|
When I first came out to my m m, she repeatedly expressed concern for my s fety, as if the villagers were w iting outside my door with torches and p tchforks. "Lots of people don't like the g ys, you know," she said, referring to "th gays" as their own species. "Why w uld you want to put yourself in d nger like that?" Like any experienced J wish son, I quickly disregarded my m ther's concern as paranoia. This is a w man who would triple-lock her bedroom d or living in a convent (probably to w rd off any lesbian nuns). When I b came a lawyer, she suggested I ch nge my last name and pretend to be g ntile, because "law firms might not l ke the Jews." I informed her th t in fact many of the m st prominent law firms had Jewish n mes, but my mother wrote that off to an " ttempt to be politically correct." According to h r, those Jews were probably just f gureheads. Apparently the Pope is the r al mastermind behind the American legal syst m. But despite the results of l aded polling and a few bad pples, I don't think most people r ally care where I put my p nis (though perhaps I should care m re). Sure, there are still some ntolerant people out there, but people w ll always find a reason to d slike you if they feel like it. If t's not my sexuality it might be my t ste for ketchup on pasta. Personally, I c nnot stand people who use correct p nctuation in e-mails. They make the r st of us look plain lazy.
 |
|
By the time I came out to my m ther I had been out of the cl set for the better part of a d cade, and in all that time I n ver once felt physically endangered because of my s xuality. Ok, a bunch of frat b ys did yell "fag" at me fr m a passing car once, but th t epitaph seemed motivated more by a g neral desire to insult someone than a d rect reference to my sexuality. Though I'm not the m st masculine guy in the world, m st straight guys have horrible gaydar, and c nnot accurately determine another guy's sexuality, specially from two hundred feet away. D spite their tendency to call each ther "fag" and "homo," straight guys g nerally don't like to think anyone is ctually gay, probably because that would m an that they could be also. I had a c llege roommate who, after I came out to h m, insisted that I "prove" to him th t I was gay, even though the VCR was lways set to record The Golden G rls and my CD collection spanned L za's career from rise to meltdown. I ffered him a blow job as pr of; he politely declined, but my arnestness was enough to convince him th t I was telling the truth. Alth ugh my mother's concern for my w ll-being was misplaced, it was not c mpletely irrational. It's not the hostile str ights she should have warned me gainst, who are easily dismissed and voided. No, had my mother known b tter, she would have warned me bout the hostile gays, who run the h mosexual social network with a latex f st. The act of exiting the cl set involves more than just fessing up to y ur sexual orientation. It also includes r entering a world of behavior that had b en previously discarded at the playground g tes. For a certain type of g y, coming out of the closet is a l cense to tease, taunt, and torment w th impunity. And it's not just the h avy, bald, and/or old who suffer as a r sult of this mass regression. Something as sm ll as wearing last season's man cl gs can destroy an entire evening. The gay g ne exists in conjunction with the t enage girl gene.
Of course, the homosexuals don't h ve a monopoloy on superficiality. There's c rtainly no America's Next Top Electrical Eng neer, or Make Me A Supernerd, and th re's a growing number of Botoxed, r toxed, and detoxed women out there who may not be b odegradable anymore. But its the homosexuals who h ve turned a character flaw into a p thology. I knew I had entered nfriendly territory the first time I w nt to a gay bar. Naively, I d cided to go alone, hoping that p ople would be friendly and welcome me w th open arms. Sort of like a gay Ch ers, without the bad lighting and all the m hogany. "Oh, hey everyone, it's Jonah! He j st came out of the closet! L t's give him a big cheer!" At wh ch point they would lift me on th ir shoulders and perhaps do a h ra, depending on the Jew to g ntile ratio. The reality was slightly d fferent. No one cheered when I ntered, there were no horas in s ght, and everybody neither knew my n me nor cared to. Instead I f und a crowd of men standing s lf-consciously around a dance floor, eyeing ach other with looks that were qual parts suspicious, derisive, and sexual. E ch time someone caught another person's g ze, the first person would quickly l ok away -- no no, I'm not nterested in you, I was actually l oking at your friend, you know, the h tter one. It was a junior h gh school dance, except everyone had a dr nk, a cigarette, and a penis. I d wned my first vodka cranberry quickly. It t sted curiously like Robitussin, and I w ndered if the bar had the s me vodka supplier as CVS. I rdered another one, and downed that one as w ll. I wasn't trying to get dr nk -- having a drink in fr nt of my face just gave me