Gay Gay Gay Gay Gay

I’ll start by saying that I’ve grown to hate the word “gay”. I really don’t want to get into the semantics issue of “gay” vs. “queer” (or “invert” or “homphile” or whatever). My problem with “gay” is that it suggests an identity rather than a sexual orientation, and I ain’t buying into it.

I sleep with other men. I eat cereal. I drive a Toyota. I watch “The Simpsons”. I go to the grocery store. Big deal. These are things that I do. Taken together, they may speak volumes about my identity. Individually, however, they mean nothing much at all. I have nothing more (or less) in common with other men who sleep with men than I do with other men who drive Toyotas.

This is not to say that I have nothing at all in common with any of my fellow fudgepackers, or that I’m somehow “different” or “more unique” or “more developed”. It just means that my search for “community” is based more on shared interests than on shared sexual orientation. In other words, I’d rather spend an evening talking to someone who shares my love for urban theory and history or Krispy Kreme Doughnuts or roadside motels from the 1950s than with someone whose only common interest is a shared passion for sucking dick.

If someone I meet whose interests match mine happens to be straight or even (gasp) a woman, that’s just fine. If, on the other hand, he happens to be a man who likes to screw men, then we have one more thing in common. Cool, huh?

I guess what I mean is that some vague notion of “gay community” is not number one on my list of priorities in a place to visit or to live. Similarly, sexual orientation is not one of the top aspects in my choice of friends. Years ago, these things used to be very important to me, which is part of why I moved to San Francisco. I can sort of understand why they still might be important to some other people. But the older I get, the less I view the world in terms of sexuality.

I’m not talking about faux masculinity, nor am I saying that people shouldn’t “flaunt their sexuality”. I have no patience with closet cases nor with tight-assed macho men (whether they like men or women). I’m in favor of “flaunting”. I’m just not in favor of the notion that sexual orientation makes for any more of a “community” than does an aversion to pickles on hamburgers.

I’m not going to sit through a crappy movie rather than a good one just because the crappy movie happens to have a “positively portrayed gay character”. I’m not going to buy a CD by a band which sucks just because dicks are one of the things they suck. And I’m most assuredly not going to live in a pastel-colored neighborhood of overpriced boutiques and juice bars simply because it’s a “gay mecca”.

Nor, on the other hand, am I going to assume something is bad just because a fellow Sodomite was involved somehow. I don’t hate “gay people”. I do hate people who think being “gay” is the most important single aspect of their identity, because they become one-dimensional and boring.

Ultimately, though, if I had to choose between living in a town with 20 great gay bars and a huge gay ghetto or one with 20 great used bookstores and a few huge run-down neighborhoods, I’d choose the latter without blinking an eye.

Hurricanes

Call me sick, but some part of me really wants to be on the east coast with Hurricane Floyd tonight. Maybe not right at the beach, but at least close enough to feel some actual storm action.

California wouldn’t know a storm if one came up and bit all 40 million of us on the ass simultaneously. I heard thunder and saw lightning last week for only the second time in seven years here. And even then there was no rain to speak of. Even El Niño was a disappointment. The weather is so wimpy here. Of course, that’s a good thing on those days when it’s 95 everywhere else in the country but only 66 here, I guess.

Things I love this week:

  • Today’s constant cool, gray fog.
  • Midnight Cowboy.
  • Roseanne (the sit-com, not the talk show).

Things I hate this week:

  • My part-time job.
  • My part-time job.
  • My part-time job.

Drive Me Crazy

Why has everyone in San Francisco suddenly forgotten how to drive?

When I first moved here, I was amazed at how smoothly traffic flowed in San Francisco. Sure, it was congested and there was too much of it even then, btu people coped with it well. Dan and I used to discuss it regularly. It was as if everyone had agreed to make the best of an impossible situation and made a conscious decision to behave in a civilized manner.

Seems they’ve given up on these lofty goals. It’s as if the booming economy, high rents, and corporate phallic symbols downtown have finally given drivers that New York state of mind. Here in the capitol of mellow touchy-feeliness, driving has become the only acceptable outlet for expressing one’s inner asshole.

