The Problem of History

History is doomed to repeat itself. Or so we're told.

But is recently in a discussion of film realism involving post-WWII combat films, my professor used the term "History with a capital H." Now I've read Wicked where there is a difference between Animals and animals, where Animals had elevated to a heightened state of being (think the Cowardly Lion). I've also had discussions on the difference between art and Art and how perception forces things into different categories with the same name.

So history and History should be no different, right? But here's the problem. History with a capital H speaks to the higher concept. What really happened and when. History with a lowercase h is defined individually, by society, teachers, and our own interpretation of ideas and events as we experience them. So because we are human, History is never perceptible to anyone. Because no matter how we experience or hear about an event, there is a filter on it. This filter is either our personal experience of said event, how we discuss the event with someone who saw it, or how we're exposed to the event through secondary, tertiary, or further diluted sources and how we react to these sources. The power behind this extension of the theory that "Perception is Reality" means that History is impossible.

So think about it. This BP oil spill, the 9/11 disaster, the War on Terror, Bush v Gore, The Vietnam War, The Civil War, The Revolutionary War, The French Revolution, The Fall of Rome, Adam and Eve. Did any of that really happen the way we think it did? How do we react to this kind of realization that your interpretation of this blog changes your history, when the actual History of it is unknown to any of us? No matter what, I think the bottom line is that we should respect History with the utmost care, because it is the one thing on this earth, that no matter what you believe, you will never understand.

The Gays are Fucking EVERYTHING Up

Recently, I've been exploring the concept of tradition in my time to myself. (Not that there's been much of it, but still.) Traditions have different meanings to every one of us, and by its very nature holds very little concrete substance in this facet. However, the abstract value is ingrained into everyone their entire life. And not just by their family, but in almost every level and layer of social interaction. I mean, who didn't sit around at Recess right after winter break listening to everyone's stories of what they ate, who got what presents for Christmas and when they got to open said presents?

So flash forward to your young adult or adult life. You're single, miserable, and friends with a lot of couples. Okay, maybe you're not, but I am. So talking with one couple, you make a joke about joining their relationship. A stunned silence followed by contemplative looks. This ultimately is followed up by logistical thoughts of what that would be like and half-joking statements of how weird it would be.

Okay, so that's alright. But let's take a look at gay culture and relationships and the human element for a tiny bit. *Disclaimer* If you know nothing, or don't wish to know anything about Male/Male sex or Male/Male/Male sex, I'd stop reading yesterday. *END Disclaimer*

So gays sexually come in somewhere on a spectrum. Think of a number line going from -5 to +5. Now replace those numbers with the labels bottom and top and instead of zero, you get versatile (or vers). Now ideally, you'd somehow find a partner who has a number that is the opposite of yours, or in my case, another zero. But emotions kinda fuck the logic of that up. I could find a guy who is perfectly in touch with me sexually (which will NEVER happen) but as long as I don't like him, it will never work out. So now what? Well, then let's look at the opposite. I fall in love with someone who's a total top. Like no "what what in the butt" at all. So I may be emotionally satisfied, but I will never be sexually fulfilled. So what do you tell him? "SHut the fuck up and take my dick?" No. But let's say that we both find someone who's a total bottom and we're equally physically and sexually attracted to that person and vice versa. What now?

This is an ideal and very simplified example. But tradition tells us that this relationship which works out perfectly is wrong. But if all people in a relationship are happy, why should there not be a third? The mormons weren't completely off their rockers. They kinda knew what they were doing. I think that me and a person I can think of almost instictively decided that we somehow were going to make our relationship work, and we had a friend who would come over for play every now and then when I needed a little something else in bed, no strings attached, I could feel that. But who knows how I'd feel down the line. Sex does weird ass things to our brain chemistry. It connects people in brand new ways, and creates things that bring scent, touch, and all of our other senses to new levels when we create that kind of physical connection.

