Thursday, March 30, 2006

Strangers on a Train

I find myself falling in love with more and more guys daily.
It's spring, I already know that. The sudden emergence of sunshine, warm weather and pretty, smelly flowers signal every species in this vast metropolitan animal kingdom to copulate til their copulates fall right off. Come May, I'll be humping every muscular calf to pass in my line of vision. The 'why' doesn't concern me. It's the "what the hell can I do about it" that's really the rub.

Like 30 billion other people, I ride the subway every morning to work. And every day I am bombarded by a cavalcade of attractive men, with whom I'm trapped for minutes at a time, undergound, with limited oxygen and space. Often, we're pressed together like two horny, desperate sardines in one large, rectangular can. Wow, I didn't know fish could be such a turn on...

Now that I've jacked off, I'm reminded of the point I was trying to come to a few sentences ago. With so much fesh man meat dangling before my mouth on a maddeningly constant basis, is it appropriate to take the bait?

OMG, how Carrie Bradshaw do I feel right now?

A friend and I were discussing this particular issue over sangrias and tears last night. He told me that he feels the same way, what with us both being frustrated, self-loathing gays and all. Apparently, a relatively attractive guy came up to him on the subway. Now mind you, this is New York, so his subsequent reaction is rather logical. If a strange man came up to you on the subway, making a face I'm sure he though was sexy, but most likely was just plain creepy, you'd get off 3 stops early and walk to your destination in the middle of January too.

And that's what I fear. If I were to ever bite the mullet and sashay over to a stud/hunk/hot nerd on the 6, would my advances be rebuffed in a similar fashion? I guess the only way would be to try. Here is where a better writer, or at least a writer more bold than I, would make a grand declaration to find this out. Perhaps, dressing up like a fat woman and then conducting my "social experiment" on unsuspecting, hidden-camera'd individuals. Thus, I'd be able to test society's views of subway come-ons and make fun of the morbidly obese. Just like Tyra.

But I'm just not that bitch. If I were, though, I'd wear bangs more often because that forehead is getting out of control.

Wednesday, March 22, 2006

Looking for Gay Love in the Big City....

...on Craigslist:

"any yuppies need oral service on way home? - 28"

"PLUMP BUBBLE ASS HERE TO MASSAGE and EAT... - 28"

"my Azz is Horny - 26"

"Any RAW BLACK TOPS looking for a White Virgin BTTM - 23"

"Petite white boy for Black Men - 28"

"I love thugged out white/latin boys - 31"

"***Brokeback Mountain Buddy*** - 34" This one at least promises a relationship with it's cowboy love story-inspired title..even if that love will only end in heartbreak and cheesy 80s mustaches.

"GAM Looking for to Date - 26" I would love to think it's just a fabulous, disembodied leg, but alas...

"Muscle bottom wants some - 28" I kinda want to hit this one based on his pic alone, but this is the internet and he's probably a fat, hairy 70 year old woman into kinky shit....on second thought, what was their email?

The Merits of a Meritless Generation

What do we have to offer? This blogging, internet-savy, plugged in, tuned out generation--what do we have to offer, well besides sass and uncalled for sarcasm?

Trick question!

When you have those aforementioned qualities, you really don't need anything else. We stand not on the shoulders of our meth-addicted ancestors, but on the bones of the disillusioned youth of generations passed. We saw what protesting, univeral love and other high-minded ideas got them, so my peers, rather knowingly or not, have processed history and distilled out the rich minerals from which we shall build the future: greed and apathy. To put it simply, this generation just don't give a shit. The world's falling down around me, yet I realize not only am I powerless to stop it, but I could care less about what happens as long as it doesn't affect me personally.

But can you really blame me? Everything that has happened, globally and nationally, the generation currently in charge has just let it happen. Letting the government run rampant and unchecked, supporting a useless and increasingly bleek war, ignoring the crises on our own shores and the ones America has directly/indirectly caused and pursuing the almighty euro in sacrifice of everything else; with a model like that, is it so hard to source where the values of someone my age truly lie? Hope is a fool's luxury, kids.

