The New American Psycho

Surprising no one, the way we behave toward one another bothers me.  As the voice of treason, I am not silent about it…pleasing no one.  I’m not any happier about it than you are, trust me.

But you’re either a part of the solution or you’re a part of the problem, right?

I’ve been looking for and ruminating on a root cause for this shift in behavior.

What is the bogey that enabled this new sense of…blithe disregard for each other?

Was it our increasing Short Attention Span?  Were we or are we becoming too SASsy for our own good?

Fidget Spinners, for instance.  I think most of us acknowledged the idiocy of this it toy from last year.  However, did you see parents explaining to their children that this was a stupid toy and a waste of $10?  

No.  No, you didn’t see that.  Because: shut the kid up is more of a parenting agenda than reasoning with ones child or developing critical thinking skills early on by making a child articulate why they want a toy.  Hint: it’s because everyone has one.  How about just making them earn their treats anymore.  

Definitely a part of the problem…but just a symptom, not the cause.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for using this as a tool to soothe a child or adult that pings hard enough on the autism scale that they can actually count the spins.  But face it, that wasn’t the target customer here.

But adults – parents included – have their own fidget spinner:  Pop Culture.

How about that Hozier guy?  Remember him, the Take Me to Church guy?  Good for him, being the “it” artist in 2014/15, replaced midway through ’15 and well into 2016 by Ed Sheeran.  

Poor Hozier…sold some records and then what?  Our collective OCD saw something else shiny and new to distract us.

Poor Ed, too.  Stealing the pop culture crown – only to learn that pop culture is basically a wood chipper when the mob learns you’re a great singer with a mild personality and not the Kardashian-monster-type personality we’ve come to expect of our pop icons.  All this from a guest turn on Game of Thrones, no less…speaking of pop culture run amok.  I don’t watch, but The Fox does and I spent the better part of two years waiting for the GoT shoe to drop whenever I was with him.  

Not just in movies or TV shows we watch or discuss.  The GoT obsession followed us to our local wine bar where somehow we learned that the co-owner and Som extraordinaire dated Jon Snow when she lived in LA.

But it’s not pop culture, again…that’s still just a symptom, methinks.

Ten-ish years ago, a friend of mine said this about relationships:  Relationships happen in the moment – which I believe.  However, he went on to say that you meet someone and hang out and hook up then never leave or nothing happens.

I’m not sure how I feel about that.  I’ve definitely experienced the back half of that assertion, a lot.  But the first part sounds so easy.  And not in a slut shaming kind of way.  The hooking up immediately part is pretty much The Gay Way, but the never leaving part sounds more like a relationship of comfort for a 20-something. I think that is sweet and helpful for providing security while one finds themselves and that these relationships can create some great gay adults – talk about an oxymoron, emphasis: moron – but what about the folks that doesn’t happen for?

Lol.  Ed Sheeran just came on the radio at my coffee shop.

Eventually, I think these people become institutionalized by the hook up and get used to nothing happening after.  They forget their hopes and expectations of more.

Wait for it

Enter asocial media.  The dreaded dating app.  By our gay 30s, we’ve been bred – hush, Diezel – to expect less.  And we’re Americans, so we want as much of whatever we can get as we can get.

Basically, we’re all a bunch of whores self medicating our loneliness with meaningless sex.

But that’s not good enough.  We’re still gay, so we’ve got to make it fabulous and then, beyond reason, this hook up culture of ours becomes aspirational.


Now straight people have hook up apps.  Whoopee!  Everyone can now experience a life of nothing happening.

Great, deep, connective virtual conversations with the one.  The one that you never end up meeting in real life.

Or the one that scratches your libidic – warning: that word has high Chrisism potential – itch and then you never end up hearing from them again.  

These realities happen over and over again and more than people finding reward from this cycle, I hear people giving up.  Returning to a focus on the friends that have been there time and again after either scenario.  That becomes their focus, and it’s not a bad one.  It’s just that – as a too longtime frequenter of bars and clubs…it’s their sole focus.  People are with their friends and they aren’t open to outsiders breaking in.

So…what’s the right balance?  I’d seriously like to know, because suddenly, the only thing happening in the moment is sex with no expectations.  We are becoming hopeless, as hopeless as any other addicts:  either we get our fix and that’s fine, or we go on the wagon and tell everyone about it in an innocently judgy-slash-superior fashion. 

