TONIGHT in the Closet

TONIGHT in the Closet...

*background music: drum rolls, which give way to jazzy tune composed of loud trumpet and electronica version of We Are Family, while graphics play scenes of Closetalk's life*

Hello again and Welcome to The Tonight Show with Closetalk.

Our Top Story tonight...

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Politics takes center-stage tonight, as the results of the Iowa cockus (did I spell that right? Feels much nicer this way, anyhow...) finally came through, throwing up winners Barrak Obama from the Democrats and Mike Huckabee from the Republicans, and now the action shifts to the next state, New Hampshire. Now, according to the polls, the most important deciding factor for Iowa was econmic policies and changes envisioned therein, but it's no secret that the Rainbow Brigade is pinning it's hope on a Democrat President to get elected - either Obama or Edwards or nutcracking Hillary - and push through gay marriage laws, while Huckabee's a Born-Again Baptist minister who thinks fags steal babies brains at night while they sleep. Funny thing, really, that the election action now shifts to a state which became the fourth in the Union to legalize civil unions for gay men and lesbians. It's also a strange and sad coincidence that while all this happens, the first governor to sign a statewide gay rights law (in sleepy ole Wisconsin, no less!) passed away. *sigh* Looks like a long battle ahead, boys - time to emigrate to Canada, you think?

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Well, maybe not. Not, if you're a goody-goody sap who likes to donate blood, cuz the Canadian Blood Services has a ban on accepting blood from gay men who've been sexually active since 1971 (ouch!), and that's what student groups there are protesting against now. The surprising part here is that even the American Red Cross which, till recently had a similar ban on accepting blood from sexually active gay men (their limit was 1977), is lobbying to lift a similar ban this side of the Great Lakes! Will wonders never cease...!

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When it comes to the "long arm of the law", some of us may well have a fetish for this sort of thing *giggle*, but for others, like this South Korean police officer, it takes on a (no pun intended) deeper meaning. :) Private Kim Hyun-jong is the second police officer in South Korea to publicy come out, and he has vowed to fight social prejudice against LGBT minorities in his country. I'm looking for my pom-poms now to cheer him on!

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Meanwhile, here's gay prejudice of another kind... in the UK, a female bouncer of a gay club has won a suit against her old boss, the gay owner of a gay club for harassment and ill-treatment because she was, well, straight. Sharon Legg, 33, who worked at Dreams in Bournemouth, said that her manager repeatedly called her derogatory names such as “breeder”. Legg is, of course, a self-confessed fag hag... and I am being completely politically incorrect and loving the term she was called. *giggle* Breeder!

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And, finally, we end this fab-u-lous episode with the news that my boyfriend has long suspected, but never really had the proof to throw back in my face, during my driving lessons: a British study has concluded that women and gay men make lousy drivers. Moreover, gay men rank behind women in terms of navigational skills. Behind a wheel, that is. Cuz everyone knows that we know how to navigate the club circuit better than anything! So there!

Well, that's it for tonight, lovely people. See you again soon for another edition of the Tonight Show with Closetalk. Adios, sayonara, al vida, and don't forget to buckle your seatbelts... as if that helps! :)

Prettier than Russel Crowe

So I'm prettier than Russel Crowe, really...

It's the close of the holiday season with the start of the new year, and it's been an interesting week, really. I've been "meeting the family", you see.



So, the last time I found myself in a similar situation was back in Bombay, when I first met the Wicked Witch of the West, Natureboy's gal Friday. WWW was witty, bitchy and pretty - just the sort of person I gel with o-so completely, and we ended up being great friends even though the Natureboy-Closetalk romance didn't last too long. Aaa, but last last week was different. Last week, I was introduced to a 20-member strong immediate family and a 35-member strong extended family. Irish American. Whoa. And I'm horrid at fake accents.

It's been about four and a half months now that Irish Coffee and I have been together, so when his family moved back for the Christmas holidays, it was quite inevitable that I'd meet them. My first encounter with the aliens was when one of them - his older sister - came over for a midmorning coffee some two weeks back, and so I sauntered out from the bedroom, trying to not look guilty as the gay whore from the subcontinent who seduced her innocent-as-a-babe (yea, right!) brother some twenty minutes ago. We drank coffee, ate slices of pie, chattered about this and that, and by the end of the conversation, I found myself invited to a great prime ribs party she was throwing for the whole family a week later. I gulped and accepted.

As it turned out, I got a chance to meet the Family even before the big prime ribs party. A day before that was scheduled, Irish Coffee got a phone call that the whole family was already assembled and there was a demand that he come right over. So I dressed appropriately (no Boystown tee) and got into the car, and soon found myself surrounded by sisters and brothers-in-law and nephews and nieces and bawling babies and a father. Ummm... okkkkkkk then... So yea I was pretty nervous, not moving much, trying to be very polite and all that, and I kept thanking god for the talkative niece and the cute (if bawling) baby who deflected attention away from me. I got some questions thrown at my general direction and tried to answer them as nicely as possible, trying not to appear as (a) the uppity grad school student who's going to become a high-brow academic who doesn't give a shit for Midwestern middle class people, or (b) the gay tramp who's trying to infiltrate our good Catholic family. *sigh*



Russel Crowe had nothing on me! :)

There was a short break that evening, and then I found out that everyone was then going to pack into their cars and drive over to another bigger party by 'Uncle Dave' in his house. The extended family... ooo, goody.

Uncle Dave's house turned out to be this lovely old mansion-type, overflowing with Irish bric-a-brac, and his son kept on talking about good ole Ireland with me, trying to convince me to go there the very next season. There was booze, loud music, even louder people and interesting artifacts all around, so I actually had a pretty fun time. Before we headed out to meet the family, Irish Coffee had told me he was going to introduce me as his 'friend' and not 'boyfriend', because he didn't want the "o, you slut!" looks from some disapproving elements right after they'd come to terms with his ex, and though I'd agreed, I don't think anyone really bought that story.

