Come out and say it...

I got this in the mail yesterday:



It was tucked into the package mailed out by Holt Renfrew, their fall fashion catalogue/magazine. To my excitement there is now a separate magazine devoted exclusively to men's fashions, and I happily snagged it from the stack. This is a development, because had this been a year ago, I would have never been caught dead with something that 'gay'.

An insert fell from the magazine, bearing the likeness of the man in question and a sample for the new Narciso Rodriguez cologne. My mom picked it up, and studied the picture. She looked a little perturbed.

"What."

She paused. "Well, I don't really like it, he looks a little...young." She kept staring awkwardly at it, and for some reason I didn't buy the 'young' argument.

"Oh come on, he looks like he's in his 20's..." I said, defensively. After all, he's gorgeous, he needs some defending.

"I guess. I don't know, its just..." she went off again, setting the ad on the stove. I didn't get what she was talking about, so I pressed on.

"Just what!?"

"Well, he's so...hairless," she managed. I laughed aloud.

"What do you mean!?"

"Well, most men don't look like that. He's got to be waxing or something..." she trailed off again. This was beginning to make more sense.

"Oh, I see," I said, waiting for her to ask me why she may have found a bottle of Nair for Men that I had accidentally left in the bathroom.

She never asked. Something that she would have found hard not to a year ago.

Junk...

For some bizarre reason I have started to receive spam.

One was for some penis augmentation pills, purporting the UK's best prices. The other was a deal for cheap auto insurance.

I'll never understand the Internet and how spammers get your e-mail address. Other than receiving and sending e-mails to other human persons through this address, I have not signed up for anything. It's very strange to me that I would be getting such crazy e-mails for an address that is practically unlisted, and rarely used.

At any rate, I thought I should take a moment to invite some more welcomed communication to my inbox. Ever want to get in touch with me? Ask a question? Insult me? Well, you are more than welcome to e-mail me at frozen.underwear@gmail.com if you please. I know my address is listed publicly, but take this as an invite if you were ever hesitant.

Comments are always very much appreciated and enjoyed. Thank you to all who have contributed to discussions and helped me answer some of my musings. I do not censor them or reject anonymous comments, so if you don't want your identity to be known, feel free to stay anonymous.

For those of you more inclined to use an IM service, I've got my AIM and MSN up and running under the account frozen.underwear@gmail.com for all your instant-communication needs. I'll actually try and be online now and then, too.

And finally, thank you for reading. Let's consider August 28th 'Blogger Reader Appreciation Day'. It's nice to know people actually check out my page from time to time, and it's very rewarding to write for such a good audience. Thank you!

Completely self-centred goal...

I realized tonight I have achieved a goal I had set out long ago.

Nothing that I had written down, or really committed to actual goal-dom, such as the way other goals are recorded. I did not write it on a white piece of paper, fold it six times and tear it into bits, then cast the shards over a crystal-blue lake in a valiant effort to signify how important this goal was.

Nowhere near that interesting. But ultimately so satisfying.

Tonight I went to Google. And I typed in 'frozen underwear'. And I am the first page that Google takes you to.

That's right, I have beaten all other references of 'frozen underwear', to take the top spot on Google's search engine. For those keywords, at any rate.

When I first started writing, it was a secret goal for me to take that spot. Previously when searching those keywords, I was greeted with a few eclectic selections, including lyrics for a song which mentioned frozen underwear. There was another proclamation, "They froze my underwear!". And some other garbage, including underwear for sale online.

I existed, buried several pages into the search, possibly on the fourth or fifth page of 'frozen underwear' references. A nothing, helpless, deserted in a maze of meaningless jumbled phrases that happened to include my keywords. (That is not to say that indeed, today, I am a something.)

But I have out-linked them all, taking the top spot. All within the 8 months I have been writing.

I'd like to thank the academy...

The stuff that dreams are made of...

Time and time again, we are fed the same stories.

Be they on television, in literature, or even worse, in our friend's and family's lives, we are confronted with fairy tales. Grand narratives of two people meeting in the most unlikely way, and finally getting into something good.

The first notions of fairy tales are planted in the most impressionable minds, specifically children. The prince on the horse in your fairy tale rides into your life, slays the opposition, hitches you on back of him and rides off into the sunset. This gets backed up in the teenage years, with MTV feeding constant crap about chic teens finding romance amongst their peers at school. Finally it starts happening to your friends and family, the stories told around the camp fire or at holidays about how they met and how different life has been for the past few months.

And I'm not even talking 'true love' here. I'm just talking about a boyfriend.

I am left with the pessimistic notion that Mother Goose got it wrong, and that these inconsistent random-acts-of-God are just that, completely random. So, do fairy tales really come true?

I don't need to tell you all about the vast number of us who are sexually frustrated, relationship deprived or painfully single. For whatever reason, we are not able to meet the 'right person', or at times meet 'any person' who gives us the slightest pull of attraction. We trudge through life, either having random sexual encounters because we can, or simply not having any sex or meeting any randoms at all.

Some days we play the defiant role, thumbing our noses at Fate and laughing at our misfortunes. After all, the life of a single is so satisfying! We can eat what and when we please, sleep as long as we want, are free to make whatever evening plans we see fit, and can go home with practically anyone with only our sometimes-disapproving friends to deal with.

Most days, we sing a different tune. While coupledom can seem as oppressive as a Hitler-type dictatorial system, ultimately the pros outweigh the cons. After all, if you're hot for the boy you're seeing, why would it matter when you eat, or where, or what you do that night, or what time he rolls you over in the morning?

This is all somewhat (very) biased, because I am cycling into another I-hate-being-single phase. It irks me, sending thoughts of inadequacy dancing through my head, and sometimes spews venomous comments at people who are happily coupled (those bastards). So my rosy outlook on happy couples is somewhat unwarranted and heavily romanticized.

