Sep 3, 2016

Body Shaming, Bullying, and Just Being Mean

You grow up an outsider, constantly excluded, demeaned, and ridiculed for being gay.

You're called names, yelled at, told that you're a sinner, a pervert, a monster striving to destroy the society, as well as a frilly little lacy thing fit only for doing manicures and shopping for shoes.  You long for things to get better.  You long to find a place where you belong, a home.  And one day, you arrive.  You escape from the grim homophobia of the Straight World, find you way to West Hollywood or the East Village or another gay neighborhood.

Open up the closet door, watch out, here I come!

A new guy, nervous, scared, wounded from a lifetime of homophobia, but certain that here you will find friendship and love.

Instead, you are excluded, demeaned, and ridiculed.

Gay men -- your family, the place where you belong -- stare, snicker, and gossip about you.

Everyone travels in tightly-closed cliques, impossible break into unless you're dating one of them.

And dating is impossible.  The competition is rough, and you are constantly being rejected, for the most trivial of reasons,

You're too tall or too short, too fat or too thin,too old or too young.  Your chest is too hairy or too smooth.  Your penis is too small.  Your ears are too big.

I've never been shamed for my weight or size, but when I was a teen I got it for being too swishy, in West Hollywood I got it for having a red birthmark on the back of my neck (of all the crazy things to notice!).  In the last few months my age has been starting to cause some "instant blocks" on dating apps.

I've never understood why many gay men are so quick to demean their brothers for a physical trait that they have no control over, as if it is a moral failure or evidence of weakness of character.

You don't get a small penis because you are a bad person or have an inadequate personality.  It's purely a matter of genetics.  And there's nothing whatever you can do about it.

You can't help getting older. It is a fact of life, not evidence of a moral shortcoming.

If you are fat or thin, you can theoretically go to the gym, but for many people weight management is very, very difficult, a life-long struggle with their metabolism.

Demeaning and rejecting someone on the basis of his physical appearance is known as body shaming today, but back in West Hollywood, we called it "being mean."

It's a form of violence.  It sends a clear message that the person being shamed does not deserve friendship or love, should not be seen in public, indeed does not deserve to exist at all.

That's a very strong message to be sending with a sneer.

In West Hollywood, my friends and I never refused to interact with people based on their physical traits.  If they said "hello," we said "hello."  And if asked to share a friend's boyfriend, we never refused.  It was basic courtesy.

This is a new world, but still, there are ways to be inclusive and welcoming without going home with guys you find unattractive.

1. Remove specific requirements from your online dating profile.  Reading "must be height-weight-proportionate, hung, under 30, masculine" over and over is like getting a dozen rejections without even talking to anyone.  Don't mention your tastes in men at all.  You won't be inundated by gorgons, believe me -- you're not all that. And it won't kill you to chat with someone skinny, swishy, small beneath the belt, or over 30.

2. Save Attitude for the rude guys.  In public cruising spots, people often give Attitude, pretend not to see, guys they are not attracted to.  Again, you can feel rejected a dozen times without ever interacting with anyone.  Save you Attitude for guys who make crass, boorish come-ons, and deserve to be ignored.

3. Talk to guys outside your comfort zone.  If you usually hang around with bodybuilders, talk to a fat guy.  If you like them under 30, talk to a 60 year old.  You'll find that they aren't much different from your usual contacts.  They have the same desires, dreams, hopes, and fears as everyone else.

4. Find something to like in everybody.  The most hideous guy on the planet has something attractive about him.  He tells bad jokes, has an interest in Star Wars memorabilia, or he spent a summer in Brazil.

If nothing else, he has survived a childhood of incessant attempts to force him to comform to the heterosexist mandate or kill himself.  He's still here.  That, in itself, is impressive.

5. Don't reject guys automatically.  Sure, you are especially attracted to guys who are muscular, hairy-chested, big beneath the belt, big-eared, between 40 and 50 years old, and have pierced nipples. Goatees and hook earrings are an immediate turn-off.  But the gay world is small, and there aren't ,many guys who will fit your exact requirements, be into you and available, and have personalities that you can stand.