Anyhow, the big prime rib party went off quite well, too. I decided to get on the family-pleasing offensive and baked a batch of brownies for the lot. There were party games and yummy food and great wine, and I probably gained five pounds that evening.

By now, most of the Family have departed for their respective homes, and it's back to me and Irish Coffee here again. We brought in the new year, watching the second part of the Godfather trilogy and eating a fresh batch of brownies (that's the only thing I can cook, really), and some great snuggling on the couch. :) I missed my Bombay boys and remembered the great New Year's Eve party we had last year, but was quite content with my Irish Coffee here. I'm not sure whether we'll last forever or not, but it does feel great to be here with him, to cuddle and snog and do up the Christmas lights. And to watch the Godfather over my excellent brownies.



Happy New Year, netizens. :)

Closetalk in Chicago

Closetalk in Chicago
(sounds like one of those Asterix comics... 'Asterix in America'...!)

The ole Midwest is hardly the place for you, if you're a Bombay boi, who's used to 13 million teeming and pulsating around you, so you can imagine how eager I was to finally get my ass out to Chicago for a quick pre-Christmas trip. I'd heard all about the "Windy City" from Irish Coffee, who lived there for ten years earlier, and I was dying to see a real city finally in the States - with all due respect to Indy. So we packed our bags, put the dog in the car, and drove down to Chicago.

We found a motel right off Halstedt Street, Chicago's Boystown, and Irish Coffee and I traipsed down the street. I, of course, found the Rainbow Pillars of Boystown quite freakishly fabulous and got straight down to posing for snaps! Also drove over to Lakeshore Drive, which is supposed to be quite the scenic cruising area, and then back to Halstedt Street in time to catch the play we had tickets for.



Once that was done, it was time to visit yet another icon of Boystown - Gay-Mart, which I can only describe as a thoroughly kooky curiosity shop! Picked up a completely nonsensical Stewie angel ornament for the Christmas tree, and then ambled into the Leather Shop and Cupid's Treasures to check out the merchandise. Was sorely tempted to buy the handcuffs and edible underwear, but then decided I could be quite devilish in Chicago without them! What can I say... I get my inspiration from Stewie! hehehe!



After we finished checking into the motel, Irish Coffee and I hit the bar - the straight bar, that is, where his friend's the bartender. The idea was to get loaded on free beers and (yuck!) whiskey. Anyhow, it was fun chatting with the straight folks (as SnowWhite's Stepmum says, or used to, at any rate: "Straight people are normal too!"), but then I forgot that my boyfriend is Irish whereas I get high on a single malt, so after seven beers I ended up puking my guts all over the floor. Mortifying start to a fun holiday, but there I was. In my defence, we were at the bar for a good six hours till I gave my virtuoso performance.

*sigh*

Anyhow, by the time morning came, I was raring to go again and we dropped by the Magnificent Mile. I drooled at the sight of Prada and Tiffany's and given my Holly Golightly affliction, just had to pop in, much to poor Irish Coffee's vexation! :) Walked downtown some more, posed for cheesy pictures and then into the Millenium Park to watch the city's skyline reflected in the Big Bean. :) When the Traveller first recommended I head over to some place called "the big bean", I must admit I sniggered, but hey, it was actually loads of fun, standing by and watching the skaters whizz by.

Did loads more sight-seeing in the next two days, and we headed down to the gay bars in Boystown each night. Time to show of my Bombay togs, so out came the sexy pink Benetton tee and tapering black leather shoes, and I was ready to sashay. Roscoe's was fun and sexy, great cosmopolitans; Cocktail was amusing with its pretty boys; and Hydrate was fun too, with all the hunky shirtless guys boogeying on the dance floor. I'd been poring over the Gay Chicago reader during the day, over my Starbucks, and noting where all the fun parties were, and though I missed the Wet Bear contest (damn!) I had fun nonetheless. Nights of white wine for me, no more beer (thank you!), and it felt nice, standing and chatting and laughing with Irish Coffee, while he whispered terribly sweet nothings in my ear... :)

There are two different joys in exploring a fabulous city with (a) your boyfriend, or (b) your friends... and though I only have (a) right now, and I miss my (b) terribly, it was still a freakin' fun time in the Windy City!

What did I bring back? Mmmmm... apart from the wicked Stewie ornament, a great Boystown football tee that I plan to wear during the summer and a very shiny Pink Pig dogtag. :)



O, and a bunch of great memories!

White Christmas

White Christmas

Back from Chicago, and it has been a very lovely Christmas, if much more quiet than last year's. :) The streets outside are lined with snow and I took the opportunity to snap a quick picture. Spent the whole day cleaning house with Irish Coffee, since he's expecting relatives later this week, and relaxed at home for a quiet meal. Tried out my culinary skills, cooked some noodles, laid out some marinated chicken from Chicago, popped a bottle of wine and some assorted chocolates for dessert.



A very white Christmas.... which was abso-fcukin-lutely great, because for as long as I can remember I've always wished for one! From my youngest years, Christmas has been a special time for me - we used to spend it at my grandma's home and I would sit up a week before Christmas, listening to Jim Reeves croon, while decorating my grandma's tree (yes, in sub-tropical Calcutta, no less!) and then the whole apartment... What can I say? - I was made for mistletoe and holly! :)

Innocence recalled! *grin*

So, anyhow, this year I didn't get the great big party, and I didn't kiss random boys in closets, and I couldn't even find any hot santas to post pics of for the blog, but I did find this old gem in my laptop that I thought I'd put up here. Just a sexy, smutty X'mas for everyone...

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas!

It's been snowing here in the ole Midwest, and I've been lapping it up excitedly. You don't get to see snow in gorgeous Bombay, after all! :) So I was there playing with the snow on the pavement, while waiting for the college bus, and the Chinese student on the other side of the road flashed me a queer look (not the good queer look, mind you). And there was me bursting into class, 10 minutes late, with a verybeatific smile on my face, announcing: "It's snowing!"