But it's just so difficult, when one is in this mood, to hear the most amazing stories of others and their sudden and often unexpected happiness. When you're at peace with being single, it simply makes you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, and you find yourself whispering softly to yourself, "Isn't that sweet for them!" (Either way, be you envious of them or overcome with tears of joy for them, the undercurrent of congratulations and goodwill towards them remains the same.)

Case in point #1: a certain blogger named Tim who's fairytale romance with his boyfriend started even before he was out. Just as he's coming to grips with the whole gay thing, he finds out the cute boy from across the hall has a thing for Tim. Add some amazingly-well-timed social events, as well as some margaritas and a slightly meddling friend who alerts Tim to the whole situation, and magically a new fairytale is born. And still going strong. (Lucky bastard.)

Case in point #2: The Wilde American is living in the wasteland known as Portland, OR. While attending the pride parade, he ends up snapping the photo of a sexy guy in the crowd. What started with a simple, random event turned into a fairytale with enough oomph to make plans to move back to Los Angeles (though not to live together), and pursue both opportunities for love and money on the sunny shoreline.

What do these two cases prove? That indeed, fairy tales not only present themselves, they follow through.

It gives great hope to those of us clutching pillows in our empty beds that someday this may be bestowed upon us, and that we can break the cycle of singledom and unsatisfaction. After all, here is proof that good things indeed happen to good people, when you never expect it. You can breathe a little easier knowing that maybe your number is going to be called soon, and a series of somewhat random events will present themselves and thrust you into scenarios you never dreamed you would be in.

Of course, you snap back to reality. Wait a minute, you say to yourself. What makes you so sure this is going to happen to you anyway? I mean, if you haven't had much luck lately, why will it turn around for you now? This is all just what you said, a fairytale: 'Something That Happens To Other People'.

That is, of course, the angsty-singledom talking. But it does make you wonder. Under what conditions do these fairy tales bud and grow? Are they to be cultivated by years of unhappy and incompatible dates and sexual encounters, becoming frustratedly content in permanent single status? Do you have to plant the seeds yourself, and if so, how? By wildly throwing shells in the garden of your social circles, hoping that one may sprout and grow into something? Or do they simply fall from the sky, something so out of our grasp that we cannot them under any circumstance.

We often approach life with the notion that if you work hard enough, you will be rewarded. You don't like your job, so you try harder than before to get the promotion. Your grades need to be higher, so you put in the extra research to impress your professor. Even if you dislike your body, you make changes in your diet and exercises to get where you want to be. But what about romance? Are there really fairy tales, or are these random acts of happiness that only some get to enjoy?

Tech update...

I'm in need of new technology.

Well, not 'need', but desire.

All my life I had one computer. For majority of that time, it has been a Pentium III 500mhz beast. Well, used to be a beast. Now it's just a prehistoric beast. When I went to school two years ago, I knew I needed a new computer, and made the switch to a Mac. Now I've got my PC of roughly 10 years, and my Mac of 3 years.

This summer has made me incredibly frustrated when working on my PC. It freezes under the slightest conditions, can't play videos that are larger than 1/7th of the screen, and generally suffers from being very old. I've reinstalled Windows to clear up clutter in the registry, but sadly it's become bogged down again.

When my mom was checking her e-mail the other day, she noticed that while she was typing, the words took several second to translate from the keyboard to the screen. She asked if there was a problem, and I reminded her how old and out-of-date the beast is and how it'd be really nice if we got something a little newer for the home PC.

Well, this discussion has turned into somewhat of an ongoing thing...resulting in a conversation in the car the other day. I had been drooling over the boy who had passed me in the mall with a brand new iMac...I mean I was drooling over the iMac this guy had...anyway I had mentioned all the updates in the new Mac compared to mine. She seemed genuinely interested, and shocked me when she proclaimed that I should probably just leave my Mac at home and buy a new one.

"Oh, but we don't have any money right now," she said. Why do you tempt me so!?

After ensuring her that yes, it would be a good idea, and discussing the finer details about price, she was much more open to it. Considering she thought it would cost $3000 for a new Mac (how she got that iDea I will never know), and finding out it would be much less, she was almost re-opened to the idea. It was left hanging, as parents often do, with a, "We'll see," type of answer.

(I just looked, and my new Mac will set me back $1764.00. Ouch on my very tapped bank account.)

Anyway all of this is fantasy in my mind, because I really want to retire my PC and not loose all my pages every time I open a new window. Oh, and watch video on more of the screen. All things my current Mac will do effortlessly, and my new Mac will do effortlessly and sexily.

So what are your thoughts? Should I push for a new Mac at this point in time, or wait for an even newer model? And what about their new operating system, when does that all go down and will it be on Mac's sold in September/October?...oh so many questions for a project that will sadly probably not happen.

But all the kids have them...

I've been seeing a lot of these lately.



Not in person, mind you...never actually pulled these off anybody (yet), but they seem to be everywhere online. I've seen them in more porn movies than I remember, and in countless pictures. Of all the hot underwear out there, this pair really grabs my attention.

Maybe it's the crisp white and the contrast of the red? Maybe it's the boys who are wearing them? Maybe it's the fact that they really, really contour to the body? Yeah, that's probably it...



Yum. I mean, they look anyone's ass look excellent, mine included. I actually own a pair of these badboys, though not because I'm a fan of the photos. It was a long while ago, while on an underwear binge. I hit up the CK section, and thought they looked kinda cute, kinda hot, and really comfy. Well, they're all three!



Yes, the Calvin Klein Pro-Stretch line is pretty hot (in case you were wondering what they were, exactly). I've only got the boxer-briefs, but I'll be picking up a pair of the briefs at some point soon, and maybe even another pair of what I've got.



