MasculineCurves

the crazy blogger

So there is a blogger whom I've been following for some time now. What's intriguing about his blog is that it is so full of ridiculous shit this person takes seriously that it's worth tuning in for just the entertainment factor alone. I won't say who it is, because that kind of thing can get one black-listed from the blogosphere. I just don't know how it is even possible for a grown 40-something man to be so full of delusions of grandeur that it appears as though a royal nutcase is writing his blog. But you ain't one to hear it from me.

P.S. Oh, and don't anyone take this post personally. I have no clue as to whether this blogger is aware of me, my blog, or my existence. I've never had an exchange with him. I just observe the craziness from a distance. And I'm happy to keep my distance.

The Miseducation of Morehouse College

The recent controversy over Morehouse College’s dress code policy, as exposed in Vibe Magazine, is perhaps a gleaming example of why I’m glad I didn’t attend an HBCU. The Vibe article suggests that Morehouse takes a discriminatory approach to enforcing its stringent dress code among its all-male student population. The dress code prohibits sagging pants, du rags, hats, and was updated in 2009 to include elements of cross dressing. However, a particular clique comprised of LGBTQ individuals known as the “Plastics” feel that they are being singled out by being forced to adhere to the policy. Their claim is that the faculty tend to look the other way when hetero-identified males show up for class with jeans hanging off their buttocks, but the Plastics get kicked out for carrying manbags and strutting Blahniks. Now, I have never stepped foot on the Morehouse campus, so I do not know first hand if this discriminatory practice truly exists. It would be acceptable if the dress code was enforced equally to the entire student body. However, I tend to believe what is being implied by the Vibe article because, as an HBCU, Morehouse has a vested interest in protecting the traditional hyper-masculine image of the black male. Here’s why: It all boils down to color. No, not black or white, but green. As an all male school, Morehouse would have a public relations nightmare on its hands when affluent African-American families visit and witness a bunch of cross-dressing queens parading across campus. These families have high expectations that their tuition dollars will go to turning their boys into men. Baggy jeans and sports caps don’t necessarily jeopardize that vision. However, a festival of lip gloss wearing pretty bois will be met with a resounding “Awhh, hell-to-the-no. No son of mine is going to school here” from black daddy Warbucks.  

It’s no secret that our culture is extremely homophobic. I recently heard NBJC Executive Director Sharon Lettman-Hicks make a statement on NPR to the effect of “The black community invented don’t ask, don’t tell.” Her point is we’re okay with gay people as long as we don’t tolerate them, talk about them, or acknowledge their existence. And when it comes to talking about teaching our “boys to be men” the phrase itself has become a laughable cliche in the black community. It’s become code for “No son of mine is going to grow up to be a sissy.” Translate: “Boy, you better get yo ass to church and get God to wash the sugar out of you veins.” Translate: “It takes a village to turn its back on our LGBT youth.” I digress...  

Morehouse is a school with a reputation for taking boys and turning them into men. But what does that mean exactly? It seems to undermine any concept of individual growth through originality or open-mindedness. And if an institution of higher education does not permit for minds to expand then just what are they teaching anyways? Sounds like a big waste of tuition dollars to me. And you can file that under “Yep, I said it!

 

Can't you see this is a land of confusion (among hypocrites and morons)?

I know it must seem as though I'm being oh so quiet about this crazy gay world in which we live. There's so much going on right now that I don't even know where to begin. I guess Tim sums it up over at his spot by quoting one of my favorite Genesis songs.

There's too many men. There's too many people making too many problems. And not much love to go 'round. Can't you see this is a land of confusion.

First, we've got this dipsh^t of a pastor leading an Atlanta mega-church and I can't even begin to formulate my thoughts on this (but I'm working on it). Have you ever wondered about the house that hypocrisy built? Well here it is:

Then we've got an a$&wipe of an assistant state attorney general in Michigan, Andrew Shirvell. How does someone like this even get to be a public official?

So let's talk about hypocrisy for a moment. Not only is Andrew Shirvell appear to be a little b!atch, it's also quite evident that upon opening his mouth (around the 3:00 mark) that he's a f*gg*t too. And you can file that under "yep, I said it!" 

What is the role of race when it comes to physical attraction?

