Category: Sodomy and Sodomites

Twentysomething (a/k/a Delayed Queer Puberty Syndrome)

Inspired by a project at work, I’ve been re-reading some of my old journals for the past couple of nights. It’s the first time I’ve really dragged them out in ten or twelve years, and so far I’ve gone through 1980 and 1985. Strangely enough, I like 1980 a little better. Of course, I was a sixteen-year-old idiot in 1980, and I said and did incredibly stupid things (that was the single year of my “drug phase”), but at least it reads as relatively genuine in retrospect.

The 1985 stuff, though, is excruciating. It reads like the ramblings of a boy-crazed teenage girl, but with an alcohol kicker to make it ten times as annoying. What a miserable, self-absorbed little wanker of a barfly I must have seemed to anyone who got near me. It’s really quite painful stuff to read; I go for months and months without writing a single sentence about anything of lasting significance (not that this site is much better lately). And now, I can’t even dredge up the faintest memory of many of those boys and places and events that seemed so incredibly fucking important at the time–although I imagine I remember more of them than many of my peers do, maybe because of the journals.

That said, I don’t think my experience was all that unusual among homos. Since many of us don’t get to experience a proper puberty at the appropriate time, much of my generation, at least, had a tendency to make up for lost time as soon as we hit that whole bar-infested social scene: the “fashion” thing, the “can you find out if he likes me?” thing, etc. Maybe it’s a necessary stage for some of us. But it’s annoying as hell to watch (or to read about and remember).

I sometimes think that a lot of my later life, from my misanthropy to my still occasionally raging homophobia was in many ways a big reaction to this period in my life. Either way, I’m more glad than ever that I’m no longer twenty-one.

16 February 2004

Six years ago today, at about this time of night (9:00 PST), Mark and I were in the back of a very long line outside San Francisco’s City Hall in order to spend the night outside in the rain. Why? So that we could be married the next morning, along with several thousand other couples who did so that weekend in San Francisco.

We suspected even then that our “guerrilla wedding” would be overturned (and it was) but it was important for us to participate anyway. First and foremost, it was a way of demonstrating our commitment to each other. We also wanted to express the fact that we were no longer willing to be denied ANY basic human and civil right, including the right to the same level of legal protection afforded without question to any opposite-sex pair who could produce twenty bucks for a marriage license.

This assertion may make some of you uncomfortable for religious or other reasons. Frankly, I don’t much care. Your temporary discomfort pales in comparison to the very real financial and social issues we face on a regular basis. In fact, I suggest that if you are unable to see me as a fellow human being and as your equal, you are not my “friend” by any definition of the term, and that it is hypocritical of you to pretend otherwise. This is not some minor political issue on which we can agree to disagree.

I love my husband more than anything or anyone in the world, and I will forever remember that cold, rainy night in San Francisco. I’d marry him again without a thought. And unfortunately, I will probably have to do it again. Maybe several more times. It’s OK, though. We have the rest of our lives…

Y’know What?

Any article that begins with “A gun collector who introduced several weapons into sexual play” is pretty much guaranteed not to end well.

Anything that happens after “three men had been smoking pot, drinking beer, huffing aerosol inhalants and having sex over a 12-hour period” is almost certainly not going to be something good.

Anyone who asks someone else “to put the gun to his head and pull the trigger to intensify his pleasure” is, in my view, somewhat unclear on the concept of pleasure.

This is why I don’t do drugs, in case anyone was wondering.

When in a Suburban Pittsburgh Airport on a Saturday Morning…

…and sleep-deprived and really irritable, why is that the loudmouthed homo and his two female companions had to choose the seat next to me from among the hundred or so available in an large, empty waiting room?

Of course, he probably assumed I fled to the other end of the room because I was a raging bigot rather than because I just wanted him to shut the fuck up. Or to go be annoying somewhere other than five feet away from me. Or at least to use his indoor voice.

Exciting Night at Ed McKay’s

I stopped by Ed McKay’s while I was out on some errands late this afternoon. I didn’t find any books, but there were some oddly obscure 12-inch singles in the bins that tickled my fancy.

There was a boy there who ticked my fancy, too. It was strange. He was not at all my type: a little chubbier than I usually like them. But he had a really dorky grin that I couldn’t resist. And he was looking at vinyl, too. We struck up a conversation about the Soft Cell 12-inch I had in my hand. He’s a fan, apparently. As it turned out, he was in town for a job interview at Kripsy Kreme, of all places. And he’s from Pittsburgh! Who could have predicted that? He was amazed to learn that Mark and I are in the process of buying a house there.