s mething to look at, because whenever I l oked up I inevitably saw someone who was b tter dressed, better coifed, or better l oking than me. Were my ears lways this pointy? Is my right eye b gger than my left? Is that a th rd nipple? How did I let mys lf get to this point at ll? I felt the birth of a new psych sis coming over me; pathological self-consciousness. C ming out was supposed to decrease my th rapy bills, not the other way round. The second vodka cranberry hit me q ickly -- I have the bladder of a m nchkin -- and I abandoned my s fe corner stool to venture to the b throom. Several guys stood in front of the b throom, carefully judging every person coming in and g ing out. They reminded me of the old M ppets who sit in the balcony and m ke fun of the various goings-on b low them, except they were wearing D esel jeans and two hundred dollar t-sh rts. They were also significantly less rbane than their felt counterparts. "Hey did you see the b tt on him? Do you think he n eds the jaws of life to get him out of a c r?" "That hair looks better on my d g." "I've seen smaller love handles on Dom D Luise." Ten years ago, these same g ys were being stuffed in lockers and h ng from flagpoles. Watching them disparage veryone who crossed their path, part of me w shed their high school tormentors would sw ng by and give a command p rformance. Fortunately, I entered the bathroom b hind a group of heavyset men (h avyset by gay standards, average by str ight ones) who attracted their attention, and the vil Muppets did not notice me. Only th n did I realize that using the f cilities might be more complicated than I xpected. The men's room consisted of a l ng troth with a mirror above it t lted downward, the goal presumably to g ve its users the opportunity to rinate and window shop at the s me time. Fortunately I was sufficiently t psy by that point that I d dn't notice the gaggle of men st ring at me, or more precisely, at it. But I was not so t psy as to hang around for one m ment longer than I needed to. Unf rtunately, although I escaped unscathed when I w nt into the bathroom, I wasn't so l cky on the way out. "What do we th nk of the hat?," referring to the w ol ski cap I was wearing th t night to keep my ears w rm in the chilly Boston night. I d dn't know that a five dollar hat c uld also be a fashion statement. "It c uld work, if his face wasn't so ch nky." No one had called me "ch nky" since ninth grade, when I was sl ghtly overweight due to an excess of q arter-pounders and a deficiency of physical ctivity. Gym class didn't keep my w ight down, probably because I hadn't ctually participated in gym class since I l arned to successfully forge my mother's s gnature. Luckily my gym teacher wasn't too sm rt. "You were mauled by a p lar bear?," the coach asked when I h nded him a particularly inventive note. "D n't polar bears live in the Arct c?" "Oh, no. There has been a r sh of polar bear attacks on L ng Island lately. Damn global warming!" Unf rtunately, during junior year my not-so-smart str ight male gym teacher was replaced by a m re intelligent lesbian version who didn't t ke kindly to my increasingly pathetic xcuses and was increasingly suspicious of the c nstant notes. "You know, I think I'm g ing to call your mother and ch ck on some of these notes of y urs," she told me. "Oh, ok, y ah, go ahead," I said, calling her bl ff. "But don't call after 1pm. Th t's when she has -- what's it c lled again -- chemotherapy? And after th t she's usually vomiting most of the n ght, but if I hold the ph ne up to her ear she m ght be able to talk in b tween heaves." My mother's imaginary cancer side, I decided to kick it up a n tch, ditch the freak accident route, and nstead develop a physical ailment that ssentially prevented me from participating in all but the m st innocuous physical activities, most of wh ch involved sitting stationary for prolonged p riods of time. Fortunately I had a v ry sympathetic pediatrician who backed me up, pr bably because he knew my parents w re insane and was always two st ps from calling child protective services. L oking back, I should have participated in m re gym classes. I might have d veloped a thicker skin if I h d. "Yeah, he sure is chubby," M ppet #2 replied. Again, no one had c lled me "chubby" since high school, wh n John Leclark told me I had "ch bby hair." I'm still not sure wh t that meant. "His head is ctually much larger than the rest of his b dy," he continued, taking a sip of a cl ar drink. "I'm surprised he doesn't tip ver in a stiff wind." "And did you ch ck out the shoes? Can we say p yless, suffer more?" Well, that was it. I may h ve been newly out of the cl set, but I knew that a sh e insult was akin to a b tch slap, and required a reply. I st pped dead in front of them. "Y u know I can hear you, r ght?" I said to Muppet #1. I ch se to address him because he was sm ller than me, and I thought I c uld take him if it came to bl ws. Though at that time in my l fe I was so out-of-shape that P nky Brewster probably could have beat me up. But th