What should I be for Halloween? Monday, Sep 22 2008 

Following the maxim given in “Mean Girls,” I’ve decided that this year I’m going to be a complete slut for All Hizzallow’s Eve.  The only question is this: What kind of slut should I be?  So I’m instituting a poll.  It’ll be very simple because I can’t seem to figure out how to insert an actual poll into this page.  Basically, just tell me what you vote for out of the following choices!

1. Lil’ Kim

2. Slut Devil

3. Slut Statue (huzzah for gold body paint!)

4. [Insert your own costume idea]

Have fun voting!

Wait…so if I stick my penis in a vagina, I can get married? Sweet! Friday, Sep 12 2008 

So this is going to be a bit of a rant rather than something constructive, but I’d like to discuss this little nugget of heteronormative privilege (well, it’s a token act of privilege in general, but the context in this case is heteronormative).  I hate.  Hate.  HATE.  HATE!  when straight people tell me that they know exactly how I feel.

I love my parents.  I really do.  But two days ago when we were arguing about who to vote for, and I mentioned that I will have no marriage rights if the cryptkeeper–I mean…Mccain–is elected.  None whatsoever.  To which my father, lovely white breeder that he is, responded, “I understand how you feel.”  I’m sorry, but did I miss something?  Was mom banned from marriage with you by the government?  Was she a terrorist twenty years ago or something?  What?

You, straight man, do NOT and will NEVER understand what it’s like to be discriminated against just because you find yourself attracted to other men.  It’s not like when you’re in the locker room being hassled by your boys for dating a “dog.”  It’s more like being in the locker room bent over the bench by #77 on the team when suddenly your coach comes in and says that your actions will be prosecuted by the state of Texas because they violate the sensibilities of the good people of ‘Merica.  Yes, I went there.

It’s not the same as your parents’ thinking that a girl is not good enough for you.  It’s not the same as your friends’ saying that you could “do so much better.” It’s not even the same as your grandparents’ threatening to remove you from the will because your girlfriend wears the same lipstick and has the same hairstyle as that of a French harlot in the throes of French ecstasy. Gay men have been disallowed the right to marry.  Plain and simple.  YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND THAT CONCEPT, STRAIGHT MORONS!  I’m not saying that all straighties are morons; I’m simply saying that you are ignoring your heterosexual privilege if you try to condescend to me and tell me that you understand. That, in point, makes you seem rather moronic.

I have tried, over the course of the past few years, to provide resources for my parents on how to “deal with” having a gay son.  While I do think these pamphlets and blog articles give some good advice that might benefit the out-of-sorts parents that mine currently are, they do not give you the right to say, “I understand what you’re going through.” You can say that you sympathize.  You can say you lament my lack of marriage rights.  Hell, you can even say that you’ll campaign for my rights as a human being (oh wait, that was only in my dream).  But you cannot understand what it means not to be allowed to spend the rest of your life with the person you love most in the world under the vows of marriage.  You cannot understand that.  Have I repeated it enough for emphasis yet?

So if there are any parents of gay children out there reading this, please don’t tell your child you understand how they feel.  You don’t (unless, of course, you’re actually a gay parent of a gay child, in which case…GO TEAM!).  DO be sympathetic.  DO make an effort to sort through the issues of gay marriage and become more attuned to your child’s needs as a homosexual. But do not patronize them with trifling attempts at quelling our repressed rage.  We homos tend to bite when patronized.

Advice from some Gay Guy: Manorexic? Boylimic? Well, now there’s an option! Wednesday, Sep 10 2008 

Whenever I log onto my personal sites lately, I get a lot of ads for gay exercise sites. But they’re not really concerned about my health, it seems. Mostly, they read “Want to look at pictures of hot guys while you work out? Then join now and get an exercise routine along with an issue of ‘Men’ today!” Great going, guys. Why don’t I just hire an escort to slap me in the face with his dick while I do bench presses, too? Honestly, when I work out, I try to keep my body in the back of my head. Not literally, silly. I mean I try not to think about how my body looks while I’m lifting weights or swimming or whatever. Why?