I blame Vegans for that behavior taking hold in American discourse.

While I think this is another symptom of the problem, I think those that break the cycle and change their behavior bring us closer to the cure.

Enter my early morning reading today.  I read this article about a woman who thought she was confronting a Neo-Nazi in a restaurant I’d challenge a Neo-Nazi could scarcely afford.

She wasn’t.

She just didn’t know what the word Luftwaffe actually meant, which was what our alleged Neo-Nazi’s tee shirt was raping her snowflakey eyes with.  Jumping to conclusions – assuming the worst, if you will – she said something.  

Now, im one for saying something.  Kudos for that.  It’s what happened after that leaves her short in my ledger.

As this was happening, the husband of the owner was doing some Snopes-worthy googling and learned that while this is associated to Hitler’s Air Force, the term literally only means “Air Force”.

Not Jew Bombers.

Not Air Hitler.

Just…Air Force.

End of story.

He goes out to soothe the still unfolding shituation, barely getting a couple of words in before our erstwhile Nazi hunter storms out of the restaurant and takes to social media to decry the unfair treatment of our self-appointed hero, being thrown out of Katchka, and all.

Which was barely partly true.

There was a dude there in a tee shirt with a German word on it.

The rest is dramatic hyperbole.

But maybe this isn’t exactly the psychotic behavior that’s been bugging me so much as it is just telling of our decreasing national character.  Maybe it’s just another symptom of the problem that is eluding my pointing finger.

But then, no.  

I check myself by asking, what if we applied character to all of these situations above?

Parents being responsible and shaping their children into good humans instead of placating them and essentially creating a race of entitlement instead of a generation that understands the cause and effect of earning things for oneself.  Bonus points if they also teach them to think critically for themselves instead of simply following the crowd of consumers.

Adults taking that same critical thinking to analyze their in-the-moment self gratuitous acts and determine what the potential ripple effects could be before acting: swiping left or jumping into bed with a stranger.  

“Will this make me a better person?” – No One on Grindr, Ever.

How about our Katchka Failed Hero?  What if Deavon Snoke has stuck around, I posited this morning at coffee.

The Fox – probably spot on – asserted that she’d have endured furtive glances and whispers of other diners for the rest of her meal,

However, I challenge, what if she’d stay-a culpa-ed and bought our Neo-Not-zi dessert or a shot of Katchka’s much lauded horseradish infused vodka by way of apology?

She’d have demonstrated courage and character.  That’s what.

Alas, the only courage she possessed was publicly shaming what turned out to be an innocent person, then cut and ran to play victim on social media, likely damaging the restaurant in the process of showing up her ego.  In doing so, she showed herself to be more bully than hero, a designation that requires no character.

That’s the new American psycho, in my opinion…that right there.  Fuck everyone, so long as we look good.

Katchka by the way – the restaurant from this morning’s readings means “duck” in Ukrainian.  The restaurant’s owner never wanted to forget the word that saved her grandmother’s life.  In fleeing her home in Belarus as the German Exterminators stormed her hometown, she was stoped by a soldier.  She claimed to be returning home to Ukraine and definitively not a Jew. The soldier was skeptical but challenged her with a random test, what is the Ukrainian word for duck?

Luckily, it happened to be the same word in both languages, katchka…and life and death literally became a matter of a trivial coincidence.

The New American Psycho

An Apple A Day

Keeps the doctor away.

What keeps Apple at bay?

Oh, $2.99/mo will do it?

Still “Not Now”, Apple.

I sprang for the iPhone 7 because I was tired of the storage-slash-memory on my 6s being too full to download apps or take pics when I wanted.  That was ~$500 – which comes out to $27/mo, until I got bored with a $100 monthly phone bill and paid it off last month – and now I gotta cough up another buck or three a month to get you off my back again?  

For – y’know – ever.

Can I just buy a ranch in the Cloud where all of my storage can run free with apps and pictures of my meals and Myrtle?

Hey…even better, can you make it easier for me to delete apps from my Cloud ranch that I really don’t want any more?

Looking at you, Scruff and Grindr.

My virtual world would be a lot less cluttered without you two hoes running around eyeballing the fenceposts on my Cloud ranch.  My actual world would probably be greatly enhanced without you reducing my culture to its basest components.  

