Clubbing

I have returned to Texas after a great weekend in my homeland. Thanks to all of you who sent music or recommendations of music. I have eclectic tastes, but am very poorly informed. Thus, I appreciate the advice.

Over the weekend, I realized that I am still a bit rusty at being single. An off-handed comment from Danny (who I had a great time with), my own recent post on recommendation letters, and maybe a tad of Wanda Sykes made me think about the secret language of gay clubs.

Keep in mind, it’s not particularly polite. Hey, the Center of Gravitas ain’t a site for kids. Go somewhere else for Family Values.

Here is what gay men say in clubs and what they really mean:

What He Says: “Wow, you dance really well.”
What He Means: “I want to touch your cock.”

What He Says: “How long have you lived here?”
What He Means: “Why aren’t you touching my cock?”

What He Says: “Haven’t we met before?”
What He Means: “Nobody has touched my cock in ten years.”

What He Says: “When I think of my ideal relationship, I imagine a perfect egalitarian communion of souls.”
What He Means: “Nobody knows how to touch my cock to make me orgasm except me.”

What He Says: “I want to touch your cock.”
What He Means: “I want to touch your cock.”

What He Says: “Brokeback Mountain is my new favorite gay movie.”
What He Means: “I really want to touch Jake Gyllenhaal's cock, but will settle for yours.”

What He Says: “My last relationship? Oh, it was a mutual decision to end that.”
What He Means: “I was cheating on my boyfriend.”

What He Says: “My last relationship? Oh, he really changed and it was ultimately better that we split.”
What He Means: “My boyfriend was cheating on me.”

What He Says: “Is it okay if we go to your place? My roommates have to work early tomorrow.”
What He Means: “I am 34 and still live with my parents, who also don’t know I am gay.”

What He Says: “What do you do for a living?”
What He Means: “You have five minutes to impress me until I look for someone else to touch my cock.”

What He Says: “Yeah, the music is okay in here tonight. Saturdays are usually better because they have guest DJ’s. Really, though, the best DJ comes here on Tuesdays.”
What He Means: “I am a hopeless alcoholic who needs an intervention.”

What He Says: “Hey, GayProf! I loved your class last semester.”
What He Means: “Silly, GayProf. Don’t you know that clubs are for kids?”

What He Says: “Because of my upbringing, I still participate in my Baptist Church despite their stance on gays.”
What He Means: “I cry after touching another man’s cock.”

What He Says: “Do you want another drink?”
What He Means: “Let’s go to the restroom and touch each other’s cocks.”

What He Says: “I am not sure why I have never had a long-term-relationship. I just never found the right guy to love.”
What He Means: “I am an emotional vampire who will leave you a dried husk of a man, but I really know how to touch your cock.”

What He Says: “Hey, I want you to meet my friend. You two have a lot in common.”
What He Means: “We are looking for a three-way.”

What He Says: “I just like to come here to dance.”
What He Means: “I have touched the cock of every man in this bar at least three times.”

What He Says: “What types of books do you like to read?”
What He Means: “I have never seen another man’s cock in my life.”

What He Says: “Usually I don’t come to the club because I am so shy.”
What He Means: “I am into remarkably kinky shit that you didn’t even know existed.”

What He Says (within two minutes of meeting): “I am one of those gay men who loves sports.”
What He Means: “I can’t catch a ball to save my life. I am an exclusive bottom, but can’t come to terms with that part of my desires. Therefore, I am constantly trying to prove my masculinity.”

What He Says: “I think I am going to check out what’s happening at the club next door.”
What He Means: “I would rather eat glass than have you touch my cock.”

What He Says: “Hey, it’s good to see you again!”
What He Means: “I miss touching your cock.”

What He Says: “Oh, hey, I haven’t seen you in awhile. I can’t even remember the last time we saw each other.”
What He Means: “Touching your cock bored me.”

What He Says: “I am straight, but really like the music here better than the other clubs in town.”
What He Means: “I am horribly closeted, but deeply want to touch your cock for the next three days.”

What He Says: “I don’t really notice that this is a gay club.”
What He Means: “I am straight, but really like the music here better than the other clubs in town.”

What He Says: “Man, it’s really dead in here tonight.”
What He Means: “I am going home to touch my own cock.”

I Listen to Music

Like most offices today, the History Building’s computers operate on a LAN. I suppose, in theory, this allows us historians to share historical thoughts or trade porn or something. In practice, though, half my colleagues hate each other and the other half are committed luddites. Thus, we never engage in e-interactions.

It occurred to me, though, that my colleagues could have a grim view into my thinking over the past few months based on my i-tunes playlists. When on-line, one can see the music of other i-tunes folk in the building. I don’t think actual playlists show up, which is good for me.

