Keith Ecker: A Comedian

Entries from August 2009

How To Succeed At Failing

August 31, 2009 · 4 Comments

If I was a tree, what kind of tree would I be?

Answer: Lemon. Because that is what my life is full of right now. Lemons. So many speed bumps have begun to line the serene suburban street that is my life’s path that I am THIS close to quietly exiting my car, grabbing a baseball bat from the trunk and bashing in every single window of my vehicle. THIS close! I swear to God!

I know what you’re saying. “Keith, why don’t you just make lemonade? Or a lemon meringue pie? Or lemon cookies in the shape of the sun and spend an afternoon frosting the cookies with yellow icing and black happy faces?” “And these are all good ideas,” is how I would respond. But these aren’t real lemons that life is handing me cause that would be sweet (or sour?). No, these are figurative lemons. And they’re really getting my goat…and puckering up his cute little goat face.

Artistically is where these lemony life punches to the gut are being thrown. And they are fucking killing me. It started with a bad review in the Chicago Reader and then a string of stand-up shows got canceled on me and then I got rejected for a show I auditioned for and then a play I wrote got rejected and then now I found out my sketch group might be no more. It’s all a lot for me to take, and part of me can’t help but to take it personally. Did I anger the muses? Were they watching me when I thought I was alone? Touching myself? To images of vegetables that look like genitals? Male genitals? But they are really vegetables! So there’s really nothing wrong with it is there. Is there? I mean looking at pictures of gourds and squash is as innocent as looking at pictures of puppies and kittens, at least by community standards…right? I’m not on trial!!!

Anyway, I may have indeed angered those prudish muses. Maybe it was when I declared that I was stepping away from the stage indefinitely to really hunker down and pursue writing as an art and a career. Maybe when I said I was retiring from my short but noble stint as a stand-up comedian. Maybe when I dropped out of nearly every improv program in the city because I don’t have the patience to dedicate so much time and money to pretending to open a door or wash a dish or hit on my sister. I thought focusing on writing was a step in the right direction for me. Don’t get me wrong. I greatly respect performers of all kinds: musicians, comedians, drag queens, etc. But the spotlight just isn’t for me. As much as I enjoy the attention and the instant gratification, I’m too neurotic for the stage and too uncomfortable in my own body to really use it as an artistic instrument. No, I’m best lumping symbols into words and words into sentences and so forth. You know, filling up all that white space with black stuff. Cause people say I got a voice that comes through in my writing. And maybe that is so. Can you hear it? Can you? Hello! La la la la. Strange how there’s no echo…

So these artistic speed bumps, these lemons, they’ve got me down. I feel a bit like a failure. But I’m going to do what I always do and say fuck it. I’m going to brush myself off and move forward. I got a monthly reading series I’m producing come November, and I have some plays and sketches I still want to work on, which I can self produce. Yeah, it’s tough going at it alone, not having a comedy partner or a group to fall back on, but that’s the way it is through most of life. You got your shit…it’s your shit…and so you have to deal with it. No one else is going to deal with your shit. I mean, it’s shit!

Let’s hope something I do works out soon cause I don’t think the whole “misunderstood artist” thing is really becoming.

I'm so emo!

I'm so emo!

Categories: Uncategorized

Texas Memories Part 1

August 27, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Not many people know I’m from Texas. Sure, I manage to find a way to slip it into every conversation, and it is a cornerstone of my stand-up act. But you have to understand that very few people listen to me when I talk. I’d like to think it is because they are mesmerized by my beauty, but the truth is they’re just patiently waiting for my mouth to stop moving. Sigh.

But it is true. I’m from Texas. The Dallas area to be exact. And I have a lot of fond memories of growing up in the great plains, many of them deeply repressed. But there are a few gems that have somehow crawled their way to the surface of my consciousness, like some kind of undead creature of the night hellbent on devouring innocent families. And it is these precious Texas memories I wish to share with you.

Here’s one. Mums. You don’t know what a mum is? Then you aren’t from Texas, or at the very least, the South. Mums are big flowery looking things made of paper and chintzy trinkets made in Taiwan. Everything is hot glued together by women with too much time on their hands who have husbands that drink too much. These mums are adorned with ribbons representing one’s high school colors, and these ribbons are adorned with words, often the names of the girl wearing the mum (yes, they are worn) and the boy who “made” the mum for the girl (yes, guys are supposed to make these). These mums are then shown off during homecoming. The girl with the biggest mum, presumably, is loved the most by her boyfriend and therefore is better than the other girls. The guy who gives the biggest mum is worshiped by the other guys because it is known he will be having sex in his 1998 Ford Mustang by nightfall. This is all facts.