I often wonder what role race plays in attraction, or, more specifically gay attraction. These days one need not go further than his nearest laptop, iPad, or smart phone to make some reasonable assumptions on the topic. We're up front about plastering our preferences all over our gay social networking/dating/cruising profiles. 

"Sorry no blacks"

"Please be white and in good shape"

"White guys need not apply"

"only into latinos"

"No asians please, nothing personal"

It's nothing personal, really? Would you say this to a guy at the bar? Uhm... well we are talking about a bunch of flighty queens here, so it's possible. As much as I'd like to say I'm an equal opportunity dater. I'm not. In my world, swarthy skin tones may advance directly to the front of the line. Now, before you get any preconceived notions about me, we'll come back to that statement in a moment.

I remember one time a few years ago I was having lunch with my friend Rob. Our waiter was this cute 20-something white kid with a swishy, but very desirable rear view. Now let me describe Rob. He's a masculine, muscle-bound, chocolate-skinned brother. On that particular day he was wearing a wife-beater and spray-on jeans. You get the picture, right?

So Rob and waiter boy were acting quite smitten with each other throughout the course of our meal. When waiter boy brought our check Rob piped up and asked him, "So, [waiter boy], do you date black guys?"

Waiter boy paused for a moment, being careful not to let the truth slip from his lips. "Uhhmm... uhhmm.... I have before... I mean.... Yes." His eyes were too glued to Rob's rock solid chest for him to even concentrate on giving a coherent response.

I laughed as my mind flashed to a line in Margaret Cho's stand up routine. "I'll eat pussy. It's just not my first choice." What waiter boy was really saying was "I'll slurp chocolate. It's just that my palette is more accustomed to vanilla."

So to make a long story short. Rob left his number on the receipt and I'm almost pretty certain he tapped waiter boy's delectable booty later that very evening (Rob isn't Mr. Right, he's Mr. Right Now). 

So back to the role of race in attraction. Yes, I have a preference for men of color. And when I say men of color I'm not just limiting that to black men. Visually speaking, I get dreamy-eyed whenever I see mocha, caramel, yellow, gold, or godiva flavored skin tones. It's true, I have slept with more black and latino men than my fair-skinned comrades. Keeping with my swarthy theme I've even bedded an Indian and once attempted an Asian. Got shot down by the Asian, but if at first you don't succeed dust yourself off and try again. Okay, so don't get excited, the hash mark count on my bed post isn't as high as this blog post might lead you to believe. But low and behold, you might be surprised to know that a couple of those hash marks can be attributed to men of the non-color persuasion. I once even went mad crazy over this blond-haired, blue-eyed dude named Steve. He looked exactly like a Ken doll, and if you know me then you know that is the 180 degree opposite of my description of the ideal guy. 

All this only goes to prove that while we may have our preferences, and yes, skin tone is a physical feature that can be described as a preference, attraction is fluid. Think about it. When was the last time you found yourself flirting with a guy that you wouldn't typically describe as your type? It was probably yesterday, right? Perhaps his beard goes against your no facial hair policy. Or maybe he's a little pudgier than the guy you imagine spending the rest of your life with. Regardless, there's something about him that you're undeniably drawn to. It's called attraction. Even as I'm writing this I'm sitting in a coffee shop where the milky-skinned barista with soft pink lips is one of the reasons I patronize this establishment on a daily basis.

Okay, so back to our original issue here. Is it offensive when you log into your boys-r-us networking site of choice and find yourself in a digital sea of hot guys who clearly indicate that they aren't interested in you because of the color of your skin?  Hhhmm.... yes, and no. It's offensive because these "No [insert race here] please, nothing personal" statements are reminiscent of the "No blacks allowed" signs you might see on a tin box diner pre-civil rights era. I don't believe these guys are truly racist (some might be, but for the most part probably not). They're just tacky. And you can file that under "Yep, I said it!"

Note: this rant inspired by the following articles:

Black Pride and Prejudice by Kevin Maxwell

Everyone Loves a Racist Boy - Online by Oscar Raymundo

 

Eternity for twinks

Oh, to be a rich old white man! It’s been rumored that Calvin Klein’s new boy toy (via here and here) is none other than porn star Zeke of the Sean Cody lineup. I have to admit the resemblance is undeniable (as in don’t try to deny it). Though it does look as though papa Calvin has bought him a new set of teeth and perhaps a rhinoplasty too. I bet he thinks “Eternity” is the length of time between faking an orgasm and when daddy hands over the Amex Black. Clearly he’s buy-sexual. And you can file that under “yep, I said it!”