We're all depressed, on drugs and getting dumber as the years wear on. Not all of us, of course, as there are exceptions to all ruless. See: gay republicans, straight choreographers--Fosse? Really?--etc. There is a crop of twenty-somethings coming up who are conservative, savvy and ruthless--a throwback to that shoulder-padded glory era of yuppie dominance--but the 80s are always coming back. The general assumption is that everyone 18-25 or so is a liberal, a democrat or at least a moderate, but the country itself has shifted so dramatically to the right that the majority of us are conervative on some level. Take into account that the future lies in the hands of the educated and the priviliged, hands that are ignorant to the toil of hard work and have forever been pampered with the warmest/silkiest of oils, I like patchouli, and it seems that we as a nation have only begun our obsession with all things that hang to the right.

But if there is one thing I am proud of in my contemporaries, besides the six pack abs and rock hard pecs that have become requisite for any male old enough to curl a dumbbell, it is the acceptance of the queers. This is literally, the gayest generation, like, ever. My teenage years weren't the greatest, but the biggest problem in my life was never that I was gay. It was an issue, but there were so many resources available to me, be it the internet, support groups, the local gay bar--and I grew up in upstate New York, above said gay bar--that I never feared what might happen to me in the halls once the school bell rang. Also, race has become so blurred in 20 odd 6, with the multiracials representing a larger and larger percentage of the population,* that I feel racism is slowly but surely on its way out of the country. However, for this to truly happen, someone's gotta take the necessary steps, once someone knows just what the hell those steps are.


Who'll be the next great leader? Who's willing to step up and lead us all into a brave, new world?...Anyone? No, not today? You know, that was really a rhetorical...nevermind. I kind of lost interest in what I was doing, anyway. Whatever. What was I going to say? Oh, yeah. Someone's going to have to step up to the plate and lead this generaton and future others...oh, fuck, I don't even believe what I'm saying anymore. Fuck it.

*I don't do research...so FUCK you.

Tuesday, March 21, 2006

I, Stoner

Some would disagree, but it's not easy being a stoner. Sure, lazying about all day, trading off between DVDs of "Cheech & Chong: Still Smokin'," "Half Baked" and "Dude, Where's My Car?", listening to your favorite 3-hour Phish jam and eating a salad bowl full of shrimp Ramen sounds like a walk in the park, but most stoners I know aren't like that. You know, lame.

Rather, I'm talking about the societal pressures, the stigma and the often uncalled for vitriol we as potheads must endure in our everyday lives. No one takes us seriously because we're always giggling. No gay in this town will even look at me once they smell my jacket. And if you come high to work, people want to be all up in your shit like they fucked your mother or something. Really though, is it so wrong to want/need to be high every moment of your life only because the pain of reality is too much to bear? Because last time I checked this was still New York and not bitch-ass, straight-edge faggot loser town.

I recently proclaimed that I was cutting back on smoking the reefa, for the fifth time this month, only to reneg on this promise once the voices started getting a little too real. I'm lethargic, my cough is hacking and usuaully produces some unsightly green mucus and I tend to overeat whenever I'm high, so I thought the obvious conclusion was to relax on the joint tossing. But cutting back's for quitters. Next thing you know, I'm like 5 years sober and a born-again Christian. I've seen those people, and though spending the majority of my life on my knees in polyester sounds enticing, I'll have to pass. Smoking is just too much fun. I have,instead, chosen to accept my fate and declare, I, Stoner. Hey, that's just who I am right now; bitter, cantakerous and sarcastic with a blunt eternally strapped to my inner thigh...just in case.

And I also plan on smoking the smart way. By using a vaporizer, I can preserve my throat. I'm going to start taking vitamins for energy and my overall health. And I'm already on a diet so I'm going to start eating and snacking much better. All in the effort to avoid doing the responsible and logical thing because in the end, I'm gonna get fucked up one way or another. And that knowledge just gives me the comfort I need to fall asleep at night...that and the bong right in reaching distance from my bed. You know, just in case.