We talked for about fifteen minutes in the store. I really couldn’t get a feel about where he was coming from and what he was looking for. I sort of felt like I was being hit on, but I wasn’t really sure. I’m a little out of practice, after all. But he did keep telling me how much he’d like to hear the Soft Cell 12-inch.

So I invited him over to the house to do just that.

I was really nervous. Like I said, I’m a little out of practice. Mark is understanding about this sort of thing, so I didn’t think he’d mind if we got a little intimate. But I wasn’t sure how I felt about it. I needn’t have worried, though. We got back to the house, one thing led to another, and when I looked at that goofy grin and then took him in my mouth, I knew I hadn’t made a mistake. He was really sweet.

It was fun. I may meet up with him again this weekend when I go up for the inspection.

He let me snap a picture of him, and he said it was OK to use it on the site as long as I didn’t put it on the front page:

Continue reading “Exciting Night at Ed McKay’s” →

Brokeback vs. Milk

Mark and I saw Milk while we were in Pittsburgh. It was quite an amazing movie–one of the best I’ve seen recently. Its timing was impeccable for those of us who are sort of rediscovering our “inner activist”.

Due to its current level of (well-deserved) hype, it also begs comparison to the other “gay” movie I wrote about a few years ago. A lot of people missed the point of that earlier rant and assumed that I was declining to see Brokeback because of a bias against “gay-themed” movies. That is, of course, not the case. I didn’t see it because the plot and setting didn’t appeal to me. Frankly, any movie about cowboys in the Wyoming wilderness, no matter who or what they’re fucking, seems like pure torture to me; the “gay” angle is not nearly enough to make up for the “people I don’t care about in a setting that bores me to tears” angle. If it had been a movie about two urban planners who found love on a subway platform in the Bronx or at a diner in Pittsburgh, I wouldn’t have missed it for the world.

Hence my point. I don’t see movies because they’re about homosexuals. I see movies that are well-made and are about people and things that interest me, and if there happen to be sods involved, so much the better. Milk was one of those movies; it told a compelling story that was of interest to me on many levels, and it did so very well. It even got me all choked up on a few occasions.

Maybe Brokeback did the same for you. If so, that’s great. But there should be no expectation that it would necessarily do the same for me just because I’m a homo as well. It’s an assumption that I’ve always found a little insulting. I’ve had numerous acquaintances and even family members over the years who, upon seeing me, always start going on (usually within about forty-five seconds) about whatever this week’s hot new “gay culture” phenomenon is. It’s as if they assume that’s all we could possibly have in common or want to talk about, when in fact we don’t really have it in common, and I don’t really want to talk about it–and I may not even know anything about it to begin with.

I realize there’s a sort of shorthand or oversimplification that lots of people (myself included) use to try to start conversations with people they don’t really know or understand very well. But this was something that even a close friend of mine years ago used to do on a regular basis. He knew full well that I was not a big fan of dance clubs or dance music, but was always asking me if I’d heard this inane song or been to that annoying club because it was “so gay” or whatever. Ditto for movies; he never saw or discussed a movie that lacked some sort of “gay subtext” and his eyes glazed over when I discussed movies that did lack this “crucial” element. It annoyed me because it suggested that he viewed me as some kind of one-dimensional being who would naturally be excited about any piece of pop culture, no matter how lame, as long as it were sufficiently “gay”. Maybe that’s why we’re not friends anymore. It’s sort of the corollary to my old axiom: just as a sexual orientation is a poor substitute for an actual personality, a shared sexual orientation does not in and of itself constitute any sort of relationship.

Anyway, the dead horse I’m trying to beat here (since 1996 or so) is that homosexuality is often an interesting theme, but if it’s the only theme of a movie (or song or website or whatever) that I can identify with, I’m probably not going to be very interested. That’s not to say that a movie must be compelling to me in order to be good, just that it must be compelling to me in order to make me want to see it. Milk was about politics, history, urban culture, and many of my other interests in addition to its primary focus, and it’s the mix of all these themes that pulled me in.

Marital Diss

Apparently, the development of a seething rage over the passage of California’s Proposition 8 is not altogether uncommon. It seems to have brought out the dormant activist in lots of people. It’s one of those big issues — a rather unexpected one at that — that just seems to bother people more than the other assorted failures and disappointments inherent to our burgeoning theocracy. And people seem to be taking this one much more personally.

I am too.

It bothers me that this happened in my former home state, a place I expected more from, despite my differences with the place. It bothers me that the measure passed with overwhelming support from a group of people who have faced discrimination (even with respect to marital rights) before and who should have known better. And as I mentioned a week or so back, it bothers me to learn that colleagues and coworkers believe that my rights, my life, and my marriage aren’t worth as much as theirs are.

