Commentor Greg wonders if I’m not just spending a little too much time thinking about teh gay, in a comment I will excerpt below:
We all know how progressive you are–but how much of a regular guy are you? I work with a lot of educated, heterosexual males (many of whom voted for Kerry), and we spend a lot more time talking about Victoria Secrets models than we do about the gay movement. When was the last time you made a post about Victoria Secrets models?
Well, in fact, I’ve never done a post about Victoria’s Secrets models. This may be because I tend to skip right past the Victoria’s Secret catalogues and go straight to the porn. Mmmm…. sweet, sweet porn.
I suspect Greg is being more than slightly tongue-in-cheek here, but on the other hand this is worth approaching semi-seriously. So here we go.
There are a couple of things to note here. The first is to remind everyone that the Whatever is not an accurate portrayal of what’s going on in my mind or life all the time; it’s merely a portrayal of what I find interesting to write about in this particular space. In my moment-to-moment life, I don’t really spend all that much time thinking about same-sex marriage or George Bush or “intelligent design” or any of the other bugaboos that populate the entries here. Most of my thoughts on a moment-to-moment basis are given over to largely inconsequential things, or at the very least things that are not interesting to write about. I don’t burden you with them, and I think you’d thank me for that.
Second, to be honest, my masculinity really isn’t all that exciting. Without delving too deeply into areas the vast majority of you don’t want to know about (and which, frankly, I don’t want to share), my masculinity expresses itself in pretty bland ways, and I’m comfortable enough with it that I don’t feel that much need to talk about it. I mean, would I happily be the meat in a Rosario Dawson-Emma Thompson sandwich? Yes, yes, a thousand times yes. Do I want to go on about it here? Not especially. Do I get nearly insensate glee out of killing things in first person shooter games? Well, who wouldn’t? But I don’t get a kick out of recounting my virtual gib-fests. Do I grunt joyously at the exploits of my beloved sports teams? Well, actually, no, I don’t. Sports largely bores the holy living crap out of me. But if I did, I probably wouldn’t go on and on about it here.
Now, what’s entirely possible is that I’m not a regular guy, by whatever standards regular guys are judged. But, eh. I like me just fine. Also, not being a “regular guy” got me this:
And clearly, I can’t complain about that. And yes, I do in fact mean it when I say that not being a regular guy got me my wife, because a regular guy wouldn’t have been making an idjit of himself on the dance floor like I was that day 13 years ago when my wife saw me dancing and decided to make my acquaintance because of it. Because regular guys don’t dance (without a four beer minimum, that is), and they certainly don’t dance like I was dancing, with my arms all up above the Heterosexual Line (i.e., above my shoulders) like they were. Two years of actual dance classes, guys. It works (also, I’d note that I took the dance classes because then I got to spend time with girls in skin-tight leotards, as opposed to wrestling with other sweaty boys in a gym class. Because, well, duh.)
However, I would like to note that even if I’m not exactly a regular guy, some aspects of regular guy-ness are not entirely absent in my mental makeup. As evidence of this, I submit to you photographic evidence of my intimate relationship with that most regular of regular-guy regularity: Slobbery. To wit, the atrocity that is my personal office:
Words cannot express the utter shame I feel that my workspace has devolved this far. But I just can’t help myself. Krissy tells me she’s going to come in here and take a flamethrower to the place, and my thought on that is thank Christ. One of us has to have the balls to do it. And God knows it’s not me.
To sum up: Yeah, I’m a guy. Am I a regular guy? Probably not. I’m an irregular guy, I suppose. But it’s worked for me so far, so I’m gonna keep going with that.