Hey, Apple…if I do cough up $2.99/mo forever can you get rid of the asocial media apps?


Oh, right…one begets the other.  Gotcha.

The most frustrating thing is this, no…wait.  I just thought of another:

1) With a billion active Apple products in the world, can you really not afford to give up s little more free space in this vague Cloud thing?  Google gives its customers unlimited photo backup when they buy a Pixel phone.  Are they better than Apple?!?  Don’t tell me you’re hurting for cash and looking for a way to scrape together an extra half bil each month to make ends meet…

2) Is this weekly passive-aggressive sales pitch really just a way of making me break up with you and get with GOOG?  We’ve been together for six years.  We’ve had three phones together…doesn’t that mean anything to you?

I mean, I get that you’re not going to give me more free space in the Cloud or let me delete obsolete apps from it.  But at least let me delete photos from my camera roll after I put them in a file without deleting them from both locations…that just screams redundant space usage in the Cloud.

Oops…sorry about the not so subtle obscenity in the wallpaper on my screen grab.  Here’s the whole pic for you curious types:

At least it wasn’t the actual pic that gave The Wallpaper his name…that is a deliciously inappropriate pic.

An Apple A Day

Meat (sic) the Friendly Skies

I’m not sure if the video I saw last week went viral and was, therefore unavoidable or was just viewed because of my usual type of luck.

Bad, in case you couldn’t guess.  

The video shows a man on a plane, initiating himself into the Mile High Club beneath a blanket.

The Bonely Way To Fly!

The person across the aisle and a row behind observed what he was doing and then decided to film it.  Subtly, first, and then he puts his phone over the seat in front of him and overtly films the guy.  

Stroker Ace can’t help but notice he’s busted, which I assume ruined the mood.

Here’s a question:

Who’s worse:  Stroker Ace or his personal Geraldo Rivera?

Naturally, I have some thoughts.

Stroker Ace looked awkward when he first realized that he was caught, then…perturbed.  It was like the act of being filmed while he charmed his spitting cobra was an invasion of his privacy.

I think he failed to realize that he had surrendered his right to privacy when he opted to remain in his seat versus tossing one off in the airplane lav.


But, at the same time, he should absolutely be offended by the Geraldo’s overt camera work.

Here’s a weary traveler minding everything but his own business, it seems, when what to his wandering eyes would appear, but a fellow traveler pulling his way to relieving the stress of travel.

I’m absolutely not endorsing Stroker Ace’s life choices in this instance.  I’m actually judging both he and Geraldo, because I think that while what Geraldo witnessed was wrong, so was his manner of – ahem – handling the situation. 

Other ways to correct this situation:

Hit the “call” button and subtly point it out to a Sky Mattress, I mean Flight Attendant.

Change seats and offer him a hand.

<Ahem!> to get his attention and let him know he’s busted.

Give him a “Psst!” and invite him into the lav to show him how the Mile High Club and the Friendly Skies really work. 

But the overt filming and subsequent posting of what can only be an extremely embarrassing situation basically amounts to a public shaming.  I don’t see how that’s constructive.  Quite the opposite, really.  Now Geraldo has committed the offense of “two wrongs don’t make a right” and transferred Stroker Ace from perpetrator to victim status.

Where does that leave his mindset?

Seriously, it’s one thing if he ended up being quietly arrested for public indecency once he arrived at his destination.  Probably, that’s a reasonable worst-case-scenario for Stroker.  It’s quite another for him to have to dread the now very real potential that he will have to face up to this with his family, his friends and his co-workers.

This type of public shaming in the face of wrongdoing creates the potential that this man doesn’t have to deal with paying for his crime once, but may actually never get away from it.

So to answer my own question, Geraldo’s exploitation of this situation creates a punishment that does not fit the crime.  Really, he’s manufactured a punishment that may never end…thanks, Internet.  I feel for Stroker’s shituation.  I can imagine his sense of hopelessness at the inescapable punishment that a jerk with an iPhone has levied against him.  

Call it vigilante injustice.

I actually worry that this drives Stroker to suicide.  Hopefully, that’s not the case and he can find help to recover from this embarrassing episode…and also his inappropriate masturbatory habits.