So, I have a little secret to reveal. I had an eating disorder in high school. A bad one. Basically, I wouldn’t eat for days at a time, and then I’d finally end up bingeing on Geneva cookies from Pepperidge Farms. Damn, those are tasty. You see, I know what it feels like to have an extreme problem with my own body image as a gay male, so I know what it’s like to be hypersensitive to media pressure in terms of the body beautiful. And I also know that nutrition is one of the primary components in that quest for the ultimate beach bod. Oh god, I just sounded like an article in Cosmo.

Continuing on, I’d like to encourage any of you out there with an eating disorder to stop. Sounds easy, right? It’s not. And I know it’s not. From personal experience, I can tell you that no matter how skinny I may become, I will always see some chunkiness when I look in the mirror. It’s a symptom of an eating disorder. And there’s a reason it’s called a “disorder.” Mental filtering, image distortion, it all goes by the books. If there’s one thing I have learned from my high school period, it’s how to be healthy.

I know, it sounds rather contradictory, right? But once I hit college, I realized that there were some major problems with my life, and a good bit of it was stemming from my eating and exercise habits. I was tired, depressed, and just…well, shitty. Then I started to make some changes here and there, progressing gradually to the amazingly happy (most of the time) person that I am today.

Yes, this has all been a “me, me, me” post so far, so let’s get to the part where I give you the advice, and you (hopefully) at least listen to it. So today’s advice column is not about how to be pro-ano or pro-mia as the title may suggest; instead, it is a post about how to go about getting your eating and exercise on track in a healthy way. I’ve decided that since I’ve been using too many numbered lists, I’d just do a bulleted Do’s and Don’t’s (that’s not a word, huh?) list for healthy living.

DO

Do pick up good eating habits and incorporate them into your life slowly. I’m not saying that you should decrease your calorie consumption or eat celery because it burns more calories than it contains (which is not true, by the way). What I’m saying is that in order to be healthy, you should make certain changes to your intake that are healthier. This means eating whole wheat bread instead of white bread (same goes for pastas), getting at least a few fruits and vegetables in your day, and eating enough that you’re able to maintain your energy levels.

Do take a multivitamin. While this little pill will provide several nutrients that you may miss out on during the day, keep in mind that it is a supplement. That means that it is supposed to supplement your diet. Your primary source of vitamins and minerals should still be food.

Do start exercising. Whether it’s taking a walk in the evening after dinner or running a marathon once every few years, exercise is great for you and will make you feel great. Personally, I do ballet and swimming, and even though I’m not that talented at either one of them, I still come out of those classes feeling a little bit brighter for the rest of the day.

Do check with your physician or healthcare provider before doing any strenuous exercise or before picking up an exercise regimen in general.

Do find a fantastic group of people to support you. This is crucial. If I didn’t have a fantastic swim group working with me, I wouldn’t be able to finish a single lap, but their encouragement really pushes me to try to succeed.

Do lift weights. Even if you’re a female, lifting weights benefits you. And, no, you will not ever get bulky unless you decide to take steroids. In which case…I’m hoping you expected to get bulky? Lifting weights, while not necessary for good overall health, does improve the strength of bones, which is always good for preventing major injury.

Do find a form of cardio that appeals to you. I don’t do running because it can cause major joint damage later on, but I do walk regularly, and swimming is a fun no-impact form of cardio. Cycling is awesome, and it gives you an excuse to spend time with the kids, and possibly instilling in them that exercise for fun and for health is more important than exercise for image.

DON’T

Don’t fear carbs. Seriously, a well-balanced diet is composed of proteins, fats, and carbs. Yes, I said that fats and carbs are good for you. Just make sure that you’re getting the right ones. A bunch of fats with high cholesterol levels probably won’t benefit you much unless you’re ingesting HDL cholesterol which helps to rid the body of LDL (“bad”) cholesterol. Good forms of fats include extra virgin olive oil, peanut oil, peanut butter, canola oil, and nuts, all of which have high amounts of unsaturated (“good”) fats. Good carb sources are, of course, fruits and vegetables and whole grains.