Try someone who does not fit your ideal of the perfect man. It won't kill you, and afterwards, if you still don't like him, no harm done.

6. Reject guys based on social criteria.  If you must reject someone, before or after a hookup,  say "sorry, I don't think our personalities are compatible" or "sorry, I don't think we have enough in common," not "you're too fat" or "your penis is too small."  That is, something that is no one's fault, rather than a physical inadequacy.

The uncensored post, with nude photos, is on Tales of West Hollywood

Sep 2, 2016

O.J Simpson and Kato Kaelin: a Gay Connection?

O.J. Simpson was a celebrity of the 1970s and 1980s, a football player turned actor.

I didn't know him from his football days, of course, but I saw him in movies like The Cassandra Crossing (1978), Goldie and the Boxer (1979), Back to the Beach (1987), and The Naked Gun (1988), as well as the famous Hertz Car Rental commercial where he flies across an airport lobby.

He was rumored to be gay, but none of my friends in West Hollywood claimed to have hooked up with him; he wasn't that big a star.

On June 13th, 1994, his ex-wife Nicole Brown Simpson and Ron Goldman were found murdered outside Nicole's house.

At the time, model and aspiring restauranteur  Ron Goldman was identified as an unrelated passerby, but later he was identified as Nicole's friend, who had come to return a pair of glasses that her mother left at his restaurant.

O.J. was charged with the murders, and for the next year, the "trial of the century" was nearly all we talked about.  We heard the defense and the prosecution, knew all of the players in the courtroom, speculated that O.J. had a romantic relationship going on with his houseguest, aspiring actor Kato Kaelin (played by Billy Magnusson in a tv movie).

Kato became a celebrity in his own right, with interviews and photo spreads.  Later he claimed that he and O.J. were never close friends. No word on whether he is gay or not, but he was briefly married to a woman, and has a child.

It was a hugely polarizing trial: most African-Americans thought that O.J. was innocent, and being railroaded.  Most whites thought he was guilty.

He was acquitted on October 3, 1995, for lack of evidence "beyond a reasonable doubt."  A civil trial, where the burden of proof is lower, found him liable for the murders.

13 years later, he was convicted of several counts of robbery and kidnapping for breaking into the hotel room of a sports memorabilia and drug dealer, an incident parodied on Breaking Bad.

I don't know if O.J. is gay in real life, but apparently his father, Jimmy Lee Simpson, who died in 1986, was.  The family kept his gayness a secret.

There is a nude photo of O.J. on Tales of West Hollywood.

Meanwhile, want to see Billy Magnussen in his underwear?

Sep 1, 2016

The Boy Who Liked Grandpas

Plains, August 2016

I put "No Daddy fetishes" in my online hookup profile, because otherwise I would get pick-up lines like "Daddy, I've been bad! Punish me!"  every five seconds.

Daddy fetishists are everywhere.  Half the twinks I've met are interested in being dominated by an older guy with a deep voice and chest hair.

But last night was the first time I ever met a Grandpa fetishist.

"Hi, Grandpa!" a twink with the screen name Friends First said.

I assumed that he was just trying to be mean, so I didn't respond.

Then: "Do you have a present for me, Grandpa?"

"I'm not old enough to have a grandson of legal age, dagnabit," I answered.

But then I calculated.  I graduated from high school in May 1978.  If I...ugh...impregnated a woman on the night of my high school graduation, my son would be born in late January 1979.  He would graduate from high school in 1997.  If he...ugh..... impregnated a woman on the night of his high school graduation, my grandson would be born in January 1998,

And be 18 years old today.  Legal.

The 17 year old I dated last week was young enough to be my grandson.

I contacted Friends First again.  "Ok, I'm just barely old enough to be a grandfather, if both me and my son had kids as teenagers.  But I have a 48" chest and 16" biceps, and I can bench press 300.  Not many grandpas can do that."

"The hot grandpas can.  Will you let me sit on your lap, Grandpa?"

The full story, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Confusing Children and Angels: Laugh-In

When I was a kid in the 1960s and 1970s, my  friends and I hated variety shows: Ed Sullivan, Red Skelton, Carol Burnette, Andy Williams, Glen Campbell (left).  They were old, square, has-beens.

But Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In (1968-73) was for us: not exactly variety, or even sketch comedy, but comedic slogans zapped across the screen at lightning speed.

1. Judy Carne yells "Sock it to me!" and gets socked.

2. Rowan and Martin give the "Flying Fickle Finger of Fate" award.

3. Zsa Zsa Gabor gets big  laughs by saying the word "bippy."

4. A Nazi spy peers from the undergrowth ("Verry interesting")

5. A spaced-out Goldie Hawn forgets her line and giggles.

6. Flip Wilson's drag persona Geraldine offers herself to all comers: "What you see is what you get."

7. Pigmeat Martin struts across the stage, jive-talking "Here come da judge!"

8. A dirty old man makes mumbling propositions to a purse-wielding spinster.

9. Gary Owens as a baritone-voiced announcer makes nonsequiter announcements.

10. Jo Anne Worley says"Blow in my ear, and I'll follow you anywhere," and giggles.

Today the lightning speed gives me a headache, and the jokes seem sophomoric; only children would think it hilarious to say "Look that up in your Funk and Wagnells."  The cast members were just big kids, saying things that sound dirty on the playground.

But between 1968 and 1973, they were bright and fresh, and risque and cool.  Most importantly, they were ours.

No beefcake, except for an occasional hot guest star, like Davy Jones of The Monkees.  
Not much bonding, not even from hosts Dan Rowan and Dick Martin, a comedy team since 1952.
No one ever acknowledged the existence of gay people.

But there was lots of gender nonconformity.  Years later we remembered it fondly, as the first hint of gay potential.

1. Alan Sues played Big Al, a feminine sports announcer who had an obsession with a bell he called his "tinkle."

Gay but never out, Alan Sues also played a fey grown-up Peter Pan on peanut butter commercials.

2. Tiny Tim, who looked like a long-haired Dracula, played the ukelele and sang "Tiptoe through the Tulips" in a fey falsetto.  He proved he was heterosexual by marrying a woman named Miss Vicky on The Tonight Show.

3. Fey flower child Henry Gibson appeared with a gigantic artificial flower and recited nonsequiter poems. Often assumed gay, although he was married to a woman for 40 years.

In his last role of note, Magnolia (1999), he played a cranky older gay man named Thurston Howell (after the millionaire on Gilligan's Island) competing with quiz kid Donnie (William H. Macy) for the attention of hunky Brad the Bartender.  He advises: "It's a dangerous thing to confuse children with angels!"

Between 1968 and 1973, we often confused children with angels.

14 Beefcake Stars of "Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23"

Don't Trust the B in Apartment 23 premiered in April 2012, oddly following the family-friendly Modern Family.  After 7 episodes, it was renewed for a second season, but episodes were shown out of sequence, leaving viewers confused.  In January 2013, it was abruptly cancelled, leaving 8 episodes of 26 unaired.  But you can see the whole series on Logo and Netflix (unfortunately, still not in the right order).

It's a buddy comedy about a wholesome, idealistic girl from hayseed-stereotyped Indiana, June Colburn (Dreama Walker) and her apartment mate, the fun, glamorous, and utterly amoral Chloe (Krysten Ritter), who makes her living through scams and frauds (but this is the New York of Friends, not Seinfeld, so even the evil are rather nice).  Through a constant stream of mishaps, crises, and long-cons, June learns to be more spontaneous, and Chloe develops a conscience, of sorts.

Their partner-in-hijinks is James Van Der Beek of Dawson's Creek, playing "himself" as obsessed with his dwindling fanbase and trying to make a comeback on Dancing with the Stars.  Celebrity competitors and colleagues often appear: Dean Cain, Frankie Muniz, Mark-Paul Gosselaar, Richard Dean Anderson.

There's not much gay presence, except for screaming-queen Luther (Ray Ford), James' assistant, and some gay-subtext vibe between James and Mark (Eric Andre), the manager of the coffee shop where June works.

But the beefcake is constant.  The 26 episodes feature at least 14 hunks, mostly with their shirts off.

1. and 2. James Van Der Beek and Eric Andre (above).

