Not Proud about Pride

This week I received a very kindly message, informing that while my poetry was enjoyed, it is simply not what this publisher is looking for right now, but “keep writing.”

First of all, don’t tell me to keep writing.  It isn’t encouraging, it’s patronizing.  Secondly, I knew you weren’t going to accept my work; I submitted it in a gesture of, “what the hell, why not?”  I have been reading the work put out by this queer publisher, and while I like a certain amount of it, I really don’t like a lot of it.  I realize that by not using phrases like, “I sucked your dick and then you fucked my ass while I jerked myself off”, I am limiting my appeal to gay readers, but it’s a limitation I’m willing to take.

Situations like these have me reflecting a lot about gay pride, as of late (I know, it’s a bit of a leap).  It’s not just these direct experiences, it’s also what I read in the news. It was heart breaking to read the statements of the San Francisco Pride committee regarding Bradley Manning, and it’s obnoxious that we spend how many weeks talking about athletes coming out while ignoring everything else happening in the world.  Why is that everywhere I go for gay news (Huffington Post, Out, etc) I am reflected images of super-sexed, hotter than hot, impossibly gorgeous men?  If that’s what being gay is, I think most of us need a new word for what we are.

When did being gay become about how hot someone is, and how explicit they are regarding their sex life?  Can’t some of us be modest?  Can’t some of us have some subtlety about us?  Must we all prance around in our underwear, blatantly looking for sexual partners?

I think I am pretty gay.  In fact, I know I’m pretty gay.  If all my peers in school were certain enough to torture me over it in school before I came out, then I think it’s fairly obvious.

I don’t wear my sexuality or my sexual orientation on my sleeve, and I am committed to showing up for causes other than gay marriage.  I don’t see the p0int any longer in attending gay pride, which is becoming an isolated and vacuous event.  Have you noticed how much time and energy major corporations are putting into being there, to show us how much they “care”?  It’s incredible.  They fully recognize the untapped market that is the LGBT community.  Most of us are only taking care of ourselves, so where is all of our money going if we’re not raising kids?  And where is it going if we are?

I don’t know about you, but that really irritates me.  You can’t be political at gay pride without offending someone (unless you’re being political about gay marriage), but there’s no trouble being comodified.  We used to be the fringe social group, unafraid to take on the challenges of other oppressed groups; now we show up armed with a fresh box of condoms and unopened KY Jelly, ready to get frisky and ignore that the world extends beyond the boundaries of gay pride day.

I will personally be avoiding pride this year…much as I have done the last two years.  In the end, it has ceased to be a fabulous, fun event, and feels more and more like a circus.  In addition to the tacky factor, there is something disturbing about straight people showing up to watch the freak show.

Eye Contact Games

Do you ever do this?  You’re walking down the street, cute man is heading in the opposite direction, meaning you will pass each other face to face.  At the last minute, you avert your eyes?  

Why?

Is it some sort of subtle guilt?  If you were raised in the Norwegian Church like I was, this is a distinct possibility.  My very gay great-uncle Robert to refers to this church as the frozen chosen.  Sometimes it takes a really, really long time to thaw out.  Unfortunately for he and myself, we didn’t only grow up in the Norwegian Church, we grew up in Norwegian families…which means the great thaw becomes a life’s work.

Aside from guilt, it is equally possible that it is self defense.  If you’re a slightly built guy like me, then you tend to do whatever you can proactively to keep from being attacked.  I have so far managed to get myself out of every scrape I’ve had forced on me (and they have been numerous), but considering how often I am a target, it is inevitable that there will always be another one in my future.  I think I am selected for gay-bashing precisely because I am so slight.  I’ve never once seen a straight, macho-mother fucker pick on someone bigger than him.  It is a habit of bullies (ie, cowards) to go for the runt in the litter.

By avoiding eye contact, I can limit the chance for some reactionary homophobic basket case to get in my face and yell, “Are you checking me out, faggot?  You wanna get fucked?!”  (Yes, friends, I’ve heard it all).  This avoidance technique has the distinct hindering effect of meaning I don’t get to flirt on the streets too often; though I suppose still having a pretty face makes less flirting a minor inconvenience.