Why? Here are the names of playlists that I used to organize my own music collection. I will leave it to your imagination which songs fell under these categories. Just keep in mind that these developed based on my many moods over the past six months:

American Idiot(s)

Angry

Ain’t Moonlight Sad When Love’s Gone Bad?

Billie Holiday – Tragic Drug Years

Campy Classics That Are Camptastic

Cher (Shut-up – It’s genetic, I can’t help it.)

Hating the Ex

Loathing the Ex

Despising the Ex

Abhorring the Ex

Country Music (What? Not all of them have funny titles.)

Evita (A recent exchange with MEK the Bear reminded me that I groove on this soundtrack, even if the real Eva Perón was a literal fascist – but that’s another entry)

Looking Good, Feeling Fabulous

Looking Haggard, Feeling Shitty

Queer Breakup

Songs in Languages That I Don’t Understand

It's Like That Drug Trip in That Movie I Saw – When I Was on That Drug Trip

Queer Breakup, Two

Music for the Gym

Music for Running

Music for Muscle Fatigue

Music for the Hospital

Refreshing TaB Drinking Music

Treat Me Right

Wasn’t Treated Right

Must.Escape.Texas

Liar-Ex and the Lies He Told Me

Queenie Dance Music

Why is Ex Still Breathing?

Movin' On

Hmm, I fear I am walking a fine-line here between “gravitas” and “bitter-old-queen.” I better create some playlists entitled “Happy, Happy, Happy,” “Feeling Great,” and “The World is a Little Flower.” Not that I will actually listen to those lists. It’s all about appearance, darlings.

Alright, I will work on that after I return this weekend. I am off to my own version of Paradise Island (a.k.a. New Mexico, a.k.a. The Land of Enchantment, don’t you know?). It will be good to spend some time with the fam and hang with my buddy Danny. I will bring you all a hunk of turquoise as a souvenir.

Queer Politics

At the risk of inviting hate mail, I need to talk about the over-representation of “queer conservatives” in the media. I just gotta. My nerves grow raw at the dominance that this small group has on the representation of queers in the mainstream news.

Let me start with my usual list of preemptive disclaimers: Of course, I recognize the political diversity of the queer community and love all my queer brothers and sisters. True, I will never quite understand why someone who likes same-sex-sex would align with conservative political causes; however, it’s their personal choice and I respect that. Nor do I think that one has to be lefty to be truly queer or some such nonsense. So, let’s be cool with each other.

All that said, queer conservatives are not the majority of queer folk in the United States. The Log Cabin Republicans (LCR) can hardly claim to represent the larger body of GLBT voters. According to the 2004 Associated Press exit polling, 78 percent of self-identified gay voters opted for Kerry compared with only 21 percent who voted for Bush (the remainder voted for a third-party alternative).



Yet, the media seems to increasingly treat queer conservatives as our newly anointed leaders. A recent story in USA Today (No, I don’t normally read that trash), for instance, reported on the move by 16 states to ban gays and lesbians from adopting children. The story had the expected sound-bites from the usual suspects of Anti-Choice, Anti-Women, Anti-Minority, Anti-Gay groups. Who, though, did the reporter ask for a “gay” perspective? Patrick Guerriero of the Log Cabin Republicans. Mr. Guerriero offered the astoundingly insightful comment that banning gay adoption was “the next step by conservatives.” At no point did USA Today quote lefty activists nor did Guerriero’s own ideas about the gay-adoption ban get voiced (and I am assuming Guerriero thinks queer parents would be just fine).

LCR’s aren’t the folk who historically achieved the few rights that GLBT people have today. Somehow, though, the lefty queer political leaders have been sidelined by the queer conservatives in the national media. So, why do these queer conservatives get so much attention?

At first, I thought the media’s interests in queer conservatives existed simply because they are a novelty. Because most queers don’t vote conservatively, the media initially presented them as an unusual element of our community. You know, kind of like the little rush of attention that heterosexual plushies got a year or so ago.

Now, though, the media increasingly depends on gay conservatives as the “voice” of the queer community. Yet, the media’s use (and misuse) of queer conservatives says little about the actual political diversity within the queer community at all.

In many ways, queer conservatives' political views are misunderstood and poorly reported in the mainstream press. Let me be clear: I think the LCRs are deeply problematic and I disagree with them on almost every issue; however, the media does not present queer conservatives truthfully. News outlets often forget that the LCR did not endorse a candidate for President during the 2004 election. Nor does the LCR blindly support (all) of the anti-gay crap that the mainstream Republicans are pushing.