Then again, after all this mental conflict, this video was probably a fake, right?  I mean, who does that?!?

Oh well, I needed the mental distraction.

Meat (sic) the Friendly Skies

Dating Into Oblivion, ep2

Here we are…Bachelor Number 5.


If January was an embarrassment of no-shows, February was mostly a cluster fuck of bad timing.  Ultimately, Bachelor Number 5 had a lot more qualities about him that worked against our compatibility than just bad timing, though.

That bad timing was mostly a product of my being sick for a week, struggling to get fully recovered for another and then dealing with some pretty hostile BS at work for a third week.

The free spaces in the shortest month of the year outside of those three weeklong timeframes didn’t really leave much for me to work with.

Sidebar:  the only man on my early morning MAX to work this morning happens to be a cute, lil twink nerd.  He’s mostly sleeping a couple rows up from me, but just woke up long enough to stick his finger in his nose and then bite his nail.  

I’m screaming inside. 

Ok, so…Bachelor Number 5.

In a moment of questionable optimism – and probable inebriation – I created an OKStupid dating profile.

While it’s not overtly a hook up site/app, it still qualifies as asocial media in my book because of its swipe culture:  left to reject, right to express interest.  These swipes are encouraged based mostly on the picture, you don’t really get a lot of data about the person until you open their profile.  Really, we’re dismissing people based on looks here, aka:  fuckability.  But it’s got an addictive quality to it, this swiping.

Once you actually click on someone’s profile, you can see what they have to say for themselves.  What they like, how they spend their time.  People are encouraged to answer questions ranging anywhere from values to politics to dating to sex in order to help the algorithm determine compatibility with the most important person in the world:  you.

Still sounds fun, but it gets a little tedious.  Questions aren’t filtered based on the basics you provide in your profile, so I get questions like, “I think I would enjoy experimenting sexually with someone who is the same gender”

Definitely me.  ✔️

But in the case of Bachelor Number 5, I could also discover that we are both tops, so that was helpful…if not poorly timed since I swiped first and found this out later.

We had only traded a few messages beyond the initial “Hey, how are ya”.  It wasn’t something he was making a priority, a minimum of a day passing between my messages and his responses.

I tend to read that as a sign, part of my E.O.G. charm as The Silver Fox and Little Buddy have pointed out.  In this experiment, I was keeping that impatience in check.

Over the course of the week we traded messages, he went to visit Shittatle for the weekend.  I tried engaging him about what neighborhood, whether he goes up often, how I lived there for a decade, etc.  He still just gave me…not much to go with.  So, by the time he messaged me back on Tuesday after his trip, I’d learned he was a top and not really looking for friends.  At least not putting any efforts into creating friendship with me.  That partnered with his geographic undesirability – Beaverton, if you can believerton that – it was pretty easy for me to check him off of my list of potential mates.


But, February wasn’t a total bust.  I did finally get a chance to connect with one of my January Bachelors early in the month.

He’s a cute kid.  Twenty seven, now, not really a kid…but he hasn’t really come into his own yet.  I feel his struggle.  But I’m not engaging with it, as is my usual reflex.

So, y’know…coming out of last year without that habit was good for me.  

Remember, this particular bachelor is someone I tried to meet unsuccessfully three years ago.  To his credit, this time around he was dealing with my grumpy old man-ness with jovial alacrity.

Or not really paying attention.

Speaking of geographic undesirability, he lives about 30 minutes away in Vantucky.  With me not driving, that puts a lot on him, effortwise, if we’re gonna see one another.  Which is another solid plus for him since I don’t even have a parking space to offer a guest.

When we finally got together, it was just a shared bottle of wine at my place.  He took about a half a glass to warm up and then it was off to the races.

Talking, you depraved perverts.

Unfortunately, he was kind of just barfing out his life story, not conversing.  But we finished the bottle and I learned some stuff about him.  I didn’t get a lot of talking in, so he probably only learned that I could listen and decided I was cute…which is always nice to hear.

We decided to do it again the following week, so naturally, I had to get the plague that was going around.


We texted throughout the week and he was gracious about my frailty, but over the next ten days or so…pffft.

His responses started getting further spaced.  And shorter.  There’s not much I can do with “Hey” greetings or “Yea” responses.  So…I don’t.