And then my prof snorts, and says I can have the snow anytime - she wants the sun! :)

But it's snowing and it's going to be Christmas soon, and I've always been a nut about Christmas, so... I'm off the BIG city of the Midwest tomorrow - Chicago, here I come...!

And before I hit the Windy City, I thought I'd post this funny one someone emailed me...

Library Brew

Library Brew

It's hard to believe, really, that four months have already passed since I got here in the ole Midwest. I haven't really been that great intrepid explorer of the new land as I thought I'd be. :) Just Indianapolis and one other city in the Midwest and that's it. Yikes. And I haven't been very adventurous in the last couple of months on the men's side either, as the complaints from my sex-hungry freaky commentors will inform you. :) Well then, what on earth have I been up to here, millions of miles away from good ole Bombay?

Ummm, well...



I've been attending my classes, and writing reams of papers for them, and the general verdict so far is that I seem to be fairly talented here. :) So, while I'm already dreaming up PhD plans (mum always did want a 'doctor' in the family!), I'm also submitting papers and articles to conferences. The good news is: I've already been accepted at a couple of them and come March, I'm going to be in Pittsburgh and then at Detroit, waxing eloquent about my sheer brilliance. Aaa, well, not really, but you do get the picture. Suddenly, I seem to have become (gasp) the academic. As a prof informed me, I'm quite the FOB PIG about town - Fresh Off the Boat Poor Indian Grad (Student). :)

So, last semester saw me calling Famous Activist Guy and asking for pointers on a project I was working on, about sensitization toward gay men and women in the corporate workplace. FAG was a great help, of course, but he did assist me in realizing that I'd turned into one of those gay NRIs (Non Resident Indians, for the uninitiated) who turn toward good ole India for research work. *sigh* To think, I actually dated one of those for some time - o, but then he was cute, so it really doesn't matter that he turned out to be a prick. Anyhow, my project happened to be a great hit here, and then I started on a second one: gay-friendly curricula in US colleges. Of course, when I broke this piece of news to SnowWhite's Stepmother, he huffed and said I was as original as Om Shanti Om, with my o-so-cliched little faggoty research topics. :)

Nevertheless, I am being quite true to my faggoty self. *giggle* In a way, it's the whole "coming out" thing. I'd always planned on being more "out" here than I was back home, and I guess that's showing more in my research projects at grad school than anywhere else. I've already declared my intention to focus on Queer Theory to my professors, and they've been quite gung-ho. I don't think they've had a fag in the department in quite some time, so they seem to be quite excited at the prospect! :)

On the man-activity front, there's a reason for not posting about brand new scintillating sex-ventures, aside from my harried nerdy grad self. And that's cuz I've been getting progressively serious about the thing with Irish Coffee. It's not completely smooth sailing etcetera over here, because there are complications involved: I'm not very sure about my future, and he's not sure about his, plus he came out of a long-term relationship two months before meeting me, so there's "rebound-baggage" involved as well... so... *phew*... it is complicated. But it's also nice. It's fun being with him, and talking with him. Spending a lot of my time with him. He's been my sounding board for all my academic (and not-so-academic) yadayadas, and it's been great finding an intelligent, funny, witty (and patient) person in the Midwest to cuddle in bed with.

And he's a funny foil for me. I'm this weird flamboyant gay guy whose scarf has to be flounced over his shoulders just right, whose leather gloves must gleam, whose hat must be tipped just perfectly, who can only wear well-fitting jackets despite the freezing weather - and he's so butch he might as well be straight. We do make a funny pair. He likes his coffee black, straight up, no sugar, no milk - but he still makes mine for me, the way I like it: plenty of sugar, plenty of milk. India ishtyle.

I'm getting used to my Irish Coffee. :)

Here comes... the SATC Movie

*drumrolls* Here comes... the SATC Movie

So I was all set to write a post on a somewhat 'serious' topic here, and then I discovered.....

...the all-new Sex and the City MOVIE trailer... yeeeeeeeeehaaaaaaa! :)





And that's when you think about the great stuff they ended with:

Carrie: Later that day, I got to thinking about relationships... there are those that open you up to something new and exotic... those that are old and familiar... those that bring up lots of questions... those that bring you somewhere unexpected... those that bring you far from where you started... but the most exciting, challenging and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself... and if you find someone to love the you you love, well, that's just fabulous!



O, and I just realized, they show Mr. Big's name on Carrie's phone in the last scene there: John!

Hot Turkey

Hot Turkey

I've been making excuses for quite some time now to my friend the Traveller for not blogging, excuses mainly dealing with work. It's the end of the Fall semester here, and I had tonnes of paperwork to do - theory and term papers to write, presentation proposals to make, etc, and now that I have a kind of respite (one more due Monday, but that's the very last!) I did want to come back here and blog about what a fun time it's been since my last post.

The best thing to ease me into the tough study schedule I find myself in now would be, I decided, a holiday over the Thanksgiving break. So a phone call was made to the Traveller, bus tickets were purchased, and I found myself in Indianapolis. I'd asked Irish Coffee when he dropped me at the bus station, whether there were any cowboys there, and he laughed. I didn't think so, but it doesn't hurt to ask. :) Anyhow, my trip to Indy was simply fabulous. Traveller took me all around downtown, we gawked at the phallic symbol the city prides on, we walked in and out of museums, we snapped pictures of fabulous old buildings and we dined on some amazing food at English pubs and German rat cellars (The Rathskeller was the name of the restaurant). There was even an attempt to change the template of this blog, but I got cold feet at the last minute when the HTML codes started bullying me. O, and yes, we partied. :)



I haven't partied like that in ages! :) Not since Bombay, at any rate! :) Traveller's gay cousins were in town, with their respective partners, and all of us hit the Indy gay scene with a storm. Great music, loads of alcohol, and dizzying dances that ended with the fabulous circle jig. Mmmmm.... even waking up with a (teeny) hangover didn't dull the fun!

So, Indy was fun.

Understatement. :)

A/S/L?