Instead, the media depends on shorthand in their use of queer conservatives. Merely using the word “conservative” today implies a faith in the current administration, or so the media would have us believe. When they deploy queer conservatives, the media constructs an image of a disjointed and incoherent queer community. They ignore or minimize queer conservatives’ demands for equality or coherent political statements. Instead, they use queer conservatives to make our claims about a unified queer movement seem like a lie. “See?” the media implies, “Not all queer folk want equal rights and equal treatment. Look, here is an entire group who identifies with the interests of ‘conservatives.’ So, we shouldn’t believe those liberal queers who keep demanding stuff, like fair treatment and respect.”

It is the media, however, that fibs. We queer folk are bound together across racial, class, political, generational, and regional boundaries by our shared oppression and common experiences. With only a few extreme exceptions, conservative and liberal queer folk alike agree on the need for basic protection and equality in this nation.

The media creates a false dichotomy between two extreme caricatures of queer politics. We get two options: the wild, fantastical, leather-clad, lefty who smothers happily married heteros in their sleep verses the button-down (white) quasi-closeted asexual conservative who gives occasional beauty tips to his best gal-pals. The media has long presented the lefty queer community as a disorderly and bizarre carnival that threatens the peaceful harmony of the hetero world. We shouldn’t be surprised, therefore, that the news would give more favorable coverage to the minority conservatives who they imagine as more like “typical” Americans. Queer conservatives just don’t seem as scary because they don’t get presented as actually wanting anything but the status quo.


Neither of these visions represent the reality of our daily lives or our actual political options. Instead, they are convenient for news writers trying to dramatize or manufacture divisions between us. The nation, as a consequence, gets let off the hook on queer rights. After all, if queer folk can’t agree on what rights they want, why should the rest of the nation care? By exaggerating internal divisions between queer folk, the media erases or minimizes the real threats posed to us by conservative heterosexuals’ opposition and hostility. It is they, not our queer brothers and sisters, who threaten our rights and lives. We should not be misled.

If you consider yourself a queer conservative, start demanding that the media represent your actual beliefs more accurately. For those of us who are queer and lefty, let us remind the media that we are the majority of queer folk (Sorry, queer conservatives, it’s true. Accept it.).

As a community, let us also remember that the political divisions between us are resolvable. The middle ground for all of us queer folk is the desire to be treated with respect and given the chance to live our lives in the ways that make us happy.

Eight Easy Steps

Now that I know I will be stuck here for at least another year, I need to think about strategies for the future. Too much work exists in this country for a single GayProf, especially if I am stuck in Texas. I mean, though I have that invisible jet, have you seen fuel prices these days? I can’t possibly get around as much as I need. To get all the work done of critiquing queer representations in media and politics, I decided I need to franchise myself.

“No, GayProf,” I hear you saying, “There can be only one of you! You are irreplaceable! We are organizing a military force that you will command in the glorious revolution.” Okay, maybe you aren’t doing that -- yet (I will never get tired of that joke – ever).

Regardless, I’ll show you how to become GayProf in Eight Easy Steps:

Step One: Grow a goatee.

Step Two: Announce that you are a gay man to everyone who is within earshot. Not actually a gay man? No problem! Simply start having sex with men, the rest will follow. Are you a woman? I guess you can have sex with women – but, whatever.

Step Three: Complain loudly and often about the lack of Latinos in comic books/sci-fi (No, Edward James Olmos in Battlestar Galatica is not enough). Then read/watch comic books/sci-fi anyway.

Step Four: Master the Bewitched nose twitch.

Step Five: Spend at least ten minutes every day obsessing about how you could have made a conversation you had five years ago go better. You can cut it down to seven minutes if you no longer even know the people involved in that conversation.

Step Six: Watch lots of gay porn; however, you must divide your time equally between self-gratification and contemplating the socio-political implications of the porn you watch.

Step Seven: Find ways to work Wonder Woman into your daily conversations with friends, even when clearly inappropriate. Let me give you an example:

Friend: I have been thinking a lot about the anniversary of the Challenger disaster. The meaninglessness of those astronauts' deaths haunts me. Then to have it repeated with the Columbia. I don’t know, GayProf, sometimes I wonder if humanity exceeded our limits. It really makes me question our purpose in this universe and if God has forgotten us.

GayProf: Yeah, that was a crying shame. Did you know that Wonder Woman’s earrings contain oxygen so she can breathe in space?

Step Eight: No matter how silly or self-absorbed you become by being GayProf, promise to be at the side of all your queer brothers and sisters whenever they need help.

Now you are ready to be your own GayProf. Use this knowledge wisely, kiddies.

Job Search, VI

Over the past week, my best, last chance for getting a job that would get me out of Texas evaporated. This means, dear readers, I will be stuck here for at least another year (if not --*shudder*-- the rest of my life), as the next job cycle won’t start again until November of 2006 (read here for my description of the peculiarities of academic job searches).