Maybe we’re just meant to be acquaintances.  Which is fine…but he is just so darned tasty looking – a feast for these old, lascivious eyes, if you will – that it is a little disappointing.  But ultimately, I want to nourish more than my libido.

Alas, poor Whorick.

Dating Into Oblivion, ep2

Dating Into Oblivion, ep1

Well, this little endeavor is off to a great start.  I hope you all enjoy this as much as I am so far.

To recap: my goal is to throw $20 at a date once a month and see what happens.

What could possibly go wrong?

It’s like I threw a party and no one came.

Don’t read too much into that last word.

And here’s the deal, I could see throwing a party and maybe no one shows up.


But today was the 4th time it’s happened.  Technically, the 3rd and 4th time.  That’s how quickly my faith collapsed inward, I scheduled two dates in one afternoon.

But it wasn’t always so grim.

It started off much worse.

My first attempt crept on me.  I went into a bar after seeing a movie one afternoon early this month.  

The bartender hit on me.

Flattering.  It wasn’t the first time, either, and it was appreciated.  But I didn’t dwell on the prior instance and just enjoyed the moment.  He went to the bother of finding me on the Facebook Messenger later that night…we aren’t friends on the Facebook, so I decided to be impressed by the minimal effort that required.

I really do have the bar set low.  Like, ground level.  It’s left me quite dumbstruck how hard guys make clearing a low bar look.

So, me and the bartender are talking about meeting up and I mention how interested I’d been in dating him since the first time I met him.

He goes silent-er.  Instead of multiple daily messages, it’s a response every other day and he’s steered clear of actually committing to a date/time.  Reading between the lines, I dial it back and say that if he’s looking for casual, it’s not really my thing but I’d give it a second thought with him.

Then it hits me.

“Oh my GOD.  You’re still MARRIED, aren’t you?!?”

The first time I met him, I’d been sitting at the bar at Hobo’s talking to Everybody’s Uncle Dave.  His group walks in and he tracks me as he walks by and bee lines it for the bathroom.  As is my usual lot in life, his friends pick the barstools immediately next to mine on this 40 foot long bar.

When he comes out of the can, instead of sitting on the other side of his friends, he hops into my lap.

He’s significantly attractive, so I cannot care.  He gives me his number quick and says we should get together.  

As I’m listening, it becomes obvious that this is his Stag Party and he’s getting friggin’ married.

Picture me standing up, him sliding onto his adorable butt on the ground and me leaving, because I think that’s what actually happened.

So, the second time around was about as elegant…he never replied.

Shake it off, Galby.

The second attempt moved from real life to something less analog, but still kinda quaint in the age of apps.  I’ve kept one asocial media website profile active for the last forever.

I was on said site and sent off a few smiles.  I keep it light, usually.  Im an older guy hitting on younger guys, if they don’t want to engage, I take the hint.

A nice looking guy bothered to strike up a conversation.  His profile had several private pics, which he kept locked.  I appreciated this, since if it’s meant to be something I see, it’ll be in person.  So many of these gay-tards (Chrisism) think they have no value past their sexual use that I usually know what someone’s junk looks like before I know their name…if I ever even get to know their name.

We talked for about ten days, discussing getting together and setting a date to meet.

This being my life, he cancelled because he got a job interview.  Priorities.  I get it.

Suddenly, his pics are unlocked.

I explain that I don’t want nor do I expect to see them and why.  Then he says he feels bad…but doesn’t lock them.

Several days go by.

I don’t visit the site often, but get an email every day that I have mail waiting.

Finally, I log in to make sure I didn’t miss something.

No mail.

And his pics are still open.  Since it looks like he’s never going to talk to me again – so dramatic – I take a look to see if his 28 year old physique matches his cute mug.


It’s like the very reason I don’t have boudoir pics.  On a guy that has about 40% less reason to excuse said reason.

Why?!?  No, not “why?”  I think I’m actually jealous that this guy is so comfortable in his skin to have these pics.

My mind is fairly boggled.

But, I do never hear from him again.

Attempts three and four happened concurrently.  It wasn’t anything impressive or typically Portland, like a couple trying to date me.  These two opportunities simply presented about the same time.

Me, being old and prone to confusion, asked them both out on the same day, today…which happens to be my Saturday.