The third possibility I am proposing is a lack of confidence.  Do I not feel strong enough within myself to make eye contact with a stranger on the street?  Am I worried about what to say if he looks over, smiles and says, “Hi.”  What would I say?  The only guys who ever said, “Hi” to me on the street either follow it up with, “got any spare change?”; or are so utterly creepy that finding my tongue is not an issue.

Granted, I don’t live in a shell, and I make plenty of eye contact on the street and say hello more often than not.  But this consistent habit has me always curious.  If I knew exactly why I did it, I guess there would be no need to send this post off into the ether.  Perhaps sitting here and writing it, in preparation of leaving my house to meet a friend for a drink will lead to a realization as I pass a cute guy between here and there, meet him eye to eye, and say…?

 

Be Careful

All over the world right now there is a back lash happening.  Gay men are being beaten, and murdered in New York City and Paris—traditionally uber gay cities.  Just this morning I read about a 19 year old gay activist being beaten brain dead in Paris by skin heads.  Why is this gay bashing escalating?  Because our fight for equality is proving victorious.

It is a fascinating time not only to be alive, but to be queer.  To have opportunities that a generation ago were thought impossible, and to watch in our own short lives as homosexuality is decriminalized, civil unions and gay marriage are adopted in rapid fire succession, and Ellen becomes perhaps the most popular woman in America is nothing short of miraculous.  And we’re paying for it.

This is really a letter of warning.  As equality becomes more and more of a reality the fear and hate of people on the far right is going to escalate.  I’m not saying let’s hole up and hide out.  I’m just saying, be careful out there.  Keep an eye on each other, OK?

Contemplating the Heroines

My heroes have always been women. My mother and grandmother, Georgia O’Keeffe, Virginia Woolf, Diane Fosse. I am more interested in reading the biographies of women like this than of, say, George Washington. I’ve been thinking about this for a while, wondering why that is.

The more I have thought on it, the more certain I am of the reason. I have more in common with the struggles and successes of people like O’Keeffe than I do with Picasso. Picasso was not going to be denied an education or have the demands of raising children put on him. He was guaranteed the freedom that comes with being a man. I will extend that a bit further and say, a straight man.

I worked in the theater for over a decade. In that time I had the chance to audition and perform all over the country, including some metropolises like New York City and San Francisco. One thing all of these different locales had in common was how they type cast. Invariably, no matter how good my audition, if there was a sex worker in the script, that’s how I was cast. Even when I auditioned for shows with queer protagonists, I watched my really good auditions go unnoticed, and in every case, either straight men were cast, or the straightest acting men. I am not a flamboyant type, but I am quite obviously gay. There’s just no hiding it.

The other stereotype character I was often asked to play was the villain. The villain has, especially over the last century, been portrayed as effeminate enough that the audience knew that this person was, most likely, queer. It’s still the case. Have you seen “Thor”? Loki is the dark haired, weaker, obviously fey brother who becomes, of course, the villain. When he threatens to fuck Thor’s love interest, the audience is left with the distinct impression this is not out of desire, but general hatred, spite and overall creepiness.

As a writer, I cover a lot of territory. It’s easy when writing op-eds, essays and articles to slide through without being labeled a “gay writer”. Outside of that, finding homes for short stories and a certain amount of poetry is pretty difficult. For the most part, most journals and magazines still shy away from publishing anything queer. Yes, attitudes are evolving, but the evolution is slow. The merit that comes from good writing is overlooked when that good writing is a story about two men.

It is problematic that only straight, white men are allowed to be known as artists, or writers, or musicians. I is the rest of us who will always be pigeon-holed as women artists, gay writers, black musicians, etc. I would like to think that the rapid changes in society since 1969 that this will not always be the case. Then I look at the depiction of queer people in media, and I lose hope. We are either screaming queens, or straight acting; comic relief or assimilated.

I am enjoying a success in writing I’ve never enjoyed before. I am getting more letters of acceptance than rejection, so I will continue to invite myself to the table until, one day, years from now, there are a lot more of us there, not because we were invited, but because we wouldn’t take “No” for an answer.

Do I Write Gay Enough?

As a writer, when it comes to submitting your work, you do a lot of slogging through journals, trying to determine where your work will fit.  When it comes to poetry and short fiction, I have a constant battle with myself (and publishers).  Is this story about a father and a son to be labeled and submitted as “gay” or is it “family”?  Are these poems about intimate relationships “love” or “gay”?