A/S/L?

Back in Bombay, there was this one time SnowWhite's Stepmother and I went across to Bandra to buy tee-shirts with gay messages, and I picked up one that went with the title of this post: "A/S/L?" (Age/ Sex/ Location). I was thinking about that episode right now, when I looked in on my blog traffic after ages tonight. And that's when I thought, I've never really written anything about the people who come in here to this space. Never really said anything about all the guys and gals who come by, scroll up and down, and pass a verdict whether I've done good or sucked royally, and so I thought this would be a great time to do that.

So... where are you from? :)

Well, according to the statistics, TalkingClosets got 969 visitors from 48 countries in the last week. While I expected people from India to bag the top slot here, given that I am a desi boy and all that jazz, I was a bit surprised to note that it was the US of A which was Number One here. Ahem, USA - 374, compared to India's 335. Of course, you can probably shave off 5-10 of those views from that tally, when I logged in myself to check/answer comments, but that still leaves the US in the top slot.

So, now I was a bit curious to find out where my viewers in the States come from. Turns out, California, land of the free, bags the most votes - 89. Strangely though, the centers that I thought TC would be most popular in - LA and West Hollywood - didn't do too well, with only about 7 views from there this week. Nopes, the big daddy of the lot was Piedmont in the San Francisco Bay Area, with about 38 views. Now I was stumped. I mean, I've never even heard of this place before. A bit of googling tells me, however, that it's quite a posh piece of suburbia in SF with a HUGE Asian population - 16% - and well, I guess that's how I got my 38 views this week! :) All the cute and rich gay desi doctors and lawyers in piedmont, I love you, so please come and take me away from the Midwest! :)

The other biggies in the US turned out to be the Big Apple (predictable, I suppose, but YAY, I *heart* NY) with 34 views and Chicago with 27. A place called Blacksburg in Virginia also figured high here, with 30 votes, and I was a bit surprised again, knowing Virginia is God-fearing anti-Christian territory. But then I realized that that's where VirginiaTech is. Hehehe. So, the college boys like me. Nice! O, and Princeton loves me to - 11 votes from there! :)



Back home in India, good ole Bombay wins hands-down, with a whopping 170 views over last week! Funny to think that SS used to tease me earlier, that my dragging everyone to the GB parties was a clear indication I was getting kickback from them! :) O, but I do miss the cit dreadfullyy! Anyway, Delhi came in second with 65, and Chennai third with 26, but my hometown Kolkata saw a lousy 2 views. *sniffle*

This post feels like a horrible lesson in statistics by now, but I did do a little bit more detective work to see where else, other than India and the US, I got page-views from. The next largest is the UK with 60 votes, of which London hogs the majority with 26, and then Canada with 41, of which Toronto claims 25. Mmmm... and I might actually be heading up to Toronto sometime the end of this year. :) Australia gave me 25 views, of which gay mecca Sydney accounted for 15.

O, and I get no views from Africa, and my showing is pretty poor in mainland Europe also - Germany, France and Norway gave me only around 10 views each last week. China hates me - only one lone ranger logged in and I'm going to discount that as a fluke - but Hong Kong made up for that gaffe and logged in 9 times last week! :) Down in Southeast Asia, Malaysia gave me 10 views, and o, I do want to go see the Petronas Towers now. :) Closer home, I was kinda glad to see I got 10 views from Pakistan. Cool - especially since I thought that blogs were not accessible from there. :)

O, and funny thing: stupid Google counts Russia as part of Europe, when everyone and their mother know it's in Asia. Dummies!

Desi Dinner Time

Desi Dinner Time!

So I'm going to pop the corn quotient to 100% and say a silly like like: you can take CT out of Bombay, but you can't take Bombay out of CT! Sitting here in the middle of the sleepy Midwest, Closetalk calls on the all-powerful Youtube.com to take him to the bright gay disco lights of Bollywood to spy on the two brand new releases all of his facebook pals have been chattering about, and he is not disappointed. Nopes. Astounded, maybe, by how wonderfully gay friendly Bollywood heroes have turned out to be, but never disappointed. :)

It seems such a long time ago that Vivian and I were squealing our appreciation of yummy King Khan in his dapper Don look, but nothing could really have prepared me for the sight of SRK's 8-pack abs in his latest release Om Shanti Om. woof! No, no, I mean, nothing at all. There I sat in one of the computer labs on campus, innocently in front of youtube, and when SRK starts throwing his shirt away, gets his brand-new pecs and abs wet in true Mandakini style, you really can't blame CT for getting a woody. Suddenly, all those Irish boys can go hang - give me desi beef any day, baby! :)



And if you think that's yummy, go check out the actual video - Dard-e-Disco - on down here. The drool is inevitable. Quite a different type of drool, though drool nonetheless, for that hot new fireball called Ranbir Kapoor, in his debut Sawariya. O, ok , fine, his heroine is kinda pretty too, but when that hot studmuffin is in the frame, you don't really have eyes for anyone else. Imagine my glee (girlish giggles and all) when I discovered what I think to be the most delicious, gay-est pic of him ever on the net.



Mmmm... just what they needed on that ole Moulin Rouge: sexy Ranbir smouldering the stage in his sailor outfit. yummy! Simply love his dance number in the movie with his o-so false shy act with the looooong towel/sheet/dunno-what-it-is, but despite the thing's ambiguity, you have to love the part where the hottie falls onto the floor and single, slender, o-so-well-waxed leg peeks out. O shucks, now I'm in the mood for some tandoori chicken here...

Wanna Nach All Night...

Wanna Nach All Night...

I guess it's partly the Diwali fever, but here I am in the ole Midwest, and I've been missing amchi Mumbai. I had a formal dinner the other night with the Dean of Graduate Students, and there was the usual introductory round and I do my "I'm the international student from Bombay..." routine, but then he interrupts to ask, "Bombay? Don't you mean Mumbai?" And I'm like: "Nopes. It's Bombay to Bombayites, Mumbai to the rest."