3. Michael Blaiklock  (left) as Eli, the "pervert" who openly spies on them through the open window and offers friendly advice.

4. Michael Landes as Scott, Chloe's father.  She sets June up with him, without mentioning that parental thing.  Personally, I don't have any problems with dating guys old enough to be my father, or young enough to be my son, but June freaks out.

5. Ben Lawson as Benjamin, an Australian director who becomes part of Chloe's Halloween scam: she always makes someone's worst fear's come true.  But Chloe doesn't realize that Ben is scamming her, too, making her worst fear come true: the fear that she will genuinely care for someone.

6. Kyle Howard as Daniel, a "regular guy" that Chloe and June compete over in a bizarre dating game orchestrated by James -- without telling Daniel.

7. Hartley Sawyer as Charles, a dumb guy with amazing abs who June hooks up with to demonstrate that she's not a prude.  Unfortunately, she is then conned into becoming his girlfriend.

8. Ryan Windish as Beckett Everett, the owner of a shop where Chloe gets a job to enact her latest scam.

More after the break.

Aug 31, 2016

Chaim Potok: The Gay Jewish Romeo and Juliet

During my junior year in high school (1976-77), our English teacher assigned My Name is Asher Lev (1972), the novel by Chaim Potok about a Hasidic Jewish boy torn between his artistic talent and his extremely conservative religious heritage.

I could relate: I was being torn between my artistic interests and my extremely conservative religious heritage (no theater, no movies, no science fiction, no rock music, no nothing but church and the Bible).

And I didn't miss the fact that Asher Lev displays no heterosexual interests.  He does, however, become the apprentice of established artist Jacob Kahn, who teaches him about life and love, an interesting parallel to the "coming of age" movies that pair a young boy with an older woman.

I quickly sought out Chaim Potok's other works.  The Chosen (1967) is also about culture clash, but this time it's the Orthodox Reuven bonding with the Hasidic Danny (played by Robby Benson in the 1981 movie).  The novel follows them from their initial meeting at a baseball game (where Danny's pitch hits Reuven in the eye).

They remain partners to college, where Reuven's Zionism angers Danny's father, Rabbi Saunders (Hasidic Jews believe that establishing a secular state in Israel is blasphemous). He forbids Danny from speaking to Reuven again.

Danny complies, but the loss of his life-long friend has a devastating effect.  After years of anger, depression, and pain, Rabbi Saunders relents, and the two joyfully reconcile.

I finished the novel, speechless.  An amazing, touching Romeo and Juliet story!

(Robby Benson isn't shirtless in the movie, but it's impossible to write about him without at least one shirtless photo.)

How did a conservative Jewish writer manage to create two touching portraits of same-sex romance?

Certainly not by design.  But maybe the gender-stratified world of Hasidic Judaism, where men rarely interact with women outside their families, left a space free of the  heterosexist shouts of "Look at the girls!  Aren't girls great! Aren't you glad that you are attracted to girls, like every other boy in the world?"  When heterosexism stops yelling, gay voices can be heard.

Fred and the Icelandic Photographer

New York, August 2000

"Boomer, guess what!" Fred said breathlessly, in those days before texting overtook the telephone.  "I got a new job, in Bemidji, Minnesota!"

Last I heard, my ex-boyfriend Fred and his partner Jester -- a blind guy with an enormous penis who taught high school history -- were in Sandusky, Ohio, where Fred was working as an assistant pastor at a congregational church. Granted, a step down for someone with a doctorate in theology and ten years of pastoral experience, but Sandusky was a gay resort town.

What in the world were they doing in Bemidji, Minnesota?

Farther from the gay world than even Fresno.  What did Jester say?

"He's on board with it," Fred said curtly.   He never discussed his relationships unless forced, and then only briefly, the product of years of being closeted at work.

I was very busy during my last year in grad school, working two jobs, finishing my doctoral dissertation, and applying for every job in a gay neighborhood I could find, so I didn't contact Fred much.  Then in the spring I saw an ad for a job at Bemidji State University!

It might not be so bad.  Fred, Jester and I could start a gay political group, or maybe a weekly bear party like the one on Long Island.  And Minneapolis was close enough for weekend trips.