Attempt three is someone who responded to a personal ad I placed.  Talk about old school.  He replied, included a face pic and a couple unsolicited and unexpected but not unwelcome – see above – body pics.  It’s ok, technically, since his name was in his email address.

He seemed nice and charming and genuine.  We set up a date to meet – today – which happens to be both our day off.  His only day off since he works full time and is a student.

Shut up, he’s 38.

My red flags are two:

He works nights, I work days.  We might only have one day per week to get to know each other.  

My second hesitation was that he’s from Mexico.

Hey, it can be a turn on and red flag at the same time!

My concern is that with English being his second language and so much of my persona being…snarkiness, a lot can get lost in translation,

I was impressed that he followed up to confirm this morning at 8:30.  I had an acupuncture appointment at 8:15, but replied at 9:30 when I got out.  

“Just give me a when and a where and I’m there”, I say.

At one o’clock, I’m still waiting.

I go scrolling through the Craigslist, killing time.  Also, maybe I need to be looking for February’s no-show.

I mean, date.

I click on an af that sounds up my alley.

There’s a few pics I recognize.

“Looking for today”…posted seven hours ago.

I’m having trouble getting my mind around someone who places this ad, emails me to confirm our date an hour later and then goes silent on me.

Obviously, he’s getting laid.

Only possible conclusion, right?  Setting aside my conviction that if he’s got…well, nevermind.  The point is, I call him on it.

He responds within minutes.

Full stop.  I’ve waited about four hours for you to give me a when and a where and when I tell you, “I get it, it’s your only day off for the week.  Take care of business” you suddenly have all the time in the world to respond?

Unfortunately, he chose to respond with, “You know how flakey gay guys are.  But I really want to see you!”

Yes, I do know how flakey gay guys are.  And I am not able to reconcile how four hours goes by without you picking a fucking time and coffee house while seven minutes elapsed between my j’accuse moment to his sudden reply.

Which brings us to my 4th attempt. 

This is a cute kid that I didn’t meet a couple of years ago when I moved back to town. 

I don’t drive + he lives in Vantucky = we never met.

But, we were already connected on the Facebook and when I joined the instagram last year, he was a suggested follow.  So, now there’s that.

Which is where I got into trouble.

But before that, last year, he got into a wreck that left him laid up for quite a while.  Long enough that he lost his entry level job at a quick serve restaurant and I’d been following his job search via status updates for a while.

I’m always – literally, if you know someone looking in Portland, OR let me know – hiring, so since we didn’t date I felt absolutely no awkwardness about extending an opportunity his way.





Oh, well.

I thought about following up, but do I really want an employee I had to chase down to apply working for me?


No, I don’t.

Some of the ones that voluntarily applied are enough of a probl…challenge.

So, I let it lie.

Then last week, we got into a DM on the Instagram that ended in him giving me his number.

We move to text and go at it like teenagers for a few days.  I can tell he’s no conversationalist, but get the vibe that he wants me to ask him out.

I do.

Thursday evening, about 6 or 7?


I check in last night with a text, a 24 hour confirmation and hear nothing.

That was 22 hours ago and I don’t know if my thoughts are along the “Fucking millennials” or “Fucking fags” line.

Still…fucking something.

I do know that after a couple of years of not knowing him in real life, I feel as if I know what he wants or needs better than hizownself does.

He’s a Lost Boy.  That doesn’t make him a bad person, just lost.  Nothing more, nothing less.  But with potential in both directions, depending on whether he pulls his head out of his ass sooner, later or never.

I can say that my prior inclination to “raise” – for lack of a better word – a younger gay into a man is…not gone, but certainly sublimated.  I think it’s the job of a partner to help their SO become a better and better version of themselves.  I’m just aware that not every cute guy I come across with his act lying in shambles around his ankles isn’t automatically a perfect fit for me.

That’s a good realization.

There you have it. Episode 1 of Dating Into Oblivion.  Meanwhile, I’ve saved $80.  I’ve also enjoyed two and a half beers at Big Legrowlski while tapping this out.

And flirted with a probably straight guy over sci-if books.  So there’s that.

In theory, I’m quite an attractive option.

In reality…50 (minus 80-ish hours) and single, people.

Dating Into Oblivion, ep1

2018 Writing Self Challenge

I’m not one for New Year’s resolutions.