To see a picture of a mum, scroll down to the bottom of this post. In the meantime, keep reading, y’all.

So girls really do wear these atrocities, like Stars of David during WWII. Except instead of identifying them as kindling for the Nazis, the mums symbolize expendable income. Because these things cost upwards of hundreds of dollars, despite being made of the craft store equivalent of marshmallows and pretzels. And there are entire companies that are in the business of making little symbols to put on your mum, like a little trumpet to represent marching band or a boot to represent drill team or a heart to represent “easy.” There are also women who make good money making mums for schools across the metroplex (that’s what the grotesque Siamese twin Dallas/Ft. Worth is called). They sit at home hot gluing this and curling that, as their barren wombs sit empty in contrast to those beautiful mums.

I don’t remember what any of my old mums looked like. All I remember is that the entire process was inane. Oh, and that my friend Brian accidentally spelled his name “Brain” on the ribbon for his date. But I’ll never forget how stupid that tradition was, and I’ll always have a place in my heart that is empty because of my participation.

Mums' the word!

Mums' the word!

Categories: Uncategorized

Leadership Is A Many-Lettered Word (That I Can’t Spell)

August 25, 2009 · 1 Comment

Today I went on a bike ride with my dear friend Elizabeth. We rode along the lake in the middle of a Tuesday, defiantly giving the figurative finger to all of downtown Chicago as if to say, “Hey worker bees! Look at us breathing in freedom air! And I’m not even wearing a helmet!” And it is true. I wasn’t wearing a helmet. Because I believe that I’m best tactless rather than being intact (Do you see what I did there? That’s a fucking Mensa joke.) But seriously, don’t be cool like me. Wear a helmet.

Anyway, we talked about leadership: what it means, how to do it, challenges, and ways to still point fingers when something goes terribly, terribly wrong ala “I Love Lucy.”

Although I’ve never seen myself as a leader, I often involve myself in activities where, suddenly, I look around and I’m at the center of the circle, the front of the line, the boar of the nursery (that’s the man of the raccoon pack to the unenlightened). I don’t know why this is. I’m not especially competent or bright. I think I’m terribly indecisive, but I’m sure my opinion can be swayed if someone convinced me otherwise. And I hate offending people. And I especially hate bossing them around. (I’d make the shittiest sheep dog ever, if I were a sheep dog. Which I’m not!)  So why am I a natural-born leader, as a recent Facebook test identified me as?

Here’s the secret about being a leader: Team up with losers. That’s right! If you aren’t too bright, then you should only surround yourself with majorly incompetent people. I’m talking about bathing with a toaster radio stupid; I’m talking about playing golf on Lightening Island stupid; I’m talking Britney Spears after a bong-a-thon stupid. If you surround yourself with people who can’t tie their own shoes, and then you tie their shoes for them, they will think you are a god. Double-plus good if you’re beautiful and they are all double-baggers (This is when you have sex with someone who is so ugly, their face must be obscured by two bags instead of the usual one. I should note that a double bagger implies the use of paper bags. Plastic bags denotes sexual excitement derived from cold-blooded murder. Small but significant difference.)

Of course surrounding yourself with lessors who worship you is fun. But it won’t really accomplish anything. I mean, you might be leading a ship (i.e. captaining), but if your crew eats paint chips, you’re probably going to sail in circles until you get scurvy or gay pirate sexed (which is way better than scurvy).

This is why the other method to becoming a leader is optimal, which is to be a fair, empathetic person who strives for best but not perfect. This person must be able to identify someone’s top skills and find a way to capitalize on them. For example, let’s say you have an egghead mathematician kind of guy. You don’t want him proofreading documents or hitting on women. You want him doing calculations and quietly masturbating in his VW on his lunch breaks. Or say you have someone who is good at painting. You don’t want them creating an Excel spreadsheet. You want them to stop asking you for change on the street corner. Get my jist? No? Neither do I.

The point is, if you’re going to be a leader, be a good people person and strive to make every team member happy. By utilizing their skills, they will feel fulfilled and purposeful. By empathizing with them, they will see you as compassionate. And although you must be kind, you must be firm. Being indecisive or indirect only fosters a distrust among your team and will call them to question your skills and judgment. And of course, be willing to admit when you have made a mistake because this will help people think you’re not a monster (especially after you club their children and make bread out of their bones).

Oh, and always have a scapegoat on hand in case everything you touch turns to shit (the Sadim touch as I call it (Midas spelled backward)).

I was set up!

I was set up!

