"Hello Loverrrrrr...!" - LIVE from the BIg Apple

It's terribly appropriate to start off this post with the opening lines of the spankin' new Sex and the City movie: here I am, in Carrie Bradshaw's backyard on the day of the movie's release. If ever there was an occasion to yell Hallelujah!, then this is it, bab-eh! :)

O my, o my, o my... where do I start from, and how do I stop feeling like a ditsy school girl writing this blogpost?! I've been spending the last couple of days drinking in Manhattan, and I suppose why I feel so... intoxicated. The boys here are unbelievable, really. All those fables we heard around the winter fire when we were wide-eyed eager gay bunnies with bushy tails/asses in Bombay, about the wondrously shining world of Manhattan, all the stylish young (and older) men looking divinely gorgeous, all the designer wear and the designer attitude, the bright lights and the big city - it's all true, me-dearies! The fairy tale is so fabulously fag-ulous, it's enough to lose your sense of being grounded - and thank gawd for that! Welcome to the Big Apple, where the men are simply too cute and sexy to be anything but gay, and the labels scream out so amazingly rich and loud.



OK then, enough with the hyperbole, already. So what have I been up to then? Mmmm.... it's all a whirl of sensations, emotions and excitement, really... Walking in Central Park, remembering the scene where the SATC girls have their picnic; sipping divinely rich mocha and crunching on raspberry rolls at this tucked-in-a-corner Israeli cafe near the Empire State; watching the city spread before me, while up high on the 102nd floor of the Empire State; floating down the Hudson river, watching the harbor lights of the city twinkle in the sunset; Lady Liberty holding her torch alight and me getting an idea for my Halloween costume this year (giggle!); drooling through the Tiffany's window at Fifth Avenue; counting the days/years/decades till I live in a high-rise overlooking Central Park; partaking of Vietnamese food in the original Chinatown and remembering that episode where Carrie freaks out on Big for taking her to a discreet Chinatown restaurant; doodling hours over at the Metropolitan Museum of Art and contemplating Picassos and Renoirs; sipping Starbucks coffee and blowing cream while watching bare-chested Adonis' jog past me out on the street; munching on sidewalk cafes on Broadway; letting the lights of Times Square shine on me like crazy freakin' diamonds; dancing my sexy tush at the Splash bar (and trying not to feel too ugly in front of the semi-naked perfect Gods go-going there);... and all this is just three days. *whew*

So I get an invite to head down to Manhattan's Splash bar for their Sex and the City movie launch party, and I meet this gorgeous Jamaican who's a friend of Sexy Older Guy. The good news is: the Jamaican is realllllly into me. The bad news is... ummm, well, not really bad news, more like the dampener for the unabashed sexual rampage I would have had in mind, was the fact that I'm already "taken". :) So, the Jamaican and I did some hot and heavy dancing, loads of flirting, innuendos and all, lip-licking heart-thumping thoughts and stuff, but when push came to shove, I did a Cinder-fella and scooted from the bar, leaving my glass slippers behind and keeping my undies up where they belong. Well, it wasn't a very a timely exit, seeing that I got back to the hotel at around 4.30 am, but you get what I'm trying to say. That's called Domestication. Capital letters.



O, but the SATC movie is going to be HUGE! Everyone knows that the gay community is waiting anxiously to see it - click here for a firsthand account of the NYC premiere - and I'm dying to get back home and watch it for myself. Will force Irish Coffee to come with me - hell, this is what he gets for having me keep my undies up and not take them off for sexy Jamaicans! *giggle*

In other news: I finally came out to the older brother. :) But that's for another post. This has been a busy couple of days for me in the Big Apple!

Update: Not sure whether it has anything to do with my presence here right now or not, but NY state has just decided to recognize the legality of gay marriages conducted in other parts of the country/world. Perhaps it's a small step away from being the third US state to legalize gay marriage? A teeny bit of wishful thinking never hurt anyone, in any case...

Bad Boy in the Big Apple

I'm excited. Frikkin' excited. That's cuz, come Wednesday, I'm going to be in that cliched yellow cab in sexcitingly fantabulous New York City! There'll be the big, beautiful lights of the big bad city, dancing and theater and music and ear-splitting, heart-thrilling New York City! I can hardly wait.



So I spent the last couple of days hunting for that perfect deal on air tickets, and that made-for-me hotel room booking. If any of you fag-ulous queers live in the Big Apple, I'll be just across the bridge in Long Island at Greenpoint Avenue, and I'll be there for almost a week! Man, this beats the blogging action live from Delhi anytime! This is the big time, bab-eh! :)

I mean, let's face it: I was meant for better things than Small Town, USA. My facebook profile has this quiz I took that says how I'm meant to reside in a Manhattan penthouse, for Chrissake! I'm meant to tip-tap through the East Village, grin at the hotties on Times Square, and put out for the moneyed millionaires of the champagne and caviar kind. :) First things first: time to dust out those skinny jeans and slip in a Madonna CD...