These are my well-articulated thoughts about spending another year here: fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, shit.

I Go Shopping

Historians get cranky about the past. Don’t even try to take me to a “historical” movie. Much of your evening will be wasted listening to me ramble about the anachronisms of the main woman character’s dress. Come to think of it, maybe that is more of a gay thing than a historian thing – Or maybe it’s a gay-historian thing. Regardless, we like representations of the past to be accurate. It’s our job and gives us a smug sense of self-importance.

That’s why I have a new reason to despise the Coca-Cola Company. They decided to screw around with one of my all-time campy retro favorites: TaB.

Younger than age 25? You probably don’t remember TaB and it’s distinctive pink can. Before Diet Coke, Diet Pepsi, or even Pepsi Light, TaB promised real cola flavor with zero calories. Released in 1963 (the same year JFK took a bullet, fyi), TaB gave dieters a means to keep “tabs” on their waistline (get it? Yeah, they weren't all that clever with puns back in the day).

True, it’s distinctive flavor might cause cancer, but it comes in a pink can. PINK! Has a more gay soda ever been produced? I think not.

Finding TaB proves a challenge these days. Because of all that cancer talk, eighties’ retailers became leery of the Pink. Or so they claim it was the cancer thing. I have a suspicion the real reason behind the disappearance of TaB can be linked to the homophobia of the Reagan era.

Only the truly sad lonely addicted committed can locate this beverage throwback. Look closely in your mego-mart aisles. Hidden under a pile of dust, below the Fresca and Diet Rite, you might just catch a glimmer of the Pink. When you open a can, it’s like having a soda with Jackie O (pill-box hat is optional).

You will also make new friends with TaB. As you walk along the street, expect to be greeted by many people who say things like, “Hey, I remember that!” or "Cool, my mom used to drink that stuff" or “Do they even still make TaB?” or “You are going to get cancer, you know.” It’s all fun. As a fair warning, try not to drink more than one can per day or your kidneys start to hurt.

The other day, though, I went to the market (yes, I actually say “went to the market” in my day-to-day life) and discovered an abomination. Coca-Cola released some nasty concoction called TaB Energy Drink. I am guessing it’s a knock-off of Red Bull. It broke my brittle, abused little heart. In place of the distinctive can, it’s a new, slender slightly rosy colored can.



How could they screw with TaB? Do they really think that the people who drink TaB want an energy drink? We don't want extra caffeine. We certainly don't want Vitamin B12 (what the hell?). All we want is sweet saccharin goodness.

TaB had a retro-cool chic (that also might cause cancer). Don’t tamper with that – let us have our queer soda in peace.

Matchmaker, Matchmaker

Valentine’s Day ranks as one of my most hated holidays. Regardless of being in a relationship or not, the pressure around this day makes it always doomed to failure. If you are involved romantically, things never work out as hoped and somebody feels disappointed. If you are not in a relationship, you have an entire industry devoted to telling you what a loser you are for not being able to buy their greeting cards. It’s like New Year’s Eve. Everybody has such big hopes for it, but the actual day fails to live up to the hype more often than not.

Who am I, though, to fight the Hallmark juggernaut? In the spirit of the day, let me play cupid to some folk. These pairings might just prove the life-altering romance they have been looking to find.


Clarence Thomas and Michael Jackson

&


Both of you share many of the same personality traits. Each, in your own unique way, has shown that you have no concept of appropriate sexual behavior. You can spend hours talking about the problematic vision you have of sex and the resulting media circus it generated. Plus, you both seemingly dislike your racial group. Michael, I would bet that Clarence would love to know your skin-care techniques so he can look as white as he feels. Clarence, you can help Michael understand when his lawyers discuss his *cough* legal issues.

Dick Cheney and Freddie Kruger

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At first glance, I know the two of you would be skeptical. Let’s be honest, though, neither of you can be choosy when it comes to looks.

Both of you share the distinction of haunting young people’s nightmares. Plus, the two of you cheat death time and time again. Dick, I know you also want to put that ugliness over shooting your hunting buddy out of your mind. So, break open a bottle of champagne and get to know each other. You would be surprised at your similarities.

Ron Stoppable and Shaggy

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Ron, when last we chatted, I advised coming out of the closet. Now that you have had time to process that, I think you can think about a relationship. I have the perfect guy for you. Give Shaggy a ring sometime. You are both teenagers, so it's all legal and stuff. He’s great and has a voice just like Casey Kasem.

Both of you love animals. You both once used humor and goofiness to initially hide your real sexuality. It’s time, though, to put aside the childish antics and open yourselves to true love.