I mean, look at them! Just poking out of the top of your pants, they look cute. I dunno, maybe I'm crazy...its almost like they look better on!



Then again...

Resolutions and Reservations...

I hear this is the first day of classes for college students in the US.



So for all of you who've just moved into Rez, or are home from your first day of class, hats off to you! We're lucky here in Ontario, with most colleges not starting classes until a week into September.

And although it might look like I've moved back to Toronto...I haven't yet. My visit a little while ago was just that, a visit to drop off some things at my new place and pick up some things that had been on hold for far too long. So that means many things, including the fact that I have lots of time still on my hands before heading back to the new grind that will be school.

I'm excited (I think) to get back there, with people I haven't seen in ages, living on my own and maybe making some progress in my life. There are moments that I cannot wait to be gone from home, which are often filled with guilty after-thoughts because I'm by no means restricted while I'm under my parents roof. At the same time, I'm ready to move on and really embrace living on my own.

I'm also getting more and more nervous about going back. There's lots of positive things to look forward to, but also lots of questions about what'll happen this year. Really, it's stupid stuff that's mostly in my head. So I've been doing a New Year's style list of resolutions (and reservations).

Resolutions:
-Not visit home as much as I did, forcing myself to actually make plans on weekends, be they visiting friends in other cities or doing things with friends in Toronto
-Cook more for myself so as to follow better dietary guidelines
-Plan and execute a great Christmas party that people will actually remember
-Celebrate my birthday by actually doing something
-Expand my social circles to include some semi-regular activities with both new and old friends...bottom line, get out more
-When not getting out more, actually spend time doing nothing with other people
-Make some progress with the whole 'gay' thing
-Actually make gay friend(s) and enjoy gay social life
-Make attempts to date
-Be 'out'
-Experience the gay culture, including finally going to a gay club/bar
-Start some sort of part-time job to make spending money and attempt to become more a part of Toronto the city
-Pick up a new hobby that I've never had before, something that provides time away from home and enjoyment
-Become involved with something campus related, be it a school group or volunteer position within the university; if not:
-Take up a volunteer position somewhere in Toronto

Reservations (and general paranoia):
-My friends won't remember me (Steve who?), or will give me the cold shoulder because we haven't spoken in months
-The roommate thing will be a disaster (again)
-I'll wind up as unhappy and depressed about life as I did during the worst days of last semester
-My grades won't be as good as I want them to be, impacting my future grad school plans
-I'll wind up alone, as always, be that socially or romantically
-Somehow I'll screw up the gay thing and make no progress
-I won't follow through with any of my resolutions and wind up as bored as last year

So there you have it...from reading that, I'd say I'm really quite excited to go back to school, but have this nervous, overhanging cloud about the whole thing, with now concrete reasons (other than past experience). I want to say that I'm totally positive about going back, but that's really not the case. I want to be, but there's a nagging in the back of my mind.

Especially when it comes to my friends. At the end of last semester I was branching out, meeting new people and actually maintaining some fairly good social events with them. But that all came to a screeching halt this summer. Part of the blame goes on my shoulders, because I have done little to keep the lines of communication open. But the other half rests on the shoulders of my friends, who too have not gone the extra mile to keep in touch.

Whatever the case may be, I'll soon be in my new apartment and starting classes. My schedule is decent, with very full Mondays to Thursdays, but having Fridays off (which could be a mixed blessing).

At any rate, it should prove to be an interesting year...who knows, maybe I'll be spending some time in my old dorm with a new friend.

The runup to...

September, just around the corner.

So much to be said about it. So much to reflect on. So much that still needs to happen.

But none of that at the moment...I have one more frivolous post first.

Flash back to Friday night, sitting in a semi-circle with a bunch of friends from high school, celebrating a birthday. Things are going well, if not a little slowly, but we all end the evening on a good note. I arrive home to an empty house, get naked (because it's just so damn comfortable) and check my messages.

I'm not anal about checking my 'gay sites' messages, because not only am I unable to just randomly meet people when I please, I rarely get messaged. But tonight, my inbox has a number beside it. Mildly interesting.

I check what's there, one of which is a proposition from an older gentleman. Next, I read a small snippit from someone, and am intrigued.

It was just a simple "hey" message, but the profile attached to it was anything but ordinary. It made me laugh out loud, and the picture made me smile. Rosy cheeks, cute lips...witty one-sided banter in the text box. And I'm sold.

So naturally, I message back, not really expecting to hear anything more. Flash forward to late Saturday afternoon, just arriving home from a lateish lunch with people and eager to check my inbox.

What transpires over the next hour, via several intermittent messages, was semi-flirtatious, courteous and intelligent banter. It was fun, and lit that small flicker of hope, leaving me wanting more talk. What was nice is the fact he acknowledges he doesn't want 'just sex'. Really, nowhere is sex mentioned.

Again this afternoon after getting home, I check my inbox to find yet another interesting profile response. Same situation, another guy who specifically does not mention the desire for sex. Responding to me, because I have written the same thing.

But these guys trap you in a corner so unlike the hookup ads. With the just sex searches, it's simply a matter of finding a body you like, who'll do the things you want done to you, and the hard part is over. Not so with the nice guys.

Throughout the messages back-and-forth with the first guy, I can't honestly say what he's looking for, mostly because he didn't himself. It was mentioned that he dropped me a line because of our close ages, thinking that we'd have more in common than with others. I agree, but for what exactly? A friend to have coffee with? Or a date for next Friday night?...

Truly impossible to tell, because the ambiguity of the online written word means that one can be both flirtatious and completely aloof at the same time. Couple that with the anxious, over-analytical mind on the receiving end, and the truth often gets washed away in a torrent of scenarios playing out in the imagination.