How about... a Leather Woody?

Take a rocks glass,

1. pour 1/7 part vodka.
2. pour 5 parts tea - unsweetened.
3. add 3 drops of lemon concentrate.
4. drip Log Cabin syrup - depending on how rich you wand it.
5. add sugar syrup (optional).
6. crown with 4 cubes of ice.

And, you have...



In case you're wondering where the fag-ulous name came from, let's play a word association game: tea has tannins, which are used to tan leather; Log Cabin syrup contains maple syrup, which is a tree, and of course that also ties in with your... ummm... woody. :)

Just another Sunday night...! :)

Airing out the closet

More than four years ago, I began posting on this space with

"This is my gay blog. It seems funny to put it like that. This is my blog where I post about myself: the emotional, ethical, sexual, spiritual, hilarious parts of being gay. An overall experience that is so intrinsicaly not just a matter of sexual preference, but so much a type of being... Most of all, the gay blog is a statement to myself: I'm gay. I like being gay."

It's amazing how inspiring nostalgia can often be. Like when you (read: I) haven't blogged in more than a month, either because you/I haven't got any time or because there doesn't seem anything worthwhile to say, and then it takes a stroll through memory lane to get you/me all fired up. If I were any good with machine-stuff, I'd use a mechanic-car-engine quip here but since I'm not, I'll skip that. Getting back on track, though, four years of the closetspace hence, I wanted to kickstart this blog again, and so there's a new template and a read of my very first post.

Voila!

Regular visitors would know that my favorite screwed-up apple has been around here for donkey's ears - almost since the first day the blog started, I've had the apple template, despite loads of entreaties to remove it or modify the template. I've resisted that because I always felt that the apple was so frikkin' perfect in this space: it explained all the "emotional, ethical, sexual, spiritual, hilarious parts of being gay" that the first blog post talks about. But, as anyone will tell you, four years is a helluva long time - hell, that's way more than most gay relationships last! So, I guess it was about time the apple got dumped. :( And the rainbow-jumping boy leapt to take its place.

Yesterday, in a phone conversation with SnowWhite's Stepmum, he told me, "You know, there are other kinds of activism, not just gay activism!" and of course he was totally correct. On one level... On one level, it seems silly that when there's so much screwed-up in the world, with hunger and poverty and child abuse and war and destruction, with all of this going on, that the world should sit up and listen to a bunch of people who're quite well-satisfied in other respects, who want to be gay openly. Is the closet really such a big deal? Why does gay activism have to make it into this weird do-or-die situation, where being out of the closet is absolutely essential to being free? Even I, in an earlier post, bitched about gay activists and activism, saying I absolutely did not want to have anything to do with it. Instead, my mantra has been: I'm gay and I like being gay, so let's just blog and bitch and rant and rave about the fun stuff, the cheesy stuff, the emotional stuff, the weird stuff that being queer entails. Just because there's a brain in the closet, doesn't mean that it has to be worn on the sleeve: Prada and LV are still much more pleasant to ogle at, than a mass of pink jelly.



So then, why does it feel so frikkin' great to hear about the California Supreme Court's judgment on the unconstitutionality of banning gay marriages? Why does it feel sad to hear that Sexy Old Thing has broken up with his boyfriend of fifteen years? Why is my work suddenly so important to me, where I talk to gay Americans and ask them about their coming-out experiences and how it felt to be marginalized and silenced while growing up? Why should I care for any of this, really? As I keep telling Irish Coffee, I'm not American, and I'm really in no hurry to become one...? So then, why does all this touch me so deep?

The California case is, of course, making news across the world. They say, what California does today, the US does tomorrow. Sort of something like they used to say about Bengal earlier: what Bengal does today, India does tomorrow. I'm not too sure about that, though. As I've said so many times before, the US seems a highly religious-ized society (yes, I invented a new word), and the polarization between sex and religion seems too great to bring about gay rights for Americans any time soon. It's strange to think that while the "original" (if I may say so) gay movement started in the States, so many other countries have beaten the US in this regard... But again, getting back to the topic: why does it matter to me?