My marching days are over, I think. I’ve done it before and I don’t really have the stomach (or the feet) for it anymore, although my respect and appreciation go out to those who do. In a way, I believe the most effectively activist statement some people can make is to live their lives as openly, honestly, and unapologetically as possible, taking (pardon the expression) no shit from anybody. But this one seems to call for a little bit more than that. And I’m not entirely sure what.

I’m pissed off. I’m not very much inclined to worry about the feelings and delicate sensibilities of my detractors at the moment. This is just a little political exercise to them, but it’s my life.

If We Amend the Constitution, Nothing Will Be Unconstitutional

Whither California? Apparently straight into the cesspool.

It bothers me that a bond referendum or anything that involves taxation in California requires a supermajority, but a simple majority is all that’s required to amend the state constitution and deny a basic right to significant part of the population.

2000

I’m down to converting the last few months of entries from 2000 now, after which this site will be 100% database-y. Despite all the stuff I have to do this weekend, I’m close enough that I’m determined to finish. And if you’ve seen a couple of odd things pop up on the front page today, it’s probably because I’ve been a little sloppy and forgotten to re-date some old entries. Thus, I didn’t really bugger a boy in front of an audience nor have dinner in Oakland last night, and I don’t have strep, either.

It’s funny how I don’t seem to get strep anymore now that I don’t hang out in backrooms and sex clubs and bugger boys in front of audiences.

Advice Column

The title refers to the fact that I’m looking for it, not providing it.

Mom and Her Computer:

The first question has to do with my mom. She’s had a computer for about eight years.  She’s actually become increasingly less adept at using it during this time. I’m talking about basic things, like being able to create a word processing document and then save it to a specific location on her hard drive and find it again later. My mom basically does not know what an application is nor how a hard drive is arranged.  The concept of highlighting items with her mouse and editing or moving them largely eludes her.

Early on, she learned how to use AOL  (to some extent) and that’s about it. She has no grasp of the basics. None. Now that she no longer has AOL as a standalone application, she doesn’t really even seem to know how to check her email; she has weeks worth of unopened messages every time I visit. I tell her how to look at them. I come back the next week, and she’s surprised when I mention that those same messages are still unread. And it’s getting worse and worse.

This is not just a case of my being anoyed at having to provide occasional tech support to get her out of a jam, which I’d gladly do. No, I’m questioning whether or not my mom has any business even using computer at this point. I’m not sure that she really can learn what she needs to know, but even if she could, I’m not sure who could teach it to her. My mom is an intelligent woman, and she actually worked with computers in the 1970s and 1980s, long before most of the rest of us, but she learned a certain set of tasks with no background context, and I think it’s too late for her to recover from that.

It’s really causing problems for her. She gets so incredibly frustrated–often to the point of tears–and that, of course, gets me frustrated and stressed as well. Frankly, I don’t think she needs that extra stress in her life, and I’m pretty sure I don’t either. The computer was supposed to be fun for her. That’s obviously not how it’s working out.

I understand that there’s more to it than meets the eye. She doesn’t want to give it up because doing so would mean admitting that her abilities are getting more limited as she ages (although I’m 95% certain something like dementia is not an issue at this time). My mom is already depressed, I know, perhaps even clinically depressed, so maybe it’s good that she keeps trying. But it’s hard to watch her, and hard to take answering the same questions over and over again and never seeing any progress.

Has anyone dealt with a similar situation? How do I tactfully suggest that the computer may be doing her more harm than good and that it’s sometimes even making me dread visiting? I’d like to spend the remaining  years talking to my parents, not getting annoyed by a piece of technology.

Colleague/Bigot:

I recently discovered that someone I’m working very closely with on a project is also of a somewhat activist bent on the issue of “preserving” marriage (yes, we all understand what that code word means). This is someone I pretty much have to work with for the next few months, and I’m not entirely sure how I’m going to react the next time I see her.  We haven’t really discussed our personal lives all that much, and I’m not even sure if she realizes I’m one of those “radical agenda-carrying homosexuals”, although it’s certainly no secret and not something I’ve hidden either. I just can’t remember if it’s come up in the conversation; I thought I’d mentioned my husband in passing at some point, just as she has, but I’m not sure. We’re not exactly “chummy”, although we get along fine.

I can deal with people I disagree with, which is good, since this would include most of the population. But it’s hard not to take this particular issue personally, rather like it would be difficult for an African-American  to work with an avowed and vocal segregationist. We’re at the same point on the organizational chart, so it’s not a supervisor/subordinate issue, and it’s also not like the Agnes incident, because Agnes was nuts, and that involved a disposable part-time job anyway. Any thoughts on how to avoid letting this affect my work while  still maintaining my principles?