Why it can't simply say, "Lets have coffee and discuss this further," is understandable but frustrating. And it makes it difficult to determine when the appropriate moment a flirtatious comment should be made for fear of coming off as the typical oversexed male.

It surprises and delights me to see this increase in interest in me, even though I have changed nothing in my profile for months. Whats more, with it being so close to September, I can hopefully keep this streak of good things coming long enough to perhaps take advantage of it.

Sirens and bloodstains...

I got scared last night.

The prickly, surreal fright that crawls up your arms and ices over your chest. And worst of all, it was totally unexpected.

I'd been out playing pool with a few friends, and had just stopped in the drive-thru to get a coffee before making the trek home. The drive through sits facing a bank of stores across the road, and as I waited for my cup I gazed through the few fledgling trees to the action on the other side of the road.

What I saw terrified me. Not only because of it's horrible reality, but the fact of where it was happening.

There, on the sidewalk in broad electric light was a guy getting the shit kicked out of him.

I sat, slack jawed as the branches of the tree obstructed my view. Could this really be happening? Have I been reading too much crazy fiction that I'm imagining this?

For a moment I thought of telling the coffee girl to call 911, but scrapped the idea. What if I was wrong? What if that group of guys standing there, yelling and dancing around, weren't actually hitting each other?

But as I crept forward, following the paved path out of the coffee shop drive-thru, I knew I was right. There, two guys were pinning the arms of a third back, while a fourth hurled punches into his chest.

My jaw was still hanging. My brain could not compute what was happening. Such insanity, here, in the town next to mine. The sleepy little town where everyone walks home at 2 a.m., safe and sound. Not to mention the poor guy who was taking the brunt of this mindless violence.

"Christ," I breathed.

Suddenly, a guy flashed in front of my bumper, madly running toward the action. I nearly hit him, not looking forward but fixed on the scene across two lanes of pavement. I braked, then rolled forward, then slammed on the brakes again, completely oblivious to the world around me.

Reaching into my pocket, I pulled out my phone, mashing the keys, trying to call CrimeStoppers. For those who don't know, it's a service some municipalities have, an anonymous tip line you can call to report crime, without having to go through the red tape of 911.

My first attempt failed. "Your call cannot be completed as dialed," the stoic voice said. "Please hang up and try your call again."

"FUCK!" I yelled. I checked, and had added a bunch of extra digits to the number. By now my heart was racing, and my fingers trembled as they mashed the keyboard. Finally, after double-checking the number, I hit send.

"Crimestoppers," came the woman's voice.

"I need to report an assault in progress," I shouted. "At the (blank) Variety, across from the Tim Hortons, in (blank)."

A moment passed. "OK, what's going on?" I was too out of it to come back with anything cutting, but if I recall correctly, I just said there was an assault in progress. Kinda serious.

"Uh...some guy is being held by two other guys and being punched, it looks like."

"Oh. I'll get someone out there right away," she replied, then disconnected.

And that was it. The call lasted roughly 30 seconds. Now what?

By then I was sitting in a parking lot a short distance from the scene. Should I go back, wait closer to the store? What more can I do!? I sat for a few more seconds, but realized I was pretty powerless. No other friends to help, no cops in view, no shotgun in the trunk...

Tearing out of the parking lot, I put the windows down listening to the roar of the engine. Cold breeze slapped my face and the radio thumped David Bowie's 'China Girl' as I tried to get my mind back into reality. Jesus Christ, that was insane.

I started to shake, part from the cold air, part from the genuine shock of what I'd just seen. Maybe this is common in your city, or your suburb, but not here. Things like this just don't happen here. What's worse, I knew with sickening truth that it wasn't just a bar fight between two disgruntled guys.

The area has been in a sharp decline over the past two years, with the youth becoming ever more restless and jaded. They dress in homeboy clothes, sit in parking lots blasting rap, smoking joints and cat calling to the girls who walk by. This doesn't include the majority of the young people in the area, really it's a small faction of them...but it's the most volatile percentage. And I was pretty sure what I'd seen was a confrontation between two groups of youths. Like I said, these guys didn't look like they'd just come from the bar down the street, and the guy I nearly ran over was running from the hang-out parking lot.

After I stopped shaking, about halfway home, I started getting pissed off. This isn't supposed to happen in our community, and I'm not putting up with this shit. It's not the majority that's involved, but it ends up being everyone's problem if there are going to be random fights in the streets. And I'm not letting these guys ruin what everyone else has enjoyed for so long.

I still don't know when the police arrived, or if anyone was arrested, or if the guy getting beat on was checked out by a paramedic. Probably, I'll never know. But I know from now on, I'm never going to let this shit slide again.

"I'll ruin everything you are..."

Eggshells...

Everything is walking on eggshells.

Most specifically, it's my 'out' status. I'm out to nearly all the important people in my life, save my father and a few friends. But I find myself walking on eggshells, remembering who knows, who doesn't and who ought to find out next.

What's worse is how my friend act with it. Really, they do nothing wrong, and have been completely supportive and tight-lipped about it. We had dinner in a group last week and I had assumed person X had told her boyfriend and my mutual friend Y, because I never specifically said, "Don't tell anybody!" when I came out to her. So I had a little voice in the back of my head, unsure of censoring some topics of conversation. Since nothing about sexuality came up for quite a while, I carried on the assumption that he in fact might know.

Then he asked me something about, "Women, haha," and I knew he didn't know. Later I asked X if she's said anything, and she was horrified.

"No, never! I'm not going to blab it around town," she said reassuringly.

In many ways, I could not ask for better friends. People who understand that it's a delicate issue, and that it's not something I want to fly through the gossip mill. I've seen it done to another of our friends, and it's just not right.