Categories: Uncategorized

Keith Ecker On Feast of Fun

August 25, 2009 · Leave a Comment

Check it out! (Click the pic)

keithfof

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Sage Advice From a Drag Queen

August 20, 2009 · 1 Comment

The best way to start any conversation (and there is NO room for argument here…NONE!), is “So I heard some sage advice from a drag queen…” Your audience will immediately perk up. The straights will want to hear what over-the-top, hot-tranny-mess business you got yourself into now, and the gays will want to hear the advice.

Is it strange that a drag queen would be able to offer us all a glimpse into the endless depths of wisdom that are beyond us mere mortals? No. For you see, like their ancestors before them (the banshee, the fairy, the pixie, the drag-on), the drag queen is a magical creature with powers beyond our lay comprehension. It’s common knowledge that they come from a lost land near the arctic circle that is inhabited by both dinosaurs and robots (who sometimes attempt to breed in vain, creating a tragic mess of rotating machine parts and slaughtered triceratops genitalia). Drag queens are the Tarzans of these lands, and they travel in packs, hunting and gathering as their dual natures would suggest. Two spirited is what gay Indians would call them.

But us humans in our endless quest to ruin every party enslaved these queens and brought them to our land to live among our people like so much house cats. Unable to assimilate, the drag queens found themselves homeless, begging for platform shoes and sparkly, shiny dresses on street corners. Finally they found homes in nightclubs across the country, performing like little trained poodles for our hungry eyes. “Entertain us! We are so bored we will watch you lip synch to songs we never liked when they were new 10 years ago!” That is what we say. And they abide. Oh yes, they abide.

There is one drag queen, however, who has shown herself to be, how shall I put it…of extraordinary pedigree. They call her Ru Paul, and she is obsessed with putting bass into your walk (see “Ru Paul’s Drag Race” for reference). In any case, Ru had a reality show where various other members of the drag queen race competed to see who was the best. The winner got hand-me down prizes from various other reality shows, such as a photoshoot in Paper magazine and $20,000. After the show concluded, the producers decided we, the viewing public, craved more. And so we did. And so they fed us some more slop from the t.v. slop bowl, that being a post-show “where are these queens now” kind of thing. And during this segment, after one of the drag queens spoke out of turn and gave Ru some lip, Ru (in man form) talked back. See below, and then continue reading for commentary.

If you didn’t notice, what Ru says is some good shit. Don’t let the haters get to you. The only reason you ever have self doubt is because you are forgetting who you are. People’s negative opinions about you are their problem. Constructive criticism is one thing, but trying to tear someone down just reflects that person’s insecurities. It’s not your problem. You just keep strutting in your heels, knowing that you are indeed fabulous.

This is what has partly inspired me to be more bold in my own life. I’m trying to produce a special monthly series right now. I’ve never produced something like this. I’ve done 5-week runs of improv and sketch shows, but not an ongoing, monthly series. And I know there are some people out there who probably doubt I can do this. And I know there is a voice inside me that believes them. But I will NOT let that voice win out. I know I can produce a damn good show, and a damn good show I will produce. Or my drag name isn’t Nikki Teen.

And what.

And what.

Categories: Uncategorized

An Apology

August 19, 2009 · 6 Comments

I want to apologize for some of the harsh things I wrote about Tony Valenzuela. Anything construed as a personal attack on his character rather than a challenge to his opinions is unwarranted. In addition, my posts were based on the information shared during the forum, not information gleaned from other sources. These forums can have a tendency to not allow the presenters adequate time to flesh out or back up an idea, opinion or concept they share. Therefore this can cause confusion for those that aren’t as versed in said person’s perspective. And I feel I may have misunderstood some of Mr. Valenzuela’s points due to this time constraint. I will be reading more of his work to clarify some questions I have.

Also, I am a comedian and a creative writer. Some of what I write is rooted in hyperbole and is not meant to be taken seriously. However, when writing about serious topics (which I do rarely), I can see how some of my thoughts can be misinterpreted, especially when the reader doesn’t really know me. So in the future, if I am going to be throwing my hat into a heated ring, I’m going to make sure I’m not clowning around. Also, I’m passionate about the health of our community, and sometimes my emotions can trump my manners. So there’s that too.

In any case, I do have differences of opinion, which I will not apologize for. Let us all come to conclusions ourselves. Never take a study or an article or a quote at face value. Never be so eager to swallow something that is spoonfed to you. Education takes work, and it is your job to educate yourself. And always question, question, question. Because that’s how you eventually get answers.

Categories: Uncategorized

Piggyback (Follow-up to my previous post)

August 18, 2009 · 24 Comments

Jim Pickett of LifeLube.org responded to my post. I realize what I wrote necessitates a follow-up to clarify some points I made.

