Tag Archives: heterosexual

Dainty

Dainty: (adj) of delicate beauty; exquisite:

 I have been alive for all four stages of gay America.

Phase One: We hate gays.

Phase Two: Maybe we don’t hate them, but we don’t want to be one.

Phase Three: We accept gays, reluctantly.

Phase Four: How much gay might be in me?

If “gay America” was an advertising campaign, it was probably the most successful one there’s ever been, along with convincing housewives that Brawny paper towels are better because there’s a muscular man pictured on the wrapper.

It does create a quandary.

Without being homophobic, it crosses my mind that if I’m at a movie with another guy, the assumption of the auditorium may be that we’re a gay couple.

This is why heterosexual men are now traveling around in odd numbers: three, five and seven, for instance. It’s the only way to appear to be a gang instead of a gaggle.

But the worst part of it is that as a musician, an author and even occasionally a poet, I do want to coax my dainty side from the shadows and allow my words to color a picture with softer hues than black, gray and brown.

I want to be tender.

I want to be softer.

I want to be gentler in the areas where my heart comes near the soul of another human being.

I am weary of braggadocio.

I am completely exhausted by macho wrangling.

I want to be the person I need to be, to make sure that I leave a lingering message of openness and kindness.

Can I do this without being tagged with some new Internet term—like “metrosexual?”

Is it possible for a man to be dainty without being gay?

Is there a door to more expression instead of inserting coarse language to assure the hearer that there’s “muscle behind the message?”

I’m not gay.

I’m not afraid of being gay.

I’m not intimidated by gay people.

But I am dainty.

And I don’t want to apologize for it just so my silly mind and confused history of prejudice will drag me into ordering a second beer—just so I don’t look effeminate.

 

Convert

Convert: (v) to change; transform.

All my life, I’ve been asked to convert.

As a young boy, I was threatened that we would soon convert to the metric system. Still waiting.

I had to convert to being color-blind. I wasn’t raised that way, nor was anyone else under the age of twenty.

I was told to convert to the idea of divorce, and then to the concept that dividing children between households was wise, even though Solomon passed on the idea.funny wisdom on words that begin with a C

Each time it has been explained to me that for the sake of tolerance and mercy it is good that I allow for other people to have their choices.

I had to convert to the practicality of pro-choice, even though I find abortion enigmatic.

But now I’m being asked to convert to sexuality. I have always believed that sexuality is having an orgasm. I do not care how you reach that climax, nor should you be interested in my path.

But we were told to convert because of the stigma, prejudice and animosity toward homosexuality. Excellent. This made me more open, congenial and kind to lesbians and gays. Then I was told this was insufficient.

I was informed that even though lesbians and gays were “born that way,” there is another group—bisexuals—which should be included, even though their existence brings to question the assertion of being born gay. Not satisfied with the LGB community, transgenders were thrown in. Transgender actually has nothing to do with sexuality but is a processing in the lives of a few people to discover in what gender they truly find themselves.

Then, this was no longer sufficient. Even though for years it was the LGBT community, a Q has been added—for “questioning.” This is apparently for people who were not born in any particular way, who are deciding who they want to be, even though we originally said this was not something you determined.

What is obviously missing from the acronym is an H—for heterosexual.

Why would that be?

I guess if I want to convert to something, I would like to see a consistency in thought rather than trying to jump on at the amoeba stage and hang around for the entire evolution… to being human.


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Chartreuse

Chartreuse: (n) a color between yellow and green

Tolerance is a good thing.

Acceptance–admirable.

Inclusion, divine.

There’s no doubt about it.

But by the same token, if you happen to be heterosexual, you don’t want to be gay. And I would assume those who are gay might be slightly offended at the notion
of being heterosexual.

Maybe it’s the remnants of prejudice–the ignorance of the masses being played out–but certain actions, choices, mannerisms and even speech patterns hint toward effeminacy.

We are still sensitive. Oh, we may march in the Gay Pride Parade, openly spouting that we don’t care if anyone thinks we’re part of the gang. But then–if someone actually does assume that we are of that persuasion, we are quick to whisper, “I’m just here to be supportive.”

With that in mind, I have been tempted from time to time to refer to something as “chartreuse.” The word nearly fell from my lips in a room filled with blue jeans, t-shirts and five o’clock shadows. Just in the nick of time, I pulled back and said, in my deepest basal tone, “You know. Kind of between yellow and green.”

In doing so, I removed any suspicion from the testosterone-driven gathering that I might be … well, gay.

You see, I don’t want to be gay. Honestly, I don’t like to think about being gay. I think it is possible to be tolerant without possessing total understanding of a situation.