But at the same time, it feels like the coming out process is being hindered by everyone being so careful about it. Many of the reasons lie in the location right now; I don't want it spread all over small-town-bum-fuck-nowhere. It's more to protect my family than it is for me, because I don't plan on living here the rest of my life.

So will it be any different in Toronto? When I go back to school, what'll happen with my continued adventures in coming out? Do I have to literally greet every friend with, "Good to see you! How was summer? Oh and I'm gay..."?

I always harken back to my belief that my sexuality isn't my entire personality. The people I have gotten to know know me as a friend, not as a love interest, so really my sexual status isn't exactly important to our relationships. Still, if you don't tell everyone, then you are assumed to be straight...

The other weekend someone was at a party with friends from highschool. Nobody was around, save the host, his girlfriend, and my new roommate, and the host asked about me, how I was, was I seeing anybody...was I big on women...

"Why'd he as that?" I said. This is a guy who I maybe talked to twice in school.

"Oh, just curious about you, because we're living together and everything. I dunno, he liked you fine in High School."

"That's because I didn't talk to him more than three times."

"True enough, but aren't those the people you actually still like from high school?"

She was actually going to tell him, "Well, Steve's coming out right now, so he's not really into too many women," but she stopped herself.

"I just didn't know if that would be ok," she said. "He wouldn't gossip about it, and it was only the three of us there, but still it's kinda personal..."

Very sweet of her to keep it under wraps, but ultimately is it helping my situation?

Being at whatever stage I am of the closet, I'm getting more and more frustrated. In many ways I just want it to be over, to be out and to actually maybe finally carry on with 'normal' life. But I still have reservations about broadcasting it on Facebook, or telling every person I know, or having others spread the news.

Hell, I don't even know where I stand on the 'out' scale. Obviously I'm out to some family and close friends, but that's where it ends (I think, anyway). So how 'out' is that? And what do I have to do next, so I can walk confidently into the next stage of my life, not tip-toe, afraid of breaking any eggshells?

See me, feel me...

I am a gay with an optical disadvantage.

When I was 16, just before getting my drivers license, I wisely went to the optician. After my examination was over, I was told I needed glasses. Nearsighted was my diagnosis, and I was fitted with a pair of (now hideous but then acceptable) glasses.

Over the years, my vision got marginally worse. I began to grudgingly accept that I needed to wear glasses on a near constant basis in order to function. I also began seeing that many of my friends needed some sort of eyesight aid as well. But the trick was, many used contacts.

I debated getting the little plastic discs for quite some time, instead opting for more fashionable frames. But as I've come to realize, people just look better without glasses. It's as if, while one is wearing them, a giant screen is thrust up in front of you, preventing jaws from slackening in appreciation of your god-like beauty...

Ok, maybe not that much, but when's the last time you've looked at a hot guy wearing glasses and found him as attractive as a similar, glasses free guy sitting next to him?

For example...

Versus...

This is actor Kristopher Turner (whom I had no idea existed until seconds ago, thanks to a Google images search). He's very doable with glasses, but maybe just a touch cuter without. Not that I would turn him away if he happened to leave his contacts at home...oh never mind.

With all of this in mind, I went for my annual optical checkup. My doctor is an amazingly friendly guy who actually gives you the time of day, and was more than happy to set me up for a contact trial.

"Why do you want contacts anyway?" he asked. Such a probing question.

"Well, there's this pair of Dolce and Gabbana sunglasses I'm in love with, but I can't get done in prescriptive..." My voice trailed off. Probably not the best answer.

"Hmm, well if it's just for that," he said, looking disapprovingly at the pivoting chair I was stationed in.

"Oh, no, no, not at all! Um, just, you know, to have options," I stuttered. Yeah, like the option of increasing my hotness factor when trying to get picked up by that hottie across the room...

So I rolled my eyes up, he counted to three and magically I had contacts in. I couldn't help but laugh out loud. "I can see!" I said. "Without glasses!" No shit.

As I sat there gleefully, we chatted about the basics, care, how long to wear them, on and on...until I started feeling weird.

I stopped him in mid-sentence. "Uh, I'm feeling kinda funky right now," I said on an exhale. He instantly looked concerned, telling me to lean forward and put my head between my knees.

After a moment, the sensation passed, and I sat back up. We continued talking and everything was normal. Until another moment went by and the same woozy feeling crept back into my system.

With my head between my knees for a second time, he suggested maybe taking them out. Seconds later, and I couldn't see again...Fuck! Fuck fuck fuck!

As it turns out, some 'special' people like myself have a physiological knee-jerk reaction when it comes to contacts. I admitted that I wasn't even afraid of having them on, and felt no physical discomfort when wearing them, which is why he suspected that my body had simply started resisting having something on my eye, much to my conscious commands to do otherwise.

So I left the office with a pat on the back and a, "Lets try again in a few months and see!" from him. I was pretty disappointed, I must admit, because it would be really nice to not have to wear glasses every day of my life.

A couple weeks later I decided I needed new frames anyway, so I went shopping and wound up with a pretty nice pair:




I'm happy with them, and the sales girls who helped pick them out thought they were flattering. "Mmm, functional and attractive," the one cooed. Yeah, just like me! Flirting from the girls aside, I'm pleased I got them. Now if I can only mindfuck my body into letting me wear contacts, I could give those two (and mostly other guys) something to really appreciate.

Playing with balls...

I've been blessed with a lot, in retrospect.

A great brain, a sense of humour, lots of (naive) affection for people, a generally stand up disposition...some people call me good looking (though at least one was drunk at the time)...but one thing I've never, ever had the faintest wisp of is sports attentiveness.

Ever since I was little, when parents put their kids into summer sports like soccer or baseball, I sucked. No matter what I did, I never ran fast enough, had enough coordination or know-how to succeed. And really, being a guy, this is something that doesn't make life easy.