And boy are there some expressive individuals out there! There is a special place in hell reserved for those of you who do the following:

  • Pull out in front of me while babbling in a cell phone and them get pissed off (or laugh) when I hit the horn.
  • Cut in front of me and then come to a dead stop.
  • Ride my ass at any time, but especially when I’m already going five miles above the speed limit.
  • Slam on your breaks mid-block in order to make a left turn from the right lane. Keep in mind that you’re only a block away from someplace to turn around, asshole.
  • Pass on the right while driving down the 280 even when (a) I’m doing 80 and (b) there’s plenty of space to pass on the left, where you’re SUPPOSED to do it.
  • Park your 20-foot tall urban assault vehicle right at a corner obstructing all views of oncoming traffic.
  • Blow your horn while in gridlocked traffic. Just who the fuck do you think you are? Moses parting the Red Sea? What effect do you think you’re having? Were you born an idiot?
  • Assume that left turns on red must be illegal here simply because they have no one-way streets back in Armpit, Iowa or wherever the hell you moved here from.
  • Try to find your way back to the freeway to Walnut Creek after having two beers too many at Julie’s or your favorite fratboy bar the Marina (or the Castro).
  • Think that being able to afford that BMW (or Lexus or Mercedes) makes up for your lack of driving skills.

A few warning signs pointing to the potential of bad drivers ahead:

  • Folsom Street on Saturday night. I don’t know where these idiots come from (I’m guessing Contra Costa and Marin) but I wish they’d go back.
  • Cabs. They will invariably drive both aggressively and badly. Given a similar job, I might behave the same way.
  • Limos. Sort of like cabs, but they’re bigger and more likely to get in the way. They’re also usually full of drunk idiots making repeated stupid requests of the driver.
  • Volvos. Another given. Almost without fail, Volvo drivers are indecisive and prone to occasional bouts of complete idiocy.
  • Bumper stickers. The more “statements”, the worse the driver. One exception, oddly enough, seems to be stickers promoting bands.
  • Any car costing more than about $50,000. Anyone self-obsessed enough to spend this much on a car is unlikely to be particularly civic-minded behind the wheel. Call this a generalization. I don’t care.
  • Teenage males. Without question, the worst drivers on the road, especially those 30-year-old teenagers in overpriced cars.

Glad to get that off my chest. I’ll wait until next week before taking on car alarms again…

That Sex Site

Y’know, I think that maybe fifteen per cent of this site could be considered to be even vaguely sexuality-related. Yet in some circles Planet SOMA has the reputation of being this naughty site about nothing but sex clubs and backrooms and (non-existent) dirty pictures. I’m always listed with the “gay culture” sites, the “sexuality” sites or (inexplicably) the “leather/fetish” sites. I imagine many of the poor souls who stumble in here are quite disappointed to find it’s pretty damned tame around these parts lately.

For the record:

  • I don’t go to sex clubs and I haven’t in years. They’re listed here for informational purposes only. I rarely even go out to bars anymore, mainly because I’m sick of them.
  • There has been no street cruising scene South of Market in several years, thanks in large part to our new upscale residential population.
  • Yer humble host is teetering precariously on the brink of celibacy, due mostly to a general laziness and lack of interest. Yer humble host is quite comfortable with this situation, thanks.
  • Planet SOMA is now more about journals, road trips and miscellaneous urban culture than anything else. There may even be the occasional trip to the supermarket.
  • Planet SOMA is not now, nor was it ever, a leather site, a kiddie porn site, a site about dance clubs or the Castro, nor a site about the joys of gay culture.
  • If someone offered me the right job in the right place, I’d leave San Francisco as fast as you can say “Mocha Frappucino Latte”.

I hope I haven’t disappointed anyone, although I’m pretty sure that I have…

10 September 1999

 

So I was walking down Harrison Street Wednesday night. This yuppie wannabe drove up next to me and asked me where TGI Fridays was. I responded “I’m not sure. Sacramento? Maybe Walnut Creek?” He didn’t get it. I chuckled the rest of the way home, wishing I’d told him it was in an alley near the corner of 6th and Mission.

Yes, I’ve been working a lot this week, with things happening on just about all of my freelance sites at the same time (of course). And I’ll let you in on a little secret: I have an interview for an actual full-time job next week. No, I’m not saying where, but I will confess that San Francisco is the location. Details as they occur. I still haven’t decided for sure if I want a full-time job or if I want it to be here in San Francisco.

For now, I’m still planning the November road trip, and I now have invitations to Memphis, Mobile, New Orleans, Nashville, Washington, and Indianapolis. Color me grateful and excited. Anybody got a good idea for a 50th anniversary gift for Mom and Dad now?

I’m planning to give the site a little attention as soon as the crunch winds down. Bear with me. And send me all your stories and pictures for next month’s “official” premiere of Did You Bring Bottles.

I’m going to dinner now…

Planet Cincy?

I have seen the future and the future could very well be Cincinnati. Planet Cincy. Whaddaya think?

Upon looking at a map tonight while planning this year’s road trip from hell, I suddenly realized that this Ohio city might be the perfect place to relocate. It’s not a really objectionable sort of place. I imagine it’s pretty cheap. It’s appealing on many levels just because it’s the sort of place most people prefer to move away from rather than move to. Cincinatti was once the largest city in the midwest, and it’s been losing population steadily since 1950. I like that trend.