First, there is nothing wrong with condomless sex between two HIV negative, monogamous men. There is also nothing wrong with two HIV positive men, who are monogamous, engaging in condomless sex. This is their choice, and because they are acting as a closed circuit, due to the monogamy of their relationship, they are not putting anyone else at risk.

Now here’s where complications set in. Are these two hypothetical, HIV negative men truly monogamous. How long have they been together? Long enough to ensure that they are truly negative (6 months)? Do they plan on being monogamous in the future? If they do not, do they plan on engaging in anal intercourse, and if so, will they use protection? Will this protection be fool-proof (it wont’ be)? Will they always remember to slip on a condom? Will they be open and honest with each other if there is a slip up?

The point is, even in a situation where condomless sex appears to have no risk, there is still a chance for risk. Does this mean you shouldn’t ever engage in barebacking? Absolutely not. I’m not advocating for condom use at all times. I am advocating for condom use most of the time (hook-ups, non-monogamous partnerships, good dates, bad dates, etc.).

So what are we really trying to accomplish as a community when it comes to sex? I’ll tell you.

We are attempting to reduce our level of risk while maximizing our pleasure. If for most people, maximizing their pleasure means condomless sex, then you will see the risk side of the equation shoot up. Not a great balance. However if we advocate for condom use at all times, then you’ll see the pleasure portion plummet for many. No anal sex, likely the safest form of sex, probably reduces this pleasure bar even more (unless of course you are a gay man who doesn’t enjoy anal sex). So how do we find a happy medium? Do we take calculated risks to strike a balance? What kind of risks do we take? Is maximizing our pleasure really worth the risk? Are we just being uber-American, wanting everything but willing to sacrifice nothing? These are the questions that keep me up at night…until I fall asleep and dream about dinosaurs.

Once again, I want to iterate that I am not against barebacking. I believe it can be a healthy way for two educated men to engage in sex with one another.

*Footnote: Also, regarding Tony: I will read more of his work. All I really have to go off of is his panel conversation from last night. And aside from me disagreeing with his perspective, he contradicted himself a lot, as I pointed out in my previous post. Saying that porn has little influence, but then saying that youth learn by example is a contradiction. Saying that we are doing the best we can but that we can do more (another quote) is a contradiction. Maybe he’s just not a good public speaker. I can give him that. But when he is up on a stage, being advertised as an expert, then he better choose his words more carefully.

Categories: Uncategorized

Dangerous Dialogue

August 17, 2009 · 7 Comments

There is a follow-up to this post that can be read here. It offers some further clarification on some of the points I have made in this post.

I just got back from a community forum at the Center on Halstead (Chicago’s GLBT community center). The forum was produced in part by the informative men’s health site LifeLube.org, Project CRYSP and the boys at the Feast of Fun podcast.

The forum was titled: Risky Business? Bareback Porn and the Reclaiming of Pleasure (see poster below)

lifelubead

Local starlets Fausto Fernos and Marc Felion, both producers and hosts of the daily, gay podcast, the Feast of Fun, moderated the discussion. Sitting on the panel were (and here’s where my objective reporter dial turns to editorialized bitch):

Dr. Braden Berkey of the Center on Halstead – He was quiet and overshadowed by the other two panelists.

Mufasa Ali, founder of ONYX, a leathermen’s group for men of color – This refrigerator of a man definitely commanded the stage and looked menacing, with a ball cap concealing his facial features. I was poised to dislike him from the start, noting his close attachment to the leather community, a community I have much ambivalence toward. But he ended up being far and away the best panelist. He was very informed and offered insight (specifically regarding positive thinking and self love as other tools to quell the spread of HIV and STIs) that no other person on stage even broached. He also had a unique perspective, being African American, that diversified the conversation and led it away from a myopic talk about majority gay culture (which, let’s face it, is so, well, boring).

And then there was Tony Valenzuela…a writer and (I’m assuming self proclaimed) gay men’s health activist – There is no place to begin with the incompetence and sheer selfishness of this man. He is unable to see the greater consequences of what he preaches, that being bareback sex. His sheer bravado when discussing such a heated topic leads me to question whether his controversial opinions are really his own or whether he’s just a hustler for attention, a mere shock jock who instead of offending little old ladies in front of their radios encourages the uneducated gay masses to enter a rabbit hole of risk. You want to hear more? Not to worry. Continue reading and you will realize the hypocritical, stunted rationality that is the ideology of Mr. Valenzuela.

The forum started with a bit of background information, commonly known information for most of us homos but possibly off your radar if your penis is a vagina dweller (I tire of the usual cliches). I’ll summarize the history for you, with some of my own insight mixed in for good measure.