So in the end, tradition has it's merits and even a couple roots in biology. But I think that if homosexuals want to prove that they aren't going to be stifled into the curse of heteronormativeness by force of society, they need to be able to accept the possibilities of three person relationships or having a third in to maintain a healthy and productive sex life. And in the end, how many marriages fall apart because the sex starts to suck? A lot. And the gays have got to prove that they can do marriage better than the breeders if they want to keep it.

SWGM - 20yo Athletic Build Seeks Something New

I'm looking for a person. Someone who's just mine for a time. If we fall for each other or what not, great. If he meets the man of his dreams, I'm okay with that. If I meet the man of my dreams, he'll be okay with that. We'll just stay friends. Not an open relationship per se, just someone who's mine for this period of time. Boyfriends are messy and haven't worked out for me in the past. So I'm going a different direction.

Who's gonna go down this road with me?

Will it be you?

Reflections

The mirror is a surface that fascinates almost everyone. From Alice to Vampires, the reflective glass of a mirror has been ingrained into our culture. We love looking in them to admire our bodies or pick our bodies apart piece by piece and talk about what we don't like like Regina George and the Plastics. Mirrors are sources of bad fortune and fortune telling. But a physical mirror has only a slight effect compared to the cultural mirrors we look into every day.

I was listening to Pomplamousse's cover of Single Ladies by Beyonce. It's completely different from the original and I absolutely love the quirkiness of it. Just like Gary Go's cover of Lady Gaga's Just Dance took a catchy "made-for-radio-and-clubs" song and turned it into a beautiful piano ballad, Pomplamousse took a song that had tons of cultural baggage (The video, the dance, Glee, the Kanye scandal, and all the YouTube videos of people doing the dance) and turned it on its head. Thinking about all this in between sets of leg presses, I realized how much of a cultural nightmare gay culture is.

I have many friends who know the Single Ladies dance and many friends who learn Lady Gaga's choreography from her videos. And that's fine. But I find myself aggravated when that becomes the identity of a young gay man. We are always fighting to prove ourselves to the world that we are more than what society wants us to be.

Sexual misfits. Culture Hounds. Weak and overly feminine. Negatively subversive.

But in reality, I think that we are our own people. Just like everyone else is, no matter what subculture or mainstream culture you find yourself participating in. So dance your own dance, sing songs your own way, be your own person.

When you look in your mirror, what do you see? And look not in the mirror, but through to mirror to borrow a phrase. If you look at yourself and see more of other people and things than yourself, I think it's time to stop hiding yourself behind what the world expects of you and start defining yourself beyond it.

Questions that Matter

I just watched the Inside the Actors' Studio with the cast of Family Guy and realized how amazing these questions were. I mean, I've watched more IAS episodes than most people will admit, but it took this episode watching these people talk about how much they love their job and their workers to inspire me to finally take a look at James Lipton's questions and answer them myself.

1. What is your favorite word?
"Consequently." It constantly reminds me that things have constantly come from other things and will always lead to other things and we have to follow it along and enjoy the ride.

2. What is your least favorite word?
"Stop." Never tell me to stop, especially when I'm doing something I love, which is almost always what I'm doing.

3. What turns you on?
A challenge. I'm very hyper-competitive.

4. What turns you off?
Wishy-washiness. Go for what you want to do and don't let anything stand in your way.

5. What sound do you love?
The sound of pens scratching on paper. Writing on paper is a lost art and a beautiful sound of human power and creation.

6. What sound do you hate?
Hissing. Snakes are evil.

7. What is your favorite curse word?
"Fuckballs." It's just awesome.

8. What profession other than yours would you like to attempt?
I'd love to be a writer. Probably magazine or literary journals.

9. What profession would you not like to do?
I could never be a vet. I'm terrified of a lot of animals and those I'm not scared of, I'd never forgive myself if a pet died of my accord or misjudgment.

10. If heaven exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the pearly gates?
Despite the fact that you are gay, you lived with all your heart. Just like my son. Well done.