Especially in the middle youth years, when everyone is on some team, either playing baseball or tennis or rugby...I simply could not produce any positive results. My mere presence was enough to send the team into disarray, and no matter how much I would focus on the objective, I could never seem to manipulate whatever ball we were using to do my bidding. As if God had smited me at birth, I could not pitch, catch, kick, hit or otherwise move a ball in the proper direction.

I remember one 'sport' I was good at, shot put. Way back in grade 7, we used to be put through these exercises in school to see who would represent us at the regional athletic competition. As far as I remember, everyone participated and tried out for a variety of things. I did my usual circuit, failing miserably at each, with sympathetic teachers smiling at me and wishing me better luck next time.

Finally I arrived at the shot put station. I grasped the metallic ball, motioned back and heaved it forward. To my great surprise, it went rather far. My friends, standing in back of me, burst out with cheers. Everyone was a little astonished that Steve had actually done something credible in the sports world.

Sadly, the bastard running the shot put station was the head gym teacher. While he was mildly impressed, he ended up passing me over for someone else because, to my knowledge, he didn't really like me because I was terrible at sports and wanted a more favored member on his team.

A few years later I picked up my one true sport: skiing. I love bounding down the side of a hill, carving across powder as the wind stings my eyes. Surprising even to me, I love the exhilaration of speeding across the snow. Finally, I had found one sport-like activity I was good at! Probably the main reason I enjoyed it, other than actually developing some semblance of skill, was the fact it didn't involve anyone else. It was just something I could do on my own, without a team to let down.

Still, this doesn't help. During Frosh week two years ago, when everyone went outside to play some sort of football, I simply smiled and declined the invitation. Lots of guys I know still attempt some sports, and even some girls are avid hockey players. But knowing that I can't pull any of these things off is awkward. I would say it's emasculating, but that's not really the case, because I don't think that a woman who's capable of outskating me makes me less of a male. It's just socially irritating.

Apparently my handicap even carries over to the digital world. A few weeks ago I played with a Nintendo Wii for the first time, amazed at the bowling, tennis and other sports that people were playing. I got a feel for the controller, and challenged my friend to a match of tennis. The game passed by, and I failed to score a single point.

We played a rematch, where my defeat was only slightly less embarrassing, with my scoring one point before the game was quickly finished. "Shit," I muttered.

My friend looked at me and smiled. "Dude, you kinda suck."

"Not only can't I play sports in real life, I can't even do it in a video game."

We laughed and played a few other of the sports games, but ultimately I failed at each one. I guess it just goes to show some people are given many gifts, as well as a few deficits.

My night...

The months had felt like years, but flown by too quickly to remember.

I arrived at the apartment feeling jittery and nervous and needing a drink. This sometimes (always) happens when I'm meeting someone, the flux between horny excitement and cold questioning that seems to insert itself into the moment. Really this should not have bothered me, because David has been coming over for a while now, only interrupted by the summer months and my temporary relocation ("Why are you living out there?").

My roommate and I sat at the new old kitchen table, me swigging quietly from a glass of gin and tonic and her pulling from a pre-bottled cocktail. The sun beat through the windows and gave the room a sickening shimmer of heat, pushed away every few beats by gusts of cool air. Tension lifted and we talked about our evenings and she said, "I hope you have a good time," and got in the shower.

The next few hours were spent idly watching the clock, paging through a forgettable paperback left under the coffee table and sipping from a new glass of gin and tonic. He was supposed to show up at 10:30, and by midnight I was getting nervous again. Finally the phone vibrated and he was downstairs worrying his car would be stolen or he would be shot and how can I live in such a fucking ghetto?

I opened the door to him and he smiled with his big lips pushed apart. I smiled sleepy and lightheaded and we took a tour of the apartment where he stopped and sat on my bed. I offered him a drink, closed my door and sat down.

The next several minutes were spent on how summer sucks when you don't got anywhere and how many different job's he had that went nowhere. I forgot to ask him about a road trip he was going on. Then he pulled his wallet and phone out of his pants and lay down on the bed. I pulled the chain on the bulb beside him and lay down.

Over the next two hours we moved around every imaginable angle grasping each other's bodies. He was on his game, more interested than I'd ever seen him before, and I fueled from his energy. The stress and nervousness and worry (this is the first sex you'll have in months...) were gone and all that was left was lust and pleasure.

He finally came while I was inside him, a quiet acknowledgement seconds before the oh-oh-oh's and then I came and we collapsed onto each other and my breath was ragged and the sheets were soaked. Time stood still as the curtain played back and forth in the breeze.

We stood naked in the dark, the angles of his body barely visible and after hearing a noise he says, "Is someone home?"

"Sure, probably. My roommate was out earlier..." It's now 3, and I'm not surprised she's home.

"Cool. Is she hot?"

"I guess. Yeah." I think about it for a few more seconds, but that sounded right.

"So would she let me fuck her?"

I tilted my head. "Probably not. She likes her boyfriend."

He giggled and said too bad and just stood there. We waited there, waiting for the other to give a cue for the next move.

I offered him a shower and he accepted while I tip-toed out to see if my roommate was home. She smiled slyly as she opened her door and I laughed with guilt and at the fact I had just slept with a boy in my new apartment while my friend was home and it was OK.

We all went out for a smoke on the balcony and he introduced himself to her ("I do really want to meet these boys, you know...") and they shook hands. He talked about his school and she talked about her classes and I sat there not saying much because I was tired and spaced out. David inhaled, then exhaled, talking nonstop about his favorite clubs and where all his friends go and where they might be tonight. There was talk of some friend-of-a-friend he knows who's dating Amanda Bynes, and I realise that he really does know (or thinks he knows) people who know people. He then talks about his dreams to move to California with a friend who wants to get a record deal and how he might go because it's great out there, it's all he's wanted to do in life.