The HIV/AIDS epidemic of the 1980s raised an awareness for safer sex (sex with a condom) among gay men like no other era before it. The 1970s were a hedonistic time for all, but especially for gay men. We had Stonewall at the end of the prior decade. We were mad as hell, and we weren’t going to take it anymore (unless it was up the butt). And so after fighting back with bottles and cans dressed in drag during those New York nights, we decided to let our figurative hair down and party. And party we did. The 70s were a crazy time, a time where sex no longer had to be furtively enjoyed in back alleys and truck stops (however many men, lusting for the furtive sex of yesterday still got it on whenever and wherever they could get away with it). Gay bars popped up everywhere. Bathhouses were always a stones throw away, and sometimes closer! These were the hey days of being gay. But all good things get the brakes slammed on them and so did this. HIV was a reality, and AIDS killed many men.

Flash to the 90s. Safer sex was cool, much like parachute pants and day glow (let’s just blame our 70s drug use for such egregious fashion faux pas). The gay porn industry picked up on this new mentality and began self regulation. It would market in safe sex images only. To not was, in essence, to be a hardcore drug pusher, marketing a material that was deemed so contraband and counterintuitive to the community that you were labeled a demon a.k.a. a Tanya Harding.

But just as time heals all wounds, it also makes people kind of forget shit. And so we sped through the 90s in a rush to get to that amazing 1999 party that Prince had told us so much about. And in the process gay porn morphed, with smaller companies entering the market with condomless (bareback) videos. The Internet, of course, made the dissemination of this material much easier, exponentially increasing access to the gay public and thus increasing the demand. It’s debatable whether the gay public changed first and the porn industry swooped in to fill a niche or vice versa. It’s a chicken and egg thing…a tail wagging the dog thing…a metaphor that involves animals and animal parts. Regardless, things changed and an entire industry of bareback porn, with a demanding audience, was born.

Why did all this exist when we all knew well enough that HIV was still around, was still a problem, was still leading to the deaths of our friends and loved ones? Because better drugs came out in the mid-90s that enabled those afflicted with the virus to live longer and healthier lives. These drugs aren’t miracle workers (you won’t be throwing spoons). But they help tremendously. And the sheer presence of these drugs, for some, was enough to give them permission to lower their guard during sex. Meanwhile, young gay men were entering the scene, many of which have no recollection of the 1980s (but it doesn’t stop them from wearing our clothes or adopting our music…damn you American Apparel!). Thus they saw HIV as an old man’s disease, something that had basically gone the way of the dinosaurs, or at the very least, so distant that its prior massive effect on the community as a whole was a whispered echo.

So now we’re caught up? Right? Good.

A little more background (thanks for reading, if you’re still reading). International Mr. Leather recently decided to ban the presence of bareback porn at their annual event in Chicago. For those not in the know, IML is a big debaucherous festival/corporate trade show that takes place in Chicago every year. It is THE meeting place for men into non-traditional sex, such as leather and pain and pee. I know. You probably find this all very weird. And it is cause I have the pictures to prove it. Regardless, it was a big deal when this was announced. For one, people often don’t associate the gay fetish community with social conciousness. In fact, many lay gay people not part of the scene consider the fetish scene to be a hotbed for disease. And I don’t know the statistics to say if they are right or wrong. What matters though is, this was seen as a significant move on the part of the organizers of IML, one that sent ripples through the fetish world, reducing many a leatherdaddy to tears (or at least sexual frustration).

Chuck Renslow, IML’s president, was present at the forum. Why he was not a panelist is beyond me. I can only assume he denied the offer for personal reasons. If he was never approached, that is a shame as he is at the center of this topic and, after providing some commentary as an audience member, a well-informed individual with some interesting opinions. In a nutshell, he stands at odds with Tony (douchebag mentioned above). Tony feels that eliminating bareback porn at IML is tantamount to censorship and destroys any ability to establish a dialogue about the topic. Here’s what’s wrong with Tony’s thoughts in my opinion (I’ll get to Chuck’s response in a second):

1. IML isn’t a community forum. It can regulate what vendors display.

2. Banning bareback porn hurts no one except the producers of the stuff. And these producers are motivated predominantly out of a want to make money in the first place, with little regard for the health of the community. Tony would say banning bareback porn eliminates the dialogue. I disagree. No one is going to walk into IML and not know bareback porn exists. If they are familiar enough with nipple clamps and ball torture, I’m pretty sure they’ve heard about condomless sex put to video. Also, I don’t think IML is really a French salon where intellectual ideas are freely exchanged. There’s not really a whole lot of open dialogue at IML. In fact, it’s quite the contrary, with many people enjoying being gagged.

