If you change your mind, I’m the first in line…

Dear Future Husband,

If I could give The Essence of Josephine Baker Award to someone, I’d give it to Angelina and Brad. I’ll be completely honest and say I’m a touch envious of Angie. Admittedly, I rarely look up to celebrities out of belief that humans shouldn’t be idolized until they are dead, lest it go to their head. That and the curse of the evil eye. Back to Angie and Brad and idolizing them. I can imagine her walking a cheetah down the Champs-Elysées, probably in a backless satin dress that flows seductively, looking behind her with that trademark gaze of a seductress. More importantly, I admire how they seem to make it work. “It” being the mix of adopted and biological children, humanitarian work, and having fun with their jobs while still balancing family life.

All throughout high school and up until the first few months of college, I had no desire for children. Absolutely none. Snot factories. Things to punch when angry (no, I don’t condone child abuse.) Giggle factories. Squishy things that make noise for $100. And then I read The Kid by Dan Savage, a book for me which changed my entire thought and rationale. Who knew two of The Gays could make it work. And be top choice for adoption amidst the throngs of straight couples. I’d considered the possibility, but I can’t pinpoint why I didn’t want children. Perhaps selfishness. Je ne sais pas.

Square-cut or Pear shape…

Dear Sanity,

I’ve been toying with the idea of whether or not to go public with this embarrassing secret, but I figure why not. Every one has a small dose of crazy in them. Plus, it pays to plan for what one wants in life.

One of the more recent games I’ve been playing with myself ever since January is: if I were to get married, what kind of rings would I want to wear? I’ve already exhausted possible locations and themes. Now it’s time for the smaller details. As in, the spoils of victory.

See, I like this style, the Asscher cut, but ideally with a blue diamond or aquamarine as the center. Either one. You bring the ring, I’ll wear the dress.

Really, it’s not the ring that’s important. More important is what it represents. Security. That’s a bank account you carry around with you. Should things go south, there should be at least an easy grand or two on your finger. Preferably some more jewels in a safe box. Just in case…

Noblesse Oblige: The Essence of Being Gay Pt. IV

Craigslist

Males do not represent two discrete populations, heterosexual and homosexual.

The world is not to be divided into sheeps and goats. Not all things are black nor all things white. It is a fundamental of taxonomy that nature rarely deals with discrete categories. Only the human mind invents categories and tries to force facts into separated pigeon-holes. The living world is a continuum in each and every one of its aspects. The sooner we learn this concerning human sexual behavior, the sooner we shall reach a sound understanding of the realities of sex.

Alfred Kinsey, Sexual Behaviour in the Human Male (1948)

Dear St. Sebatian and Ganymede,

Again, I write to you because these issues weigh heavily on my mind. Or rather, I figure you’d listen to me vent. Really, this is just a minor irritation with sex sites in general. I belong to several; what card-carrying member of The Gays doesn’t. And, I suppose, this irritation stems from the fact that there’s a sizable group of us actually in search of a relationship. You know, the whole Carrie Bradshaw/Charlotte McDonagull-Whomever/ insert every wistful relationship prone character. Wanting to have someone to introduce to friends and take to social events. Someone to make you feel a bit less “Wow is he alone” and more “He brought a plus one.” And then, there’s the inevitable itch thatneeds scratching and those sites are oh so handy.

You find, you meet, you hook-up; itch scratched. Don’t expect a call back or try and invite them anywhere. That was strictly no strings attached. For bisexual guys, I can understand no strings attached. For The Gays, this only means ‘Let me see how you are but still have the freedom to explore my options.’ We declare intentions of not wanting a hookup, and some take this as a challenge to see how chaste we really are. Then we declare intentions of being a dirty, naughty little boy in bed, and rumors circulate in various circles Gaylord Fuckles is a little slut. Or some variant.