So in April I flew out for the interview.

Bemidji, Minnesota, April 2001

Fred picked me up for dessert at Rudy's, followed by cruising at the mixed bar.  Sitting beside him in his car was not Jester, but a Cute Young Thing I had never seen or heard of before.

He was  tall and skinny, with shoulder-length hair, a moustache, and a hard smooth chest.  There was a map of Iceland tattoo on his arm.

He introduced himself as Stefan, from Iceland, an art major at Bemidji State.

Where was Jester?  

Th full story, with nude photos and sexual situations, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Aug 30, 2016

12 Things to Like About Autumn

It's only the 30th of August, still summer according to the sidereal calendar, but in the real world calendar, classes have started, so it's autumn.  My favorite season of the year.

1. Everything is new.  New jobs, new classes, new students, new books, new clothes, new shows on tv, new theater and symphony seasons.  New muscular physiques and bulges to gawk at.

2. Everything is busy. The mind-numbing boredom of summer is replaced by days packed with activity.  Every moment  is vibrant and alive.

3. It gets crowded.  The mind-numbing loneliness of summer is replaced by crowds of people, returning from their conferences, vacations, visits to relatives, and various excursions, ready to hang out with you again.

4. It gets cool, so you can jog a few miles without getting soaked.

5. You can stay inside.  People stop longer pressuring you to spend every waking moment outside.  No more hot, fly-infested, uncomfortable picnics, no more sitting on lawn chairs and swatting mosquitos. It's cold out --- go ahead, stay inside and watch tv.

6. Football.  I don't like watching football, but I like watching football fans.

7. A regular gym schedule. The disruptions of summer are over, so you can get back into a regular gym schedule.  And so can dozens of other gym rats for you to sneak peaks at in the locker room.

8. The trees change.  After two decades in Los Angeles and Florida, where they didn't, it's quite a spectacle.

9. The days get shorter. The sun sets at a normal time, instead of that ungodly 8:00 or 9:00 pm.

10. The best holidays, Halloween and Thanksgiving.  Not to mention my birthday.

11. You can eat again without worry.  Have an apple cider donut or piece of pumpkin pie.  Your cute sweaters and lumberjack shirts will cover it up, anyway.

12. Snow is coming soon.

See also: 10 Things I Hated About Summer and Playing Outside.

My Ex-Boyfriend Fred's Nine Lovers

We don't live just one life.  We may be "only dancing on this Earth for a short while," but during that short while, we are many different people.  We move to new cities, and take on new jobs. Friends and boyfriends come and go.

My first boyfriend Fred had many different jobs, cities, friends, and relationships.  In trying to make sense of his life, I decided to go with his lovers.

1. The Farmboy.  Fred was born on a farm in rural Western Illinois in November 1952.  Growing up, he milked cows and fed pigs, but he was not isolated from the social ferment of the 1960s. He watched The Smothers Brothers and listened to Jefferson Airplane.

In high school, Fred was a clean-cut all-American, lettering in football, taking girls to school dances, leading Sunday school classes at the United Methodist church, respected by his parents and the oldsters, who thought he was the exception to a generation full of "draft dodgers and hippies."

No one talked about gay people.  He was not aware that they existed, certainly not aware that he was himself gay.

He had no same-sex experiences except with the Farmboy, his girlfriend's brother, who lived about a mile down the road.  After his dates, he dropped off the girl with a chaste kiss on the cheek and then met the Farmboy behind the barn for moments of homoerotic joy.

2.  The Greek Professor.  After graduating from high school in 1971, Fred enrolled at Western Illinois University in Macomb, but transferred after a year to Knox College in Galesburg.

He majored in psychology, because he wanted to understand his desires better, and in Classics, because he was in love with his Greek professor: a Harvard Ph.D. in his fifties with a thick beard, a hairy chest, a little belly, and a Bratwurst beneath the belt.  The Greek Professor mentioned the gay loves of Zeus and Apollo -- the first time Fred ever heard gay people discussed in public.