Don’t join a gym where the trainers throw cupcakes at you and call you fat. This isn’t going to make you enjoy the fitness portion of your life at all. In fact, I’m pretty sure it’ll contribute to a learned aversion to exercise.

Don’t diet. As cliched as it sounds, diets don’t work. A change is lifestyle is necessary for permanent good health, and that only comes with gradual immersion. You’re not going to wake up and suddenly be in perfect health with fabulous abs. Well, not unless you’re Tobey Maguire in “Spiderman.” Take it slow, make your changes stick, and you’re much more likely to be healthy for a longer time.

Don’t make yourself sick. Take a break every once in a while if you need one. Just remember that your break should have an end, and you need to get back in that proverbial saddle. Don’t give up, but do give yourself time to adjust. Otherwise you’ll burn out within the first week.

Don’t let others define your reasons for working out or eating healthier. If you want a six pack or if you want to lose weight or if you want to be the longest-living person on earth barring any unfortunate incidents involving falling pianos, then those are YOUR reasons for doing this. Just remember to do it for yourself and not for others.

Okay, so I’m sorry if all of this sounds really preachy. But body image is one of my big “things.” And since I don’t have an actual big thing, I needed to get one. Oh! Maybe we can discuss penile extension surgery next time! Woot!

Advice from some Gay Guy: Maybe If I Had a Huge Cock? Sunday, Sep 7 2008 

Dating, especially gay dating, seems to be one of the biggest anxiety triggers in the world. No, seriously. I don’t care if you’ve had to do a water landing in the Pacific Ocean in shark-infested waters. It will never compare to an evening of wondering if your breath smells, your feet stink, your hair’s in place, your socks match, your nose isn’t shiny, etc. Never. And I don’t say that to belittle all you emergency plane landers. It’s just the truth.

When I go on a date with someone new, I always do the “Instinct” check. It comes from an issue of the ever-so-progressive (/sarcasm) “Instinct.” This particular article was meant to address how to become a more attractive man for dating. Or how to bag a guy. Or something. I think there was a fishing pole involved because you know “Instinct” loves phallic symbolism. Fun. Anyways, the check can basically be summed up in the phrase, “What do I have to offer?” According to the article, when I date, I’m supposed to be selling myself like a used car or a saggy-breasted prostitute. And according to the article, there are many different ways to do this.

1. Drive a nice car. Well…I can’t. You see, I’m a (very) poor college student without a job who was once tempted to do “erotic modeling” in order to make ends meet. Fortunately, it didn’t come down to that, but the very fact that I was tempted should tell you something. Secondly, I already have a car. It’s a ‘98 Ford Ranger, cherry red. I call him “Ladykiller.” But I don’t call him that because he would garner me some major poontaka if I was straight; I dubbed him that because he only has enough horsepower left to kill little, old ladies and perhaps the occasional dog named “Lady.” That’s assuming that the dog is of the chihuahua size category.

2. Wear nice clothes. These include such clothing as D&G, Armani (and Exchange variations thereof), A&F (why are ampersands so popular in clothing lines?), Versace, and, had Gwen Stefani had a clothing line at the time, the occasional androgynous L.A.M.B. item may have been included on that list. I, however, would have to turn about eight tricks a day just to get a pair of socks from Gap Clothing, so that’s not really an option.

3. Have a nice wit. Let’s get one thing straight here: I am not a “witty gay.” I do not come up with insults that make my fag hags jump in with “Oooooh, snap!” I can’t quote Oscar Wilde’s witty retorts to the anachronistic idea of heteronormativity. And I’m meek. Downright shy. In fact, I think I’ve actually used “Yo’ mama” as a comeback. No, seriously.

4. Read a nice book and make nice conversation. Okay, so I do read. But the books I read usually involve cannibalism or butchery of a cat or seedy gay sex. If I see a guy get a little bit excited about discussing those first two, I’m probably not going home with this neo-Jeffrey Dahmer. If it’s the last one that he wants to discuss…well, I’m pretty sure that’s a signal that he wants to put his lance in my pants, so it’s not going to happen.