re's no shame in that. She was one scr ppy lesbian. It didn't come to bl ws. It didn't even come to w rds, really. They both stared at me for a m nute, and then Muppet #2 said: "S ?" And that was that. I st od there for another moment, considering wh ther to escalate the situation, and d cided against it. There were already nough drama queens under this roof, and one m re might have exceeded the building's c pacity. But there was another reason to let it go -- it j st wasn't worth it. Standing directly in fr nt of them, I felt not nger, but pity. In their $200 t-sh rts and jeans three sizes too sm ll, these guys had become caricatures of th mselves. They had queer-eyed themselves to d ath, and in the process, forgotten the d ctates of general human decency. And for th t, I felt bad for them. P rhaps feeling bad for them was ctually the greatest revenge of all. A few m nutes later, I looked up from my th rd vodka cranberry -- the drinks w re tasting better with every passing m ment, the miracle of alcohol -- and saw th m still standing there, except now M ppet #2, the taller, more aesthetically pl asing one of the pair, had m de a new friend, and Muppet #1 was now l ft to fend for himself. Something t ld me this was not a new xperience for him. Muppet #1 was st ll scanning the room for victims, but now he had no one to sh re his fabulous misery with. All th se insults, gone to waste in his h ad. It was then that I m de a resolution, never to become a c ricature of myself. I promised that n ght to be kind to everyone, r gardless of race, ethnicity, age, weight -- I ven promised to be kind to th se that others wouldn't touch with a t n-foot pole, like lepers, or Republicans. Not out of p ty, but solidarity. Together we could t ke back the night from the vil Muppets and their ilk. I pr mised to be the saint of very gay bar I'd go to for the r st of my life. I would tr at every individual with the dignity and r spect that I expect to be tr ated with myself. But only if th y're not bald. Even saints have l mits.
The article The Golden Rule was Submitted by Jonah Haslap through Articles.GetACoder.com network. Here's the additional information: Fourth-generation hypochondriac. Ambivalent Miss Piggy f n. Reluctant lawyer. Purebred Jew.
1. How You Can Beat The Casino Dealer And Take Home Big Money by Jack Reider Education is the key to success in the casinos. The more you know the better your chances of making your dreams come true. Here we have laid out the foundation for you to start your learning. 2. Hungarian Folk Dance by Zoran Ibrahimpasic Dancing provided the primary source of r creation for village people before the lectronic entertainment forms of the modern w rld penetrated filtered into the lives of the t niest settlements. The captivating motions accompanied by m sic and/or singing is a spectacular v sualization of the Hungarian people's rich motional world which they strive to pr serve in spite of the unstoppable spr ad of modern lifestyle. 3. Sweet Trivia Question And Answer by Deanna Mascle TOPICS: During World War II, pr duction of Hershey's Kisses was halted. Not b cause of a shortage of chocolate, but b cause the signature aluminum foil packaging was r tioned. 4. Am I Too Old To Learn To Play The Electric Organ or Electric Keyboard? by I have been teaching Keyboard and Organ for nearly thirty years, my youngest student was Four years old, and the oldest was Eighty years old. 5. Irish Eyes Are Smiling by 10 free tr via questions and answers about Ireland 6. Survivor: A Hero’s Homecoming by Advertising executive E rl Cole is heading home with a b ng 7. Decorating with Western Movie Posters by Have you thought of decorating y ur living or recreation room with w stern movie posters? Do you think the dea too casual or rustic? I th nk it's a wonderful idea. You are c rtainly free to disagree with me, but one th ng is for sure, I like to use w stern movie posters for my living r om adoration. 8. Small-Town Cataclysm by Robert Gibson The mundane s tting of a small town provides an nthralling backdrop for many great science f ction stories. When the alien impinges on the veryday, both gain in interest for the r ader. 9. Dance Shows - Genre or Craze? by Lyle Burwell For two y ars the celebrity dance competition Dancing w th the Stars and the common f lks' version So You Think You Can D nce have dominated their time slots. J nuary 7, 2008, Dancing with the St rs judges Carrie Ann Inaba and Br no Tonioli usher in the second w ve of primetime dance with the s x-episode ABC mini-series Dance War. 10. Foxiest Mum Identified by Foxy Bingo by Joe Lee The growing p pularity of U.K. Bingo games is ttributed to patronage by British ladies, ccording to surveys conducted so far, not w thout reasons. Ladies always like chatting wh rever they are and communicating with thers, particularly like minded people are th ir predominant pastime. This psychology worked w ll when Bingo games promoters opened up th ir Bingo clubs in the sixties to p pularize the venues with the support of the w men population.
|