Comments on: Commentary: The Single Guy

By: Ben

Ben — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 18:02:00 +0000

Busted. That’s what I get for conflating truth with fiction. You’re body’s fine, guy. I just added that to maintain a narrative for the character. Nice to know that old tricks on the other side of the country are reading my crap.

Good comments on this one, folks. I’ve enjoyed reading the judgments as well as the additions to the story.

By: jeffrey

jeffrey — Mon, 09 Feb 2009 16:21:00 +0000

Ouch Ben…I hate to be presumptuous, but I’m not sure if any other gay guys have Czech rap besides me. I agree the sex was uneventful, but would hate to think my body was “disappointing”. And for the record, the ask to hang out again was not genuine…hence the “weird” morning.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Mon, 02 Feb 2009 05:14:00 +0000

I could not stop reading this “journal,” and I have to confess I sort of hoped he would find love by the end of it. HA!

I hope our hero can spend some more time with true friends doing things he enjoys that don’t necessarily have anything to do with the hunt for sex and love. Oh, and some of those friends can be straight–living entirely in the gay bubble distorts one’s sense of reality.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Sat, 31 Jan 2009 00:52:00 +0000

I’d be happy to live with Philip under his rock any day.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Fri, 30 Jan 2009 15:13:00 +0000

re: landoftrolls

agreed. i'm not in a relationship, i'm not dating and i'm not necessarily looking. translation: i approach the few men who interest me. unfortunately most are already partnered or lack maturity.

i like myself, i like my time alone. given the number of men out there who aren't yet capable of having a healthy relationship, no matter how wonderful they look, i don't feel compelled to get a boyfriend.

i think having a partner is great and i'm open to the next relationship...just not at my own expense.

By: landoftrolls

landoftrolls — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 13:36:00 +0000

Sometimes I think our community makes the mistake of conflating the categories of “single” and “looking”. As if people cannot be happily alone. Some of us want to be coupled eventually, but realize it isn’t quite the right time to be actively looking.

By: Philip

Philip — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 12:21:00 +0000

Well, whatever we believe, however many differences we may have, I think we can all rally around Jimbo’s suggestion that coupled people give the “it will happen when you just stop looking!” line a rest.

By: copp3rred

copp3rred — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 05:30:00 +0000

Wednesday: You’re one of 3 people who actually make it into work (because it’s an ZOMG ZOE I TOTALLY CAN’T DRIVE IN SNOWZ!!! and spend all day listening to people who think you can read their minds but really you have just heard it so many times before it comes like that. You then skip the gym and read all the way home because you’re “people exhausted”. You plonk yourself down on the couch to watch NCIS and Bones, the latter infused with that ever so dangerous sexual tension between coworkers and make some chicken tikka masala, realize you have no rice and sigh.

If you didn’t have a slut phase post-LTR you’d be some frightening freak of nature, the desperate clingy, co-dependent “without a man I am nothing” emotional vampires who need branding and tagging. The first few choices are more ground beef and mystery meat, but your vision and taste will improve.

Mike – You must be the only one who gets a weak cocktail in DC, or you’ve offended the bartender something fierce, or much more likely that I’m a lightweight.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 04:21:00 +0000

also: glad to see you were watching the original bbc planet earth with the incomparable david attenborough, not this discover sigourney weaver monstrosity.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 04:18:00 +0000

man, i don’t remember being single as being so much work. or so bleak. i’m with philip on this one.

By: Mike

Mike — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 00:54:00 +0000

You’re at JR’s because it’s too cold to go anywhere else. After a couple of weak cocktails your teeth are reasonably numb but you’re still in possession of your superego. Your feet have been planted in place through a half-dozen ebbs and flows of the man-river surging in the narrow space between the wall and bar. That conversation you started with a small group of revelers over where they bought their designer eyewear has actually turned out rather sweet and charming, even though you entered into it in order to show that ex of your’s from years ago who hovers nearby that you’re not bothered by his presence. A handsome dark-haired guy with really nice arms meets your gaze and you meet back, but he’s clearly conflicted between the conversation he’s having in his closed circle and taking the long walk over to talk to you in your’s. It goes like that for five minutes but feels like 15. Then you see that ex of your’s is talking to him. And they’re both looking at you. You have an aversion to playing to an audience, and turn to place your empty cup on the bar. You think that if you wait a few minutes, the ex will clear out and you can go and talk to the dark haired guy. But you know how it will all play out – the verbal parrying, the hand on the back of the neck, the guesswork over who will pop the question to who. And suddenly you flash on what you read in the Wikipedia that afternoon when your brain needed a break from salaried work. Not about sex, or dating, of gay politics, but about astronomy, cosmology, the frontier edges in those disciplines that you’re drawn to. You’re reminded that there are vast unknowns. Quantum entanglement. The Bootes Void. Omega Point. Things greater than this moment. Will you ever see this guy again? You decide it isn’t worth it for once, for now. You take advantage of another wave of guys to hastily bid goodbye to your acquaintances, slip your arms into your coat, and pass that ex and the cute guy (your back to them) and pass through the doors and out into the street, off to home and bed.

