Thursday, February 23, 2012


Is there a gay way to open a bottle of ketchup? A gay way to fill the gas tank? Wipe down the kitchen counters? I suppose I could hum a Barbra Streisand song, but “The Way He Makes Me Feel” isn’t all that hummable. It’s a song for the shower.

I haven’t posted anything of late because nothing gay has come my way. I haven’t had a disappointing coffee date with someone whose destiny is to be featured on a future episode of “What Not to Wear”. I’ve overheard no one telling inappropriate gay jokes in line at one the local Safeway. And I didn’t tune in to watch Ricky Martin’s appearance on “Glee”. (Confession: I did YouTube a clip. Am I the only one who thinks our beautiful Ricky got a little carried away at the tattoo parlor? Note that “Ink it like Beckham” is not a catchphrase that has caught on.)

Sometimes life just goes on: timesuckingferrycommuteemotiondrainingworkchaostootiredtoprocesstelevisionsitcoms.

I don’t ogle at anyone in the thrice daily Starbucks line. No, I only curse (silently) all the humans standing between me and my next caffeine hit. When did it become acceptable to process $2.18 grande coffees with credit cards? And the too chatty barista? I only wish he’d shave his scruffy eyesore of a beard. (Yes, I get cranky when going through withdrawal.)

I don’t try to outrun fit guys in unitards on the treadmill beside me at the gym. In fact, there are no unitards at my gym. (That’s a good thing.) I only hit the gym on weekends. And I opt for the exercise bike instead. It’s so much more conducive to allowing me to read Writer’s Digest or, ahem, Entertainment Weekly. (What?! I can’t possibly relate to the gym’s reading options: Marie Claire or fitness rags with overtanned, oiled up, steroid-injected cover boys.)

I don’t even hit Home Depot to ponder home improvement projects. In truth, my own DIY possibilities involve gallons of paint and I’m not very motivated to freshen up the third bedroom. I never go in there anyway.

It’s not like I’ve lost my gayness. It’s just in screen saver mode. Waiting for a user. A browser will do. Still here. Not disgruntled (except during aforementioned caffeine deficits), not overjoyed. Quietly existing.

Madonna’s new CD comes out soon, doesn’t it?

What time does Anderson Cooper’s talk show air?

Maybe I should YouTube old Ricky Martin videos. Pre tattoos. Pre-“She Bangs”.


Rick Modien said...

Your writing is so cute (please take that as a compliment, because it's intended as one).

You've identified two of my favorite magazines ("Writer's Digest" and "EW"). Why did you have to clear your throat before mentioning the latter? Is there something I'm not aware of wrong with that magazine?

No matter. I have subscriptions to both. (As well as "Canadian House & Home and "Advocate." And I have every single issue of "Architectural Digest" since October 1980. I kid you not. What the hell am I supposed to do with all of them?)

I think it's okay not to have anything gay at the center of your life. You're just being you. And that's good enough.

By the way, you don't have to hit The Home Depot because you intend to paint or freshen up anything. Go to ogle the cute straight boys (over 20) and men (over 30). What you see, and how you feel about it, will confirm you're still gay. I assure you.

Rural Gay said...

Hi Rick,
I've subscribed to all the magazines you mention.

EW is my guilty pleasure that I tell myself is several notches up from People and Us Weekly. One of my exes in L.A. used to get so irked whenever a new issue arrived. I'd read it cover to cover and wouldn't even be aware when he said anything. (Yes, the mag was invariably much more interesting.)

The fact that I have moved so many times over the years caused me to give up on saving every issue of EW. I am a natural hoarder, probably a genetic condition that I somehow got from my great-aunt Muriel whose apartment was impenetrable at the time of her death.

If you clear out all your back issues of AD, you might discover a long-trapped old acquaintance in that spare room. Either that or you'll at least end up with a big empty space that might legitmately take you to Home Depot. Ogling + purpose = a perfect Saturday afternoon.