Christmas Scare-ols

Yesterday was a delightful Christmas for me, but it was over before I was ready to bid adieu. Fueled by wine and coconut cake, I was ready for a night on the town. Unfortunately, the Queen City was not cooperating. Ideally, I would’ve liked to have gone to a Christmas drag show. I envisioned a sexy Ms. Claus whose drag name was Yuletide Carol or something equally festive, who would serenade me with a bevy of Eartha Kitt and Peggy Lee classics, while I sipped a mulled cider and flirted with Donner—a slightly younger reindeer sporting a provocative leather halter and huge antlers. Sadly, it was not to be.

Instead, I lit some candles and played some Christmas music on my iPod. Unfortunately I started analyzing the lyrics of the carols. I’ve always thought “We Wish You a Merry Christmas” was vaguely threatening. It starts out as festive well-wishes, but then the caroling turns malevolent. Wishes turn to demands as the carolers' craving for figgy pudding takes over. And they “won’t go until we get some”. What the f*ck??? Who even has figgy pudding around these days? Wherein lies the fault—the poor homeowner who hasn’t properly prepared for the holiday, or the unreasonable carolers who are hopelessly out of touch with the times? I blame the carolers. A good terrorist will choose his battles more carefully, and cite demands that can actually be met.

I also marveled at “I Saw Mommy Kissing Santa Claus”. What should be a heartbreaking tale of infidelity has become a children’s classic. Granted—the Santa Claus in the story is the child’s father in a costume, but the child doesn’t know that. He seems to be taking his mother’s indiscretions amazingly well. If my mom was an indiscriminate slattern with a granddaddy fetish I don’t think I’d be singing about it. “What a laugh it would’ve been, if daddy had only seen…” So much for divorce being hardest on the children. This kid is looking forward to the custody hearings—if he & Mom end up with Santa he gets free toys for the rest of his life.

I guess it’s best not to put too much thought into the holidays. As I said in the earlier posting, it’s more about the spirit of the season. I ate some great food, spent some time with people that mean a lot to me, and got some decent bling. And if I didn’t get to make out with a hot reindeer who was more hung than the Christmas stockings—I’ve still got New Year’s Eve…..

Seasons Eatings

Ah, the holidays! As clichéd and commercial as they can be, I have to admit I still love them. Friends put aside the distractions of day-to-day living and make getting together with each other a priority. Families, usually with the help of some spiked eggnog or hard cider, set aside petty differences to enjoy a day of feasting and familiarizing. Even the office Christmas parties can be fun, as you get a chance to see the person rather than the co-worker.

I love the silliness of it all as well. Whether it’s a ridiculous Christmas sweater, a cheesy Christmas song, or a poorly animated Christmas special on television—it’s just fun. Friday night I was treated to some college boys Christmas caroling and it brought back fond memories of me & my fraternity brothers doing the same thing. It’s nice to know in this cynical world there is still some honest enjoyment to be had in tradition (although I’d be lying if I said I didn’t wonder if I could convince one of the college boys to give me a lap-carol!).

As I’ve gotten older, my reasons for loving the holidays have changed, but the love is still there. When I was little, I used to look forward to the presents. Half the fun was trying to figure out what the gift was before unwrapping it. My brother would just tear into each gift hastily, but I liked to take my time and savor the anticipation. I would try to see how little of the wrapping paper I could remove and still figure out what the gift was, reading the small print on the box or looking for a tell-tale label (Matchbox, Sony, etc.).

Nowadays, instead of slowly unwrapping a present, I love peeling the foil off a freshly baked dish as I take it out of the oven. I still take my time and savor the experience—first the aroma, then gazing at the bubbly sides of the casserole dish, then finally taking the entire layer of foil off to admire my creation. And unlike a Christmas present, I get to eat it once I unwrap it!

The holiday season is the one time of year I give myself permission to indulge in whatever fattening, delicious foods come my way. I figure it’s my reward for watching my diet the other 11 months of the year.

So anyway, I hope everyone reading this has a great holiday—whether you celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, or Kwanzaa. Take some time to savor the season, and if you have any leftovers—let me know. I’m suddenly very hungry.

A Pessimist on Marriage

I just heard from two friends of mine in Canada who are going to get married. The unusual thing about this couple is that they are two men. Canada is one of the few countries to recognize same-sex marriages (along with Belgium, Spain, the Netherlands, and South Africa*). My friends have been together for 11 years, and I think they will have a wonderful marriage.

Here in the U.S., the battle for gay marriage is still being fought. In principle I do think it should be an option, but after watching one guy I know go through two divorces—it’s awfully hard for me to go to bat for this issue. This particular man has been making a good living for more than ten years, but after two divorces he is essentially destitute and having to live with his parents while he regains his financial footing. I have another friend from dental school who recently divorced her husband, and she too got taken to the cleaners. It sucks that by the mere act of legally declaring your love for another human being, you are setting yourself up for financial ruin. And given some of the choices I’ve made in my love life, I have a feeling I would be one of the people to get financially devastated if I should have the right and the opportunity to marry.

