Friday, June 13, 2008

What's Up with the Twink Worship?

Many of us have different definitions of what a "twink" is. I did an online search, and I had a heck of a time finding a good definition, although I did find one here. One that made me laugh was from something called "The Jargon File" which said a twink is "gay slang for a cute young thing with nothing upstairs (compare mainstream `chick')." That definition probably comes the closest to what I think of when I think of a twink. Combined with the requirement that you be under the age of 25, as well as having a certain amount of shallow vapidness... I'm not a fan of the twink.

Yet, I find that the gay community is virtually obsessed with them, including guys who would never stand a chance of landing a twink unless he first showed his bank statement. Lately, I've had a slew of friends who have expressed varying degrees of twink worship that I find disturbing. I've never liked the overly skinny mostly because I first felt that I could break them too easily. I'm a relatively strong man, and if I want to give my guy a bear hug, I do not want to have to worry that I'm going to break bones doing it. Then, after I gained weight myself, I had a new reason to dislike the twink: the twink's obvious, public, and utter disdain for my very existence.

I respect people having different things they are attracted to. Lord knows I have my own quirks. One thing I strive never to be, however, is downright rude. The twinks I've run into have made rudeness an art form. Last Thursday night when I was out for my birthday with friends, I was feeling pretty good, and I was smiling and nodding "hello" to anyone to caught my eye. It wasn't a come on; I was genuinely in a great mood and just being friendly. However, I started getting a string of disgusted looks, eye rolls, and heads whipping in the opposite direction that it threatened to sour my evening. And the perpetrators of this behavior were the twinks. Others either politely smiled back, ignored me, or otherwise didn't react - all fine reactions. But acting like I had walked up to them and asked to fuck them in a public toilet was uncalled for....but with twinks, I find it's typical.

Perhaps it is the worship all things young and thin in the gay community that causes twinks to think that they are better than anyone else who is NOT them. I have no idea, and I'm not particularly interested in why they behave the way they do. I do have friends who qualify as twinks who aren't such insufferable assholes, but they seem to be the exception that proves the rule. It's not like these twinks have anything to particularly be proud of. They are young, which is an accident of birth...but time spares none of us. They won't be twinks but a few years. They are skin and bones thin, and look like young boys for the most accident of genetics, drugs like crystal meth, or both. They usually haven't even graduated college if they went at all. Many of them dropped out of school to work full time in retail, figuring that having money to go out and party was more important than an education. And those who are in college have the added irritation of feeling superior in intellect as well as body and looks....and they let you know it. Their favorite hangout is the gay bar or club, and they usually can be found there a majority of nights, even during the week. They sneer at those of us considered to old, too fat, or too WHATEVER to even breathe the same air they breathe. Yet the gay community as a whole worships them, even those who should know better.

Maybe this is what my friends feel when they meet some of the guys I date. Maybe they feel the same sense of frustration, thinking "What in the HELL is going through his head?!?" as they resist the urge to shake some sense into me. I don't know. It just makes me sad when I see great guys who have a lot to offer mindlessly chase twinks for relationships because they somehow fetishize the type. They think the twink they settle on will be of the good ones. They somehow think that the nightly bar hopping, and the lack of a real career or motivation to excel in the one they are in is somehow going to change once they are together. Even when burned, my friends seem not to learn the lesson that perhaps they should expand their horizons a bit and be open to non-obvious attractions. That's a lesson I've had to learn. I have things that I'm heavily attracted to, but I don't limit myself to that. If I click with a guy, I'm open to pursuing that unless there is simply no attraction whatsoever. Sometimes you can't help matter how great the guy, if there is zero interest, there is zero interest.

But the twink worship continues. For my part, I would be happy to let the twinks have their own little fantasy world where everyone can be young, rail thin, and "fabulous" forever going from bar to bar and party to party. Someday they all have to grow up (one hopes), even if that transition is tough for them. I just don't have the patience to deal with the drama and bullshit that twinks dish out. They have no interest in knowing me as a person, and I'm certainly not going to waste my time trying to convince them I'm worth knowing.