*sigh*



So this weekend, there's a little Diwali something at my li'l Midwestern university, and I'm dragging Irish Coffee over with me. Thought I'd show him some of the desi moves. He's already heard some of the Hindi stuff on my computer and makes a face whenever I play Jhoom Barabar Jhoom, and so now I thought I'd torture him with the sight of some ABCDs and College Curry Bois dance to Where's The Party Tonight. :) (actually, he may like the dance performance more than the music.)

And that's another thing. I am soooo completely behind what's current in the Bollywood scene right now that I still listen to Where's The Party Tonight! Just now, I was so overwrought with nostalgia of the great parties at Guppie's house, and Vivian and SnowWhite's Stepmum dancing to Beedi, that I started listening to the Omkara album on my ipod while studying in the library. While walking to campus this morning, I was playing my five-month old Bollywood collection and snapping my fingers. I miss letting go on the dance floor when they play those fabulous jhatka tunes. I miss seeing the Bombay gay boys do their horrible rendition of the bhangra, and my joining in with my own topsyturvy version.

And the other night, when I found myself alone at the gay bar, I missed o-so much my GB parties and my gang of silly, fabulous queens. :) I missed all the lousy drinks, and bitching about the lousy music, and doing the borderline porno moves with SS, and squealing about the horned-up Punjabis on the dance floor. I missed having friends to dance with. I really want to dance. Just step out there on the dance floor and go wild like I used to in Bombay. With someone (friend or trick) who dances back with me. And while Irish Coffee is so terribly sweet to offer to go to gay bars and clubs with me, he just hates dancing and I know that. It seems somehow terrible to admit that I haven't slipped on those dancing shoes of mine in almost three months!



Ok, so this is the part where I realize that I've been moaning and groaning this whole post. Is life really that bad? Ummm... no. That's just the drama queen in me griping. Halloween was fun, for instance. And even though I was just one cowboy among the 200 others in this Midwestern town, I'm happy that Irish Coffee whispered in my ear that I was the cutest among them all! :)

Things are actually going quite nicely on this end. We still haven't had the "chat" and someone told me the other day that I was a whore to still have random hook-ups now and then if I was seeing someone, regardless of the "chat" having happened or not, but in all truthfullness, the randomness and the frequency of the hook-ups has descreased. Hell, it is true: graduate students don't have time for much else but work! :) And, more than anything, it's fun to talk about Irish boys and college boys and all the other different kind of boys that I bump into here.

That, and Bombay. *happy sigh*

Fairyland's Redheads

Fairyland's Redheads

Sitting here in the ole Midwest, I realize that there's one type of game here which seems especially drawn to me: the Irish American buck. I didn't really notice it much, the first time around. I mean, as far as I knew, there was only Irish Coffee, with whom I shared a fantastic equation. I mean, we ate, we drank, we drank, we drank, we shared conjugal relations *titter*, we drank some more, and we bitched about the British, and then I really didn't think much more about the Indo-Irish connection.

Till I found out, Bearded Boi was Irish American too. Aha. That made me think the world was a small place. Bearded Boi and I drank a lot too (sheesh!) and ate Mexicano food, and drank some more again. And anyone who's known me in real life knows I'm what they call a cheap date: I get drunk after one-and-a-half beers. So, of course, Bearded Boi and I had fun.

And then, I met the Scriptwriter, we had a great date dancing all night, got drunk beyond ourselves, bonked like rabbits till the early morn, and then he tells me at the door while leaving that he's (surprise surprise) Irish American!



So, now I'm left wondering what that special connection between moi and the Irish Americans of the Midwest is all about. It's become a joke for me to ask my hook-ups during the online chat, whether they're Irish or not - and six out of nine times, they are. I mean, back home, I didn't really have much of an idea (or opinion) about the Irish laddies. I knew all about the conflict with the Brits, I knew about the poor ole peasants who had to migrate to America, and I'd seen Ralph Feinnes look very sexy in a variety of Irish roles on the big screen. O, and yes, there was that soppy soap opera movie with Tom Cruise (ages ago, when he looed human) and Nicole Kidman (who is simply gorgeous) playing Irish American immigrants, and that hideous movie with Leo DiCaprio in NYC as an Irish hoodlum. Ahem, ahem.

So... my notion of your average Irish man hasn't really been dripping in style (except, maybe Ralphie). No, they're mostly the rough men-of-the-soil, who drink and belch and fart and laugh, but don't really know much of the finer things in life. But then, neither do I. :) When I tell Irish Coffee this, he has his standard reply ready: "The British stole it from us!"

There are of course, lots of gay men who like swarthy men-of-the-soil. Like me, for instance. :) Like my friend Diamond Choker Baccha for another. O, also Vivian. When you come to think of it, a lot of Indian guys go for that kinda MAN'S MAN - ok, well maybe not SnowWhite's Stepmother, but then, that's not catastrophic. Had sauntered over to an Irish American Festival sometime back, and it was quite fun, watching all the cute redheads fanning around, drinking Guinnes and swearing loudly. I'm no leprechaun, but I do like my redheads! :)

D-I-S-C-O-C-T

D-I-S-C-O-C-T

You won't ever see me in an Afro, or wearing shiny pants (ok, well you might see me in thos e sometime), or doing coke on the dance floor (though prior posts have found me snorting in the bedroom), but don't let this mistle you - I am a Disco Queen.

So last weekend saw me at Irish Coffee's place, and after the episodes of Sex and the City, I force him to sit by me and watch Studio 54. Ryan Phillipe. Yummy. OK, so he's awfully skinny in the movie, but I completely loved the idea of disco-dancing in a great big amphitheater, under a giant shining ball or two. May not be any sort of Ghetto Superstar, but hey, I can do a meeeeaaaan disco! :)

And what bugs me is the complete lack of disco in the gay bars these days. I can't even call it a Midwest thing, because Bombay was the same. Well at least Bombay used to play the odd Shakira and Justin Timberlake which might not be exactly disco, but are gay as gay can be. You can do the sexy shake here and there, raise your arms and scream, get down and dirty with your partner and do everything else that makes a gay man live on the dance floor. And hell, at least they used to play the odd Madonna and ABBA and Cher... sigh. Not so here in the Midwest, though. The staple here is trance. Dance music, they call it. Which means a lot of DJ intervention. Which means that I can't do all my bumps and grinds and tricks with the umbrella that I did back in Bombay.