The answer is really in that part I quoted from my first blog post, and I guess I never really recognized it as such. "An overall experience that is so intrinsicaly not just a matter of sexual preference, but so much a type of being." And there you have it. That's the part which really calls for all those "standard" arguments that activists offer for gay rights. That's the part which really ensures that a fight for gay rights in California or Massachusetts is also a fight for gay people and their allies everywhere across the world - Bombay or Lahore or wherever. That is immediately obvious when you consider how many of the strategies of gay activists around the world are interconnected. When I talk to some of the people here, and hear their stories about being in the closet, I can't help but remember my own experiences - of not one of "the boys" playing football or cricket during lunch break in school, or not being able to tell my mum about Irish Coffee when she asks me over the phone whether I've met any cute girls here - and I know that even the teeniest amount of work I can do, to help young people understand their sexuality and realize it's nothing to be ashamed of, will somehow find its application somewhere in my backyard. And I also know it's about love - something that is quite universal. News of a 15 year old relationship gone sour saddens me - it would, even if it were hetero love. Hell, if the anti-gay brigade can get up on their damned soapbox and screech so incessantly, I can do the same!

For me, nostalgia is important because it inspires and reminds me of the things that are really important. Which is not to say that Prada shades don't require their fair share of spotlight, but what I really mean is this... a blog is supposed to be personal. My tiny little closetspace in cyberworld was always supposed to be about the real and the personal. Four years down the line, I guess it's important to reaffirm that to myself. So, welcome... welcome to a brand new closet. Where the boy jumps over his rainbow, and he spills his soul, and he writes words that he hopes will mean something. Something important.

I should be working right now...

I should be working right now...

..... instead, I'm preoccupied with Irish Coffee and wondering whether he's ok (...he's obviously not!) and what I can do for him to help him along... A rational voice inside me says there's really nothing there for me to do. It's his baggage - whatever it is - and he will take his own time to get over this... situation. But the part that is unrespitilingly whiny me keeps hoping/thinking/wishing/wanting to do something... he has to know I love him, doesn't he? He seemed so fine on Monday, when he left, tooting his car-horn after me... and then, when I finally saw him on Friday, he told me he was alright now and he'd be fine... I guess that wasn't true, though. I don't know what to guess, really. All of it seems so... strange to me. Why do people get tired... why do they get depressed? It seems so idiotic of me to admit that I don't know... The other day, someone told me that people should learn from me how to "be happy"... or does he mean blissfully ignorant...? I'm wishing I could go right up to him, put my arms around him and tell him it's alright - whatever it is - but the sane part of me tells me he needs his space. Americans are like that - it's all about space. I still don't understand that concept completely... So this is what I've done: I've set a deadline; a deadline that is (kinda) of his own suggestion...

In the meantime, what I don't understand is this: how come I get to be the whine-pot of the century, and every one else gets away scot-free???

Low on heart

Low on heart...

Someone told me a couple of days back, that I was the kind of person who fell headlong into the "moment" - I did what I had to do within the situation I was in, carried forth and all that jazz, and usually did it well... and she was right, of course. I realized how right she was (is) so very acutely just now, when I leafed through face-book and saw Goa-pics one of my "boys" had posted... and I'm nowhere on the scene...

Penguin, Diamond Choker Baccha (who's soon leaving Bombay...!), Vivian, SnowWhite's Stepmother (who's smiling even!), Guppie, Helen of Troy, and some random chick... in front of the cake shop at Potpourri at Bandra... and I so miss my life.



Happy Birthday, TalkingClosets - you're now officially 3 years old... but Bombay sadly is so fcukin' far away that it breaks my heart.... :(

Jesus and Gravity

Jesus and Gravity (?!)



The other night, I watched Dolly Parton ("Backwoods Barbie"?!) perform her latest single at American Idol. Now, I'm a huge fan of Dolly, despite that weird voice, and think she'd make a simply fabulous fag-hag with that giggle and all, but seriously... Jesus and Gravity?! WTF is that all about?

Apart from the crazy song lyrics, looking closer into the general scheme of things, that's actually part of some of the things I find ridiculous about America... and by extension, gay life here. Think of this as an extension to the last post if you will, but this is something that's been on my mind for quite some time now. I suppose it's inevitable, really - living in the Midwest as I do, I was bound to come across possibly some of the most contrasting aspects of gay life in the US: a very open gay culture in university towns and cities, but also what Irish Coffee labels "The Christian Taliban". (And no, I'm not saying this just cuz I do research in my academic life about sexual scripts and gay presences online.)

To me, the entire presence about the "Christian Taliban" is symptomatic of a much deeper issue: the absolute polarization of sexuality and religion in the United States of America. For most of the people here, their faith is very important to them. That's all very well and good - but what happens when faith is vehemently opposed to anything beyond good ole procreative sex? The answer: your soul goes to hell. As simple and concise as it may be, nevertheless a far-fetched conclusion that I find ludicrous.