3. The Episcopal Priest.  From 1976 to 1979, Fred was attending McCormick Theological Seminary in Chicago, studying for his Master of Divinity degree with a concentration in pastoral counseling.  None of his textbooks or classes mentioned gay people.   But somehow he found the gay neighborhood of Chicago, with its bars, bookstores, and bathhouses, and had several brief relationships and hookups.

Among his more memorable hookups was Ron Reagan, son of the future president.

His most memorable relationship was with Thomas, an Episcopal priest from Des Moines, who was certain that it was ok to be gay and Christian.  They remained friends for the rest of Fred's life.

See: The Priest with Three Boyfriends and Fred Hooks Up with the President's Son

4. Boomer.  In Rock Island for his internship year at the First United Methodist Church, Fred met Boomer, a 19-year old college student.  Fred fell hard and fast; within a week, he was thinking of Boomer as his soul mate, the one God or fate had predestined for him at the beginning of the time.

At the end of his internship, in the summer of 1980, Fred found a job as a youth minister at a United Methodist church in Gretna, Nebraska.  He convinced Boomer to drop out of college and follow him.

Neither was prepared for the daily routine of a live-in relationship.  Fred became controlling and argumentative, Boomer surly and jealous, certain that Fred was cheating with the teenager downstairs (and perhaps he was).   After five weeks, Boomer left, to return to college.

But, like the Episcopal priest, they remained friends.  Fred tried his best to keep his old loves in his life.

See: My First Date, with Fred the Ministerial Student and Fred and the Teenager Downstairs

5. The Nephew.  Fred rebounded, falling hard and fast into the arms of another 19-year old college student, a University of Nebraska sophomore who moved in with him after only two dates.  Closeted, Fred introduced him as his "nephew."  They stayed together for about two years.

I don't know why they broke up -- I suspect that the Nephew graduated and moved somewhere for a job.

In 1982, Fred left Gretna to become senior pastor of the United Methodist Church in Horrible Small-Town Kansas. He was pressured to date, and in fact had several lady friends, keeping his same-sex activity strictly on the downlow.

6. Matt. 

7. Jester.  

8. The Icelandic Photographer.  

9. Tyler. In 2011, Fred took a job as director of mental health services for the Disciples of Christ Church in Indianapolis.

After hooking up with a 26-year old chef named Tyler, Fred moved in with him, as a roommate.  He became close to Tyler's mother, Georgina, and a surrogate father to his brothers, Rusty and Max.  They even took family portraits together.

Fred and Tyler were Platonic friends, a stepfather and stepson.  After that first night, they never slept together, not even for "sharing," and each sought out other lovers. But it was Tyler who took care of him when he got sick in 2016, who helped him into and out of his wheelchair and drove him to his doctor appointments, and who was holding his hand that last day in the hospice.

Maybe, at the end of his life, Fred finally found his soulmate.

The full story, with nude photos and sexual content, is on Tales of West Hollywood.

Aug 29, 2016

Hippolytus, the Gay Charioteer of Greek Myth

In Greek myths, Hippolytus, a chariot devotee (similar to today's auto racers), was the son of Theseus (who killed the Minotaur).  After he rejected the advances of his stepmother Phaedra, she told Theseus that he raped her, whereupon Theseus asked the god Poseidon called up a sea monster to terrorize Hippolytus'  horses and drag him to his death.

In the Euripides play Hippolytus (428 BC), we learn why Phaedra was so interested in the lad.  He rejected Aphrodite, the emblem of heterosexual love, for Artemis, the "chaste" goddess of the hunt.  Angry at the slight -- how dare there be any non-heterosexuals in the world! -- Aphrodite caused Phaedra to fall in love with him, thus leading to his death (this is a scene from a performance at the National Theater of Athens).

Jean Racine's Phèdre (1677) gives Hippolytus a girlfriend, Aricia.  This ballet version stars Slovenian dancer Tadej Brdik (left)

The 1962 film version, directed by Jules Dassin, stars gay actor Anthony Perkins as the son of a shipping magnate (Raf Vallone) who has a consensual -- but doomed -- romance with his stepmother (Melina Mercouri).

