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.

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One:
Feeling the need to escape the crushing masses, I left the convection hall and sat outside for a while. It was a nice day,comfortably warm without being too hot and with a pleasantbreeze coming off the water. If I closed my eyes it would almost have been enough to escape the con, although not quitesince the air was filled with the yells and clanging of men battling each other with swords and axes.

There was a demonstration of fighting techniques being put on by some renaissance fair type folks, interesting in a renaissance he-man grunty sweaty sort of way. The group was split into two roughly along gender lines, with most of the men standing around waiting for the chance to smack each other with wooden instruments of war, and most of the women a few dozen yards away sitting in the shade listening to some renaissancy type music of reeds and harps. Two small girls were dancing to the music, spinning and hopping around. The older of the girls (4?) was also including some odd arm swings which was when I realized that she wasn't dancing so much as mock sword fighting.

I foresee some arguments in the future in that child's renaissance family. The teenage girl glaring at her renaissance parents yelling that she did not want to be a wench or god forbid a demure lady in waiting and demanding that she get to be a knight.

Two:
Walking aimlessly through the vendor aisles, I saw three klingon women chatting amiably. One gestured to a button another was wearing and she puffed her chest out proudly so they could all read it leading them all to burst out laughing. Curious what the joke was, I glanced at her as I walked by and well, the button didn't appear to be in English, which led me conclude that I was better off not knowing.

Three:
I bought the first volume of Antique Bakery at the Digital Manga Booth. While handing over my money, three rather large African-American men stopped by and one picked up a Yaoi paddle. The woman helping me looked at him and said that maybe that wasn't something he really wanted to buy.

One of the guys asked what yaoi meant, which flustered the woman for a moment, but the guy holding the paddle (rather expertly I might add (former frat?)), said that it was OK, he knew what it meant and he would explain later, sparring her from trying to explain the details of women who love nothing more than stories of pretty boys in love.

Four:
In a small coffee house one morning, chatting with K and eating a scone for breakfast, four young 20-something aged men sat at the table next to us. One was tallish, dark haired and sported a goatee, while the other three were dressed alike in the same style of t-shirt, shorts, and shoes. The only individuality was that the t-shirts were colored slightly different shades of tan. Other than the color differentiation, they were near identical white, bleach blond, twink, gay bois. At least I assumed they were gay. Aside from the pretty boi look they were sporting there was also the matter of their conversation. It roamed from wearing glittery jock-straps, to how they needed to get a friend of their high so he would finally loosen up and have fun, to how great it was that they could still pass for under 18.

Once they started in on that I told K that it was time for us to leave, because quite frankly I did not want to overhear that particular conversation.

more later,
nico

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