Throw the DJ out!



(Well, maybe not, if he's that cute!)

Strange to think I'm a puritan like that. I like listening to Donna Summers and all the rest. I like to wear something slinky and sexy and boogey on the dance floor. And I think D-I-S-C-O is the only way to go. Disco complements gay men like no other brand of music can. And it's no just about the tune or the tone, but soooo much more about the attitude! An attitude that you can't find anywhere else. *sigh* Gosh - listen to me: 26 and I sound like a 70s hippie. *grin*

So Irish Coffee watched me dance to the closing credits of Studio 54 with a very bemused expression - I can only imagine SnowWhite's Stepmother's look of chagrin if he had been in the room - but I didn't really pay any attention. There I was, in my cowboy hat, jeans and nothing else, and wishing I could head out to a gay bar right then and there.

Halloween is coming up: I was all set to go as Zorro, but I have a good mind to do a skanky disco queen instead. :)




If I could read your mind, Love,
What a tale your thoughts could tell.
Just like a paperback novel,
The kind the drugstores sell.

SSIs (Singleton Slut Infections)

SSIs (Singleton Slut Infections)

Somewhere in Season Three, Carrie muses, "How many men is too many men? Are we simply romantically challenged, or... are we simply sluts?"

I've been watching a lot of SATC as you can probably tell. They show about five to six episodes a week here, and even though it's not in any particular order of seasons, it's still fun. So I flop down on the weekends over at my friend's home and torture him while I imbibe the girls - he calls them "trollops". :)



Getting back to the episode I quoted, Miranda is all crushed when she discovers she contracted chlamydia from an old lover, and of course that ties in perfectly with Carrie's reflection of what makes a "slut", when she's really hoping to sleep with Aiden but Aiden seems more interested in cultivating her enough to "care" for her. (Of course, watching the episode with my friend just reinforced his notion of the SATC gals as "trollops", but I didn't really care.)

And then, there's us. The gay boys of the world. Who are often accused of being sluts. The stereotypical gay boys. Who are often looked down upon for being sluts by those other gay men, who hate being thus stereotyped and hence look down upon the gay boys who do have sex regularly. *ulp* I once had someone who I was dating read this blog and decide I wasn't the "right kind of guy" for him via sms, and of course that pissed me off big time. Because that kind of thinking really gets my goat.

So, today, I was online chatting with this really fun/ cute guy and after some time, the conversation somehow turned toward matters of sexual regularity. He asked me if I were a "playa", and of course I've had this conversation before with Natureboy, and I tell him of my views... which is basically, I don't think that someone who's a slut while he's a singleton is necessarily going to be disloyal and bad "relationship material". The two are not mutually exclusive, so says CT's Law.

So then, Online Guy says, "I agree. There have been times when I've hated the periods of long abstinence and wanted to feel a body next to me in bed, so I've gone and gotten some. *grin*"

*sigh* My reply? "Abstinence doesn't do a thing for me, dah-ling."



Aside from the psychological infections a Singleton Slut might have to deal with, there's also the physical kind. Getting back to the Miranda issue, I once had the conversation about Sexually Transmitted Infections with Natureboy: he educated me about crabs, and called me the "cleanest slut in town" if I didn't know what they were with my track record. So, I took pride in my achievement, but when I hastened to pass on the information to SnowWhite's Stepmother, he had the fits and refused to hear anything about the ghastly subject. *sigh* Crabs. The skank's handmaiden. Poor Miranda.

Over here in the midwest, being "clean" is very important in the online chat room. That question may not have come up too often in the Bombay chat room, but three times out of five, it does here where I am. Of course, as I've posted about earlier, a lot more gay men unfortunately seem to have HIV and thus seem to either be in the dark or lie about their actual "clean" status, but the point is - that question does come up online.

Makes it easier to hate them when they say they are, and it turns out three weeks later, they're not.

Multiple Choice Questions

Multiple Choice Questions

Grad school has been busy, and that's why I haven't been as regular on this blog as I should have been. So that's why I got Wicked Witch of the West play mommy on me and reprimand me online. So that's why I got SnowWhite's Stepmother play ummm... wicked stepmother (?) on me and say nobody really reads this and I shouldn't bother. *sigh* And then I bumped into my Delhi Twin online, and we had a fun chat about some of the people we know in common, and what the whole rigmarole of dating is all about. Complicated stuff.

I've been reading about Michel Foucault a bit for class, and that bugger used to talk about something called the "de-centered self": basically, there are multiples "selves" to every person, and everyone flits among those "selves", so there's no real "one person". How does all that mumbo-jumbo apply here? Mmm... think about it. So many of us gay guys are so many different "selves", we're continuously looking for a different person to cater to each "self". And do we get shortchanged in the process? Well, what do you think?



I started thinking about all this, after I told Delhi Twin that I was (kinda) dating someone. "ONLY dating," I hastened to add, "Nothing more than that, mind you." So he was a bit perplexed about what I meant by that, and I filled him in on a conversation I'd had with SS the night before:

SS: "*sigh* So are you doing other people, besides this guy?"

CT: "O yea. I had this cute Irish laddie in bed last night - and this morning, of course."

So... that's it, I explained to Delhi Twin. "Dating" is when we're meeting up regularly, so it's more than a one-night stand, and we're getting all cozy and cute and cuddly, but we haven't had the Exclusive Chat (capital letters) yet. When that thorny issue comes up, and we pass through without getting singed, that'll be the "seeing stage". I remember having a similar conversation a year or so back with that other Delhi boy, Soulboy, and talking about what's a relationship and what's not, and so this was a strange deja vu happening here. And, very much like Soulboy, Delhi Twin was not very convinced with my logical reasoning. I see perhaps a pattern here: are Delhi boys (Soulboy and DT) per chance more old fashioned in how they see gay relationships, while Bombay boys (SS and myself) are more... umm... pragmatic? Save that thought for later...