Harriet Miers and Eddie Haskell

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Oh, Harriet, how quickly most people forgot about you. It smarts, doesn’t it, when your total lack of qualifications keeps you from getting your dream job? Don’t despair. Romance can be yours with your new soul-mate: Eddie Haskell

Yes, the two of you share an ability to praise anybody with hollowness. Eddie knew that it doesn’t cost anything to toss out pretty words. You shrewdly knew that you could get somewhere by complementing the most dim-witted man to ever sit in the Oval Office. With a straight-face, you managed to actually say he was “smart!” Well, we think it was a straight-face. It’s kinda hard to tell with all the makeup.

Which reminds me, Harriet, your sexuality has long been the subject of speculation. If men aren’t your thing, I also considered Tammy Faye Baker for you. I just wasn’t sure if your mutual love of blue eye-shadow and cheap mascara would be enough to hold the two of you together.

Mr. Clean and the Gold’s Gym Guy

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For too long, both of you have hid in the closet. ¡Ya Basta! Admit your deep desire for hot-loving-man-on-man action and be done with it. The two of you can’t keep anonymously cruising the bathhouses forever!

Look deeper and you will find that the two of you are perfect for each other. The two of you do the same type of job seeing how you are both in advertising (literally).

Both of you clearly enjoy working-out in your spare time. Why, Mr. Clean, I bet Goldie could even get you a free gym membership! Plus, Goldie, your house will always be neat and tidy. You can exchange hair shaving secrets and wear each other’s clothes.

George W. Bush and Bonzo the Chimp

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Yeah, there are the obvious similarities between the two of you: roughly the same i.q.; the same facial expressions; and problems with mastering basic tools. Both of you know how hard it can be to communicate without actual words, always having to rely on grunts and groans.

The links go so much deeper, though! Both of you spent plenty of time with Ronald Reagan. They suggest that when you have friends in common, you can build a strong relationship. True, we can’t really characterize either of your relationships with Reagan as friendship. I also know that you had a falling out with Reagan when you had an “accident” on his carpet. It’s okay, Reagan got upset with Bonzo for the same thing.

I could guess, also, that both of you were drugged up most of the time you spent with Reagan as well. See? You are already on the same page in life!

Anderson Cooper and Me

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Oh, Andy, I know right now you are sitting around your apartment with a tub of ice cream in New York, or Atlanta, or LA. (Where the hell do you live these days? You are making it hard for a guy to stalk you.).

You are thinking to yourself, “If only I could find that nerdy, self-important, academic type who has a passion for Wonder Woman and a blog that suggests a slightly unhealthy obsession with me. Then, and only then, will my life be complete.”

We have so much in common, like . . . um . . . er . . . You are on the news, and I watch the news -- sometimes.

See? Soul mates! Text me!

It's Still About Porn

Wow -- Writing about porn really increases one’s blog traffic.

Over the past couple of days, I learned something important: We gay boys take our porn very seriously. Reading the comments and e-mails over the last post, I found most articulated a striking relationship to porn, whether they agreed with me or not. Even some who put forward the argument that we shouldn’t take porn that seriously seemed ready to come to fisticuffs to defend their side.

It should come as no surprise, I can talk about porn all day. Alive or not, that horse begs for another beating.

I love all my queer brothers (with the singular exception of the ex, who gets nothing). It distresses me, therefore, that some felt I wanted to dictate their desires. Whatever makes an individual happy is cool with me. Let me be clear that I don’t think watching SeanCody or other porn films is tantamount to treason against the gay cause. If this was the case, I would be the queer-Benedict Arnold. Hey, I even like some elements of the classic porn films like Sailor in the Wild or the Gage films. Other elements of those films, however, make me squirm.

What I did intend to suggest is that we need to talk and think about the types of images we consume as queer folk. We don’t (and couldn’t) agree on everything. Nor does it mean that we can’t have our own internal conflicting visions.

Opting not to think critically about any form of media makes me extremely nervous. Yes, sometimes a cigar is just a cigar. Other times, though, a cigar is a phallic shaped object that suggests an oral fixation that developed during one’s childhood.

I agree with Jockohomo that the hetero/homo divide occurred relatively recently and only in particular places. Before the nineteenth century, most historians argue, people did not conceive of sexuality in these terms. Without a doubt, I also agree with the several commentators who suggested that some porn can serve as a type of resistance against that divide between hetero/homo. I am just not convinced that most of the porn organized around “straight” men does this type of cultural work.

Even with the recentness of the hetero/homo divide, we can’t forget that those of us in “Western” culture all grew up within that discourse and learned that the divide was immutable. We are, in other words, part of that historical specificity even as we try to undermine it. Our own ideas about our sexuality cannot be easily untangled from that dichotomy.