And to make it worse, when I go to a publisher of specifically queer literature, I don’t know that my writing is gay enough.  I’m not writing about fisting someone for the first time.  I’ve never written a coming out story.  I’m not writing about how we decided which of us would be the top and which the bottom.  I’m not into writing about how many times I’ve been called a faggot at the grocery store, or discrimination or how radically out I am.

Do I write gay enough?  I am getting a lot work accepted for publication, so I have to believe I’m doing something right.  At the moment I have a chapbook that has been submitted for consideration to a queer publisher.  Instead of paying the standard reading fee, they ask you to buy one their books.  I ordered a book of poetry entitled, “He Do Gay Man In Different Voices”, by Stephen Mills.  It’s marvelous writing, truly it is.  And it has sent me straight into the pits of writer-self-doubt.

If you’re a writer, you know what that is; it’s that voice inside that tells you you don’t measure up, that this is the best you will ever do.   You do gay man in genderless voice, so no one will publish your swill, because no one will be able to relate to it.

Being the stubborn Scorpio that I am, I of course eventually get on top of those voices and shut them up.  But there is still that little whispering, every time I submit any of the intimacy poems or stories with queer characters: is this gay enough??

All Tangled Up In Straight Men

I don’t know if other gay men have this problem as often as I do, but dammit, I get tangled up with straight men, or should I say “straight” men way too often. If I added up all the time I’ve spent side tracked by these, “Will it happen, won’t it happen?” situations, it would probably come out to years.

How does this happen? Well, there is that first meeting where both of you feel that electric charge pass back and forth, and you know both of you feel it. You are certain this is the soul-mate charge, and handle that first meeting like a pro. You’ve never been more charming, more witty, more intelligent and alluring than in those encounters. This will, eventually come to be known as sign number one. You find out he’s straight, but by the feelings between you, you think, “Sexuality is fluid. Maybe he’s been waiting for the right guy to test out his fantasies.” Sign number two. Your friendship develops very rapidly; your friends and acquaintances start asking how long you’ve been going out. Sign number three.

If you are involved in any of the three signs listed above, it is time for the hard truth. He’s straight, and he will not be living out any fantasies with you.

You don’t have to take my word for it. You can find out for yourself as I did that this is not going to turn into the love of your life. This is not going to be happily ever after. This is going to turn into something humiliating and in the end, very, very painful.

In every one of these situations I have navigated, I have acted with what I think is a great deal of grace and courage. I reach the point where I can’t bear for things to go on as they are, this constant closeness, this terrible proximity where both of you are just waiting to see if anything is going to happen. The hours of sitting together, alone. The hushed, intimate conversations. The constant questions from everyone you know. After a while, hearing your friends tell you that when you enter a room, when you open your mouth to speak you are the only person in the room for your “Is he or isn’t he” friend. Eventually, I have to lay my cards on the table, express my feelings, and live through the inevitable.

And it is inevitable. No, he could never be more than just friends with you. No, he has no homoerotic fantasies. He didn’t mean to confuse you. This is what guys do when they hang out, it was never anything more than friendship.

From here, there is nothing but the awkward dwindling of friendship, where they may or may not fuck your closest female friend. Then, not long after the beginning of the end a friend asks you how Mr Nomore is, and you have to reply, “I don’t know. I haven’t seen or heard from him in a while.”

It is like breaking up. Breaking up with a fantasy so tangible you were sure it was just a day away is every bit as ugly and heartbreaking as it is to break up with someone you’ve been with for two or three years. The danger of these hetero interludes is that it is really, really easy for your heart to get really, really invested in the fantasy. You do fall in love, and you need to nurse yourself back to yourself in the aftermath.

I swore after the last of these I wouldn’t let myself get wrapped up like that with a straight guy again. And I’ve been doing very well at that. That being said, the waiter at my favorite outside bar is throwing me for a wild card. Is his increasing familiarity a sign of interest? Is he checking me out and turning away when I turn my gaze towards him? Were his suggestions of good hiking trails and the use of the word “amazing”, in that tone, with that look in his eyes a sign he wants to show them to me himself? I vow to keep my resolve, as I sit here, writing and watching him work.