I mean, right?

But I was aware of the fact as I wrote Fitfy 49:49 that my 2017 theme was quickly winding down.  I’ll probably only post once more in that theme.

So, what now?

I thought about resurrecting The Yes Game from 2016.  It was a little underutilized in its time, but I worried slightly that it would open a Pandora’s Box of fuckery for me.  I have enough readers that know me personally that I could see people basically daring me to do things and invoking TYG if I blinked.

Like I need my friends throwing me foolishness like this to try to manipulate me.

Hashtag: try it

So, I’m leaning toward something fresh.

What are your thoughts on a theme that extrapolates on my $20 first date rule?  

Maybe I could commit to 12 entries over the year…I bet I could trick a dozen people into keeping their clothes on the first time we meet.  On the one hand, it kind of skews toward relationship failure in 2018, presuming I won’t have a lot of second or third dates this year.   

But on the other hand, you know I was going to write about them anyway, so it’s kind of a gimme.

Twenty-eighteen started with an ingrown toenail and what I’m imagining must be a hemorrhoid, why not embrace the pain and write about my datesasters?  I’ve kicked around a couple of theme names:

Dating Into Oblivion, which is a subtle play off “fading into oblivion”.  I think dating in what I’m going to consider a second run through my 40s – call it a reboot – could easily be seen to have a lovely view of an apocalypse.

Fruitless was my other thought on the theme.  Because: Gay + Old + Single = Fruitless

The last reason I’m liking this idea is because after taking a pass at NaNoWriMo last year, having 10-plus 2000 word essays on first dates sets me well upon my way toward that 50000 word NaNoWriMo goal.  I’m thinking 30000 words would leave just enough room to provide any potentially necessary debriefing about those elusive second dates.  Most likely debriefings in their own right, right?

Who’s got a thought on this?  



2018 Writing Self Challenge

Hippocratic Oafs

I did a little…entertaining at home a few weeks ago, colloquially speaking.  I go downstairs to let my company in and I was kinda caught off guard by my reaction to meeting him in person.

I asked him for ID.

I swear to Cher, this kid looked old enough to know how to do it but in person, too young to do it to.

Whatever filters he was using in his photos really made him look older in pics than he looks in real life.  I have a similar feature on my bathroom mirror.  

I carded him because…well, the law, right?  But also because while I find younger guys physically appealing, I don’t want someone I have to break in.  That’s no fun…ok, it’s still fun, just different since I feel a sense of responsibility if someone entrusts that part of their sexual life experience to me.

<changes dating profile screen names to Mr Robinson>

Kidding.  I deleted my asocial media app profiles.

This guy whips out his passport like this happens all the time.  His passport.  I’m not sure this guy will merit any more of a mention in the blog than this preamble, but he keeps texting me, so who knows.

Ladies and gentlemen, The Brazilian.

PS: He was old enough.  Fucker has awkwardly good genes, though.

Oooooh, sidebar, because that reminds me of a joke about our formerly dumbest president:

During the post-9/11 Gulf War, George Bush was getting his daily briefing in the Oval.  One of his aides mentions that three Brazilian troops had been killed the prior day.  As the aide continues on, W sinks slowly into his chair, prompting the aide to ask if everything is alright.  The president looks up in shock and says, “How many is a brazillion?”

Now, on to the point.

Also a few weeks ago – after The Brazilian, not before! – I was reading the news in bed and came across the HLN news story about the Oklahoma congressman and the 17 year old he’d picked up on Craigslist.  I’d never heard of HLN News, and was appropriately skeptical of the article’s veracity…but I read it.

The married Oklahoma congressman.

The anti-LGBT voting congressman.

The family values touting, bible verse spouting Oklahoma congressman.

And, lastly, the 17 year old male he’d met on Craigslist, I think it’s worth pointing out.

They were smoking weed in an interstate no tell motel before or after whatever else they planned to get up to.

Only thing?  Someone told.

I think it was the kid’s parents that sent the cops to the motel.  And this congressman – this bloated, hypocrite of an upstanding American – answers the door wearing an Ephesians tee shirt with a picture of a sandwich on it.

Standby, I’ll see if I can find a pic.

Ok, feast your eyes on this bullshit:

Lousy jag.

Oh, also, self-hating closeted fag.

