You all know I’m a planner at heart. I’ve always looked one step, nay ten steps ahead. I booked my July vacation back in December. It’s just how my brain works. With that in mind, I’ve decided to look out into the future again and plan accordingly. With the Kill the Gays Bill advancing toward the ballot in California, I’ve decided to change my ways. If it passes, then every citizen will be legally allowed to execute anyone known for having participated in gay behavior by shooting them in the head with a bullet. I’ve decided I like my brain just the way it is, sans bullet. So. From this day forward I’m renouncing my former hey gurl hey ways. No more gay sex. Oh man. That’s gonna be really tough. Because let’s be honest. Sex is amazing. But gay sex is stupidly ridiculously fucking amazing. I’m just not sure it’s worth a bullet in the head. Well… maybe *some* of it is. Am I right? But I digress. I’m going to have a ceremonial jockstrap burning party in my backyard next weekend. I invite all you homosexuals to join me in saving your souls (and your lives) by burning your sex toys, jockstraps, and other sundry gay-themed props and costumes that could identify you as a dude who digs other dudes. (We won’t be hassled because people burn shit out here in the Bayview all the time with no problems from the po-po.) I’m also looking for a library to which to donate my decade-long collection of adult-themed entertainment. Someone’s bound to make good use of it (for research purposes only, obviously). I’ve also decided to spend more time in the Marina befriending the straight bros up there and learning some their bro-y gestures and phrases. And no more gay bars. Instead I’ll be spending more nights at straight parties and clubs. Maybe some of the stinky rude pushy straightness will rub off on me. And I’ll simultaneously find out what straight dudes wear at da club (What else DOES one wear besides a tank top that you strip off less than 5 minutes after arriving at the party? Inquiring minds would like to know.) And finally, if all else fails, I’m going to buy the book “Being Straight for Dummies” on Amazon and study up. All this begins today. Wait. Make that Monday. Promise. Oh wait. Crap. Maybe next weekend. Seriously guys. Soon. Pinky swear. No not pinkies. Pinkies are soooo gay. You know what? Keep checking back in. I’ll create a Google Calendar with important dates charted along the straight-conversion-pathway and share it out soon. Stay tuned.
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I’ve had a dancing problem for a long time. And it’s not what you might think.
You see, back in college I was quite the dancer at parties. All my lady friends liked to dance with me because I had rhythm and a disregard for what other people thought. So I would grind and get all serious, but also get silly and reenact the Spice Girls dance moves when the DJ put on Wannabe.
But then I moved to San Francisco and became a raver. And I learned how to dance to all types of electronic music. The key difference is this: Normal club dancing is more about hips and core movements whereas rave dancing tends to be more toe and foot work along with arms making large, punctuated movements.
After a while I forgot how to normal club dance. This was never more evident than at my 5th college reunion when at our evening dance event I started doing what came naturally at the time: raver dancing. My college friends laughed and asked what the hell I was doing. So I did my best to convince my brain and muscles to contort into shapes and patterns from a far off time. I guess I pulled it off because there were no more taunts that night.
Also, let me note that the electronic music my friends I listened to included Breaks, Drum & Bass, Jungle, and Trance (mostly Psytrance). But never, under any circumstances, House (the most music with similar beat structures and dance moves to traditional club music/dancing).
So years later when I moved to the Castro and embraced my gayness (I was already out, but now I was living in the gay mecca and really really out), I found myself occasionally at the local bars with loud pop music. My dance moves stood out like a sore raver thumb covered in candy bracelets and glow sticks.
At one point I asked my massage therapist (also a pro dance instructor) to give me a dance lesson. We worked on some basics and moves for a couple of hours, and I picked some stuff up. But one lesson wasn’t enough to erase 10 years of ingrained raver muscle memory.
I’m currently feeling like I’d enjoy hitting the gay dance floors that are no more than a few blocks from my house. But I don’t want to start dancing and cause a scene where everyone stops and looks, the DJ scratches the record, and the whole room grinds to a halt.
