So, I’m trying to get through January with a post a day. I was challenged – by two followers! – after yesterday’s peek into my mental whirlpool to not cop out. There goes my Joke Monday crutch – er…idea. But I took an inventory in my Draft Hopper and there are 20 posts chilling in limbo there.
This is one of them.
No promises, though, that this is any less of a mental whirlpool. But, as my first year of the second half century of my life closes, maybe it’s time to mothball the Today I Learned theme.
So, here’s the first. We’ll see whether the others end up bearing fruit or going into the WordPress compost!
Several weeks ago, the Silver Fox and I had the good fortune to walk behind a couple of nice looking young men while on our way to see Bohemian Rhapsody.
It’s important to say “walk behind” versus “follow”. I learned that living in SoCal in the 90s.
But this TIL theme isn’t about what I learned ~20 years ago. No, on this particular day I learned something else.
I was reminded that my best friend is a better person than he is a cool person. While we crossed Couch St on Park Ave (I know…) a few blocks from our homes, these nice looking men rounded onto Park a few yards ahead of us.
There was no doubt they were each genetically gifted in their own right. Neither trying too hard in their casual clothes. One shorter and more compact, the other taller and a little more lithe.
As far as generic tastes in men go, I bemusedly noted that there was one each for the The Fox and I to enjoy.
Not that anything besides an appreciative glance was going on here.
Speaking of glances, I glanced over at my dearest friend after a few feet and was met with crazy eyes and Linda Blair caliber above the shoulder happenings.
Apparently, these young men hadn’t escaped his notice, either. I used my inconsiderable power of mental telepathy to send him a message to be cool.
We dropped back a couple paces and laughed at how they had pinged both of our gaydar at the same time. They were coming up on Burnside – the busiest East/West street in the downtown area and the divider between the NW and SW quadrants of town.
We were still talking about them, The Fox was commenting as I did above that there was one of each of our usual tastes. Obviously, I agreed with him, but both were just so easy on the eyes. They actually put off a nice vibe. As we’d passed the door to f&b cafe – our default coffee shop – the one on the inside of the sidewalk had looked to make sure no one was coming out through the door.
Someone raised these guys.
Actually, it’s quite a Sophie’s Choice, eh?
I found myself thinking I really would not mind sitting across from either of these fine young lads on one of my $20 first dates. Of course, we were only a week off of my most recent dating failure, so potential return on a $20 investment was top of mind.
Speaking of guys I wouldn’t mind sitting across the table from, I mentioned we were on our way to see Rami Malek as Freddie, right? The Fox is coming over in a bit to watch the Golden Globes and I’m rooting for this fella.
I had intentionally used obscure words to describe my indecisiveness over which guy I found more appealing between the two of these gents. It struck me that neither of the guys ahead of us were alive when the movie I referenced was released.
Nor had they probably ever had an opportunity to be exposed to it. No matter how well they were raised…
Perhaps my caution to prevent them from realizing we were talking about them was unnecessary, but better safe than sorry. Fortunately, our Sophie’s Choice was just a thought exercise for a couple old men versus something with potential real life trauma as described in the movie/book.
But the occurrence got me thinking about how making generational references was pretty much a coded language, allowing overt subtlety, if that makes sense. I enjoy making statements like “back before the turn of the century” that tend to invite young people to stop paying attention, but using references with a time stamp prior to their birthdate applies some extra security to conversations. Beyond
…ABBA and early Madonna music, I’m not sure guys in their 30s would get 80s pop culture reference. Forget guys in their 20s.
Actually, forget most guys in their 20s knowing anything but Drag Race or “thank u, next” until Miley or whoever drops their next single/video/what-have-you.
Heaven forbid I should refer to someone as a Mary or a Rhoda. Talk about an unbreakable code!
While two decades ago, people would go to the mattresses about whether they were the Mary or the Rhoda, the Patsy or the Edina or the Will, The Grace, the Jack or the Karen of their group; nowadays you’re likely to get a blank stare if you mention it now.
You might get some traction if you call someone a Carrie or a Miranda or a Charlotte or a – what most gays seem to aspire to – Samantha. Sadly, after seeing a friend on the Facebook complain that someone missed a Will & Grace reference – rightfully ending the date early – I wouldn’t hold my breath.
Hell, I’d be impressed to meet an industrious person who would Google an overheard something and then respond appropriately.
Let’s face it, though, being (well) over 30, the Silver Fox and I are both Gay Invisible. I’m sure the other senses of younger gays are not heightened in this particular case if blindness. Add to that shituation that we both have the audacity to exist strictly in reality versus in someone’s phone universe, and I can virtually guarantee our anonymity, regardless of our chosen conversational topic.
But good manners are good manners and if you’re going to engage in potentially unwelcome conversation about someone in your vicinity, a whispered tone and some coded lingo are a nice courtesy.
Plus, The Fox’s whisper is hilariously not quiet.
I get after him about it in the moment, but it always makes me laugh afterward.
As I’ve kicked this around, it’s made me curious about older people I’ve known and whether they engaged in such conversational subterfuge.
Looking at younger generations, I’m not confident that there’s a substance to create a generational code. Again, there’s a great communal enthusiasm for all things RuPaul, Kardashian and pop diva…outside of that all I can think of is “yeet“, which for all my inquiring only makes me want to develop a nuke that targets people who use “yeet” conversationally.
For my part as a former younger person, any time my grandmother brought up her family – whom I’d met only a fraction of and then maybe only once or twice – I considered myself free to do some mental wandering. And just about anytime my grandfather mentioned “bits” I would lose track of the conversation because in my head I was screaming
It’s a quarter or fifty cents, not two-bits or four bits!
For all that internalized resistance, though, now I do the same damn thing. Usually at my aforementioned coffee house where a refill is four–bits.
That’s a very reasonable price for a cup of coffee in this day and age.
Who knows, maybe my attempt at using supposedly coded language when I want my conversation to be semi-private is just my way of having fun with the reality that – regardless of what generation we belong to – we all be a little attention centric toward our particular age group.
But that’s just my two-bits.