He’s in trouble – and should be – but should he be expected to police his CL hookups?

Who knows?  

Should any of us?

I don’t usually scrutinize those I screw too closely…it’s supposed to be fun, but I’ve passed on some…opportunities?  Sure, opportunities that have fallen into my lap and then expressed a desire to remain there.  Younger people are fun.  Still have metabolisms that haven’t betrayed them, body parts that are taut versus not, energy and optimism that can be refreshing.

But they can also be super idiots.

That’s not an appealing trait to me, so it’s fairly easy for me to walk away from just a pretty face.  Call it my “safety” mechanism.

Maybe I have uncommon sense.

He says he didn’t know the guy’s age, but I dunno…seems pretty easy to me to avoid schtupping a 17 year old.

Unless you’re a congressman or judge, it seems.

But here’s the deal, this guy, and in the wake of the #MeToo movement it seems many of his ilk are predisposed to disregard these common sense rules or demonstrate acts of even a sense of common decency.  These are the people forming and shaping our country’s moral fiber.

And they turn out to just be selfish yes men to the special interest backer with the deepest pockets.

And you know what these people and their supporters – even those Americans that are only tacitly so in their silence – produce?

More selfish Americans.

So, while I totally hold this congressman responsible for what he was doing – is it unreasonable to assume that having broken one law, since I don’t think weed is OK in OK, that he would have no qualms about having sex with someone who is underage? – I also hold the kid and his parents accountable.

Just like that little jerk that started the Eagle Crest Fire here in Oregon last summer.

Kids know what they are doing.  I suspect they know right from wrong, too.  The thing is, there doesn’t seem to be a lot of examples of consequences or critical thinking in the lives of these young people to demonstrate an example for them.

There does seem to be plenty examples of selfish Me First behaviors available in our country.

Right now, thanks again to the #MeToo movement, there are examples of people being held accountable in the court of public or popular opinion but not a court of law.

That’s an example, sure…but it’s a little beyond the grasp of our young to hear a story like Kevin Spacey break and then process that.  

Where’s the context they can relate to?

See this world famous person being called to answer for his offenses.

Now, see him disappear from public view forever.

Can our children really understand the concept of having unimaginable wealth?  Just check my adjective for my opinion.  If they can’t imagine having it, how can the concept of losing it be a deterrent?  

Grounding.  Kids understand that restriction of freedom.  Kid Jail, they can extrapolate that and intellectualize prison as a form of punishment.

Unfortunately, as we turn out these Me First little people and let them run unchecked and amok in the world…some are going to find a dangerous path of least resistance and find themselves in figurative or literal interstate no tell motels.  

This kid was lucky…he just ended up in a motel room for a little kissy, sucky, fucky.  That may or may not scar him emotionally. More likely, any trauma he experiences will likely be a factor of his friends figuring out he was the 17 year old.  But that’s still not as bad as if this kid had met the next Dahmer in that motel room.

Real life story.  Shortly after moving back to Portland, I met a guy in a bar.  Ha, suck it, dating apps!  We came back to my place and had some fun.  Went on a couple of DNGN (does nothing, goes nowhere, for you non-Star Trek TNG geeks out there) dates afterward but he was a busy college student and didn’t have the type of time in his life to invest in dating that I want.

Hashtag: meal ticket.

Anyway, on one of our dates, he was talking or oversharing or whatever you want to call it.  He babbled our this story about the time a guy had hit him up on Grindr and offered him $600 to come to his hotel and have sex.  He said that he had needed a new laptop, so he did it.  

In reality, I know he was going on with the usual indictments of asocial media – the guy was married with a family and one of those jags that think the act of getting on an airplane either entitled them to sex or absolves them of any commitments they have at home.

In my mind, I entertained two thoughts:

A) I’d had that ass and it wasn’t worth $600,  I’ve had a lot, honestly, and can’t say any ass is worth more that the cost of dinner and a movie.

B) What the hell kind of laptop are you buying for $600?!?  Not an Apple, that’s a problem.

Oh, and I just thought of a third thought I experienced at the time,

C)  Who thinks this is a good story to tell on a date?  Sometimes I think people are intentionally trying to alienate me…but he did go to the same college as Monica Lewinski.

Boom!  I went full-circle political sex scandal.

Hippocratic Oafs