The other day, I wondered aloud about this in one of my graduate classes. Why does America place sex so angrily against faith? Seriously - what is the link here?! I'm not saying that everything is hunky-dory about sexuality back home in India (god knows, NO!!!), but for the life of me, I have never heard (first or second hand) anyone in India complain that he/she has been told that he/she is going to Hindu/Muslim/Christian/whatever hell because he/she is gay/lesbian/bisexual/whatever. For some reason, that's just not done. Don't get me wrong: I'm sure the really conservative elements must be all up in arms about you being "deviant", but the common protest is likely to be "O, this is against Indian Culture" (that demanded capital letters!) and not "O, you're a bad Hindi/Muslim/whatever"...

And don't tell me it's a Christian thing, cuz it's not. One of my classmates is from the Caribbean, the daughter of a Christian priest, and she chimed in with her own musings on the subject when I voiced my opinion in class. Even in her country, she argued, there was none of this weird divide between sexuality and religion.

More importantly, what does it do for the people caught in the middle? Both online and offline, there are so many stories of gay and lesbian people who scramble desperately to find a faith that will not cast stones on them for their sexuality; stories of people who try to "change" because they want the support of God and their church; so many people who have been alienated by their religion because of the venomous treatment meted out to them by its ministers; so many people who have to struggle being "good Christians" and good brothers/sisters/parents to gay people. How do any of these contradictions make sense? As an outsider, I see a weird balance here: the price I have to pay for being more 'open' about my sexuality than in my home country is a very clear condemnation that I am going to Hell - wherever/whatever that may be.

This was not meant to be a tirade against America or Americans (gay or straight) - as some people who read this might be prone to think. I'm essentially an optimist, in that I always tend to believe in the very best as far as people are concerned, and I think that some of the people I've met here are amazingly kind, friendly and helpful. And yet there's so much antagonism, distrust, and undue marginalization - and all out of completely unrealistic expectations and standards. The funny part is, the world over, GLBT movements have operated (and still do) out of the basic skeletal framework of that in the US... and yet, the first thing I realized almost in my very first week was that the US is not quite the liberal "land of the free" it's billed to be. Not for gay people. Not for anyone really who doesn't fit the "mold".

Is America a Christian nation? Yes. Angrily so.

Split Personality

Split Personality

The other day, Irish Coffee told me something over the phone in a drunken slur (he's terribly cute when he's drunk - or should I say cuter?!) that struck me for the first time in any real way: "I know you're Indian, and you identify yourself more as Indian than with Americans, but after getting your PhD and all that, you're going to live here... you're going to be an American. So you might as well get used to that!"

Was I naive before, or am I naive still? I'm not sure. Suddenly, all those academic readings on diaspora etc make scary sense to me. I'm not sure what I was thinking of earlier - a good degree, a great job, back to Bombay? back to Chicago? - and I'm still not exactly sure. I'm so used to thinking of myself as a Gay Indian in the Midwest, that frankly, it's scary to think of myself as a Gay... Indian-American (there, I said it!)... or even a green card holder... Because frankly, there's a lot of stuff I don't like about gay life in the Americas... give me Bombay any day, closet and all...!

Made me chuckle

Something that made me chuckle...



:)

Go, Steelers!

Go, Steelers!

Loads of stuff was going on... tons of work, and not much play made me a very dull boy to say the least... but this li'l trip more than made up for it...!



Pittsburgh is a fabulous city! City of Bridges, indeed, as Irish Coffee and I roamed up and down, in and around, out and about, taking wrong turns and wrong bridges, but despite his curses and my giggles, we did love the city...

O, and I was a hit at the conference! :)

That kind of a mood...

In that kind of a mood...

Baby look at me...
And tell me what you see.
You ain't seen the best of me yet
Give me time, I'll make you forget the rest.
I got a story, and you can set it free
I can catch the moon in my hand
Don't you know who I am?

Remember my name... Fame!
I'm gonna live forever,
I'm gonna learn how to fly... High!
I feel it coming together,
People will see me and die... Fame!
I'm gonna make it to heaven,
Light up the sky like a flame... Fame!
I'm gonna live forever...
Baby, remember my name...
Remember, Remember, Remember, Remember,
Remember, Remember, Remember, Remember.

Baby hold me tight,
'Cause you can make it right.
You can shoot me straight to the top,
Give me love and take all I got to give.
Baby I'm in love...
Too much is not enough.
I surround your heart to embrace,
Learn I got what it takes...