Craigslist, no more happy endings...

It looks as though Craigslist has finally caved to a group of 17 state attorney generals who rallied a petition for it to cease “adult services” ads. The petitioners hit low by accusing Craigslist of enabling child trafficking through the adult services section. Obviously I’m not for child trafficking nor prostitute murderers (let’s not forget the Craigslist killer). But come on people. Go after these sickos, not consenting adults who want to exchange “massages” with other consenting adults for $90. When are politicians going to get out of our bedrooms? And you can file that under “yep, I said it.”

I'm still trying to wrap my head around this...

 

I'm still trying to wrap my head around the story of Defarra Gaymon, the Atlanta Credit Union CEO who was shot dead by an undercover sherriff's officer he solicited in a Newark park. At least the officer has finally been named (via The Star Ledger)

This story also surfaces an ethics issue in journalism. Here you have a high-powered executive, a married father of four, caught in a compromising situation.  Defarra Gaymon's name has been all over the web these past couple weeks. Clearly this is an embarrassing and very personal issue for his family, but a bonafide news story of interest to the public. On one hand you've got a family in mourning and perhaps in shock that their husband and father lead a double life. On the other hand this story heeds a warning about the dangers associated with cruising for gay sex in public places; particularly when you've got an overzealous Barney Fife conducting a homophobic sting operation. And you can file that under "Yep, I said it!"

Won't you take me to Funky Town!

Picture this. The year was 1995 and it was the summer between my freshman and sophomore year of college. I was ecstatic to snatch up an internship in the media relations department of the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame and Museum. Now, you have to keep in mind that the museum was soon to open that Labor Day Weekend and this was an exciting time to be there. It was the biggest thing to happen in Cleveland since... well, since the river caught fire. Yes, it was the kind of gig “a million boys would die for.” I got to rub shoulders with some pretty recognizable faces in the industry. Okay, so I didn’t actually rub their shoulders, but I was star struck getting to be in the presence of so many celebrities. Many of them came to town to take private tours of the museum in the weeks before it opened. Let’s see, there was Yoko Ono, Paula Abdul, Ahmet Ertegun, Little Richard, Natalie Merchant, and that ‘has been’ band that sang the theme song from Friends... just to name a few.

Among my duties of fetching coffee, taking lunch orders, and making copies was to pre-screen media that were requesting access the grand opening ceremonies. One day I got a call from a guy who claimed to have written the song Funky Town. He explained to me that the song was featured in the museum’s “One Hit Wonder” exhibit. Of course, I knew that, duh... I uuhhh worked there... He went on to tell me that he was working on a documentary about the industry and would like to bring a film crew to the ceremonies with him. I took his information down and let him know we’d be getting back to him with an answer soon. Before we hung up I congratulated him for making it into the museum. He kinda chuckled and said thanks. It wasn’t until I placed the phone on the receiver that I realized my blunder. I had just congratulated a songwriter/producer for making it to the honorable status of writing a song that people have long forgotten. And you can file that under “Yep, I said it!”

Has internet killed the porn star?

Via Boyculture, I wasn't a bit surprised to read about another traditional gay porn company biting the dust due to failure to move into the internet VOD market. Not that I was a fan of Colt Studio's productions, as I am more of an "amateur genre" type of guy. Anyways, here's the comment I made on Matthew's post. And you can file this under "yep, I said it!"

"Sure, internet killed the (traditional) porn star. But shame on these companies for not keeping up with the trend. That's just bad business. I think one of the lessons here is to "Pay-for-Porn." There are a lot of websites and blogs out there where you can watch for free, or at least get enough of a promo clip to "get yours" (oh, come on, don't pretend 4 minute won'd do). But if there's a studio doing something you really like then subscribe for at least a month or two. Help keep them turning a revenue so they can continue to produce the work that, uhm, well, gets you off...eep them turning a revenue so they can continue to produce the work that, uhm, well, gets you off..."

This post made possible by: