis of music, dancing, and culture. Oh- and Simba was fucking hot!!!
Having conquered the Apple and dazzling all senses, we made our way back to DC along the dark, un-twinkling lit interstate. My only source of consolation was the bathroom at a New Jersey rest area, where I saw a "macho" man turbulently wrestle to get his (apparently) ginormous penis back into his pants -- it was like watching someone try to stuff an angry cat into a paper bag. Certainly nothing in this world should be that strenuous ... but if so, can I have your number?
And after the looming skyscrapers and uncountable march of humanity through the streets of New York, returning to DC was like a peaceful nightcap at the end of an exhausting day; slower, gentler, and a soft pillow that ate me up as if calories didn't count.
Phew. What a day ...
9 hours ... one city. Mission? Consume a despicable amount of calories, slow down traffic with asinine parking maneuvers, and pay an absurd amount of money to watch people sing and dance on stage.
Mission accomplished.
-Rice to Riches: Think Ben & Jerry's, only for rice pudding aficionados. Adorned with humorous signs like "Eat more, you're already fat!" and "Calories don't count in rice pudding", you hardly need the encouragement to stuff yourself silly with varied flavors such as- pecan pie, mango, almond and coconut, rocky road, raspberry ... the list goes on for about 20 different tastes. And for those of you who can't tolerate something milky and gooey in your mouth (down boy!), you can just have a banal cappuccino.
-GLBT Community Center: I know, I know. Why the hell wouldn't it be called the YMCA? Aside from a refreshing pause from the blistering heat, the community center is home to meetings, support groups, 12-step programs, social events, and more. Imagine, a gathering of gay people together in one happy place ... without alcohol ... *crickets chirping*
-Pommes Frites: Aside from its ability to never be recognized by automated-411 operators (What listing? Pommes Frites. You wanted *pause* 'library', is that correct?), this french fry joint is easy enough to find because of the long line of persons who risk heat stroke outside just to consume oily-hot potato wedges. There is an even longer list of dipping sauces in case your cholesterol just isn't quite high enough- I got the parmesan peppercorn.
-"Lesbian bar": I began doing a search to try and get the name of the actual bar we went to, but being a lesbian bar I figured- eh! Who the hell cares?!? (*dodges salmonella-laced tomatoes*) Two vodkas later, and having endured Barbara Streisand internet-jukeboxed in a bar (...lesbians! *throws hands up in the air*), the prospects of dessert drew us once again into the muggy streets.
-Magnolia Bakery: Famed "Sex and the City" bakery, and host to plenty of tourists acting like they've never seen a cupcake before ("oh my god! that one has frosting! FROSTING!!!" *snaps picture of friend smiling with V-handshape*), Magnolia is a happy host to 3 post-bar scavengers in desperate need of dinner. A chocolate wafer cake layered with whipped cream, a cupcake or two, a slice of carrot cake (somewhat disappointing...) -- and god knows what else, passersby in the street were not surprised to see us scarfing down sugar like Coney Island hotdog competitors. One girl even said to her friend, "You hit him on the head, I'll grab the cupcakes". But honestly, they aren't good enough to inspire violence.
-The Lion King: Barreling through Times Square in desperate search of street parking (along with unicorns, elves, and other fantastical creatures), we finally made it (on time!) to the theater. This is the part where words completely fail me -- in all truthfulness, you have to see it for yourself. While the audience clapped and cheered in between scenes, I found myself transfixed, gaping uncontrollably towards the stage- unsure if I had imagined it all, but convinced that even my musically-minded mind could not even begin to construct that perfect synthesis of music, dancing, and culture. Oh- and Simba was fucking hot!!!
Having conquered the Apple and dazzling all senses, we made our way back to DC along the dark, un-twinkling lit interstate. My only source of consolation was the bathroom at a New Jersey rest area, where I saw a "macho" man turbulently wrestle to get his (apparently) ginormous penis back into his pants -- it was like watching someone try to stuff an angry cat into a paper bag. Certainly nothing in this world should be that strenuous ... but if so, can I have your number?