By: Ben64

Ben64 — Thu, 29 Jan 2009 00:01:00 +0000

re: Anonymous

The imposition of "exoticism" you perceive and ascribe to me was neither intended nor offered.

I was not referring to the “savannah" as exotic. The implied anthropological reference was in Ben's complete phrase (which I quoted fully in my comment) "the savannah is brutal". This phrase, to me, is clearly a metaphorical reference to natural selection, social Darwinism, genetic drift, to the idea that even educated, attractive, urbane men with over-developed parietal lobes and opposable thumbs may not actually be evolutionarily adaptive at all but, instead, a impediment to our moving forward (or evolving emotionally and psychologically) in our own lives. Hardly "exotic", just facts of modern life.

Full disclosure: I embraced anthropology as my college major, eschewing the graduate level for reasons best summed up by another of Ben's posts (see "Bad Education", Monday, January 26, 2009). I admire your commitment to anthropology as a profession but please do not underestimate the knowledge of and love for anthropology that others share with you.

By: jimbo

jimbo — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 23:02:00 +0000

I agree with Philip's outlook, but it's a worldview that's not always easy to achieve. Singlehood is most often a brutal savannah, but it depends on what you're looking for and how much you want it.

But whatever your view, will paired guys and gals stop saying "Oh, but you'll find it when you just stop _looking_ so hard!"

Single people hate it when you say that.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 23:02:00 +0000

To Ben64: Just want to point out that, while perhaps ethnographic, that reference is not anthropological. In fact, anthropologists (like myself) often take offense at the exoticism stamped onto culture in words like “the savanna.”

By: Kirk

Kirk — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 18:12:00 +0000

You’re sitting at a booth in a coffee shop in front of Venti cup of coffee swimming in cream and sugar, and an Issue of the Blade. The work day took its toll again, and you never really recovered from the weekend. The headache is slowly finishing its course as you wish away the rings under your eyes. Your last cigarette cleared out the memories and feelings you dare not wrestle with. At least for now. Hits of whiskey will do the job later.
You always enjoy the idea of a social coffee shop, but somehow you always end up at Starbucks, complete with its aroma of burnt coffee. Conversation with a stranger is an impossibility due to the narrow room devoted to an endless processional from the entrance to the exit. The only words spoken are what the person wants. Reminds you of your love life.
In need of immediate gratification, you skip to the Bitch Session. You’re careful to fold the paper in half to disguise the escort and erotic masseur ads in juxtaposition. You’d rather a homophobe catch you reading a gay newspaper than mistaken for being desperate. You find the page you want. Cubicle queer! A much needed chuckle.
When the humor runs dry, you turn to your next crutch for entertainment: people watching. Your attention goes back to line at the counter. You listen to people making their coffee order and wonder if their choices reflect their personality. “. . . with soy milk and Splenda” Picky and needy. “A Venti Caramel Frappuccino.” Depressed and consuming their feelings. “An extra shot of espresso.” Whore.
You notice a group of girls gathered at a table. The girl on the left appears out of place in conversation with her bewildered eyes, nervous laughter, and frequent use of the phrase “Oh my God you guys!” Sort of like a Charlotte talking to three Samanthas.
You can’t help but shake your head as you scan her appearance. No makeup, poorly kept hair, and dressed like someone’s grandmother. You wonder if she ever gets laid.
After thoughts of judgment rush through your head, you wonder why you’re being so harsh. You realize you’re jealous. Here she is not fitting any standard and perfectly happy. Her aura reminds you of innocence, and you wonder if you would have better enjoyed that part of your life if you spent less time wondering when you’d finally get laid.
You catch her remove herself from conversation and scan a text in her phone. Her cheeks blush and small smile adorns her face. She subtly gathers her things and hugs her friends goodbye.
She catches your glance, and you immediately flip a page in the newspaper and bury yourself into it. Right back into the escort ads. Great cover . . .
As she walks past your window, you catch her glance again with what appears like a look of concern before she disappears back into the urban forest.
You take the last sip of your coffee, and start on your way. For once, going home alone feels like a comforting idea.