So, DT referred to a common friend and opined that people who date/ conduct one-nighters on an extra-regular basis aren't really giving either themselves or their potential dates a good enough opportunity to evolve. It's always a situation of "Yea, he was cute, but the sex wasn't all that great, and hell, I can make up my mind after I meet candidate number 2 who's ringing my doorbell right now." And even though DT was talking about our mutual friend in this connection, that description could pretty well fit me too.

"So what happens is this," types in DT, "A year or two later, he calls me up and says, you know DT, candidate number 565 has really grown up quite a lot now, and he's soooo my type! And I keep saying, why don't you just stop?"

I tried to put on a defense for both the mutual friend (and myself) and argued that well, it's not easy to know when to stop. So, when you're looking, and they all seem to be turnips, you don't want to end up with a turnip, right? So... you keep looking.



But then, DT had this to say: "Is it that tough really? I mean, my fear is: when you find someone who is sexy and cute, and smart and well-settled, and everything you ever wanted, will you be able to understand it - or will you be so used to looking that you'll just ignore him? What will you really do, when you bump into Mr. All-of-the-above?"

*ulp*

"All of the above". An elusive term.

Past Addictions

Past Addictions

I used to love this song a long time back when I was in college, and then I heard it again this morning after ages - and then, I realized, this was exactly the way I felt during November-December, when things were breaking down with the ex...

(Try to ignore the 'she' part! *grin*)

She says she hates to sleep alone, but she'll do it tonight.
She wants to grab her telephone, but she knows it ain't right.
So if he won't call, she'll survive, and if he don't care, she'll get by.
Climb into bed, bury her head, and cry.

From the beginning he was all anyone could have been.
They were delirious with love; they were certain to win.
Now he's breaking plans more and more, and he's leaving notes on her door.
Took a trip out of town, couldn't turn this one down; He said, "I guess I
should have told you before."

She says she feels like she's addicted to a real bad thing,
Always sitting, waiting, wondering if the phone will ring,
She knows she bounces like a yo-yo when he pulls her string,
It hurts to feel like such a fool.

She wants to tell him not to call or come around again,
He doesn't need her now at all the way that she needs him.
She's on the edge about to fall from leaning out and in,
And she don't know which way to move.

She wants to be fair; she couldn't say he was ever unkind,
But if she could bear to walk away, she thinks he wouldn't mind
'Cause he just keeps himself so apart and there's no one else in her heart,
So she's taking a dive from an emotional high and coming down hard.

She's determined to try, but she'll still give in when he gives her a call.
She'll ask herself why, but in the end it won't matter at all.
Sure, she could sit at home, stay inside and sleep alone with her pride
And as she walks out that door, she feels as weak as before with nothing to hide.

She says she feels like she's addicted to a real bad thing,
Always sitting, waiting, wondering if the phone will ring,
She knows she bounces like a yo-yo when he pulls her string,
It hurts to feel like such a fool.

Man, it feels GREAT to have those days behind me now! :)

Collars and Cuffs

Collars and Cuffs

The other night, I'm over at the Lesbian Cowboy's place before heading out to a party together, and we're discussing Employment Opportunities at the li'l ole midwest town I'm at.

CT: "I mean, I would love to meet someone who's not in either the retail business or the food business. I mean, where the eff have all the cute white collar boys gone?"

LC, a bit flummoxed: "Huh, say that again?"

CT, trying to organize thoughts: "Well, in Bombay I used to date all sorts of people with fun careers. There were journalists with big newspapers and television channels, there were rich stockbrokers and investment bankers, some great designers, interiors and fashion, some smart guys working with NGOs even, and you know... basically, cute, sexy and qualified!"

LC bursts into laughter: "O you poor thing!"

CT: "Well, here all I get are college boys or Subway boys or Wal-Mart boys or boys waiting at bars! I mean, fine, if I get a truck-driver for the first time, I can tell myself it's a gay porno fantasy so just shut up and have sex and enjoy it... but here I've been meeting 5 truck drivers online in the past few days!"

LC falls off her chair.

This is actually a topic I've chatted on with Irish Coffee as well. He's one of the few gay men here I've met, who have what can be considered a proper Bombay-ishtyle white collar job. And he's got a sad story to tell. He says, the city I'm in is dying away and every smart gay man over the age of 30 moves from here - so, it's not really a surprise to him that I'm meeting truck drivers and Subway boys. O, and nursing attendants. A lot of 37-year old nursing attendants here.

While this story didn't really trouble me too much at the time - I mean, every city rises and falls, right? - I got into a conversation some time later with this really smart and sexy artist here. Artist, yes, but he gets his money from his night-job, that's playing bouncer at a bar. Ummmmm.....! And when he heard me moan about how I wanted white collar hunks, he got a bit perturbed and said that I was being snobbish. I shouldn't be bothered about what my guy did for a living, he said, I should simply let go and be attracted/ fall in love. It didn't matter that I was white collar; I should just go ahead and do blue collar/ hippie.



Well, sure, I can do a blue collar, but I doubt I would be happy enough to settle down with one. I know I've blogged about professions and which ones are 'sexy', and while I never really thought about that in so much detail, I know I probably won't be happy 'living' with a guy who drives trucks, or even one who's going back to college at age 38. True, there's the cultural thing: guys here go back to college even at age 40 sometimes, but there's also my culture - and I don't set up house with pizza boys. Sadly enough, that does make me a snob in America.