Life in the Big City

Living in Orlando has taught me a couple of things about suburban living. Mainly that I hate it. The idle chit chat at the Target checkout, the sanitized life of the housewife/Soccer Mom/PTA Superstar, and the endless string of chain restaurants. It took a chance to slip out of the suburban hell I had been trapped in to realize how much I felt stifled by City Beautiful.

I don't mean to sound ungrateful or negative. My life here is good. I love my friends and job and scholastic life. The weather leaves something to be desired, but this is a chapter in my life that I've enjoyed for the time being. But as I traveled to two new cities and walked through the streets of Minneapolis and Philadelphia and traveled on trains, subways, and buses, I felt refreshed.

To me, being myself is something I have always believed in. In Suburban living, I have always felt like that needs to be squashed. If you're going to deviate from the norm in any way, you have to then take that stereotype and fit it to a T. In a city, you can be anything you want. And I don't want a city like New York City or Los Angeles, I love a city with a character, not a fantasy. Minneapolis, Philadelphia, Chicago, Nashville, or Indianapolis feel much more my style. These five cities that I've visited in my life are places that as soon as I've stepped out on the street, I've held my head up high and marched ahead. I've dodged cars, ran across streets, hopped a train, eaten at local eateries, taken short cuts, and talked to people I've never met.

Life in cities like that makes me feel lighter, healthier, and more like myself. That's what I need.

Living in My Head

I have always been one to live in my head. I mean, I'm wonderful with people. I LOVE people. But inside my head has been this world of magic and wonder, or at least fantasy.

At night, I fall victim to it the worst. I sit in my thoughts and think of the breath of an unknown lover on my neck as he wraps his arms around me. I sit and wonder what it would be like to wake up next to him. I think about how his chest feels against my back. Sometimes he's got a little tussle of chest hair, sometimes he doesn't. Sometimes he's blonde, brunette. Always light eyes though. The irony in that is I've never had a boyfriend since coming to college with bright eyes. Always a deep brown.

I've been married more times than a Mormon in my mind, with hundreds of honeymoons. I've got houses in over half the country and a few other countries besides. I've lived in apartments, in houses, in cities, and in the country. I've had dogs, cats, rabbits, and even a raccoon.

I spend a lot of time up in my noggin. But I think it helps me realize that I don't really know exactly what I want. If I knew what I wanted, the little details would never change. So I'm waiting for the next guy who surprises me. Makes me feel something special that I haven't felt yet. It'll happen eventually. Who knows... Maybe one day I will have that 3 Bedroom in a quaint college town with a backyard and a pet raccoon.

esc

We all need an escape button.

But we need to find healthy ways of hitting that button. Not through substance abuse or sexual promiscuity or binge eating or stress shopping. But something that works more naturally. I took my method of escape from Legally Blonde. "Exercise releases endorphins. Endorphins make you happy. Happy people just don't kill their husbands." Now I don't have a husband (though I wish I did) and I still have urges to kill some people. (I mean, I can't get along with everyone.)

What I do have is a refreshed sense of self, and an opportunity to get away from things and count to 8, wait a minute. Count to 8 again. Wait another minute. Count to 8. Switch. It brings rhythm to a highly irregular life that often has very stressful passages.

Find your esc button. And when you can't take it: Press esc. Release tension.

If Life Were Like Pokémon

One of my favorite things about Pokémon is that I can figure things out. A Geodude uses Rollout which has a base power of 30 after it uses Defense Curl so it doubles. Same Type Attack Boost makes it 1.5x stronger and it's special effective x4 against a Bug/Flying Butterfree. 30 becomes 60 then 90 then 360 and that doubles every turn Rollout hits.

If life were like the Pokémon games, sure there'd be crazy little things runnin' around like Rattatas and Caterpies and there'd be hunts for giants like Lugia and people would be flying around on their Fearows and riding from town to town on their Stantlers. But things would follow rules. Ground will never be hurt by an Electric attack and Spiritomb will never have a weakness unless Foresight's used by a Machoke. There are things that are easy to figure out.