So even though it may not be politically correct, I will tell you that I occasionally catch my hands on my hips and quickly remove them, am very careful at how I glance down at my fingernails, and certainly would not call a football jersey “chartreuse.”

 

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Bisexual

Bisexual: (n) possessing attributes of both male and female within oneself

Sitting in a coffeehouse when I was only sixteen years old, a long-haired young college student with a cerebral profile and an air of Dictionary Bself-importance asked me, “Are you bisexual?”

Innocently, from my Midwestern naiveté, I replied, “No. I would never pay for a woman.”

Surviving that gentleman’s laughter and growing up in a society where such terms became more prevalently spoken, I now know that “bisexual” refers to a willingness, openness, or even yearning to have sexual relationships with people of both genders.

The opinion on this possibility has changed, even in the gay community.

In the past, those who had a predilection toward sharing romantic interests with the same sex were often annoyed with the concept of bisexuality. And I suppose the case could be made that if you are born heterosexual, or born homosexual, where is the evidence that you could be born bisexual?

But setting aside the nonsense of conflict, let us go back to the purity of the definition: “possessing attributes of both male and female within oneself.”

I personally think that’s a positive.

Even men who insist their masculinity is incapable of being penetrated by any feminine aspect whatsoever will eventually sprout some sort of fear of an “icky-poo” or a threatening spider.

And women, who would appear to be the fairy dust of heaven and the dew on the morning rose, will fart at will, and pull off the most amazing physical feats.

Maybe in the sense of human sexuality there is a great depth of mutuality which we’re all just afraid to consider–because it might make us appear to be too weak or too strong.

I don’t know.

But I will advance the theory that when either men or women are sexually aroused, what has aroused them is not nearly as important as culminating the action.

So what can we learn?

If by bisexual you are referring only to physically desiring carnal pleasure with other people of either gender–well, I will leave that to your imagination.

But if by bisexual you might be inkling to the notion that men and women have more in common than difference, then I would say you have just made a sharp right turn … back to Eden.

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Accommodate

by J. R. Practix

dictionary with letter A

Accommodate: (v) 1. of physical space, esp. a building, provide lodging or sufficient space for 2. to fit in with the wishes or needs of.

Yes, I am susceptible to being sucked up by the vacuum cleaner of publicity.

So when HBO announced that it was doing a movie on Liberace, I felt somehow compelled to tune in to see how the subject matter was handled, especially when the performances by Michael Douglas and Matt Damon were touted as awe-inspiring.

I even know this morning that I am supposed to appear to be “intellectual” and part of the flow of our entertainment-minded society by accommodating to everybody’s wishes and making favorable remarks about this offering.

Here’s the basic premise: a guy who can play the piano and not much of anything else, who dressed like a drag queen and lied his entire life about his true personality and sexuality, while simultaneously going through a whole series of obtuse relationships, with the main one being quite emotionally abusive, ends up contracting AIDS and dies in the midst of a cover-up to still convey that he is heterosexual.

Is there anything redeemable here? In the midst of all the discussion about gay marriage and gay rights, this movie flops across the screen, essentially warning us of many of the dangers of sexual promiscuity.

It’s difficult for me to accommodate a society that does not need any traffic to involve itself in an accident. Socially, spiritually and culturally, we keep running our cars into the wall and getting out angry because our vehicles are dented, but having no one to yell at but ourselves.

Of course, we won’t do THAT.

Here I go. At the risk of coming across as out-of-step, failing to accommodate the general hum and drum of our present-day thinking:

People aren’t interesting to me unless they overcome difficulties and find a way to help others.

Creating difficulties for yourself and expanding those problems throughout your life, while displaying a single talent which garnered some sort of notoriety, is not what I call an inspirational tale.

It’s not even a cautionary tale, because it leads people to believe that you can be a successful asshole. I just think that’s an oxymoron. I think if you’re an asshole, we have good reason to question your concept of success.

I do not begrudge the talent of the actors, nor the quality of the scenes. I just think that if the movie, It’s a Wonderful Life would have had a 2013 ending, with George Bailey gunning down Mr. Potter in the street, it might not have had nearly as much lasting effect.

And I will guarantee you, even though I am tempted to accommodate my present surroundings with nods of approval, the present flow of thinking and what we deem to be enriching will be a source of mockery within two decades.

I do not wish Liberace nor his family any ill will. I think he was a very disturbed man, living in a cautious time, who chose insincerity as a protective blanket for his bewilderment.

I just don’t know why it’s a movie.

If you’re going to accommodate all of the fits and fancies of the world around you, you will always find yourself the joke of the next inspired movement that uncovers the present stupidity.