Several artists have depicted the death of Hippolytus, so they can show straining muscles and minimal clothing.  Peter-Paul Rubens (1577-1640) shows us a beefy specimen, part of his cloak transformed into a faux phallus.

Pierre Subleyras (1699-1749) depicts several guys thrown from the chariot.  Hippolytus must have been riding with a coterie of boyfriends.

I don't know why his wrists are tied.

Joseph Désiré Court (1797-1865) goes about as far as he can go.  I think it's hidden by a stirrup.

Mad Magazine: Cynicism, Guilt, and Homophobia

When I was a kid in the 1960s, we were expected to never question teachers, parents, the church, or the government.  Their answers were always right, their decisions always fair. To suggest the tiniest fallibility meant grounding, detention, or hellfire.

We were expected to never question the fact that America was the best of all possible worlds, an Arcadia threatened only by the evil empire of Communism and the long-haired hippie freaks.  To point out a problem invited swift retribution.

Satire was rare; a parody of big business in an Uncle Scrooge comic, a snarky sketch on Rowan and Martin's Laugh-In, an occasional novelty song like "They're Coming to Take Me Away."  And Mad Magazine, bought by an older kid and passed around surreptitiously, like pornography.

Mad began as a comic book, but was changed to a magazine in 1955 to avoid the strictures of the Comics Code Authority.  It cost twice as much as a comic book, and at Schneider's Drug Store, it was placed among the adult magazines like Argosy and Esquire.  

I didn't dare buy a copy, and the passed-around copies I read at friends' houses always made me feel guilty.: There was no way you could justify them as uplifting, insightful, or beautiful.  They were pure trash.

That was part of the fun.

The art was grotesque and unpleasant, though occasionally you saw nudity or muscle).  In Issue #202 (October 1978), you even got to see bare butts, as Alfred E. Neumann is stared at for tanning the "wrong" body part (top photo).  In Issue #207 (June 1979), he displays a muscular physique in a toga to parody Animal House (yes, I still read it in college.)

The writing was crude, scabrous, and cynical, with a clear message: everyone is a hypocrite; self-serving greed lies behind every pious platitude.  Revolutionary for a grade schooler in the 1970s.

But there was one platitude that no one at Mad ever thought to critique: the universality of heterosexual desire.  Every boy liked girls, every girl liked boys, same-sex desire did not exist, gay people were ridiculous.  I never actually read about gay people, but according to the blog Street Laughter, they appeared 5 or 6  times during the years I read the magazine.

September 1971: "To a Gay Liberationist," illustrated by effeminate guys carrying signs that say "Gay Power," "Freedom for Fags," and "Pansy Yokum is a Misnomer.":

 "You shout that you're victimized by bigoted attacks; forgive us if we're more concerned with Indians and Blacks!"

July 1973: A swishy basketball player grabs his teammate's butt (notice the limp wrist and the frilly underwear peeking out from his shorts).  The straight guy seems to be saying "WTF?" as the caption reads "You know you've really got a problem..."

April 1974: A fold-in feature in which couples at a maternity ward turn into limp-wristed gays to "solve the overpopulation problem."

You get the idea.

Maybe it's a good thing that I missed those issues.

See also: R. Crumb's Underground Comix

Aug 28, 2016

Converting the Fundamentalist Boy

Upstate, September 2010

The Freshman came into Sociology of Religion class ready for a fight.  I knew all the signs.

He was Hispanic, tall, broad-shouldered, with short dark hair, dark skin, and a round open face.  A muscular physique, but not a football player.

Intense, one of those front-of-the-room hand-raisers.  The first to get to class, pull out his notebook, and sit with his pen ready to take notes. And frown with disgust at everything I said.

He rarely interacted with the girls in the class, always sitting next to boys and choosing boys for partnered work.  Probably gay.  Maybe he didn't know it yet.

There was a King James Bible atop all of his other books, even though the Bible was not one of the required texts for the class.

I knew where he was coming from.  I grew up fundamentalist, with three sermons per week that were mostly quoted Bible passages, Sunday school and NYPS classes that were mostly Bible studies, plus extra points for reading your Bible daily and extra extra points for carrying it around so you could witness to the world.