By: Hans N.

Hans N. — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 18:08:00 +0000

Reading this is like looking into hell with the lid off.

I don’t mean it isn’t well written, just that my life has never been like that, and I hope it never is.

By: BlueSeqPerl

BlueSeqPerl — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 17:58:00 +0000

This post reminds me of Queer As Folk or Brett Ellis’s Rules of Attraction. The emotions and drama tied into sex even detached, one-night-stand sex.

By: Philip

Philip — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 17:29:00 +0000

Hey, Anonymous -- would you believe you're not the first person to suggest that I'm living under a rock? (Sure ya would!)

I don't know, maybe I am living under a rock, but if so, I'm pretty happy here and sure, others are welcome to join!

I just don't believe that being gay and single means you have to be engaged in a miserable-feeling and neverending hunt for sex. I mean, whether you're coupled or single, sex should be bringing you pleasure. I might be accused of being Pollyanna, but I'd go so far as to say that sex should be bringing you joy.

If it's not, stop. Just stop. Whether it's a one-night stand or a relationship, wait for a person and a situation that are going to bring you pleasure, and to whom you can give pleasure.

It's really not worth it otherwise.

By: Ben64

Ben64 — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 17:20:00 +0000

Very well written. I like the anthropological references very much: "the savannah is brutal".

Although a good read it seems like Single Guy has the same sexual/bar experiences every day. Does he ever drive, go on job interviews, shop at Ikea, visit a museum, go to a Caps game? I enjoy reading his bar/club/gym exploits but there are also plenty of observations to made about the superficiality of Gay life outside a sexualized context. For many reasons not all intelligent, politically progessive, out Gay men live an urban identified life. It would be interesting to find SG exposed to Gay men living in some worlds he didn't know existed. I think you could do a great job writing satirical yet revealing experiences in those different milieus.

Either way please continue. Looking forward to the next adventures of SG.

By: Anonymous

Anonymous — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 16:46:00 +0000

Philip, exactly what rock have you been living under? Are you alone under there? If not, invite me over to meet you and your friends.

By: jmoletress

jmoletress — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 16:30:00 +0000

Then comes the day when you wake up and begin to recover from it all. You begin to question whether you regret all of the time you spent looking for cocaine. Maybe you ran the future love of your life over on the way to the stall without ever having made the connection? You wonder if you regret all of the money you spent on circuit parties with DJ Victor Calderone and if you may have missed the preverbial train of life when you went into your fourth K-hole. You wonder if you regret scraping the remains of another night of strange-r love from your duvet, or if perhaps you should just buy a new one. You begin to imagine if picking up that guy from the bar was in fact a connection or an anti-connection, stealing another precious moment of humility. You wake up and ask yourself if in the long line of guys you shared at least a coffee, one of them was the one you would’ve been good with. You watch reality shows about college life and cry over your Diet Pepsi as you wish for only a brief moment, you could regain the reckless abandonment and precious naivety you once held so close to your t-shirt. You wonder if you spent too much time having anonymous sex that you’ve broken your sex machine just when the warranty ran out. You wake up and find Sarah McLachlan’s Mirrorball CD, covered with dust and scratched to hell, and play it, having an emotional reaction to it, and just when your about to pass into your final stretch of what most would consider pathetic, it begins to skip right on “I Will Remember You-you-you-you-you-you-you….” But above all, you wake up and learn to live with yourself, the hardest person to live with at times. You understand that those rings that exist on your tree of life are each important in making you the person who you are. You understand that even though you’ve spent more hours on being silly than on the phone with Comcast, you can’t waste anymore with regrets. Regrets are for fools and those with their eyes closed to world of possibilities. You understand that for all of the time you’ve spent separating your mind and your soul from your body and then trying to piece them back together with house music and ecstasy, you finally can walk into that gay bar and sprout a smirk at how silly it all is, without the desperate hunger you once felt. But most of all, you can throw up your hands in the air on love, and laugh your head off, and not give a shit, until he takes your face by both of his hands, looks you in the eyes, calms your reckless laughter, and gets all of your attention.

By: Philip

Philip — Wed, 28 Jan 2009 15:57:00 +0000

This post is hilarious. Is this really what you think being gay and single is like?