Waking Up?

I feel like a bad gay. That isn’t a particularly unusual feeling for me. Just prior to going out to a play last night, I was griping about how I look. The theater gays tend to be a skinny, well dressed group and GaGa knows, I’m none of that. I felt frumpy in my glasses and sweater. I’m growing my hair out a bit and currently have “transition hair”. A good gay wouldn’t have left the house like that. 

But for once it isn’t the way I look that’s making me feel like a bad gay. I went to see “Spring Awakening” last night. I’d been told nothing but great things about it. I’d been told how moving, life changing, and groundbreaking this musical was. I’d went to an event with some of the cast before the show where they talked about how challenging the play was and audiences that left in tears. 

I felt bad that I left decidedly underwhelmed. 

This is to say nothing bad about the fantastic cast. Not only were they courteous, open and knowledgeable at the event beforehand, but they had great presence and amazing voices during the show.

The show is about teens coming to terms with their sexuality and doing that inside of a repressive, turn of the century German culture. The show made some good points about what that culture inevitably brings upon itself and the poor decisions and subversive ways people will act out in rebellion or ignorance. There were even some very relevant moments about teen suicides that struck very close to home. 

I just didn’t like the show. The main lead male character was a bit of a prick. He was supposed to be the liberal thinking, enlightened character that taught us something. He came off as a self-important douche. His love interest was a girl who opened the show by telling us she didn’t know anything about sex and begging her mother for info about where babies come from. Due to the culture and her mother’s uncomfortableness with the subject, she was never told. 

This set her up as this innocent, unknowing character who has no idea about the birds and the bees. On the other hand, her lover has written a diagrammed essay for another character about sex. So when they eventually have sex and she initially says no, he comes off as a bit of a creep trying to persuade her. When he ends up getting her pregnant, it seems like he has taken advantage of a young girl. The play even makes sure to point out to us that without every sign pointing to how she might have gotten that way, she couldn’t put two and two together. 

I won’t go on about the other problems I had with the show like diversions into sub plots that never develop or the abrupt ending and it’s instant mood shift, but I’m left feeling like I somehow didn’t get something. I have to recognize that there is something wrong with me if this show won 8 Tonys and has moved audiences everywhere. I just can’t figure out what it is. 

I just feel like a bad gay for not being in love with this show. Over the course of a few text messages with a friend last night I was told “it isn’t for everyone.” This didn’t help much. I’m a liberal arts English major who fancies himself an occasional poet. I appreciate a good work of art and GaGa knows I’ve been trained to analyze and look for depth, themes and meanings. I like a challenging work of art. I just wonder if that isn’t the problem. 

Maybe I think too much. I spent a good bit of my time digging in and making sure I got everything that the show was trying to say and ended up frustrated. I’m also worried that something has changed in me. One of the few things that I’ve always liked about myself is my ability to connect and feel. I’ve never been afraid to cry or to open up and allow myself to invest emotionally in something. I feel bad for not getting those emotions from this play. Like I’m less than somehow. 

So, I’ll spend the day thinking about that and worrying if my efforts to maintain innocence have been all for naught. On the other hand, I managed to get compliments from 3 gays on my hair last night. GaGa works in mysterious ways. 

Lifestyle Choices

I’ve never liked going to gay clubs. This has as much to do with my being homo-phobic as it does with just not being the “go out” kind of guy. I’m much more content with ordering a pizza and playing a rousing game of Phase 10. I know that the clubs and “going out” are part of the gay experience. It’s just something that you have to do and I’ve done it a few times. I’ve just never much enjoyed it.

I’m sure there are a few things at work here. One is my aforementioned homo-phobia. Also, I think people associate the clubs with the “gay lifestyle,” a term to which I take a great deal of issue. I don’t know about you, but I’ve yet to figure out what the “gay lifestyle” is. I know gays that live all kinds of lifestyles and as best I can tell, my lifestyle isn’t terribly different from the straights that I work with. It’s just that gay clubs seem to be the example of where someone would go to live the “gay lifestyle.” Especially, if they were using the term pejoratively, what with the go-go boys, booze and drag queens.