We were told that the Bible was literally dictated by God, word for word, to the human authors. We didn't even call it the Bible, usually.  We said God's Word.

Obviously if God wrote it, it had to be perfect, flawless, with no errors, no mistakes, no lies.

If the Bible said the world was created in six days, obviously that's what happened.  God would know, wouldn't he?

Methuselah lived for 969 years.  Check.
There were 2 or 7 of each animal on Noah's Ark.  Check.
Joshua caused the sun to stand still.  Check.

It took me years to acknowledge that Mark 13 didn't exist in the earliest manuscripts, that the book of Daniel contains words that didn't exist at the time of Daniel, that some of the Pauline Epistles were written in a polished, erudite Greek totally unlike that of the Apostle Paul.  That none of the writers of the Bible expected it to be taken literally.

This Freshman was just starting his journey.  He had stormed into the classroom ready to defend God's Word against attacks, probably planning to win the souls of the Professor and the entire class.

 I had to work carefully.  I didn't want the Freshman storming out of the class in anger and dropping.  If he was gay, he needed this class.  Most internalized homophobia is due to a mistaken belief that the Bible promotes anti-gay hatred.

My tactic: don't dispute the literal meaning of the Bible.  Turn it against him.

I started slowly, with an easy one: the story of Sodom.

"None of the Biblical writers thought that the sin of Sodom was same-sex activity,"  I said.  "It was a lack of hospitality to strangers."

The Freshman's hand shot up.  "What about Jude 7, which says that the Sodomites were punished with eternal damnation for going after 'strange flesh.'"

"Strange flesh, sarkos heteros in Greek, wouldn't mean same-sex acts -- hetero means 'different.'  It probably means an attempt to have sex with strangers."

On like that.  Leviticus.  Thou shalt not lie with man as with woman.  Abomination refers to ritual impurity in ancient Judaism, like eating pork or mixing cotton and linen fibers.

Romans: Men burned with lust toward one another.  The Apostle Paul was referring to a specific case in which heterosexual men engaged in same-sex acts.  He was not aware of the existence of gay men.

Colossians:  arsenokoitai and malakoi shall not inherit the Kingdom of God.  "Homosexuals" is a mistranslation.   Arsenokoitai is a vulgar slang term, similar to our assholes, meaning basically jerks.  Malakoi means "soft."

The Freshman looked like his head would explode.  He frowned, sighed, thumbed furiously through his King James Bible.

"But it says 'effeminate!'  That must mean gay!"

"We need to look at the original Greek manuscripts, not a translation."

"But God guides the hand of the translators, so it means exactly the same thing in English as in Greek!"

And on and on.  Sometimes it felt like the class was taking place between me and the Freshman, with the other students merely onlookers.

The breakthrough came when I mentioned the MCC, a gay Christian denomination.

"It must be weird going to church when God hates you," the Freshman said, "Singing praises the God who is going to send you to Hell.  How can they deal with it?"

I was getting annoyed by his pig-headedness.  "They don't think God is a bigot," I said.  "Their reasoning is, why would God be homophobic?  Or prejudiced against any minority group?  Actually, a large number of Protestant denominations agree: Episcopalians, Lutherans, Baptists..."

A few days later, the Freshman showed up during my office hours.

"Do you happen to have the address of that gay Christian church?" he asked.  "I want to go there to them."

"There are several hundred in the United States.  The closest is in Albany.  But be careful -- you'll be outnumbered.  The congregation numbers around five hundred."

"Five hundred!  Come on -- you're exaggerating.  There aren't that many gays in the world!"

We moved on to other topics for the rest of the semester, so I didn't know if the class helped the Freshman overcome his homophobia or not (the quiz questions were all neutral).  He got a B+, and vanished, like students usually do.

Late in the spring semester, the Freshman came into my office again.  "Thanks for telling me about the MCC," he said.

"Did you find your visit enlightening?"

He grinned.  "You could say that.  I'm dating the pastor."

Hey, these stories can't all be about me hooking up.  I do have other interests, you know.

The uncensored post is on Tales of West Hollywood

See also: The Bible, Christianity, and Homosexuality at