But in the end, life isn't like Pokémon. And as awesome as it would be to major in Double Battle Combinations with a minor in Self-Damaging Move studies, there's something to be said for the fact that life doesn't have as many rules it has to follow. It gives things like me telling a guy who's completely out of my league that I like him a chance to work.

And maybe I picked the wrong starter with this particular situation. But it might make things easier in the future. The only way to know is to go for it.

Though, maybe catching all the communicable diseases you can is not the best idea.

I Like You

You should never give the boy you like a flower.
Flowers bloom once, then fade away.

You should never give the boy you like a ring.
Rings get dirty and are never the same.

You should never give the boy you like candy.
Because it might be sweeter than you.

You should never give the boy you like cologne.
There's nothing nicer than his smell.

You should never give the boy you like a stuffed animal.
Because it might keep them warmer than you.

You should never give the boy you like a kiss.
Kisses can come from many others.

What can you give the boy you like?
The chance to become the boy you love.

Grades

Today, I had a serious talk with my classmate from my French class who is worried about the fact that he has a 81 B in the class. My retort was simply, "Have you learned anything?" He replied, "Yeah, but I want an A."

Ever since we were little, we've been told that grades are important. The letters that we received 4 times a year determined who we were. "A" Students were smart, stuck-up, losers, or brownnosers. "F" Students didn't care, were stupid, or rebelled against the establishment. "C" Students were average (which was a negative thing), uninspired, and apathetic. But what I've realized to be more and more true is that the people who care so much about these grades are more than just the people who made A's their whole life and would die if they got a C. They're people who don't value what they're learning.

Many people see education as a means to an end. One must get their Bachelor's of Science degree to have anything meaningful in life. Or if you're a hippie liberal, you need your Master's of the Arts. But in order to do that, you need the grades. Granted, they're important. Your GPA is a initial indicator of your promise as a student. But I think what matters more is the fact that you're learning and that you apply what you're learning to your life, your career, and your personal growth.

I challenge people to think beyond their grades. Do your best and learn. That's the most important thing of all. As long as you are satisfied with yourself, there is nothing else in the world that matters.

After all, A is just a letter. You are SO much more than that.

Valentine's Day

This time last year, I was spoiled rotten. I had an amazing boyfriend who I thought the world of, things were great. He came over at night and we cuddled and fell asleep together and I couldn't imagine the world without him.

Then two short weeks after Valentine's Day, he had a crisis of faith and left me, saying that he could not carry on his current lifestyle and still remain true to his Christianity and his relationship with Christ. All that said in a 5 page text message.

So this year, I had pretty much resolved myself to a Sunday of sitting in bed, eating gamble chocolates and eating ice cream and watching The Notebook, Dirty Love, The Sweetest Thing, and The Holiday. And if I didn't hate myself enough by the end of that run, there's always Brokeback Mountain, and I'm pretty sure I could have found several others at Target that I could have picked up.

But I decided not to let that happen.

So I asked this guy out.

Actually, I asked him to be my Valentine, because that makes it infinitely better in some weird way. And he said yes. Which totally blew me away. Made me want to kiss him, which isn't exactly new, but hell, in that moment, that's all I wanted to do. I guess I have to buy him dinner first but what the hell. Anyways, I have a Valentine now, though we're actually going out Saturday night and I'm going to an Anti-V-Day thing with my best friend, but still.

I like him though. He's complicated. Challenges me, but in the right ways. He's fucking adorable. Doesn't like labels. He's easy to talk to, nice to hug. I like his vibe. He's the relaxed chill personality to my off-the-walls-everywhere-and-then-some-at-the-same-time personality.

I'm looking forward to what the future will hold. With any luck, it'll be me holding him.

