I’m waiting for my friend to wake up and pity me because yesterday I inexplicably busted my thumb trying to help her pick up a hot Australian. Overnight my thumb did not heal and she did not get laid. What else is there to do but blog until she arises from her slumber and we attempt to assuage the other’s pain and suffering? I promised not to post anything during my mini-vacation, but as my partner of 11 years says, I can justify the breaking of any vow.
So instead of writing a close analysis of a poem or a more general polemic, I’m going to argue against the idea that you only develop superficial relationships through blogging and/or Facebook.
Happy to say that my most gratifying recent relationships have come from blogging. If you don’t believe me, then you’re stupid.
(I use the word stupid a lot lately. Even when I’m teaching. "That's a stupid thought," I'll say. I find that it shames the student into thinking harder. Try it sometime. I guarantee results.)
I have never felt closer to gay men than on my blog. This is the first time I feel apart of a genuine community. To anyone who finds that pitiful, you’re stupid.
Listen as to why.
For someone who is intimidated of gay men, I find that I can hold a conversation without having to deal with their bodies. And by that I mean there’s no distraction from the narratives they tell. For me the best part of sex are the ways in which someone enters and exits. That’s how it is for me when I read a story. Middles are tedious.
My favorite part of sex is the moment right after the man decides to take off his shirt and right before the man’s shirt is completely off. You can sense the vanity (“I’m excited to take off my shirt so he can see me”) and the insecurity (“What if he doesn’t like what he sees?”) To watch a man in this brief moment of excitement and duress turns me on.
(My second favorite moment is to see a man with good pectoral muscles. It makes up for the fact I wasn’t breastfed.)
This same voyeuristic thrill occurs when I read a post on a gay man’s blog. I’m always curious how that gay man will begin (“here’s something that’s on my mind so you can see me”) and their closure (“What if he was bored with what he read?”) Furtive fucks are the best.
Bloggers can say all they want about not caring what people see, that they’re writing their blogs for themselves and no one else.
But they do care. Why wouldn’t you put your thoughts in a private journal if you didn’t?
Personally, I prefer blogs that read like a journal where every petty detail of their lives are revealed.
When I was younger, I loved to discuss challenging topics or what felt pseudo-philosophical. I can still hear myself saying, “We stayed up all night talking about art and life and poetry, etc. etc.” It’s cute. But now those nights are few and far between. Now I like to hear how someone’s body is failing them or how someone’s job is driving them crazy or what they had for dinner. That now comforts me. Grandstanding bores me (although it seems that’s all I can do.).
But when I read other blogs, I just want to know how someone trudged through their days and what little joys were held in store them.
That’s why I love status updates on Facebook. The more insignificant, the greater the appreciation. Banality binds us.
And what is love? What ultimately is the foundation for a long term (or short term) relationship? Isn’t it partly the finding of someone else’s tedium mostly bearable?
In Memoriam: Jeanne Moreau
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