And after the looming skyscrapers and uncountable march of humanity through the streets of New York, returning to DC was like a peaceful nightcap at the end of an exhausting day; slower, gentler, and a soft pillow that ate me up as if calories didn't count.
Phew. What a day ...
Wednesday, June 4, 2008
The mean of averages ...
Mean people exist - it's a cultural universal. Where 2 or more are gathered, there is a high probability that one of these persons will be a nasty bitch at some point.
We expect this level of animosity among the rich and famous; that is, after all, what we are exposed to on TV everyday. Lou Dobbs, Judge Judy, Rosie O'Donnell when dieting ... the inner bitch becomes a media stunt to draw in viewers who are captivated by the cantankerous and cranky.
But what about the average Joe & Jane? Are we crabby with each other simply to appease our own personal audience? What benefit do we receive by being ill-tempered?
DC has its fair share of quarrels and spats, as was demonstrated to me in the past couple of weeks:
-CVS-PMS: One evening at a CVS a very disgruntled woman was anxiously waiting in line to check out. Due to some confusion by the manager and other store clerks, some customers were waiting longer than usual. Livid beyond imagination, she began chucking her items this way and that, kicking things across the floor, and stomped out. Wow- no need to get that upset about over-priced gum and Aleve!
-Giant bitch: While waiting in line to check out at a Giant food store, my cashier began speaking to another customer in line using her native language (not English). A short, grisly old white lady looked at both of them and indignantly asked in condescending tones -- "What country am I in???" Shocking ...
-Metro blockade: A man with 3 extra-large suitcases held a train at Union Station an extra minute during rush hour while propping the car doors open and laboriously hauling his stuff on to the train. He pushed his suitcases to the back of the train, cornering me and my friend in our seats so that we couldn't get up. My friend, in a fit of laughter at the audacity of this man's inconsiderateness, began to draw the attention of several people on the train. Suitcase man looked at one of the male passengers and growled "Stop looking at me, or I'll claw your fucking eyes out". Whoa.
.... So what fuels this phenomenon?
Maybe it's fear. Fear of feeling inferior and unappreciated, fear of diversity and sacrificing privilege, and fear of embarrassment and the opinions of others. We are mean to others because we feel ... and we feel because we are mean ...
... average or otherwise.
We expect this level of animosity among the rich and famous; that is, after all, what we are exposed to on TV everyday. Lou Dobbs, Judge Judy, Rosie O'Donnell when dieting ... the inner bitch becomes a media stunt to draw in viewers who are captivated by the cantankerous and cranky.
But what about the average Joe & Jane? Are we crabby with each other simply to appease our own personal audience? What benefit do we receive by being ill-tempered?
DC has its fair share of quarrels and spats, as was demonstrated to me in the past couple of weeks:
-CVS-PMS: One evening at a CVS a very disgruntled woman was anxiously waiting in line to check out. Due to some confusion by the manager and other store clerks, some customers were waiting longer than usual. Livid beyond imagination, she began chucking her items this way and that, kicking things across the floor, and stomped out. Wow- no need to get that upset about over-priced gum and Aleve!
-Giant bitch: While waiting in line to check out at a Giant food store, my cashier began speaking to another customer in line using her native language (not English). A short, grisly old white lady looked at both of them and indignantly asked in condescending tones -- "What country am I in???" Shocking ...
-Metro blockade: A man with 3 extra-large suitcases held a train at Union Station an extra minute during rush hour while propping the car doors open and laboriously hauling his stuff on to the train. He pushed his suitcases to the back of the train, cornering me and my friend in our seats so that we couldn't get up. My friend, in a fit of laughter at the audacity of this man's inconsiderateness, began to draw the attention of several people on the train. Suitcase man looked at one of the male passengers and growled "Stop looking at me, or I'll claw your fucking eyes out". Whoa.
.... So what fuels this phenomenon?
Maybe it's fear. Fear of feeling inferior and unappreciated, fear of diversity and sacrificing privilege, and fear of embarrassment and the opinions of others. We are mean to others because we feel ... and we feel because we are mean ...
... average or otherwise.
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