3. Tony also said that porn does not effect behavior (that is a quote). However, he also said that youth learn from example. So I ask you this, Tony Phony, how is porn not an example? Also, I don’t recall ever taking a sex ed class for gay men in public school. But I do recall learning that the penis goes in the butt from gay porn. And I’d venture to say the majority of gay men learn about the birds and the birds from pornography. So bareback porn then really could lead to a normalizing of bareback sex among young gay men.

Okay, onto Chuck. Chuck says (and this reflects Mustafa’s sentiments) that informed men should have the choice to do what they wish, safe or otherwise. However, after much consideration, he believes some of the men who attend IML are not informed. Rather, they are wide-eyed, bushy-tailed young gay men who are seeking a place to safely explore their sexuality, from the vanilla to the extreme. And Chuck doesn’t want to contribute to the normalizing of bareback sex for these young men. In addition, Chuck sees that much of the bareback porn industry is motivated by avarice with little regard to its effects on the community. Think of it like McDonald’s. Yeah, people want to buy food that is really shitty for them, but should we be selling them what they want, especially when many of these people know jack squat about calorie counts, sodium and saturated fat?

Personally I applaud Chuck for his decision. In fact, I plan on writing him a letter to personally show my gratitude. Because I’m sure he’s facing a lot of heat from his biggest fans for this one and potentially losing quite a bit of money, and you have to respect that. And I urge you too to find Chuck online and send him a letter if you agree to let him know that you stand with him in his decision. I’m sure he’d like to see he’s not alone in his sanity.

The discussion at large also focused a bit on the motivating factors behind bareback sex. In the end, the panel came up with two:

1. Proposed by Mustafa as being unique to the African-American gay population, though I believe it is pervasive among all gays, is that bareback sex is fueled by a need for intimacy. There is no denying that intamicy, validation and acceptance are part of the needs of an individual. We all crave these things. And as an oppressed people, we are sometimes willing to take risks, great risks, to achieve even the illusion that we are wanted. And so bareback sex becomes a symbol of closeness, regardless of how anonymous the encounter might be.

2. Also proposed by Mustafa and supported by Tony is the sexual outlaw or sexual rebel motif. Popularized by author John Rechy, the concept of the sexual outlaw is a gay man who has decided to shun the heteronormalization of gays and to shun heterosexual norms entirely by using his sexuality as a tool of activism, anarchy and subversion. By fucking like a little bunny with little care, by having multiple partners, by humping in a public park, by neglecting to keep it safe, this “outlaw” is living in the danger zone. Thus modern-day barebackers are keeping this tradition alive (according to those that believe in the sexual outlaw), with many cheering these idiots on as if their actions truly are political in nature.

My opinion? Truthfully, 1 and 2 are actually the same. The need for intimacy and the sexual outlaw are two sides of the same coin. See, the sexual outlaw wants you to believe he is content in his choice to give society the middle finger. But really, this “choice” isn’t a choice at all. The sexual outlaw has suffered the same amount of oppression and judgment as the gay who craves acceptance and intimacy. But rather than search to fulfill these needs (whether in a healthy or unhealthy outlet), the sexual outlaw rejects these needs, unconsciously saying to himself, “I don’t deserve these things because society says I don’t deserve these things.” He justifies this ostracization in his head by saying, “These things aren’t worth my time anyway. Who wants these things when I can have hedonistic, random sex!” In short, the sexual outlaw is really a gay trenchcoat mafia member. He’s been neglected and shunned by his popular (read: heterosexual) peers. So he dons a costume of rebellion, when he secretly just wants someone to say hi to him at his locker. As he sinks deeper into this persona, his classmates become even more judgmental of his behavior. Eventually he boils over. But whereas the trenchcoat kid would shoot up his school, the sexual outlaw internalizes his feelings of loneliness, both within himself and his community, recklessly having sex and upping the spread of STIs.

Another point from the forum: Many people were upset that there was not talk of reclaiming pleasure, as the title of the forum suggests. These people didn’t come to hear about safer sex. They knew that message. After all, it’s been trumpeted for years. And I can’t blame them. This wasn’t a forum to discuss new approaches to HIV/STI awareness (though I really would love to have a roundtable about that cause I got some ideas brewing). This was a forum to discuss pleasure, and all we’ve been talking about is whether to condemn or condone barebacking. Sadly, despite audience members pleads to steer the conversation in their direction, little effort was made, as the hot-button topic of barebacking overshadowed the pleasure conversation. However, I have to commend one audience member. He stood up and discussed how we should shift the dialogue from safer sex/barebacking away from the ass altogether. Why not eroticize something less likely to spread disease, like the scent of a man or armpits or back hair?