I know something like that was on my mother’s mind during our conversations after the coming out process. She was SO upset that I would now be living the “gay lifestyle.” Now granted, this is the woman who can count among her first responses to my coming out “but you don’t even like MAYONAISSE”. So, her judgment might be dismissed as unsound. However, it was some desire to prove to her that my being gay didn’t mean anything different than her being straight that’s also played a role in my avoiding clubs.

My aversion continued until about 2 months ago. The boyfriend and I planned a “Big Gay Night Out” with 3 other friends. We carpooled up to Louisville, got dinner and then hit the club. We started at the drag show and then moved on to the dancefloor. We all had a blast. There may even be photos of my girl, Bluebelle putting dollars bills into the mouth of a go-go boy in a shower. I also learned the boyfriend can work it like a rap video dancer.

We had so many friends respond to our tweets from Big Gay Night Out 1 that we had to set up another. So, Big Gay Night Out 2 was this past weekend. We ended up with 13 people in 3 cars. We had almost as many straight women as gay guys in attendance. We even had the one hetero male in the party. (Though, some of us have our doubts…).

As I was sitting in the passenger seat while the boyfriend commandeered Marco back home, it occurred to me. This was fun. Lots. I also spent no time wondering or caring if anyone else in the place was judging me. I also didn’t feel like I was a part of any other lifestyle. I was with my best friends in the world, living life, making memories and laughing then dancing our asses off.
So, maybe I’ve made one more step towards curing my homo-phobia, but I should probably get in a game of Phase 10 before going back.

Scared Straight

For about 15 years now, I’ve had a rule: no one with a penis gets to cut my hair. This harkens back to being taken to a barber when I was 13 or so. I’d been leaving my hair fairly long in the traditional “bowl cut” for years. There was a delightful lady at a salon who had been cutting it for a couple years since we’d moved to a new town. For some reason, my mom decided that I needed to go to a barber instead. Without any consultation from him, my hair was instantly shaved off. There was no discussion. I remember him saying something about how he had just assumed that is what we wanted and that was pretty much all he knew how to do. I cried. Lots. Thus, the rule was born. Penis possession = no scissors coming near my hair.

I broke the rule today. The Faerie Princess had heard me talk about having to drive out to the middle of nowhere (Palomar) to get my hair cut and my ungrateful (not so much a thank you for at least 10 regular and maybe 10 more occasional new clients) stylist. With enthusiasm and with assurance that he “does good boy hair,” she encouraged me to see her Hair Gay. It took a couple of months before I could finally get up the courage to break the rule, but I made the appointment last week and went today.

I can’t say enough great things about him. The haircut was spectacular. While my “style” may not be terribly different than it usually is, it’s more finished, more polished. The little things that make my hair what I’ve always kind of wanted, it now is. Nevermind that the Hair Gay is much closer and appears to understand the value of repeat business and referrals. I actually can’t wait to get up in the morning, just so I can “do” my hair. Seriously, it’s that good.

So, I think the rule will be amended. Penis possession + penis appreciation = perfectly acceptable. You’d think that being gay I might have already figured this out. It’s just that there is another truth at work here. Gay guys scare me. Like seriously freak me out.

It’s just that the gays tend to have high expectations. The hair should be perfect, the clothes perfectly styled, the skin should be flawless, the teeth straight and whitened (even if you smoke), the stomach should be flat and the perfect witty response to everything should always be on the tip of your tongue. It’s pressure. It’s also something that’s just not within my capacity to attain. I always feel like I’m depleting the fabulous of the room, like the other gays are wondering how I managed to get into their club.

This is all to say NOTHING bad about the Hair Gay. He was fabulous, welcoming, personable and again gave a FANTASTIC haircut. I’ll be going back. And now that I’ve broken the rule, maybe I can work on getting over my own little homo-phobia one appointment at a time.