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Stories from a man who fails to meet media expectations of what it means to be gay:
white, frivolous, over sexed yet sexless, shrill, single, stylish, a clown, unimportant, et al.
Lunes 03/15/2004
A couple dozen or so adjectives to say sexy
I did the physical attraction test thing over at match.com that seems to making the blog rounds these days. John joked that I was out to find a replacement, but I told him he was irreplaceable, and that I was actually trying to find out what kind of man I was attracted to so that I wouldn�t waste my time looking at the wrong men from now on.
Given my results, my perfect fantasy lust figure would apparently be a white man in his forties; roughly my height; handsome and dignified; who was a football player and/or wrestler back in the day, but has now gone to seed a bit, and has gained some weight; who has short, thick, wavy, brown hair, but somehow also manages to be bald at the same time; wears glasses which hide his blue eyes, but which adds to his smart/intelligent look; has a hairy chest, but no back hair; has a large roman nose, but not too large; has lips that are full, but not too full, which help accentuate his shy smile; is clean shaven, yet not; and who also manages to simultaneously have a square yet diamond shaped head, and a square yet pointed chin.
Accurate enough I guess. Ignoring the inconsistencies, which apparently aren�t really inconsistencies, but an indication that I have a fairly short range of things I find attractive, the test seems to have hit some things right on the proverbial nose. As I�ve indicated here on more than one occasion, things like receding hairlines, �big boned� men, and chest hair are all very good things in my opinion.
Although it did surprise me to learn that I am choosy and have clear-cut preferences when it comes to things like eye and hair color, assuming there is hair in the first place. It also seemed odd that I want a man who is my height, since nearly everyone I have ever been with has been taller than me.
Most surprising though was the knowledge that I am not very attracted to other Latino men. Considering my past history, and who I tend to look at it real life, that part was more than a little bit off, but then again, the entire race thing was somewhat odd.
To determine what ethnicity's you are attracted to, there were sections where you have to choose between a series of Asian men and white men, African-American men and white men, and Latino men and white men. It seems the premise is that white men are the norm, something I�ll just ignore, since it feels as if every time I bring up race here, I end up getting hate mail. Um, anyway, so I don�t like Latino men. I�ll have to remember to tell myself to stop the next time I end up staring lustfully at some random hot Papi. After all, who am I to argue with science?
The proclamation that I hate back hair was also odd, since I don�t recall anything in the test to actively determine my opinion on when and where hair growth goes wrong. There were no photos of hairy and nonhairy backs to choose from, so how did it come to that conclusion? The truth is I don�t have that much of an opinion on back hair. It�s one of those things that depend on the individual. On some men hair on their shoulders and back is gross, while on others, it�s very hot. I�ll just chock my apparent automatic hatred of back hair as another mystery of science.
Anyway, enough with the flesh and on to other things; it seems that with each entry I�ve posted for the past month or so, I�ve neglected to write about seeing Latter Days and War Music, a fluffy gay flick and an �important� play.
When John and I left the cineplex after seeing Latter Days, the couple walking out the door in front us started laughing and called it a hokey pokey movie. I guess it was.
The story was fairly straightforward and simple enough, A Mormon missionary goes to Los Angeles, falls for another man, angst happens, stuff happens, a relatively steamy sex scene happens, more angst happens, and love prevails in the end. Despite the controversy surrounding the flick when it was first released because of the gay Mormon thing, there really isn�t that much controversial material. Even with some mild criticisms of both the Mormon faith and the shallow gay scene/community, the movie comes off as being sweet natured and soft.
There was nothing spectacular about the acting or the story, and nothing particularly bad about it either, although the timing did confuse me. Unless I�m totally wrong, quite a lot of things, from suicide attempts/hospitalizations/institutionalizations/release from said institutions to writing song/producing video for song/mass airing video of said song all improbably takes place in less than three weeks, roughly from Halloween to Thanksgiving, which is really fast if not outright impossible. Even with the weird passage of time and events and a potentially dark subject (rejection/religion/loss of love/loss of life), the movie still comes off as being sweet natured.
The more I think about it, hokey pokey really is a good description for the flick.
Hokey is not an accurate description for War Music, which had been playing at the Geffen. We had to change our tickets for it for some reason (oh yeah, I was in Vegas), so John and I saw one of the last performances of the play instead of a preview as we normally do. I went in knowing that it consisted of three one act plays that had something to do with music from the two World Wars, and that some people (friends of friends) thought it was boring. I was expecting the Andrew Sisters and fluff, instead I got �difficult� classical music, and three �difficult� stories told so seriously that it was occasionally mighty um, �difficult� to not laugh inappropriately.
There were three one act plays, and three relatively famous European composers who figured into those three act plays, one to dis war, one to die, and one to survive, and presumably bring on that triumph of the human spirit over adversity thing the sign in front of the theater was promising. By the end though, everything was relating to each other, so calling each act a separate play was probably overstating the issue.
It was the kind of play where characters have names like �Our lady of the Seven Sorrows� and events take place in concentration camps and �the forest of lost things.� It was the kind of play where an amputated arm from the first act makes a brief and uncredited appearance in the third act, rising up from the stage floor to play music on the remains of a shattered piano.
The play was good, yet at the same time, took itself so seriously, that I had problems staying involved and not pulling out of the story. Trying not to laugh at the sight of disembodied limbs, which should be simultaneously terrifying and fill you with a sense of sadness and loss, but are instead goofy and silly, takes a lot of effort and is very distracting.
I had less luck with not laughing at overly obvious aspects of the story. There is a scene where an anguished American soldier, who had accidentally killed a civilian (one of the three composers) with three shots of his pistol, drinks three shots of whisky. With each shot, he swings his head back and a gun fires off stage, and you could just feel someone hitting you on your head yelling out �DID YOU GET IT? DID YOU GET IT? THREE SHOTS! THREE SHOTS!!!�
By the third shot, I couldn�t help but giggle a bit, but at least I managed to stay reasonably quiet and not be too rude. Other folks didn�t bother trying to be polite. Audience members left during intermission, which if you�re not enjoying something, is understandable, but to leave in the middle of an act? By the time it ended, I was getting tired of having to look around people shuffling out of their seats and leaving the theater, in order to see the stage.
Despite all this, I did like the thing�sort of, and it was good�sort of, I guess, maybe.
More later,
nico
oyendo: Sexy MF Prince
want: a violet crumble bar
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