I had lunch with two friends today and we were talking about the old ‘70’s television series “In Search Of…” It was hosted by Leonard Nimoy, and every episode centered around the search for some mysterious entity—Bigfoot, Amelia Earhardt, UFO’s. We were joking about what they could search for these days if the show was still airing. I suggested “Affordable Health Insurance”, but one of my friends suggested “A Monogamous Gay Man”. I had to admit I knew what he was talking about—I’ve known several gay men who seemed to have issues with commitment. I’m not sure I believe gay marriage will be any more likely to lead to divorce than a straight marriage, though. I just think it will be messier.

Marriage involves two individuals making a lot of promises to each other. Whether the couple is two men, two women, or a man and a woman—there will be occasions where those promises get broken, and someone gets pissed off. If forgiveness is not to be, then a divorce most likely will occur. I’ve seen several straight marriages disintegrate, and it’s never pretty. I’ve also seen several gay relationships disintegrate, and the only good thing about it is that neither partner had the legal opportunity to go after the other’s resources.

I definitely think two people who care about each other should have the right to visit each other in the hospital, make their loved one the beneficiary of a will, and such. But I also think if we get the legal right to marry, we should have foolproof prenuptial agreements in place. Whoever said “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” obviously hadn’t met a pissed off queen.

*source=Wikipedia

Miami Vices

I went down to Miami Beach this past weekend with a friend. It was my first big trip since leaving practice (unless Myrtle Beach counts as a ‘big’ trip—see previous posting) so I was ready for a change of scenery. I also enjoy placing myself among the genetically blessed as a little sociological experiment, and Miami is chock full of them. I have never seen as many beautiful human beings in one locale as I have in South Beach. The men and women there, regardless of age and race, are flawless physical specimens. Not only are they physically attractive, they are well maintained. It’s a sea of pedicures, cheekbones, sculpted hair and exfoliated skin. The women look great too.

For me the challenge is not to be intimidated by this exotic species of human being. Even with my doctorate degree, I find myself insecure and eager for their approval. When I get it, I turn into Sally Field at the Academy Awards—“the pretty man laughed at my joke! He likes me! He really likes me!” I feel like a goat who’s wandered into a herd of gazelles, so I usually rely on my sense of humor to gain me entry into the collective.

I think some people were trying other methods, with varying degrees of success. One of the more popular t-shirts I spied around town was screen printed with what looked like an illustration from a tarot card deck. An emaciated man was being plagued by demons, and above the illustration in Gothic print was the word “Affliction”. On the right man, it was a magnificent look. Saturday afternoon, however, while we were strolling along Ocean Drive I spied a morbidly obese man wearing the same shirt. While part of me admired his chutzpah for wearing designer duds despite not having a designer bod, the other part of me had to question his choice. There are certainly clothes that flatter every body type, but this particular shirt was not among them. He had to cut a slit in the collar of the t-shirt to get it around his neck without choking him, and even then the fabric was straining. More obvious than that, though, was the sight of this unhealthy creature wearing a shirt with that particular message. I think if you are going to successfully wear a shirt that has “Affliction” written upon it, you cannot appear to be afflicted.

Seeing this man, though, did bring me back to reality. I realized I wasn’t the only one who wanted a piece of the glamorous life, and I think it’s only human to feel that way. It looks like the beautiful people are having a lot of fun. But in the end, they are only people too, and you can’t build a meaningful life on fun. A meaningful life comes from accomplishments—and I have to wonder what some of these beautiful people have really accomplished.

So by the time we hit the cocktail parties, I was over my insecurities. I won’t say I didn’t still get a little thrill whenever I got one of the gazelles to smile at me, but I felt like I was one hell of an accomplished goat whether they liked me or not. I still wasn’t secure enough to wear one of the “Affliction” shirts, however. I needed to know the beautiful people were laughing with me, not at me.

A Mile in Her Bat-shoes

I have never appreciated a pair of shoes as much as I did today when I put on my cross-trainers. This past weekend was the annual Halloween celebration, and per tradition I went in drag. I don’t mind the wig, make up, and clothes-- but women’s shoes suck. A lesbian friend of mine told me once that women’s shoes were a joke played by gay men on straight women for the benefit of straight men. I don’t think I fully understood what she meant until I put a pair of heels on for myself. It’s amazing how something so pleasing to the male eye can be so displeasing to the female (or male!) foot. The irony is that now some gay men will have to wear these same shoes if they want to be effective drag queens. Karma is a bitch with sore feet.