And he’s right. All too often us gay men are so fixated on our assholes that it’s a surprise we can’t see our heads are firmly planted up them. If we continue to characterize the safer sex conversation solely about the butt and putting on a condom, then we are going to forever use the same old tired tactics we’ve been using for a couple decades, tactics that have proven ineffective. Let us move away from staring at our buttholes and let us talk about how sex can encompass more than just penetration. Having a man thrust in and out of you might feel just fine, and it’s kind of hot to emulate those movies we see flashing on our computers, in bars and on our video iPods that we secretly view on public transportation. But lets not have porn dictate our dicks. Let’s put the power in our own hands, so to speak, and let’s re-define gay male sexuality. I’m not saying let’s get rid of anal sex. I’m just saying we should expand our vocabularly, and we should celebrate this expansion. Otherwise we will forever be doomed to say the same sentence over and over and over (“Use a condom. Use a condom. Use a condom.”), and this message will surely fall on tired, deafened ears.

One more thing. The night ended with an individual of Native American decent standing up and advocating we as a community stop focusing so much on sexuality and start bonding spiritually. Even though some snickered at this person’s erratic behavior and obvious flair, I thought the sentiments were spot on. Are we as a community solely bound to one another because of sex? Is it our want to fuck one another that creates our community? Or is there more? I believe there is a spiritual/emotional essence to our community that is atrifying due to a lack of attention. We are so focused on dicks and butts. I mean, when you can’t even say the word “hard” without a grown man giggling, something is very wrong. Let us embrace our sexuality, but let us also dig deeper and get at the real problem…ourselves. We have to love ourselves and one another. We have to have each others backs. We have to bond in a way that transcends sex if we are to succeed as a community, if we are to achieve equal rights in our society. Let us expand our dialogue and our minds to address the holistic experience of being gay, rather than focusing acutely on a good time. Then and only then, when we have achieved this sense of brother and sisterhood, can we realize our true potential.

Categories: Uncategorized

Food, Glorious Food

August 13, 2009 · 3 Comments

I am eating pretzels right now. Delicious, fat free Rold Golds to be exact. Remember when Jason Alexander was the spokesperson for Rold Golds? Remember when he was the spokesperson for Kentucky Fried Chicken? What is it about Jason Alexander that advertisers think screams appetizing? Baldness? Obesity? Maybe the fatwads that watch t.v. see Jason and say, “That could easily be me, my best friend, my brother or the guy at McDonald’s serving me my supersized number 6.” Whatever the case may be, Jason Alexander = food.

Speaking of food, that is what my blog is about today! If you have been keeping up with me on Facebook (and you really should be keeping up with me on Facebook), you’ll know I have really started to cultivate a, um, what would you call it? A green thumb is for gardening…a sweet tooth is for eating donuts….um….a skillet stomach? I don’t know. The point is, I’ve really gotten into cooking, like hardcore. As in I want to fuck the intangible concept of food preparation…until it whimpers in the corner and demands a towel. (By the way this post is already beating out all others for most ellipses…by I digress.)

I began my culinary adventure at the unripe age of about 10. I can’t pinpoint the age for sure as I have repressed most of my childhood due to severe trauma. But among the nightmareish memories of abuse, neglect and being forced to wear my grandmother’s summer hat, I recall preparing such culinary delights as grilled cheese sandwiches, made sometimes with mozzarella and tomato, scrambled eggs and orange nog (a putrid combination of eggs, orange juice and vanilla, the recipe for which came from a children’s cookbook written by someone who obviously reviled children).

I would like to say that I was inspired by my mother’s or father’s cooking. But that would be a lie. My father was the griller of the family, always barbecuing this or that, and oftentimes something unidentifiably in between (thit?). No matter what it was, it was always served scorched earth on the outside, mooing on the inside and tasting of lighter fluid. My mother wasn’t much better. Strapped for time and overburdened with children, she’d throw a bunch of anything into a casserole dish, plop it into the oven and then spoon it onto plates. The most popular of these dishes was a middle class, white, suburbanite take on mostaccioli, that included ground beef, noodles and Velveeta (which must be capitalized because it is proprietary cheese, invented in a laboratory by mad scientists).

This is why my culinary skills became stunted in early adulthood. I had never realized what it meant to truly cook as an adult. I was still stuck in an adolecsent state, making grill cheese and eating raw cookie dough. But recently I began experimenting in the kitchen once more, thanks to both my boyfriend’s encouragement and Real Simple magazine.

