Yup, yours truly is the newest member of the Brazen Careerist blogging network.
And since they list their bloggers alphabetically, it seems I’m first for the time being. Yikes.
Archive for April, 2008
I’ve had a great time these past few weeks getting to know my readers and fellow bloggers through my twitter profile. It’s addictive!
In fact, I’ve had such a good experience with Twitter that I’ve decided to invite you guys to IM me on a Google Talk account. The username is “guppielife” [at gmail dot com]. I don’t know yet how often I’ll be on, but if you see me signed on, say hi!
The New York Times magazine wrote an article about gay marriage amongst the twenty-something set.
One thing I’ve noticed in my few years as a gay boy is that millennial gays generally seem to want to get married some day, and they’re confident that it’ll be legal in their lifetimes. They want to have kids, a house in the suburbs, and a Golden Retriever. Maybe a Cocker Spaniel.
Gay boomers have their own established culture. In my experience, they don’t want a wedding, and they don’t want to register at Crate & Barrel. Kids aren’t even a consideration (unless from a prior hetero relationship), and oftentimes partnered gay boomers maintain separate residences.
(This is all highly subjective conjecture, based on the few older couples I know personally and what I read in the gay blogosphere. Please feel free to send counter-examples.)
A few older gay guys I know have derided me for wanting a monogamous marriage to a man. They say only, “You’re young and idealistic. You’ll understand when you’re older.” I think the implication is that these men have some sort of sexual arrangement with third parties.
That kind of argument doesn’t fly with me. I might be young, but I know what I want. After coming out, it didn’t even occur to me that I wouldn’t settle down and get married. I can relate to the desire for stability and legal validation expressed by the men from the NYT article.
After all, gay guys of my generation were raised on headstrong Disney heroines who ended up happily ever after with their princes. Why shouldn’t we expect the same for our own lives? Ariel mournfully singing about not fitting in and wanting something more… that was me, only at eight years old I hadn’t quite realized it yet.
Even so, I’m generally freaked by the idea of marriage, gay or straight, before the age of 30. The kids in the NYT article look like Pod People (or Log Cabin Republicans, whichever is worse). They’re too saccharine, and the photos accompanying the article are deliberately evocative of Leave It to Beaver. They look like they’re trying too hard to impress.
Maybe I’m cynical because I’m a child of divorce. Most of my friends growing up had divorced parents. Every member of my family in my parents’ generation has been divorced at least once, and we even have a family pre-nup.
I might be young and idealistic about gay monogamous marriage… but I am so getting a pre-nup.
In honor of my new trainer saying that I have freakishly strong legs and weak arms, here’s a webcomic about a T-Rex:
The world needs more gay dinosuars.
Via Dinosaur Comics
Back in early April, when I was a mere novice about the ways of the gym, I had my first ever session with a personal trainer.
Becky the trainer was decent. She outlined a perfectly acceptable training regimen. She answered the questions I asked, and she was pretty hot, too.
But we didn’t click, which is unusual for me with hot, (presumably) straight girls.
For my next session, I was paired with a dude in his late twenties. At first I was unimpressed. He was shorter than me and very muscular, but from what I could see, lacked definition. A beer guzzling frat boy all grown up.
But this guy, Ryan, surprised the hell out of me. He was everything Becky was not: warm, supportive, funny, motivating. I never thought I’d be the kind of guy who responds to, “Come on guy, it’s ALL MENTAL, push it out, push it out!” But it turns out, I am.
It’s been only six sessions so far, and I can already confidently say that I couldn’t have made the gains I’ve made without his help.
All in all, I consider this gym membership money well spent. And I’m not even buff (yet).
I went tanning yesterday. And it felt great.
The Sin
I know tanning is just about the ultimate stupid. It causes cancer and it makes your skin age prematurely… and on top of that, you’re expected to pay for the privilege.
But I love the way it makes me feel. After tanning I feel energized, perhaps euphoric, as if I can take on the world, or at least crank out a few blog posts. And a tan looks damn good on me.
So how do I reconcile my occasional visits to the tanning bed with my identity as an otherwise upstanding, responsible gay civilian? (I think we called this cognitive dissonance in psychology lecture.)
I don’t reconcile the two, not really. I try to rationalize it to others— “Look, I try to watch what I eat, I’m developing new exercise habits, I’ve never so much as smoked a puff of a cigarette, and I have an effin IRA instead of a shiny new MacBook Pro laptop. Let me have this one indulgence!”— but I know melanoma doesn’t care about my Roth or my new personal trainer.
So what’s a shallow image-conscious boy to do?
The Compromise
I do not believe that one can completely ignore one’s own strong, animal desires (otherwise I’d be leading a simpler life as a straight dude, basking in familial and societal approval). Laugh if you want, but the desire to feel good and look sexy to attract mates is an evolutionary instinct. I tan because it’s in my DNA.
Of course, that DNA could be irrevocably altered by too much tanning, so there must be a compromise.
I have a mental agreement with myself: No more than a dozen or so tanning sessions during the course of a year, and I am only allowed to tan during winter and early spring.
Furthermore, being the frugal(ish) guy that I am, I’ve only ever gone to tanning salons when I can get a discount. In college I used my student ID, but bargains are tougher to find now that I’m a full-fledged adult. Many tanning salons try to reel you in with a membership plans frighteningly similar to cell phone plans, including an “activation fee.” (I’m sorry, but how much does it cost to enter a new client into your customer database? What a rip-off.) While unlimited tans per month might work for achieving that ‘Oompa Loompa’ look, it’s a bit much for someone like me who just wants to avoid being a pasty white kid.
Instead, I opt for the package deals— last month I did 5 sessions in the “introductory” beds for $15, which I spread out over the course of a few weeks to make my tan last as long as possible.
So now that you know all about some of my guilty pleasures, how about sharing some of your own? Feel free to berate me for being an idiot. I deserve it.
Attention residents of the District (and Maryland and NoVA suburbanites):
So sue me for not being up-to-date with my networking, but I just discovered a cool blog for D.C. area homos, the New Gay.
They write about inequality, lesbian shenanigans, and uh, genital espionage.
And it seems they have parties, which is more my speed. Nice!
I’m flattered that Nina from Queercents featured my recent post “Turning Down Easy Money: a Model’s Story” on the blog today. Check it out at Queercents, or read the original item here.
When I grow up, I hope to be power lesbian like Nina. Girl is a baller. Oh, and she’s mad connected.
This was my second guest post for Queercents— I also had a had one back in October.
Mike from Broken Cupid is holding a contest. The prize: a free copy of the book “Gay and Single… Forever?”
Mike swears by the book, and I must admit he has piqued my curiosity. I like what I’ve read so far. Check out a free preview of “Gay and Single… Forever?” at Google Books.
One passage in particular struck a chord with me:
I had visions of walking hand in hand with my guy to the farmer’s market to pick up a loaf of blueberry bread from a local Mennonite baker, and then we’d go home to cuddle and read on a worn but comfortable sofa that screamed student chic. I was disappointed by my reality. For much of high school I sat on the sidelines and watched my straight peers date up a storm. That I could accept. After all, I was still in the closet, so who would I date? And yet, even after joining gay society, I was still on the fringe, witnessing guys coming out after me and getting into relationships before me.
Stop jumping the bloody queue! I wanted to shout.