The costume itself turned out pretty well. I went as Batwoman. The original Batwoman was created by DC Comics in the 1950’s to quell rumors that Batman and Robin were lovers. By the 1970’s, DC apparently felt that the Dynamic Duo’s heterosexuality had been established, so they killed her off (another straight woman sacrificed once she’d outlived her usefulness to straight men—I guess her high heeled boots weren’t punishment enough). Gotham City had to carry on without a Batwoman until last year when DC Comics revived her as a lipstick lesbian, possibly related to the original character.

I was striving for the look of the contemporary Batwoman—black leather pants, long red hair, black cape—but even with these accoutrements the costume had a campy 1960’s feel to it (perhaps because I was a 41 year old man dressing as a 28 year old superheroine!). No worries, though. When you stand 6’10” in heels nobody is going to laugh in your face. And even though most people weren’t familiar with the character, I somehow felt that if Batwoman were out there, she would’ve appreciated the homage. Just as I now appreciate the difficulty of battling crime in uncomfortable shoes.

*If you’re really curious to see the pictures, they are at www.myspace.com/branchula under the “my pics” section.

Reclaiming the Work Week

I just got my first paying “non-dentist” gig! I have been retained by a non-profit group here in Charlotte to update their website. A friend of mine put me in touch with the group, and after a few informal meetings I was given essentially a shoe-box full of news clippings and internal memos from which I am to generate a narrative of what the group has been doing these last few years.

It has been such a change of pace from my clinical job. First of all it’s nice to walk into a room and have people be genuinely glad to see me. In dentistry, even the nicest patients are a bit tense when I’m present because they know at some point I’m going to pick up something sharp and stick it in their mouth! Happily I didn’t have to do that once with the non-profit group, and from their demeanor I think they appreciated that fact. Secondly, it was refreshing to get to use a different part of my brain. Dentistry is a lot of analysis, very mechanical, and confined to a decidedly small space. Going through the information given to me by the non-profit group involved more synthesis—taking the information, sorting through it, and putting the essentials into narrative form. And what a luxury to be able to spread out over my entire coffee table! I’m not sure if it’s the novelty, or if I could really do this for a living—but for now I’m having a good time.

The one thing I’ve noticed is that it’s been very difficult to fit a career back into my life. I’ve been unemployed now for two months, and somehow have managed to fill up my days without the encumbrance of a job. I heard somewhere that goldfish grow to fit whatever size environment they are placed in. If they are kept in a small tank, they stay small. If they are put into a pond, however, they can grow to be quite large. I believe that is how I have approached my life. When I was working 40 hours a week, I kept side projects to a minimum. Now that I have all this additional time—I have been able to tackle several tasks. I’ve redone the closets in my bedroom, drawn up a 5-page Emergency Plan for a performance theater of which I am a board member, and updated all the software on my lap-top. And those iTunes songs didn’t download themselves! It’s been a busy time, and trying to fit a job back into the mix is going to be very difficult. For the benefit of a paycheck, however, I think I’ll make the effort. I just have to figure out how to shrink a goldfish.

Sex & the Single Blogger

I had a date this week! Technically it was a first date, but there is some history I should explain. I met this gentleman at a party a few nights ago through some mutual friends. This is always a good way to meet a romantic prospect, because if you have friends in common most likely the gentleman is not a serial killer. Anyway, we hit it off at the party, had a few drinks and then he ended up spending the night at my place. The next day I drove him home, and we traded phone numbers. We traded a few text messages during the week, and tonight we had our first date.

This is not the way they explained dating in Phys Ed class back in middle school, nor do I think Emily Post or Miss Manners would approve, but for me it is a good system. I don't pursue all relationships in this manner, nor am I recommending it to others. I am simply saying the few times it has worked out this way it takes some of the pressure off. Again, I hold my overactive brain accountable. Dating in the traditional manner is very stressful psychologically (for me, at least). Being gay I get the double whammy of having the traditional male nagging questions and the traditional female nagging questions. On the male side we have:
“When should I make a move?”
“Do I stop with just a kiss, or should I go for more?”
“If I go for more, will he think I’m a horn-dog?”
“If I don’t go for more, will he think I’m straight?”

On the female side we have:
"How provocatively can I dress without looking slutty?"
"If I go all the way does that make me easy?”
“If I don’t go all the way does that make me a tease?”

I find myself unable to enjoy the first date and pay attention to the conversation because all of these questions are running through my head.

If you’ve already had sex with the person--suddenly you’re relieved of all these persistent doubts. You know the sex was decent enough for both parties to return for a second encounter. Now all you have to do is figure out if there’s enough there to build a relationship upon. Even then, the pressure is off. If you hit it off with the person--that’s fabulous! You now have a boyfriend. If you don’t--you can go your separate ways if you like, or perhaps just keep them on speed dial as a potential boink buddy.

I’m happy to say the first date went very well. A second date has been scheduled, and we'll take it from there. Now the only nagging question on my mind is, if this works out in the long-term, which day do I use to calculate our anniversaries????