Real Simple has a ton of super easy recipes that are so basic, even a two-toed sloth could prepare them (and they only have two toes!). You have your basic grilled chickens and grilled fish and sauces and whatnot. Basically it’s elementary school for the cooking moron. And for me, it was exactly what I needed. After preparing two months worth of food using the Real Simple recipes, I broke free and began experimenting on my own, using and building upon the techniques the magazine taught me.

Now I experiment with making my own vinagrettes, like my honey/ginger/lime that I concocted myself. I made a turkey meat loaf yesterday and substituted tomato chutney for ketchup (delish!). I’ve done scallops, peanut sauce, cucumber salads, cod, mahi mahi, pork tenderloin with jerk sauce, purple potato fries, etc. I’ve gone cooking crazy, and no institution or dose of electroshock thereapy can set me sane.

But I still aspire to get better. I’m no baker, and a Thanksgiving dinner is probably beyond my abilities for now. That’s why I’m insanely jealous of my friend John, who maintains a wonderful little blog called Shallots Web. John is an amazing cook and a great writer. Weaving together fabulous narratives with interesting tidbits on food, and of course recipes, the blog is a great example of how life and food are not complimentary, but rather are one. Because for each dish or drink that John concocts, there is a story, and that makes the dish that much richer and filling. Check it out. It’s worth a read. But then come back to my blog…because you know, you love me.

Categories: Uncategorized

SPAM From The War

August 11, 2009 · Leave a Comment

I received this today:

Good day and compliments, I know this letter will definitely come to you
as a huge surprise, I am SGT. Vaja U. Mailier, a Georgian Soldier, serving
in the Infantry battalion, Iraq.

I am desperately in need of your assistance and I have summoned up courage
to contact you. I am presently in Iraq and I found your contact
particulars in an address journal. I am seeking your assistance to
evacuate the sum of $8.750,000:00 to the States or any safe country, as
far as I can be assured that it will be safe in your care until I complete
my service here. This is no stolen money and there are no dangers
involved.

Respectfully,
SGT. Vaja U. Mailier
Georgian Soldier. IRAQ

And I responded with this:

Goodness, SGT. Mailier!

A Georgian soldier you say? All the way from Iraq? Why I’ve never been out of the fine state of Kansas! This is all so much!

I am glad you have summoned up the courage to contact me, especially in light of your monetary burden that you seek to unload. You see, my diabetes has been getting real bad. I mean real bad. It’s not my fault they put a Dunkin Donuts right next to Mary Jo’s daycare (she’s my little angel). I just can’t resist their Munchkins. Do you know what Munchkins are, SGT. Mailier? They are donut holes. Anyway, when I eat to many, my vision gets blurry on account of my diabetes. Doctor Norman says if I keep this up, I might have to lose an eye, or worse a foot! Then again, I’m not sure which is worse, an eye or a foot? You would probably know, SGT. Mailier, what with you being at war and all. If you summon the courage to write again, you should let me know.

So in addition to my diabetes, Mary Jo has been wanting this new Bratz doll that just came out. Do you know what a Bratz doll is, SGT. Mailier? It’s like a Barbie but they got bigger eyes and less clothes. I don’t really approve of it. I don’t think it’s the best roll model for my little angel, but then again I just can’t stand to see her pout. Also, Debra Vanderslice just bought her little girl the whole set, and Debra and that little turd she popped out of a daughter won’t shut up about it. So I’ve saving up for weeks, stocking away a dollar from every paycheck I get from Sack N Save, until I can buy Mary Jo that Bratz she wants. But like I said, I’ve developed quite the donut hole habit, so I just keep stocking all that money away in my belly. Oh, SGT. Mailier! I’m such a terrible person!

SGT. Mailier…can I tell you something? I feel like I can trust you, what since you are entrusting me with millions of dollars. I’m lonely. I haven’t felt the touch of a man since my deadbeat husband Frank sped off in his truck two years ago, probably off to see that trampy harlot who works over at the City Tittie. I’d really appreciate it if when you come to collect your money, you also maybe stay a while longer. I could use the strong hands of a soldier around the trailer. I’m not saying you have to marry me or nothing. Just a long weekend. You and me. Like a couple of teenagers up to no good. Don’t feel no pressure now. I’m just throwing that out there into the wind and seeing if it catches a breeze.

So in conclusion, SGT. Mailier, your letter has brought a ray of sunshine into my otherwise cloudy life. Bless your heart and your soul to the highest peak of our Father’s (the Creator) home in heaven.

Most sincere regards,

Phyllis Anne Wentworth

Categories: Uncategorized