There is much gay men don’t have in common. We didn’t all grow up in the same place, with the same family structure, or the same class and ethnic background. Yet we do have a shared history nonetheless.

Throughout our lives, we grew up with the same unending messages about what it meant to have sex with somebody of the same sex. We all internalized at least some parts of these messages from mass media, our families, churches, and so on.

Whether gay porn leads social change or lags behind, I think, is not quite the issue. Rather, gay porn mirrors the anxieties, obsessions, and contradictions over how we are dealing with those internalized messages within our community. Almost daily, each one of us has to constantly re-rack the billiard balls of gender and sexuality that we learned throughout our lives to make sense of our place and identity. The fervent discussion on porn suggests that many of us feel tension and a conflicted relationship to gay porn.


Not all our porn is embarrassing and it’s not just irrelevant fantasy. True, some of it can be pretty darn silly – I mean, when was the last time you had sex in the middle of the Dallas Cowboy’s locker-room with three male cheerleaders and the quarterback?

Classic seventies gay-porn films, though, also testify to previous generations’ mobilization and demand to have images of queer desire. Rather than the banality of most modern gay porn, these earlier films (which, btw, weren’t the earliest, but that is another entry far from now) seemed to show genuine sexual lust and pleasure from the actors. Perhaps one of the reasons that these earlier films continue to have such a cult following is that they serve as type of scrapbook that records a bit of our collective history. Granted, it’s a triple-X scrapbook that we don’t always share with our neighbors. Still, it’s part of our collective scrapbook. During times when social forces attempted to conceal or deny these desires, these films provided individuals with acknowledgment and fulfillment, even if it was illusory.

Having conceded that form of resistance, though, does not erase the equally troubling elements of the films. Gay-porn shows tremendous contradiction. Even as they overtly celebrate the erotic possibilities of same-sex sex, they also uphold some of the most conservative views about gender roles in our society.

It's About Porn

Reading through various blogs often spurs me to rethink my assumptions about topics like gender, academia, and even sex. This type of prompting is one of the greatest things about the blog world that I have discovered over the past few months. Adam’s blog propelled me to reconsider queer theory’s relationship with the larger queer community, for instance.

Similarly, Joe of the ubiquitous Joe.My.God recently posted one of the smartest entries I have encountered. Joe raised important questions about self-loathing and the ways gay men perceive ourselves and what types of messages we internalize.

“But, GayProf, you promised us porn,” I hear you saying, “It’s right there in your title! When are we going to get to the porn? We love you, GayProf, because you give our daily lives meaning and purpose.” Okay, maybe you aren’t saying that last part – for now.

I want to think about gay porn, in particular, because it has such an immediate connection to ideas about our sexuality. And, hey, who doesn’t love gay porn?

It’s sexuality, after all, that defines and names our community; and it’s sexual desire that drives the porn industry. Few people, I imagine, buy Anchor Hotel for its stimulating character development.

We need to be more conscious, though, about the messages the porn industry sends us. Porn, more than any other type of media, both shapes and is shaped by our desires.

Yeah, straight porn has some serious issues as well, but some hetero-type can work out that mess on their own. GayProf can only write about what he knows – and he knows gay porn.

Issues of porn’s objectification and the ethics of voyeurism will have to await some other blogger as well. That’s not where I am going today (and there is only so much of a kill-joy I am willing to be) .

Rather, Joe’s ideas prompted me to rethink some of the dominant themes in the gay porn industry. In particular, two themes concern me: the emphasis on “straight” men and the recurring representation of rape as erotic. The two themes often intertwine and both ultimately undermine our community by enforcing dangerous visions of sex.

Many forms of gay porn actually start with the premise that gay men aren’t desirable enough for our sexual enjoyment. Rather, it’s straight men who become the alleged holy grail in gay eroticism. An entire genre of “amateur” internet businesses have developed around filming straight guys for gay consumption. One such site declares to its potential subscribers, “We’ve all seen them: those incredibly hot straight men.” It presumes that the unattainable straight men figures centrally in all gay men’s fantasies. How, oh, how can gay men be content without knowing what these straight boys do alone?

Fortunately for us, the site gives a solution by claiming that it offers “the chance to get to know these men in the up close and personal way you have always wanted to.” Why bother looking for gay men when we can spy on straight boys? Of course, most of these men’s straightness proves dubious beyond their porn appearances. That’s not the point, though.


Another site makes the claims even more bold. In their encouragements to pull out our MasterCard, they state:

The college jock. The skater dude. The boy next door. The Big Man on Campus. The baseball god. The hard-assed punk with the six-pack abs and all those inked muscles. The handsome married fucker you fantasize about at work. The above-average Joe you meet on the street who’s so insanely hot –– and straight –– you think you couldn’t possibly ever have him . . . He’s that guy, but take heart, because he’s all yours.