I just wish I could convince several of my friends of this....but I fear they may need to get hurt badly (again) in order to learn the lesson.

Thursday, June 12, 2008

Why YOU Should Vote Republican

Getting Older Doesn't Have to Suck

I turned 33 years old last Thursday. It still feels weird to say that, let alone type it. I remember when my parents were 33, since I was 8 years old then. That was the year that I started attending Sayre after the disastrous 2nd and 3rd grade merger in my public school. I can’t imagine having an 8 year old right now. Shoot, I can’t even find someone to date, let alone someone willing to share my life.

That leads me to the edge of the spiral that I went down in the days before my birthday. I never thought I’d be 33 years old and alone. My plan had been to settle down between ages 25 and 30, then maybe have a kid or two. Being gay did not change this initial plan, just the gender of my spouse. Of course, I never anticipated that I would have such poor judgment when it came to picking men to date. I never knew that I’d have this “rescuer” complex where I try to take on the wounded and troubled in hopes of helping to “fix” them which would result in their undying love and devotion toward me. I never knew that I’d try to settle with a guy that I wasn’t in love with simply because he seemed to “make sense”. So now I find myself at age 33, alone, and with no prospects for that changing anytime soon.

The night before my birthday, I was really wallowing in the self-pity. My dinner that night consisted of a bottle of Amarula, my favorite liqueur from southern Africa. It’s not a heavily alcoholic drink, so I just got a healthy buzz. The thing about alcohol being a depressant is that while it gives you a buzz, it also keeps you down in the dumps. And boy was I depressed about my birthday the next day.

Then my actual birthday arrived. I was determined to feel bad all day about growing older, being alone, being overweight, and having no prospects that things would ever turn around. However, I started getting the legion of happy birthday notes and emails not only from Facebook but through general email. Many weren’t just birthday wishes but some said things like “Sure am glad you were born!” and “I hope you have a fantastic day!” I found it impossible to maintain my bad mood in the face of all this love coming from the greater world around me.

By the afternoon, I even had plans for my birthday night. At first, I had no plans at all, which also contributed to the general “I’m a loser” feeling I had approaching my birthday. My friend John had said that we’d go have dinner, but I hadn’t heard anything else about that. Turns out he forgot, but invited me to tag along on a planned trip to the Botanical Gardens for Cocktails in the Garden. I’d never been, so I decided to accept the invitation. Then I made dinner plans with Daniel, who just got paid, and was in the mood for some hibachi.

Dinner was great, as usual, and I left feeling stuffed. The Garden was nice, but it was HOT as hell. It didn’t really cool down until 8:30pm or so. The cocktails in the park were weak, too. We even had a stalker who followed us around after eavesdropping on the conversation in line.

After the garden, we decided to head to Apres Diem for some real drinks. I had four Hendrick’s martinis, extra dry, with a twist. They were really good. Turns out high quality gin tastes a lot better than the cheap stuff. The conversation was really good, and we definitely decided not to drive home. In fact, we didn’t go home at all, but walked to Blake’s where I proceeded to have 2-3 more gin and tonics.

Turns out I can hold my liquor better than John or Meg, so by the time we got a cab to take us back to their neighborhood in Grant Park, they were both pretty much passed out. We did get Meg in the house, and her sister drove John and I to his house where we crashed.

We awoke about 9am, and had to scramble to figure a way back to our cars. Luckily, Tim was driving to work, and when I told him the situation, he came and picked us up to return us to our cars. I had a presentation at 10:30am on the health plans for McCain and Obama, and I wasn’t feeling it. My head didn’t pound, but I sure did feel nauseated. Luckily, they had water, and I somehow muddled through it. I was a mess, but I didn’t care… my birthday had been a blast!

McCain on LGBT issues

John McCain is such a douche bag.