Why I Love Dan Savage (and You Should Too)

I don’t love Dan Savage because he openly discusses sex.  I don’t love him for his witty, snappy humor.  I don’t love him for “google Santorum”.  I love him for his love.  Yup, his love.  Just do a youtube search, and listen to his speeches.  If you don’t choke up listening to him talk about his  mother’s death in “Returning to the Scene of the Crime”, you have no soul.

Dan Savage has a grace and dignity necessary for surviving the 21st century intact.  His advice to queer youth, terrified of coming out to potentially/probably bigoted parents is sage, and again, filled with love.  He doesn’t advise hiding, he doesn’t advise running away or divorcing these parents–he extols these kids to come out, and to tell their parents, “You have one year to have a tantrum, to say nasty things, to ask rude questions, and then your your time’s up.  If you can’t love me, I will not be a part of your life.”  Once these parents come out of their anger and fear, they will remember that this is their child, and will remember their love for their kid.  And these kids need to remember their love for their parents. 

“Model for them the Christian love and acceptance you want to see in them.”  Thanks again, Dan!  It is so easy to take the moral high road of being newly out: Turn away from religion and everything with which you were brought up.  Many of us do, of course.  We make great fun of the religion and political stances we grew up with, and it feels good to make fun of them.  But we need to remember that the bad behavior of religious people doesn’t change the message of the religion.  If you take another look at the New Testament, you will notice that the only people Jesus condemned were the hypocrites and money lenders.  If he were here today, he would be on our side telling homophobes everywhere to chill out, and love their neighbors as themselves.

We are in a unique time and place in history.  For the first time in western civilization, women have achieved equal rights to self determination.  For queer people, we are in a place we haven’t been in this civilization ever.  For all of us there is still tremendous work to do.  Let us take a moment and reflect on how far we’ve come, and make the great strides forward with all the love we have.

Not all gay men are like you

Last night, my good friend Liz and I treated ourselves to facials, red wine and olives, whilst writing a yet-to-be-released paper.  As we were walking to my place from the store (where one tends to find red wine and olives) she said, “I keep forgetting not all gay men are you.”  She was talking about a coworker at the time–the kind of young gay man who doesn’t know about anything not sold in Aveda.

To be fair, I forget all gay men are not me.  I am continually taken aback when I meet vapid, superficial, misogynistic, blatantly racist and entirely vain gay men.  To be fair, I also forget that all people are not me, regardless of orientation, and taken aback by said qualities when I encounter them in anyone.  It is easy to lose sight of the fact that we are generally encouraged not consider anything beyond our hair and skin care products.  (I am, of course looking at the first sentence, and must add that you can be smart and thoughtful and treat yourself to facials!)

I think the point to be made is that it’s not easy to meet other gay men outside of the designated bars, clubs and cafes.  I’m sure that most of us have had the experience of meeting a guy who fits our physical taste, and then he opens his mouth and it’s all, “Britney!  Britney!  Britney!”  I think it’s also shocking for straight people when they meet stylish, attractive gay men who are not living up to their “they’re all so sweet” stereotype.

What is this “gay community” we are all always hearing about?  What is it that binds this community together?  Are we really just talking about the gay bar culture, and if so, where does that leave the rest of us?

Well, there is no answer to this riddle.  Not all people are nice.  Not all people are well read or concerned about climate change or the death of democracy.  Most Americans I know aren’t sweet or well informed, so why are we surprised when we meet gay men as shallow and uniformed as their straight counter parts?

Rethinking Casual Sex

It is an age of casual sex.  In our great-grandparents time we would have expected a long courtship, followed of course by a very long engagement.  During all this time one would have pined for the wedding day, when the relationship was finally consummated.  Now we’ve got it all going on backwards.  We meet, and following a drink or two, we fuck.  We fuck until we’re pretty sure we’re in love, then we move in together.  The marriage bit may or may not happen. 

It seems from my experience as a 30 year old gay man that casual sex is a given on our team.  It’s so common that not having it seems to set one at odds with what it is to be a young gay man.  I can’t say what the stats or expected norms are for my straight brothers, (whom it must be said, seem to have more sex than gay men), so let me confine this discussion to we homos.

I’ve had the usual experiences for a gay american of the millenial generation.  I came out in high school, moved to a big city, did a lot dancing and haunting of gay neighborhoods.  I lost my virginity to a married politician, who at least took me to dinner (and breakfast the next day).  That was my introduction to man/man relationships.  Easy pick up.  Dinner.  Sex.  In the twelve years since then, I’ve never been asked out on a date.  I’ve never even had an inadvertent date.  I’ve had casual sex.  Once or twice it has turned into a relationship.  