He Man sings

PInk Panther/ Adam

Pink Panther/ Adam

The video up there was shown to me by a friend here in the ole midwest, and I just fell off my chair laughing. O, and of course it brought back memories. I used to have this massive crush on He-Man in the good ole days and despite my yearning for that tanned hottie, I also nurtured this li'l hope that Teela and He-Man would finally get together. O, and the gay fantasies had tonnes of scope for Prince Adam, of course. :)

I mean, look at Adam - he's blond, he's wearing a wide-neck skin-tight white shirt which is sooo gay, with a dark pink velvet jacket, pink undies, pink stockings, and pink boots lined with fur. Hell, you don't need Youtube to scream out that it's all fabulously homosexual. Of course, when I was ten, I didn't really get all the subtext, but I still had all the usual moony thoughts about Adam finally being brave, and sweeping Teela off her feet and the two of them fcuking like rabbits in the palace. (Castle Grayskull is too sombre a place for humping!)

And now that I'm a seasoned ole slut, I can imagine Skeletor with his mad ole grin pumping poor li'l Adam against the walls of Snake Mountain. *cue for evil laugh*

What prompted this little trip down Nasty Nostalgia, was bumping into this guy (not the one who showed me the Youtube clip and loaned me DVDs of Best of He-Man) who has a fetish for cartoon sex. I think it's called hentai, actually. So there we were, he and I, and he confesses that he's got a thing for watching cute furry cartoon characters sport huge dicks and start going at it with each other. I'm intrigued, because at one level this is something new, and at another, I'm thinking of my own childhood fantasies involving He-Man (and also the GI Joes, hehehe!), and so he starts showing me some of his collection. It's pretty impressive, really, some of it has great artwork. It's like imagining Superman fuck Spiderman - it's got all the improbable positions - but with maybe a Kryptonian Dog and a Tarrantula head affixed.

The thing is, despite my childish trepidation, hentai gay porn is a big business. I remember, while going through one of my favourite gay websites, how many of the galleries featured cartoon wolves copulating with cartoon foxes. And no, that can't be part of a Gay Parent Education Programme, right?

CT, stunned: "Wow, you're telling me there are loads of people out there who go for cartoon porn?"

CartoonKid: "O yea. Feel me - I'm hard."

O, he was. :)

Positively Prohibited

Positively Prohibited

The other day, I was chatting online with this really cute Italian guy, and making plans to visit him. He was tall, dark and handsome, with wavy black hair, a strong jaw, shining olive skin, worked out in the gym two hours a day five days a week, and then mentioned something about being ‘poz’ in the conversation. He got question marks from me on the chat window on that one.
So he drops the bomb: “O, I’m HIV+. Check it out. It’s on my profile.”



Well, he was right. He hadn’t really dropped any bomb, I’d just neglected to lift the covers and see what was in there, do my homework before venturing into uncharted territory. He’d plainly stated that he was HIV+ there, and had even mentioned it in the conversation.

For a second, I was stumped. I’ll admit it; I didn’t know how to react for a few seconds. I’ve never actually talked with a Positive person before, even though I’ve familiar with HIV and AIDS and taken the test. But no, I’ve never actually come across anyone who’s contracted it, and I’ve certainly not negotiated a hookup with anyone like that. But then, I didn’t want to be the stupid guy who treats him like a leper and drops him like a hot potato either.

So, I asked him how he’d got the virus and how long it had been.

Hunky Italian: “Well, I don’t have AIDS. I’ve been Positive now for about 10 years. My ex boyfriend of three years infected me.”

Of course, that wasn’t it. It turned out, that he suspected his ex of actually knowing about his own Positive status before having unprotected sex with him – something which completely inflamed me.

“What an @$$HOLE!” I exclaimed in my indignation and anger. I mean, here was this completely healthy guy who was just about 35 now, who looked simply fabulous, and he’d been infected by his boyfriend. I recognized how it went, of course, the line with boyfriends – “O, honey, I love you, and I’ve been safe and I would never suggest it if it weren’t safe, and you make me so hot that I wanna do it raw” – hell, I’ve been in that position myself, and regretted/ tormented myself about it later. And while I’d thanked God fervently that I hadn’t ended up in a horrible nightmare as a result of that capitulation, it was clear that this gorgeous Italian had. He was living that nightmare, and yet making do with what he had.

The thing is, back in Bombay, we see AIDS more as an African or Asian disease these days, or hell, maybe a Big City Thing. But it’s shocking how the American Midwest here seems to ignore the problem in its backyard. Some days back, there was a top guy online here who wanted to bareback, when I told him I didn’t have condoms with me. He realized I meant business when I told him to go away and put him in my ‘ignore’ list. (Or else, more likely, he badmouthed me as the prissy Indian bitch to everyone else on the chat room.)

And tonight, I just came back from meeting this young man, who’s all distraught because (a) he listened to his stupid boyfriend and had unprotected sex with him, and (b) he cheated on his stupid boyfriend with another ass and had unprotected sex with him, too. I’m glad he stopped me before we got onto the serious petting, because as you know, I don’t have condoms here either. O, in all probability, he hasn’t contracted anything from either the dumb boyfriend or the dumb hook-up, but he’s rightfully distressed now, and I played the good Gay Counselor and told him he needs to get himself tested ASAP. He says, I was better than Oprah, so maybe I should just chuck my degree programme here and hunt out the television channels. I can see the headline in the Washington Post already: Indian Fag Starts Gay Counseling Centre.

The thing is, I know that living with HIV is a much easier option now than it ever was earlier, with all the medication that’s out there. But it’s still an expensive and wasteful proposition, and I’m amazed why anyone would want to even risk it. I’m an idiot myself, I’ve been down that road, and I know that one moment of imagined intimacy is simply not worth those weeks or even months of self doubt and questioning later – or the years of regret afterward, as in the case of the cute Italian. I’m glad he’s living his life with dignity, hell, he’s even having sex these days (though protected), but o yes, there’s regret, plenty of it. And even though I know I probably sound all preachy right now, I’m simply stunned by this stuff here, because I’ve been confronted with all three cases in the time span of just a week…!



These cowboys down here need to get their caps on straight!