Remember my name... Fame!
I'm gonna live forever,
I'm gonna learn how to fly... High!
I feel it coming together,
People will see me and die... Fame!
I'm gonna make it to heaven,
Light up the sky like a flame... Fame!
I'm gonna live forever...
Baby, remember my name...
Remember, Remember, Remember, Remember,
Remember, Remember, Remember, Remember.

- Fame, Irene Cara (1980)



I was going to make this song my goodbye post, last year when I was thinking of shutting the blog down. Yes, I'm an egoistic prick. Always said I was. :)

Up Close (and personal?)

Up Close (and personal?)

For some inexplicable reason, while in the shower this afternoon, I was thinking about gay relationships and how they start. I'm going to try to not generalize, but it does seem that for most of us in relationships, it starts off with sex and then the date. Just another thing to make straight people think that all we 'really' care about is sex: if the sex is good, well then, maybe we can have a go at the relationship.

I remembered my own Carrie-Aiden incident some months back. You know, the one where Carrie drives herself crazy wondering why Aiden the big sexy boyfriend doesn't try to get her pants off (is he gay? O my!), and then he gives her that big spiel about "doesn't anyone in New York believe in romance anymore?" What's with the rush to get into bed... why not take the time to know someone a bit better over a couple of dates and then kick your shoes (and clothes) off? Why was Carrie in such a hurry to get the "fuck-me" dress on (and off!) for Mr. Big?



Let's start from personal history then. All my relationships or flings - except one - so far have involved either a hook-up or sex on the first date.

• First Ex and I wanted to get into each others' pants as soon as we laid eyes on each other, and our very first physical gesture was in a (ahem ahem) foursome romp.
  
• With the Fashionista, it was a roller coaster first date with loads of schmoozing in Delhi and Gurgaon night clubs, culminating in sex on a dentist's chair. (Long story, look uo the archives if you're that interested!)
  
• In the case of the Nice-Guy-No-Chemistry, we locked eyes on the dance floor, flirted all night long, and met up for a real date a week later - fun date, and yes, so much fun that we hit the sack. :)
• With Ponytail Boy, it was bombastic chemistry on the first date which led to sex in the hotel elevator.
  
• Salsaboy didn't jump me on the first date - in fact, he had to literally push me away, cuz I was ready as ever to hump him - but there was loads of sexual chemistry in our very first meeting, when he saw me at a party (I was dating Fashionista at the time) and started slow dancing, complete with ear-licking, hip grinding, soul shattering moves!
  
• With Boy, sex preceded the date that then preceded round 2 of sex. (archive!)
  
• And then there was NatureBoy - arguably, the one with whom I waited the longest to get laid: almost a week or so, really. Aaa, but the sex was great - and maybe it's a crime for me to say so, but the sex we had after we broke up was even more fabulous! :) Maybe cuz it was so fcukin' unplanned and in such a taboo environment - my big bro's apartment when no one was at home. *smirk*
  

... all of which brings me to Irish Coffee. Which was a very long first date, but it started off on the premise of a fun no-strings attached weekend and sight-seeing a new city and generally freaking out. So of course, sex was on the agenda from the start. Might not have started out as a hookup, but it did lead to very good sex at the end of a fun first date.

SnowWhite's Stepmother would probably shake his head, mutter "dugga dugga!", and tell me it's all me, and not really a gay 'thing' per se. I'm the slut who sleeps with men on the first date. I don't listen to all the sage advice, which clearly states that men who get first on the sex date don't come back for seconds. I'm too narcissistic, and believe that after they get sex on the first date they keep coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths,... you get the point. And maybe I shouldn't really pontificate about gay men in general, because, as everyone knows, SS would never contemplate getting into a relationship with someone he slept with on a first date. And then, of course there was Mr. Responsible here, who gave me my very own Carrie-Aiden incident some months back.

So this was in the days when Irish Coffee and I weren't serious at all, and Mr. Responsible comes in: kinda cute, with that North Carolina twang that just drives me crazy, saying all the right things, and intelligent to boot. Mmmm.... so we head out for a late night date, it goes about ok, and here I am thinking, aaa, well, maybe things will get nicer once we get those jeans off, and that's when he lets me know that he's content to get physical the next time around. Ummm.... ok. I think that's when I realized I was bored with him. All that niceness, all that responsibility, all that intelligence was actually boring. O my. That was a jolt, really. So I did the only thing I could think of doing: I reached over the car seat to him, and locked lips in the longest kiss I've probably given anyone since coming to the US of A... smiled at him and bid him goodbye. The Aidens of the world aren't really my thing, I decided. I need some Big in my life - no pun intended.

After all, as any SATC afficiando will tell you, what on earth did the fluffy dress get Carrie?