"But what's in California?" she asks, because she can't see past Toronto.

"Everything," I say from my chair, and David giggles again.

I tune out his praise for L.A. and wonder why he's so interested in talking to her anyway and shouldn't he be going home soon because it's getting late?

She excuses herself and he sits for a few more minutes dragging on his third smoke. Finally he runs out of things to say and I sit there because I never had anything to add anyway, so instead he gets up and motions to leave. We get to the door and he makes another joke (seriously though) about getting shot on the way to his car and I tell him not to worry, turning the handle. He sticks out his hand for a high-five and I grab it awkwardly not really believing this is happening again.

"Is that how you do it on the west side?" I ask, expecting a more complicated hand motion, but he laughs. "Not really."

Then he's gone, loneliness filling his previously occupied space. I get a glass of water because my head is starting to hurt, then I slide into bed with my roommate who's watching some rerun on TV. We talk for a few minutes about our nights and I start out really happy because I'd had great sex but realize how odd it had been. It all came crashing in, all of a sudden, and I shut my eyes but it didn't block out the dim flicker of the TV.

I was 'that guy'. You know, 'that guy' that he sleeps with between trying to pick up girls in his social circles and pretending he doesn't like bottoming in bed. Part of me wonders if his musician friend knows where he is tonight. I feel strange, because it's not like the casual times like before where its just gay sex and everyone goes home. I'm playing some part in the theatre of his life, a cutout from some novel. This amuses me because I never thought I could get involved in these 'complicated' social affairs, but it's filled with self-doubt. Please, let me go back to 1953 when nobody had sex and good boys read their bibles before bed and marry the girl from down the road and everything is simple with little room for though.

Moments go by and I realize she's talking to me, asking why I said it was a little depressing. Quickly I explain that all I really want is someone to hold and be there the next morning and actually be interested in me, and not ask to fuck the female roommate as soon as I've pulled out of his ass.

"I wonder if I'll ever see him again," I whisper more to myself than to her, but she sits up and asks why. I know why (because I'm less than just a one-time hook-up) but I just say, "Just a feeling I guess." I pull her tight and tell her I love her and she says it back and how it's nice I'm living down her hall, then I slip out of bed and into my own room.

I change the sheets and open the window to change the stench of sex for some exhaust fumes, pulling out new sheets for the bed. A moment later and I'm under the stream of the shower trying to get the latex smell off of me and ignoring my headache.

I finally go to bed at 4:03.

Vocabulary...

I learned a new word today.

Kind of an amazing feat, in a world where five-cent words are thrown around as commonly as "y'all". And here, being the arrogant university student, I thought I had an excellent grasp of the most used words.

Sadly I was proven wrong. Whilst browsing the BBC online, I came across an article on Canadian Arctic sovereignty. Quite an interesting subject, and I was keen on interpreting the international press agencies' take on our situation. As I was reading through, I hit a word that triggered no recognition.

Vociferously.

I kept reading, being the ass that I am, but my conscience got the better of me.

"Uh, you don't recognize that word," it sighed. Somehow it knew it was in for a fight.

I paused for a moment, thinking back to that 'V' word. "Of course I know what it is," I countered. "I'm a fucking 3rd year university student, I think my vocabulary is more diverse than the BBC."

Still, the conscience was not impressed. "Listen, buddy, you may try to kid yourself out of this one, but face facts. You don't know what the word is. You haven't cornered the vocabulary market. Deal."

Shit. This is not at all how my inner self should address me. After a few moments sounding the 'V' word out like a 1st grader, I groaned aloud.

"You're right," I admitted, defeat echoing in my voice. "I'm stuck, I don't know for sure."

"Then look it up, dummy," came the response. "Learn something, for Christ's sake."

I trundled over to dictionary.com and got my answer.

Vociferously: Making, given to, or marked by noisy and vehement outcry.

Just as I thought...

Fighting whores for cigarettes...

Mmmmm....saw Hairspray tonight.

It was actually a pretty nice, uplifting movie. Fun, a good message, lots of eye candy...ok, maybe not lots, but watching frame after frame of Zach Efron did not hurt me in any way.

And when he's lying in bed singing to Tracy's picture...so hot. And when he winks at the camera, fully close up...so hot.

Apparently I was not the only one in the theatre to think so. The two 14-year-old girls sitting in front of us squealed at various moments when Zach was doing his sexy thing. Now, I'm not one to squeal in public (or private for that matter, save nocturnal activities) but I agreed with them completely.

Strangely enough, he never took his shirt off...something tells me in his next movie there will be some unabashed marketing of his body. But damn he looked good in those tight pants...

...what was I talking about?...

Ah yes, the movie. Overall not as 'amazing' as I thought it would be, but lots of fun. The singing didn't thrill me to death, except Queen Latifah who was brilliant. Same on the acting score-card, even though people turned in relatively decent performances, there was an air of "We're making a fun movie, and we know it!" that showed. Kudos to Michelle Pfeiffer and Allison Janey, who's turns as uber-bitches went over smashingly.

I left feeling pretty good, and I still have a tap in my toes. Dropped off my friend, and headed to another friend's birthday thing at one of our few bars. Nice to see people from high school who I don't ever call up outside of these types of functions, and apparently people were glad to see me, which always makes you feel good.

The thing that first grabbed me is how good people looked. Of the 4 guys who were there at the time I was, all had lost weight since high school and looked pretty good. Not that anyone was overweight, but they've all gotten a little slimmer than before. What was great was, I've lost weight and look the best I ever did too...