I have an idea. I learn things quickly. And I’m a particularly good visual learner. I’m considering seeking out tons and tons of YouTube videos that all the gay homosexuals post of themselves and their friends getting freaky on the dance floor. I bet if I watched enough of these videos with the purpose of identifying categorical dancing patterns, I could at least get my brain in the right space. Then, with the help of some strategically placed mirrors in my room (or the living room, if my roommates want to watch and mock) I could put on some pop/house music and practice retraining my muscles and brain to move in different ways.
Anyone care to comment? Thoughts, ideas, advice?
And if you are prepared to say something like, “Just go with what feels natural,” trust me… Been there done that. I end up raving. Every. Damn. Time. I need to retrain myself not just go with the flow.
Recently I’ve jumped back into the dizzying dance of the gay mobile app dating game. I won’t lament the sad lack of quality profiles in SF. Instead I’m going to rant about a stupid phrase I keep coming across.
First, this is just a dumb euphemism. It’s not masking anything. It has the word “bottom” right there in the phrase.
Second, because it’s a euphemism (albeit a poor one), it’s still a nod to the fact that bottoming or being a bottom is something that needs to be hidden. Something to be ashamed of.
Third, the metaphor it builds upon subtly suggests that being on the bottom is less desirable. Even as kids, the top bunk was always the desired bunk for a number of reasons: More headspace, no squeaky person tossing and turning above you, and it was fun to climb up onto. These qualities map to the extended metaphor of bottom bunk vs. top bunk sexually: Top is desirable, Bottom is not.
So a couple of things. Dude. Just say you’re a bottom. Say the word. Bottom. It’s not effeminate to enjoy being penetrated. Honestly, it takes a lot more skill and resilience and control to have someone shove themselves into you, repeatedly, with varying degrees of force. (Not to mention the far more complicated cleaning preparation bottoms have to go through.) Being a top is relatively easy when you think about it in that way.
Oh, and without bottoms, who would tops stick it into? Answer: No one. If everyone were a top, there would be lots of blow jobs and hand jobs. Boring.
And have you ever fucked a legitimate top (who has usually finally relented after much arm twisting)? Dude, they’re the lousiest lays ever. It takes forever to get it in, they can’t take any amount of momentum, they whine and flinch, and their faces contort in pain and displeasure the whole time. A bottom who actually enjoys being in that role and who is really good at bottoming is far more desirable.
So to the dudes who use “bottom bunk” on Grindr, Scruff and elsewhere: Stop it already. You’re a bottom. You like bottoming. Be proud of what you makes you feel good, and tell it like it is. Just own it. Use the word: Bottom.
I saw this video a week or two ago and Facebooked it (the blog wasn’t back up at that time). I didn’t realize the video itself was from a particularly well-named group, Full Frontal Freedom. In their own words:
Full Frontal Freedom is the anti-PAC. We are a coalition of independent artists and media executives – who want to use our talent and creativity to raise awareness and enhance civil discourse.
When the Court decided to allow corporate spending in political races, it may not have envisioned that Sheldon Adelson would give $71 million to a candidate’s cause. Thankfully, all the money in the world cannot buy votes. We recognize that with creativity, innovation, passion and the power which comes from being on the right side of history, we can change hearts and minds in our favor.
So a couple of thoughts. First, I love the video. Cute boys singing clever political lyrics. Check! Of course, it’s not like they need to really court the gay vote because a) it’s small and b) primarily leans Dem.
Second, I respect the viral approach. Fighting fire with fire won’t work because the other side has billions more in firepower. Thus the tactic of creating catchy videos that could go viral, helping highlight or further a political issue is a clever way to play the game.
Third, Colby Melvin (the lead “singer” in the video) is my future husband. I’ve thought he was totes adorbz ever since he made his first appearance on the internets. But this video cements it. Colby, will you marry me? (For lots of amazing photos of Colby, check out my phenomenally talented friend Gabriel’s photography site here, here, and here.)
I suddenly like this song a whoooole lot more. Also, more videos should be made this way. It has a slight resemblance to the Smashing Pumpkins’ video for 1979. I especially love the end of this video when the boys are engaging with people on the street. There’s just something fun and lighthearted and innocent about it all. Ahhh, college. Those were the days.
PS: I totally call dibs on the one with the big nose and the big pecs (the first one to appear shirtless). Yum.
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