A swollen face. She went to Paris and got slapped.

Bottom-line: I like sex (or at least some dynamite chemistry) on the first date. That's because, for me, a hookup with great sex is different from a relationship, which needs so much more than that great sex. But hey, a guy has to start somewhere, right? I look at it as just another way of getting to know someone...

And yes, the "fuck-me" dress did get her Big in the end.

The Queen's English

The Queen's English

Surprise, surprise, I seem to have been nominated "gay spokesman" in my Queer Theory class. Not really that surprising, if you take into account what Irish Coffee says about me: apparently, my gay-ness can be seen from space! I feel like doing a salute or something now! :)



Back on the track of my de facto nomination (only guy in a class full of gals, so waddaya expect?!), the other day we were dissecting the notion of "gayspeak". And while we pored over research and remarks galore about whether there really is some fabulously mystic language exckusively for gay people, it naturally came to the point that the gaggle of females who make up this particular class looked pointedly at me and asked, so , what do you have to say? Spill the beans!

To my surprise, it wasn't really as easy to deny the accusation as I thought it would be. I mean, I don't think that all gay men look and sound the same - even though some of us do have the infamous "voice" - and then there's also the fact that if there's such a thing called gayspeak, where the hell is lesbianspeak? Hell, here I am, in a relationship with a guy who doesn't come across even remotely gay... so where does that leave the grand theory of "gayspeak"?! And then... there's me. I have the "voice" - if Irish Coffee is to be believed, even the little green men up there who're surveying the planet right now want to get my pants down. I also have the lingo: I refer to my very best friends on this blog in feminine terms, even though they're both men - case in point, SnowWhite's Stepmother and Vivian. And yes, all of our gaynesses can be seen from space - and I honestly don't think we'd like it any other way!

*cue for Pride music*

In the ole days back in Bombay, when I'd get a phone call from SS in the middle of my shoot with the (obviously straight) camera guys, I'd slip into "straight voice" mode without a thought - it would just happen, no conscious move required, really. And SS would snigger at my fake manly laugh - and induce me in every which way to get me tittering in front of the butch camera guys. Just your typical HO!HO!HO! over the more intrinsic HEEHEE, you understand. How's that for "gayspeak", then?

But where "gayspeak" really scores in my opinion, is not so much in the intonations or the voices or the giggles, but in a shared global identity - as corny and a la gay.com as it may sound. Gay men everywhere in the world don't share exactly the same slang, but let's admit it, they come pretty close! Thanks to the internet, porn and gay men holidaying all across the known world, "gayspeak" really isn't very isolated. I may not have been conversant with what "basket picnic" or "call house" or "playing checkers" or "jam fag" or "tea room" meant, when I first came to the States, but even back in good ole Bombay we know the really important stuff like flamers and daddies and aunties and P-n-P and the value of muscle marys!

So, does that mean we speak a wholly different type of language from the rest of humankind? All said and done, that does seem to be stretching things a bit. As SnowWhite's Stepmother exclaimed, when I told him all about "gayspeak" and its connotations, "What rubbish! We're not a bunch of Zulus with all this nonsense about a strange indecipherable language, you know!"

And even though the Zulus might not appreciate it the way he put it, he does have a point. You see, it's like this: there's English... and then there's the Queen's English. :)



V-day Weekend Update: Had a delightful time, up at Irish Coffee's, and despite my gruelling workload of readings etc, we did have time to cuddle on the sofa, cook up some effing fabulous food, drink loads of booze, have mindnumbing sex, and crack some really tough crossword puzzles. Not necessarily in that order, but you do get the picture! :)

What makes the world go around

So what makes the world go around, again?



I was going to begin this blog by announcing it as my first V-day post, but then I recalled this particular one a couple of years ago, in good ole Bombay. Technically speaking, it's V-day already in India, even though it's still Feb the 13th here in Midwest America. And even though I won't be seeing Irish Coffee tomorrow, it's still going to be a disgustingly mushy V-day for me, because I'll be chatting on the phone eating heart-shaped candies.

That's right. You heard me correct. Heart candies.

*giggle*

Irish Coffee says they're a stupid American tradition, and I kinda believe him. Little heart-shaped multi-coloured sugar bits, with stuff like "Hot Thing" and "Kiss me" written on them, and he says that millions of Americans will gift them every year to everyone they know - classmates, parents, cousins, the works! I sincerely can't think of anything much more saccharinely Hallmark-y than that! So... he went and got a couple dozen of the ridiculous packets and put them outside my apartment door, so that I'd find them when I returned from class. I called him up to tell him he was mad.