But of course that brought on the inevitable, "Do I look as good as they do?" Nobody commented on how everybody looked pretty damn good, because, you know, straight guys don't go in for that shit.

I stayed for a while, had a beer and caught up with the people I knew. Finally, I packed it in, because the 'party' was dying off. Overall a fun night out, and different from the one's I've had recently.

Marry me...

I've fallen off the wagon here.

August rolled in, and I thought that I should re-commit myself to one entry a day, or every two days if need be. So far, I haven't done so well...but I've got an excuse. I was away in Ottawa this long weekend, so sadly I couldn't sit and write. Even more sad, I brought my camera with me, having the intention to post some pictures, but I forgot to take it while we were hanging out in the downtown and near Parliament. So sad...

Tonight was my first uptake of the news since I left, and it surprised me to see that Ontario Member of Provincial Parliament George Smitherman got married this weekend. Mr.Smitherman is the 'first openly gay cabinet member', according to the news, and married his boyfriend of a few years on Saturday.

My first reaction was how 'normally' the news portrayed this event, which is reassuring. It said what I would hope one day people say, that he got married. Big deal.

There was no gasps of horror, or choice words to make it seem as though the marriage was a horrible thing, or a beacon of hope for homos across the country. It simply stated he got married. And I loved it.

I've thought a lot about gay marriage these days. Not so much 'gay marriage', but will I get married one day. And the simple answer is, I have no idea.

Even now that I'm coming out, I'll still admit I don't think I'm crazy about gay marriage. Shocked? Well, it seems surprising, even to me. After all, aren't all gay people supposed to want to have the option to marry their lover?

It's not that I don't agree with the idea that same-sex couples should have the same legal status as heterosexual couples do. I know everyone is the same, and deserves the same tax cuts, benefits from employers and recognition that those two people are bonded.

But the whole 'marriage' word...I just don't know if I'd want to marry a guy. To me, marriage does represent the biological commitment of two sexes to procreate. The fact that they get tax benefits or special acknowledgement doesn't really factor into that definition to me, simply because it seems to be all about the nuclear family. That is why I say I am an advocate for all couples who make the formal commitment should receive the same treatment.

I've got the nuclear family thing. A mom, and a dad, and no divorce or separation or anything to disrupt the flow of life from one generation to the next. My parents are married.

It seems to me that two gay men cannot reproduce what is the nuclear family. Of course, they can opt for a surrogate mother, or adoption, or some other means of acquiring a child, but they cannot produce one between themselves. How can they be married if the reason for marriage is to reproduce?

Now I know what you're going to say, that gay parents are great parents and there's nothing wrong with bringing a child up in a gay environment. I agree completely. Whats more, there are so many straight parents who are unfit to raise children (or reproduce at all...) that the idea their marriage is really valid is laughable. I'm definitely on side with the argument that straight families who are broken up, with one or both of the parents MIA, are not good places for children to be raised.

What bothers me about the issue, like so many others, is how dehumanized it gets. It becomes a political discussion instead of a discussion about two people. By my questioning the definition of marriage, I'm instantly labeled a right-winged evil-doer. But it has nothing to do with politics, it's all about two people. Everyone gets so bogged down with the split-second decision that someone is a homophobe, or on the other side, too liberal and pro-everything that it becomes a shouting match. Nobody bothers to step back and ask themselves what they think about the issue, opting to jump on the political bandwagon and support one side or the other.

So you see how very confusing and difficult this issue is for me to both understand and to formulate an opinion on. It's probably the one thing that I don't have a clear-cut opinion on, much less a plan of action about. There are straight families who are wholly unfit to bear and raise children. There are gay couples who would make amazing parents, giving a child a stable and loving upbringing. But does marriage mean two people living in the same tax bracket as two people in a heterosexual relationship, or the ability to, in 'perfect' scenarios, reproduce without outside aid.

I'm really lost on this. I'm all for civil unions, partnerships, whatever. I don't see them as giving gays less rights than straight couples. To me marriage is about the biological aspect of a union. There are certainly questions about equality, and probably people who would see a civil union as being less than marriage itself. I guess I'm just too optimistic about the situation. What I do know is, many people don't like gays in general and it's just a knee-jerk reaction to keep them from marrying. But I'm making my argument on the grounds that people are all as well developed as you and I are, and that the homophobic issues aren't playing a part in the argument.

So convince me otherwise. Make me believe that the definition of marriage means anyone and everyone. Teach me that gay's should be allowed to have marriage. But explain why, other than, "Just because."

And for the love of God, don't hate me because I don't see things the way you do.

So hot it hurts...

Ok, ok...I know you've all seen these before.

And I know that everyone's putting up photos of who'd they do, and their types, and all that. So this post will seem semi-repetitive, and definitely a little behind the times. After all, I should be devoting my strengths to new and sexier topics. However, I can't let the opportunity to put up these pics just one more time pass me by.

I'm talking about the ultra-sexy pictures of Zach Efron on the beach, grabbing his crotch and just looking amazingly hot. They're everywhere...hell, these are even the pictures I saw the other day on a magazine cover, while waiting at the grocery store. Admittedly they weren't the crotch-grabbing ones...but still, same location, same delicious body.


So let's recap. He's a California native, 19 years old and star of a famous made-for-TV kids movie and the newly released 'Hairspray' film.


Can someone please tell me how a guy who was a guest star in a bunch of TV series, then finally had one 'big' part in a made-for-TV movie got so damn sexy? I mean, look at him! He's got the hottest under-20 body I think I've ever seen. I'm dead serious, this boy is amazingly sexy.

Where in the hell did he get a body like that? Sure, you'll probably rattle off hundreds of young guys you've seen with good bodies, but even for Hollywood, and at this age, Zach is just drop-dead gorgeous.

It's just not fair. People just cannot look this good. It must all be in my head...