The emphasis on straight men as “forbidden” in porn consumption only upholds the dominance of heterosexual men in our society. I am not saying we should never find straight boys attractive. We are gay men, after all, and are going to find men physically attractive regardless of their sexuality. There are also more of them than us -- allegedly.

There is a difference to me, however, between finding some men who happen to be straight attractive and eroticizing straight men. When straight men’s sexuality becomes the central element that we are supposed to find attractive I begin to get nervous.

More than simple tools of pleasure, porn plays a role in determining who is valuable and desirable in our social context. The “straight-cam” genre invites gay men into worlds where straight men always excluded us. Focusing on fantasies of the unattainable straight man promotes the idea that gay men are not worth watching have sex, much less actually having sex. Rather, being competent, sexy, and powerful means being straight (and usually white) in porn. These technicolor fantasies offer men who are no more gay than George W. Bush and we are supposed to lust after them.

Connected to this emphasis on straight men seems to be an equal inclination towards sexual violence in some gay porn. It’s not that I am opposed to S&M, if all parties are willing. Rather, I am concerned about a particular narrative arc that appears in many gay films.



Seventies gay porn often revolved around scenes of rape, even in the age of the Gay Liberation Front. “Classic” films like Kansas City Trucking Company or Sailor in the Wild frequently presented gay sex as being instigated by force or trickery. In a typical scene from Sailor in the Wild, an allegedly “straight” man shares a cabin with two men. During the middle of the night, he awakens to find his bunkmates having sex. He responds by verbally assaulting them and threatening to beat them. They respond by forcing him to have sex with them. In the end, he finds he enjoys himself.

Obviously, there are many problems with this type of presentation of gay sex. It sexualizes our own abuse and homophobia. When confronted by a straight man yelling “faggot,” I can guarantee the last thing I think of is giving him a blowjob. Under the logic of the film, though, this type of violence becomes sexually thrilling and even an invitation to sexual adventure.

Moreover, it reenforces the notion that gay sex is always involuntary and a form of punishment. Those who are penetrated in these types of scenes are also humiliated or made submissive. Gay sex becomes a weapon.

It isn’t just a bygone era of films that have these themes, either. A modern “amateur” site promises “straight guys, but goes one step further.” In this incarnation of the straight-cam, the site deploys “a gay but straight acting plant who encourages the straight victim to take the ‘turn.’ But they don't all take it lying down.” The language here seems significant to me. Again, we are presented with the idea that men need to be duped into having gay sex. Moreover, the man who consents to gay sex is a “victim.”

Too often, gay porn shows a gay man tied up or on his knees for some straight hominid, pleading to service him. These types of films send the message that gay men not only deserve to be abused, but actually want it. What’s most troubling is that these images are consumed by gay men.

Gay porn can and should be transgressive. Yeah, okay, it’s main purpose is stroke material. I understand -- I am not an idiot (or sexually dead). There are many things to look at to get us off, though. We can be more attentive to what we purchase and the messages we consume during *cough* personal moments with our DVD players and computers.

By the clearer light of day, we ought to desire erotic images of gay men who are fearless, brilliant, and desirable. We should, in other words, want men “like us.”

Gay porn differs significantly from straight porn because it has a greater potential to undermine the existing gender hierarchy. Gay porn can valorize sexual difference. Same-sex symmetry in gay porn means that greater possibilities exist for undermining predetermined assumptions about sex and power. It can overturn, for instance, culturally defined meanings of the relationship between inserter and insertee. Rather than reinforcing social domination, gay porn can make the ambiguous and egalitarian erotic.

Princess or Satan's Daughter?

I live in the tarnished buckle of the Bible Belt. After four years here, few things about ultra-conservative Evangelical Christians surprise me. Church signs that claim my folk will burn for all eternity rarely register anymore. Half-crazed preachers standing in the middle of campus spewing venom don’t appear unusual. The local competition to see how many Jesus-fish one can attach to a car bumper no longer seems ominous.

Early in the semester, though, I went for a walk to the Student Union building. My search for a chocolate product and caffeine became derailed when I saw a new banner hanging from the ceiling of the Union’s main walkway. This area often has the standard banners created by student groups to attract new members. One sees calls for fraternity rushes, soccer practices, and Klan drives (otherwise known as Republican Party registration).

On that fateful day, however, a banner appeared with such supreme novelty that I was left speechless. Bold, but crudely painted, letters proclaimed:

I am a Princess Because Jesus is My King

This banner pulled off some neat tricks by drawing together seemingly unrelated and irreconcilable discourses. For me, the creator of this banner had quite the set of ovaries. She ignored historical Jesus' messages of humility. Instead, this woman envisioned her religious beliefs aligned with, and even validating, the current image of a consumer princess.