It's been about six months now, by the way, with him and me. I like it. It's kooky and grown-up at the same time. Ridiculously ribald. Quite mad. And, comfortable at the same time. If I sound weird and nonsensical, then it's because it seriously has elements of all that. It's got to the point where I've introduced him to my straight friends here, and even the odd faculty member, and that feels kinda... different. So here I am, feeling all happy and buzzed, 15 minutes left to the V-day countdown, and I've made a terribly over-the-top V-day Closetalk avatar over at the side there, and I've hunted online for a sexy Cupid to post here.



But I think it's also important to play down the mush factor, what with the boyfriend and all, in noting that for us gay guys, while some of us go ga-ga over V-day (most of us hate it, of course: most notably, SnowWhite's Stepmother is celebrating "Thank God I didn't end up with the wrong guy" Day today!), we can't really let ourselves go totally as far as PDA (public display of affection) goes - at least, in the straight sense! Hence, that great pic which I posted up there with the L-O-V-E sign and the guys smooching is actually just a NYT stunt pic for their article on censure over gay PDA, and not real guys kissing - and that's a horrible lie to tell on V-day! Of course, I've thought often, since coming here, that the US of A isn't really the great "land of the free" it's billed to be...! *sigh and despair* But that's fodder for another, longer, and much more sensible blog post. For now, to all the bigots out there who can't stand the rainbow, this is all I hafta say...

Affirmation

Affirmation



I believe the sun should never set upon an argument...
I believe we place our happiness in other people's hands...
I believe that junk food tastes so good because it's bad for you...
I believe your parents did the best job they knew how to do...
I believe that beauty magazines promote low self esteem...
I believe I'm loved when I'm completely by myself alone...

I believe in Karma; what you give is what you get returned...
I believe you can't appreciate real love 'til you've been burned...
I believe the grass is no more greener on the other side...
I believe you don't know what you've got until you say goodbye...

I believe you can't control or choose your sexuality...
I believe that trust is more important than monogamy...
I believe you're most attractive features are your heart and soul...
I believe that family is worth more than money or gold...
I believe the struggle for financial freedom is unfair,
I believe the only ones who disagree are millionaires...

I believe forgiveness is the key to your own happiness...
I believe that wedded bliss negates the need to be undressed...
I believe that God does not endorse TV evangelists...
I believe in love surviving death into eternity...

- Savage Garden (1999)

Be Gay Today

Be Gay... Today!

:) When it's this fabulously packaged, who on earth can say no?!



Welcome, newcomers, to the Closet!

Cock-a-doodle-doo

Cock-a-doodle-doo



From my readings...

"McWhirter and Madison (1984) found that 73% of their male couples began their relationship with an understanding, sometimes explicit, sometimes implicit, that the relationship would be sexually exclusive. Yet, 100% of those couples who had been together 5 years or longer who start a relationship with intentions of being monogamous either change their intentions or fail to live up to this standard."

- from J.H. Harvey, A. Wenzel & S.Sprecher (Eds.) "The handbook of sexuality in close relationships".2004.

Wow. I guess I always knew the truth. But seeing it right there, in black and white, supported by all the raw data etc was still... strange. Whatever happened to the girlish notions of everlasting love and undying fidelity that SnowWhite's Stepmother and Vivian and I cherished and hoped and prayed and longed for...? Not very sure, really.

SS and I would sit and talk and we'd try to think of at least one or two completely faithful gay couples and we'd have to admit we didn't really know any. And that would lead SS onto his diatribe about "all gay men are chuts!" The romantic in me would make a last-ditch attempt and argue that it's really all about the intimacy between a couple, and if they think fooling around on the side is ok, we shouldn't be quick to judge... and while I still do believe that, I must admit that the naive little gay boy inside me still hoped... Still hoped to find one - o, at least one! - gay couple who was completely monogamous.

And that's why that para from my reading hit home as much as it did. There was statistical certainty there. Not just of the fact that there aren't many monogamous gay couples out there, but also that even they are exclusive now, you can be pretty sure they won't remain so in a couple of years - if they're even still together then. I know that's really not earth-shattering news for any of us gay men - or straight people who have close gay friends... and yet... the naive little gay boy inside me feels awful. It's like a pronouncement: don't you even dare hope for a cozy twosome - because before you know it, either you or your boyfriend will be found fellating the TV repair guy/ gardener/ UPS guy/ Wal-Mart check-out guy/ what-have-you. And even though I know there are probably millions of gay couples who are happy in their extracurricular arrangements, I'm crushed on hearing this kind of a message even as I start a new relationship. I have half a mind to go and show this article to Irish Coffee and ask him up-front when he's going to cheat on me - and then I'd better go and cheat on him a day before that, just to save face. I'm quite aware of how stupid I sound here... and yet... *sigh*

The same article goes on to state: "... there seem to be no significant differences between gay men in exclusive and nonexclusive relationships on measures of love or liking for the partner, closeness, satisfaction, commitment, or relationship longevity... Research suggests that for gay men, agreement about exclusivity versus openness is more important to relationship satisfaction than any specific type of behavior."