A few years ago I made a vow to no longer fool around (which includes flirting) with married men.  I also vowed no more casual sex.  Not because of any moral objection, but out of respect for myself, and what I’m worth.  I don’t get off with a guy I don’t know.  I’m too nervous and singly fixated on his pleasure, which leaves me no room to feel it myself.  I’m also too nervous to tell a guy I don’t know what I want.  I’ve given up on casual sex because I want real pleasure…if that makes sense.

I know, I know.  I must be the only guy, gay or straight on the planet who doesn’t enjoy a meaningless shag with a hot stranger.  I’ve tried.  I’ve tried a lot.  If my sex life were to be considered a series of controlled experiments, then I can say the data is empirical: I can’t let go until I can trust the lucky guy who’s going to fuck me.

Yes, yes, I may be dooming myself to a life of celibacy, but right now I think I’d choose to be Joan of Arc rather than the temple harlot.  We’ll come back to this in a year or two…my resolve may have weakened by then…or I may have learned what other guys seem very capable of doing: getting pleasure out of casual sex.

The Litmus Test

“You’re our litmus test.  If you’re not finding a partner or any opportunities here, no one can.”

I don’t set out to be the litmus test for people, but it does seem to be a common theme in my life.  I have always been fortunate to be a motivated person, the kind friends refer to as fearless, independent and driven.  Given that these qualities are my most pronounced attributes, it stands as no surprise that I am chronically single, much to the confusion of friends, family and colleagues.

If you know gay men like I know gay men, then you’ve met a lot of catty, shallow clubbers whose sole motivation in life is fitting in.  Whether it be in the gayborhoods of our major metropolises or into an image of heteronormity, fitting in is of utmost concern.  You know who I’m talking about.  Guys who keep a sharp on eye on the current fads and trends, from hair cut to whether polo shirts and skinny jeans are in or out this season, what pop diva’s single is the anthem of the moment and which club is the club.

Not being one of those guys, I am in a splendidly fringe position within gay culture.  Where do gay guys who are literate, articulate, well informed and thoughtful find each other?  I’ve given the 21st century a fair shot to partner me up.  I’ve tried gay.com, I’ve tried match.com, I’ve even given craigslist an honest go.  (Full disclosure, I’m currently navigating the waters of OK Cupid).  While casual sex has its place, it seems to be the only thing anyone is looking for within the realms of cyber dating.

It was suggested last summer that I attend the South West Gay and Lesbian Film Festival, was given two tickets, and told I would definitely meet an arty, intellectual gay man.  I was decidedly the only person in the audience under 50.  I’m sure that the one or two guys there not with a partner were very sweet, but there energy was obviously silver years energy, and that’s just not so appealing when you’re young, fit and vital.

Being a writer, I often hear that there are tons of attractive, intelligent gay men showing up at literary events.  I’m sure they do (in other cities).  Here in norther New Mexico, my home for the next four months, I am the gay man showing up.  Don’t get me wrong, I love all the lesbians populating these evenings, but I am neck deep in women, and would like be neck deep in men for a change.

I know plenty of smart, vital, creative gay men who do the club thing.  I also know every time they start something with a new guy they met on the dance floor, in an enraptured grind to a Lady Gaga tune, that in about six months, my shoulders will be soaking wet with tears from another nasty break up.  It’s not that all guys in gay clubs are shallow, two-timing whores–it’s just that most of the guys in gay clubs are shallow, two-timing whores.

So, where does that leave us smart, book loving, driven to achieve our dreams artsy gays?  Well,single, for starters.  In a few months I am returning to New England (Providence).  As far as I gather from my trusty friend OK Cupid, there are a lot of smart, well read men out there, looking for someone to share walks on the beach, nice home made dinners, and evenings curled up together reading on the couch.  Not everyone’s romantic idyll, but it is a tempting motivator for relocation.

And if I only end up making some really good friends with these guys, then I will be getting closer to that image of the relationship I am hoping to someday have.  You never know, you meet one of these charming guys, no sparks fly, but you stay in touch…and down the road they introduce you to their best friend, whose perfect you just so happen to be.

Well…we’ll see.