*Knock on wood*

Just My Luck

The conceptualization of "luck" often times relates back to some other cosmic force that is just as convoluted and decidedly just as funky. Funky may not be the right word for it, but it leaves about the same effect on my tongue as the words "Your luck will turn around" leaves on my ears. Just an uneasy feeling of eye rolling and the inevitable dragging of the feet to the nearest form of stress relief.

Luck gets thrown around a lot with karma or time or even religion depending on who you talk to. People believe there's no such thing as luck. Others believe purely in it and rely solely on it. Personally, I think that there's gotta be something in it. Honestly, if you've got the luck like I do, especially in the department of relationships, you absolutely have to. But it is balanced out by the success I've had in school, which is counterbalanced yet again by my infernal circumstances in the vehicle department. I've lucked out a number of times though in areas like money, work, and friendship.

But really, does everything have to balance out that I maybe have one or two guys I find a year worth my time? And it's less that I'm picky and rather mature for my age, but more that while there may be diamonds in the rough in the area, their still far enough in the rough that no amount of polishing is going to get them to an acceptable level to where I'm not burdened by the relationship in some form or another.

I'd say that easily the hardest concept behind luck is that there's nothing you can do about it. I hate feeling helpless and it often results in a blinding rage that makes me want to run until the muscles in my legs have given everything they have and I simply collapse. If it happens like that, then I simply have no energy to try to change things and I can simply be carried away on the whims of the world. Sadly, that feeling never lasts for long and I'm back to looking for the needle in the gigantic haystack. (Honestly, I'd prefer that to what it really is, which is most likely vice versa. How's that for a Midwestern boy? I'd love to roll around in a haystack. I might even forget to look for the needle after a while.)

It's a new year, we're almost a twelveth of the way through it and I think I may have found something worth holding onto. Whether he's the piece of hay in my current needlestack or just a shiny gold needle, it's definitely nice to remember what it's like to be infatuated with someone.

Pillow Talk

I was telling someone recently about how terrible I am as a bedmate. I toss and turn and snore and drool on occasion. Plus I'm the loudest breather on the face of the earth. It's gotta be bad when multiple people a day have asked me if I have a deviated septum. Also my bed is a Twin XL. Which is fine and dandy for me, but anyone else joining me is probably going to be a little cramped.

But despite all those issues, in my last two relationships, my boyfriend slept over a minimum of 4 nights a week.

So what is it? Is it our desire to have company at our most vulnerable times, thus making us safer? Is it the security of knowing he's right there and that he cares enough about me to put up with all the shit I put him through while he's unconscious? Or maybe it's just the plain fact that it's nice to fall asleep with someone and wake up with someone.

I'd like to think that it's some combination of want, need, and desire that gives us a sort of pleasure, safety, and triumph. There's something about going back to bed after a terrible night's sleep next to someone for the first time, but the pillows still smell like him. And slowly all the memories of the night before flood back and carry you off into the land of dreams.

The words. The looks. The kisses. The touches. The licks to the face. The nudges in the groin. The loss of sensation in your arm. It all makes the torture of the night before worthwhile. And even more than that, it makes the next night not come soon enough.

Why Martinis are Better Than Your Drink

Call me a stereotypical queer, but I LOVE a good martini. Whether it's the sophisticated nature of lifting the glass after making a poignant argument in a discussion or to maximize vodka consumption by eliminating ice and non-alcoholic mixers, a martini is always in style.

I'm a bit of a purist. Recently I was having a discussion about food and why the culinary world seems almost entirely split down the middle. On one hand, there's a movement towards complicated flavor profiles that no one had ever thought of and cross culinary fusion. The other hand, there's a simplicity and a clean finish. I'm definitely drawn to the clean side of the movement.

In a world where things are often murky and the world is full of grey ethical issues and moral standards, the clear liquor in my crystal glass that requires balance and skill to drink from is my looking glass, everything is brighter, less hazy, more straightforward.

Or maybe it's just the booze.