In other words, it's just a matter of getting your rocks off. And then it's fine. As long as Prince Charming tells the Beast (so, yes, I have a thing for chest hair) about his one night stand with the Frog Prince, all's well in fairyland.

Whatever happened to the fairy tale, though?

First hockey, now QT

First there was hockey, and now it's...

Queer theory. I'm getting addicted to studying queer theory. *sigh*



How utterly cliched, I know, I know...

What the puck

What the puck...?!

As surprising as this may sound (perhaps most of all to me), I've become a fan of college hockey. At first, it began with curiosity, mingled with the promise of freebies that no grad student can resist: ooo, free entry at this grand spectacle I've never been to before - maybe I should go! So, I asked Irish Coffee whether he'd be interested, and of course he roared his approval, and off we went.



Of course, my perspective on hockey is a teeny bit different from that of Irish Coffee's and the other hardcore fans who thronged the ice arena... so, while I was definitely checking out the game, I also had some other fantabulous observations:

1. Hockey players aren't really as sexy and chiseled as I expected them to be. Personally, I think the hunks of college football are... hunkier. Irish Coffee assures me, though, they're usually dumber and duh-er than footballers.

2. The playing band was awesome! I loved the little ditties the band would suddenly come up with, trumpets and drums and all... and some of them were even jiving up there while playing! :) I'm not very sure whether their knowledge of the game per se was any better than mine - and let's not even go that far. *sigh*

3. Loads of sorority sisters were there, clapping their hands to the school anthem, and generally squealing in delight. Irish Coffee says, there's a whole organization of "hockey whores" (I actually like that term!) who go big time for the hockey hunks! When I asked him whether there were any groupies for the gay hockey players, he looked at me as if I'd just uttered blasphemy. But then, he pointed me in the direction of the playing band. :)

4. Hockey game food sucks. Big time. The pizza is cold, the cheese on the hot dog is artificial goop which gives you a tummy-ache barely three hours later, and the less said about the bread sticks the better.

5. And I do like the silly sound effects the announcer comes up with - the jingles, the spoofs, the crazy bursts of popular oldies like The Final Countdown and Bad boys, bad boys - very corny, but very entertaining. Of course, while I found the whole ambiance wildly fun, it all served to annoy the hell out of Irish Coffee who was there for the game. (ho hum)

OK, so I'm not a very sports-friendly gay person, and I liked the spectacle of the hockey game more than the game itself, I suppose. I chatter a lot while watching the game about things hardcore fans would probably think inconsequential, but here and there, I did pick up some ideas like the 'face-off' and the 'penalty'. O, and yes, the testosterone activity was phenomenal: and that always gets a rise out of me! :)

So, I wasn't bellowing "KILL HIM!", and "BREAK HIS LEGS!" at the top of my lungs like a very charged-up Irish Coffee was, and my loudest whoops probably sounded very gay, but when the two teams started thrashing and punching each other at the end, I felt like a very happy Roman emperor (all of them were bisexual, anyway!) egging them on.



All said and done, we left the arena, after watching a great game (our team won, of course) and an even better fight... and I even groped Irish Coffee a bit up in the stands. He didn't complain of diverting his attention from the game when that was happening! :)

I feel pretty

I feel pretty...



Oh so pretty,
I feel pretty and witty and gay,
And I pity... Any girl who isn't me today.

I feel charming, Oh so charming,
It's alarming how charming I feel,
And so pretty... That I hardly can believe I'm real.

See the pretty girl in that mirror there:
Who can that attractive girl be?
Such a pretty face,
Such a pretty dress,
Such a pretty smile,
Such a pretty me!

The other day I cajoled Irish Coffee in TIVOing West Side Story for me, and Natalie Wood's little number had me in splits of laughter! Now if that isn't a fabulously fag song, I don't know what is! Even Irish Coffee, all grumpy-gus straight-gay man that he is, had to chuckle when I did a little CT impersonation and almost broke the wine glasses with my such a pretty meeeeeeeeeeeeeee! (Completely worth it, I tell ya!)

Not very sure I liked the movie - o, much too over the top in the melodrama department, though I did like the Puerto Rican dance number - but that little ditty was amazing! If you haven't already, then take a look...