5. If all else fails, try to have nice sex. Wait…what? What the fuck is wrong with these writers? So if you can’t find a connection with a guy, you should still have sex with him? Am I the only one seeing the problem here, or has the excess of rhetorical questions been lost on you?

So what I’ve discovered from the “Instinct” checklist is that I’m essentially doomed to failure when it comes to sinking a guy (which may have been the title of the article…I still can’t recall). I figure that there’s a system of different ways to compensate for not having these things. For instance, I have an ENORMOUS measure of boyish naivety, which, fortunately for me, is found to be rather endearing and/or amusing to other men. If it wasn’t, I sure as shit wouldn’t be getting a date anytime this century. But, to be honest, guys like it when I’m dumb. Which is pretty much all the time. Okay, not dumb, but innocent.

I forgot where I was going with the advice section of this post, but I hope that you haven’t walked away saying, “I can’t get a date, but if I act like a dumbass like Adam, I’m sure to get back on that flesh pony!” That’s not the message I’m trying to convey. Instead, my advice is this: Don’t listen to inane magazines whose sole purpose is to propagate heterocentrically-based ideas of how to find a “mate.” Define it yourself. The end. Huh, I guess these posts would be a lot more concise if I just gave the main idea in the beginning and left it at that. Oh well.

Leon’s not the only one who’s getting laaaaaaaaaaarrrgeeerrrr. Tuesday, Sep 2 2008 

At 6′6″, 188 lbs., and 9.8% body fat, I am far from my friends’ conceptions of “fat.” I lift weights daily, walk two miles to and from school, and monitor my fat/carb/protein ratios closer than Bush keeps his attention on his Saturday morning cartoons. You know he watches them. However, when I see myself in a mirror, the only thing I see are love handles, a protruding tummy, and an unrefined jumble of musculature. And don’t even get me started on my face. I could be cast as Cyrano on the stage. Without any prosthetic appendages, if you get my drift. My cheeks are a mine field of oily pores and freckles. And I’ve already discussed my collection of wrinkles. Two more have sunken in since last Wednesday.

Let’s face it: I’m not Brad Pitt. I’m not Jake Gyllenhaal. Hell, I’m not even a post-90’s Chris O’Donnell. I’ve never been called a twink or a pretty boy (or “purty-boy” for all you Deliverance fans out there). According to gay-targeted advertising, though, I should be all these things. In fact, I’m supposed to wear product in my hair, a speedo in the pool, and some Dolce whenever I step out for the evening. Every day. My meaning in life has apparently been reduced to manicuring myself so frequently during the day that I only have spare time to read the occasional issue of GQ between appletinis. Not exactly compatible with the professorial career track.

Not to mention the cost of supplies it would get me to look like this:

Because the only way to be trendy nowadays is to layer while marching down a cobblestone street.

But even before I shell out about a thousand dollars per outfit, I’d need about $8000 for cosmetic surgery to get that perfectly streamlined, WASP-y nose that’s oh-so-en vogue at the moment.

I am not going to look like these guys. Ever. And I have no problem with that until I suddenly have these images foisted on me by advertisements that are…oh, I don’t know…EVERYWHERE. And it doesn’t just come from good ol’ D&G. Even friggin’ Rogaine says I should remember to apply my wrinkle cream every night in order to look like this:

Watch out if you have a millimeter’s worth of space between two follicles! Baldness is on its way! Honestly, though, marketing does do some good things for me. For instance, this is me at the mall:

Adam: Hmm…need some new clothes. Oop, can’t wear A&F shirts because that six-pack I’ve been working on so hard has yet to be delivered by the ab fairy. Guess I’ll save sixty bucks.

No, really, saving money by not purchasing cheap, mass-produced, super-fitness-targeted clothing is always a good thing.

Now I know this probably sounds like a whole bunch of whining, but it’s not. I’d like to encourage all gay men to forget about these Procrustean beds of male beauty standards and embrace the idea that there’s more to appreciation of the male aesthetic than a perfectly chiseled ass. And let’s really address the increase in eating disorders affecting gay males today. That’s just not good.

Me? I love my cheekbones. I love my eyes. And I love my long legs. What about you?