Let me offer some truth in advertising. I consider myself spiritual and believe in higher powers in the cosmos (karma and all). Still, Jesus as the whole-son-of-god thing doesn’t really work for me. Don’t get me wrong. The historical Jesus had some noble ideas and hung out with a cool crowd. He liked to kick it with prostitutes, the poor, rock stars, etc. My guess is that he probably spent a bit too much time in the desert sun, though, which explains his vision of being part deity.

I offer this disclaimer because it should be clear that I have nothing particularly vested in the Christian message. I also don’t disparage those who do sincerely believe. It just doesn’t work for my view of the universe.

Yet this banner suggests just how askew U.S. Christianity has become. Most of the campus religious groups use religion to form a sense of individual identity through messages of moral superiority. There seems to be a twenty-first century version of the Gospel of Wealth emerging. This scheme links together material wealth and spiritual authority. Aspiring to the privileged, self-indulgent world of the rich is fine because the rich are the rightful beneficiaries of God’s blessings. One can ignore the poor, the sick, and the starving as long as one gives lip-service to an abstract Jesus.

For these folk, God exists only to grant them wishes. Let’s call it the I-Dream-of-Jeannie version of God. If they pray for a higher test score, God will grant it to them. If they want a new BMW, a few extra prayers at night should take care of it.

What’s disturbing is that this vision of Christianity eliminates these folk’s agency in their own life and obligation to their fellow humans. Working hard for those test scores or BMW becomes unimportant. They need not take personal responsibility for their actions or commitments.

Thus, the banner’s creator can think herself clever by playing on the modern meaning of “princess” as a spoiled brat with her religious expression. Material success testifies to one’s Christian devotion. The poor, conversely, clearly don’t pray hard enough. How else can one explain the unequal distribution of wealth in the world?

As Close as I Will Ever Be. . .

Since I am not teaching this semester, keeping a regular daily routine challenges me. I am supposed to be thinking big thoughts and researching or something. Had I known that I would be dealing with the whole break-up thing, I probably would have delayed my research-leave so that I could have a bit more structure to my days. Whatever. It’s cool. I am a tree. I can bend.

Going to the gym offers the most consistent scheduled activity for me these days. Also, given I find myself single these day, I feel I should at least attempt to be fuckable.

My relationship to the gym has long been complicated. Part of the appeal of an academic job was that it did not require a lot of heavy lifting. Paying money, therefore, to go to a place devoted to lifting heavy things always struck me as wrong. These days, however, I find that I --*shudder*-- like going to the gym. This shocking realization led me to wonder why.

At first, I thought it had to do with getting my brain into an endorphin-induced coma. Let’s face it, though, the modern pharmacy can provide a better mix for your sweet cerebellum than anything from the gym.

Perhaps, I thought, it had to do with the gym providing a space to zone out and not have to think about much. So, for instance, while on the treadmill I don’t need to ponder an evil-ass-idiot president who attacks gay folk to inflate his own sagging poll numbers. Nor do I have to consider the long-term implications of the center of our government being a zone where free-speech does not apply. Not having to think about these things makes the gym a good escape.

Really, though, I had an epiphany about why the gym appeals to me: It is the only space where I can secretly pretend to be a superhero without looking totally insane. Hear me out.

Going to the gym starts with me dashing into a new set of clothes from my regular work wear. Yes, like changing from my secret identity of a mild-mannered college professor, I put on things I wouldn’t normally wear out of the house and special shoes. Gym clothes can be way over the top and nobody seems to notice or care. There are lots of stretchy nylon fabrics and flowing shorts. No, I don’t wear spandex like most superheros (nobody needs to see that). In many instances, however, I am nerdy enough to wear t-shirts with superhero emblems (Green Lantern, Flash, Captain America (fyi, I wear the last one with a sense of irony)).

When feeling like a queer superhero, I toss on some pro-gay-agenda shirt. If I am going to have delusions of grandeur in the gym, I might as well make it political by wearing a F*ck Homophobia shirt (with the asterisk replaced with the Texas Lone Star) or two men stick figures holding hands Yeah, some crusty assistant, assistant, assistant manager tried to get in my face about these, but that just made me wear even more of them. Besides, we all know that it’s the gay boys who keep most gyms afloat in the long term. I digress.

Once in my superhero duds, I venture out to conduct momentous tasks. I lift things much heavier than I ever imagined. Once I finish with that, I run much more than I really should. Thanks to the ipod, I have my own theme music. If I position my headphones properly, I can even pretend they are a golden tiara.

To end my workout routine, I save some hunky men from certain disaster. Well, okay, maybe not that last bit. It could happen, though. -- What? It could.