Noblesse Oblige: The Essence of Being Gay Pt. III

Three can keep a secret if two are dead.
Benjamin Franklin (1706-1790)

Dear St. Sebatian and Ganymede,

Why must so many black men insist on being down low. Actually, I already suspect some answers, but first I’ll need to vent and address those who are down low. You don’t fool anyone. It’s not an affront to your masculinity. Perhaps you don’t want being gay to define your life, or perhaps you’re not gay at all. Maybe you’re bisexual. Whatever the reasons, they’re rather selfish, in the fact that it isn’t just you who suffers. Especially those of you who fail to use protection. If you only had sex with men, then maybe it’d be understandable, at least from the perspective is it’s not going to fuck up their chances of having a baby. Most of The Gays don’t even want children, though a sizable minority do.

If you’re bisexual, at least have the balls to be open about it instead of hiding behind the mantle of The Gays. You and your secrecy give us all a bad name, and I’m tired of it. The blame doesn’t just fall to black men, though. There is a sizable population of white/other married men who seek fun on the internet. I’ve had a few encounters when I was younger, namely the year I turned 16. After the third encounter, though, it ate at me because I would hate to think of my spouse/lover/other cheating on me, much less with a women if I were in that position.

Up and About in London and Paris, Pt. II

We’ve been in Paris for only a day and a half, but it feels like three or four. Mostly because I think I’ve come across at least a dozen stories in the time I’ve been here. The first is that Paris still remains the most awesome city ever. Paris is a city that begs for exploration by feet.This morning, I went for a walk down the Champs-Elysées to go visit Pont Alexandre III, my favorite bridge in the city. There’s a tranquil quiet that settles over the city on a Sunday morning, as the light has just made it’s way over the horizon. The Champs, the large and small palace were ethereally illuminated. It was surreal. Standing on Pont Alexandre looking down the Seine is one of my favorite experiences. The queens still guard over it, as I remember. Speaking of queens, the family and I decided to venture out to Versailles.

I don’t remember the lines being ridiculously long. We bought our tickets right outside the train station, thinking we were beating the lines. And we were able to beat the ticket lines. Then, there was another line to get inside. A line that ended up being two hours long. In very cold weather. That was something I didn’t foresee. I also didn’t foresee a potential stampede once we made it inside.

We had just finished getting our headphones for the tour and making our way through the next entrance when the perfect storm of people converged in the small lobby. Some group trying to make it to their bus packed the small area with people waiting to get in. The bus group panicked, thinking they were going to miss the bus, while the people waiting panicked, thinking space was decreasing and something was wrong.

Space got confined really, really quickly; this little girl next to me almost got crushed. Les gendarmes began shouting and the people began shouting back; I thought we were about to storm the palace again, two hundred years later.

I took my dad to the Latin Quarter, where we both enjoyed sandwich grecs, something I have missed since leaving. And they are just as amazing as I remember them. To get supper, though, I somehow convinced my dad to walk from L’Arc de Triomphe to the Latin Quarter. I’m not sure he was prepared to work for his meal the way he did.

I also shared with him some of the happenings over the summer, and some wisdom I’ve learned over the past year, and how many issues of the past are finally settled and resolved. I think it’s been the first time in a while I’ve been honest. The cops over the summer, dealing with Jimmy Johns, and learning about people and character. I even felt comfortable to smoke in front of him. This won’t be a regular thing, but just to see, you know. He also shared with me, and oddly enough saying the same things I said when talking about what’s in a name.

Really, any step I take around the city brings back memories of the six weeks I spent here. This trip has also been, quite possibly, the best bonding experience my family has shared. I feel as though my parents are relaxed; tonight I shared a ‘gin et tonique’ with my dad at the bar in the hotel. Hemingway’s spirit has returned; I think I’ve had a drink with at least every meal here. Overall, we’ve become very relaxed around each other. It’s a good thing. Tomorrow, we’ll tour the city, and celebrate New Years. Then back to London for one more night, and a return flight to the States.