And best of all, it’s about a one day drive from alsmost everyplace I’d ever want to go, including Greensboro. I could visit Chicago, Detroit, Indianapolis, Pittsburgh, Washington, New York, Atlanta, Saint Louis, and Kansas City on a regular basis. I could be home with Mom and Dad within nine hours.

And I could listen to Doctor Johnny Fever every morning on WKRP, right?

That said, this year’s road trip extravaganza is set to include New Orleans, someplace in the greater Cincinnati-Indianapolis area, and most definitely the Piggly Wiggly Museum in Memphis. Other suggestions will be accepted, but I’m not planning to do too many detours off the I-80 and I-10 paths. I’m also allowing a maximum of three weeks.

Off to the kitchen for leftovers now…

Searches and Labor Day

OK, extra special quality points to whoever sent me a detailed message sometime this month by entering it as queries on the search page. It came out a litte disjointed and out of order, but that added to the appeal. If you change your mind and try to find your Inner Boyfriend, please let me know…

And to anyone else who has the same idea now that I’ve mentioned it: it’s been done already…

I think this month’s best search would have to be a tossup between “big chokechain mambo pussies” (probably a joke) and “homosexual black metal ring” (probably not, alas). Also, my undying affection goes out to the hungry soul who searched for “pot roast”.

Lots of work for me this Labor Day weekend. Sites to be designed, sites to be redesigned, and more, all in a valiant attempt to maintain my upscale lifestyle in America’s most overpriced urban region. In other words, I’ve got Rice-a-Roni bills to pay.

And I’ve got to get ready for my annual “ridiculously long but that’s the way I like it” road trip, which will now have North Carolina as its midpoint, as I’ve decided to surprise my Mom and Dad on their 50th anniversary. Itinerary coming soon.

Murder


Photo courtesy Sarah

Someone I know in North Carolina was murdered recently. It’s a little disturbing to me for two reasons. The first stems from the fact that the victim was, frankly, not someone that I particularly liked. Thus, I’m not sure exactly which emotion is required at this point. The other is that this is the second time in as many years that a violent death has hit my circle of friends in Greensboro.

The newspapers aren’t mentioning it (yet) but it’s pretty apparent that either sex, drugs, or both were major factors. Sex and drugs go hand in hand for lots of my fellow sodomites in the south (and everywhere else). The “restless rednecks” stereotype is more apt than many would care to admit.

I worry about a lot of my friends back home, for whom obliterating reality seems to have become the only way of coping with life. The image becomes even sharper as most of the new friends I make have (like me) abandoned the whole recreational drug scene years ago, looking on it as a pastime more suited to high school and college than to everyday adult life.

It disturbs me when I go home and see friends for whom nothing ever really changes, except the current venue for partying or the currently fashionable party favors.

Granted, I don’t even smoke pot, I rarely drink more than a beer or two anymore, and sex has become (at best) a peripheral interest for me lately. I don’t think this makes me a superior human being. I’m not interested in being a crusader. I realize that I haven’t made such a tremendous success of my life either.

But I do worry. Especially when people start getting brutally murdered for no apparent reason other than for bringing home the wrong boy…

30 August 1999

No. I don’t, actually…

But I do confess that I have now tried canned collards and much to my surprise found them to be passably good. I’m a little embarrassed to admit this.

I’m even more embarrassed to admit that this is the most exciting thing I could write about, despite a five day absence from my little blue, yellow, and white corner of the world. Let’s just say it’s been a low-key week.

I actually got a lot done. On Thursday, I helped give birth to a brand new bouncing baby website. That’s always fun, especially when they bring beer.

I’ve also been working on a little project of my own, which is nowhere near completion, but you can give it a sneak peek if you like. Be forewarned that it’s in progress and may not work too well. If you check it out and have anything to contribute, please give me a yell.

Other than that, I’ve been doing absolutely nothing of much interest and finding it pretty damned pleasant, thank you. I promise to be more interesting soon, and (once again) to try and catch up on the email this week.

Home from Fresno

Home. Sweating. Nose stopped up from spending 36 straight hours in air conditioning. Remind me once again that my delicate constitution suffers in the 100-degree weather of Fresno in August.

Despite the miserable weather (hot and sunny), it was a good trip. Look for details and pictures soon.

Rhetorical and other questions du jour:

  • Why does the same box of store brand cereal (in the same store) sell for $1.99 in Fresno and $3.19 in the Bay Area?
  • Who is responsible for that annoying new cover version of “American Woman”?
  • Where is my damned fog?