Potpourri

(posted by Venus)

Hello again all you out there in blog-land. I’ve decided to take the day off yesterday in celebration of TD’s birthday. My congratulations go out to Mike for sticking to this for so long. What a commitment.

A thought or two on promiscuity

The wonderful Gordon has caused quite a riot of ideas with this question and I would like to add my two cents. The first thing that came to my mind is the different definitions of “sex” you would get if you asked men and women how they would best describe how the experience makes them feel. I get the impression that for men, sex is more like a drug fix. It feels good, and then it’s done. For women (of at least myself), I think our bodies go into the nesting mode afterward, sending out all these funky hormones that convince us we’re “in love.” We fantasize about that man we caught and don’t want to let him go. It’s a high that’s much more than that of orgasm only. Now, I have been clinically depressed since I was thirteen years old and I have some experience with hormones and how the right or wrong ones affect not only your mood, but personality as well. I’m blabbing on…the conclusion: Nature has programmed females to stay with their man, yet has programmed men to move on without the whole emotional setback. Who knows, though, right?

My second thought on the subject was about traditionalism. Women have been brought up that you should be a good girl while men are not disencouraged to romp about. Even in my group of friends there are the gay men who are the sl*ts, the lusty drunks, the couples with “rules” etc. There’s a structure for every social situation, I suppose.

Happy Halloween to all you trick-or-treaters out there!

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E-mail Tennis

(posted by Martin)

martintagI’ve been swapping e-mails all day with Hugh, who lives in Falkirk, and helpfully points out that there are plenty of late buses back, but I’m welcome to stop over if I want. He looks a bit like Pete Sampras, and I’ve seen eight pictures of him that appear to be genuine. Some are more intimate than others. I don’t think I’ve got the guts to go and see him.

Today, I went to the St James Centre at about three o’clock. I went to the washrooms that are tucked away just behind there. I made eye contact with a number of men who were there looking for mid-afternoon entertainment, but I didn’t take it any further. I wasn’t really in the mood, and it all felt just too seedy. Plus there was nobody there worth getting to know further.

My internet friend could be my new best friend within a matter of hours. I don’t know whether I’m going to go through with it. He knows that. I’ve been honest with him. But I haven’t walked away yet. Every e-mail feels a little more like commitment, a little more we have in common, a little more like we’re already together and performing indoor acrobatics.

Thanks to gills, for reminding me that I don’t have to cheat on Hari. But, as gills says, the idea is in my head. It’s like an itchy catchy tune that I need to scratch. The more I ignore it the worse it gets.

Michael now knows that I know about him and Cal. This has made things even more awkward between us somehow. I think it’s because he now knows that I know that it was him screaming out for more the other night. Every look he gives me is laced with tones of “Martin knows what I sound like when I’m enjoying the company of a male friend”. Or maybe it’s just because he wanted me to think that he was straight, or a top, and now I know he’s neither.

I’m looking at the pictures in my e-mail box. It’s very, very tempting. And Hari doesn’t mind. Very, very tempting.

Boo Humbug

(posted by asta)

I’ve been trying to put to together a witty and insightful piece on the popularity of Halloween in Canada. It’s not going to happen, because in truth, I don’t get it.

I understand why the kids think it’s the best day of the year, next to Christmas.
With unidentifiable hordes of them knocking on doors after dark and being handed all the candy their parents never let then have any other time of the year, what’s not to love?
It’s the adult complicity in this sugar shock-fest that stumps me.
In late August the specially designed packages of miniature chocolate bars, and rockets and kisses start showing up on the shelves along with the requisite bags to put it in. A bag of 50 bars, each the size of a hotel pillow chocolate, will cost anywhere between 7 and 15 dollars. Handing out one pathetic looking little chocolate bar to a “trick or treater” will most assuredly result in you becoming the recipient of a trick (involving toilet paper and shaving cream at its most benign) or in the part of Canada where I grew up, something much more expensive.( Don’t ask me why tipping cows, and setting bridges on fire is so popular. I told you. I don’t get any of it) Figure on shelling out at least a dollar a kid. It’s not unusual to have more than 100 little darlings come knocking at your door.
But it doesn’t stop there.
Once upon a time, (cue up cranky ol’ bat music here) it was enough to buy a pumpkin, carve out a rough approximation of a scary-face, place a lighted candle inside and position the wonky jack-o-lantern in the living room window. The house was now decorated. Not anymore. Halloween decorations now rival those of Christmas on the expensively tacky scale. Don’t believe me?
Did you see how many items are sold out? Madness.
Even worse is the politically correct Halloween. Look, handing out colouring books or toothbrushes is just stupid. Either participate or don’t. Or do what I do.
Hand out treats to any child below eye level. They’re the first to arrive since they have earlier bedtimes. They are the first wave. It lasts about an hour. Then I turn off the lights and arrange to be elsewhere. Works for me. The coven is putting on a really fab do this year.

The curse of the O.A.P.

(posted by Gordon)

Mike, mind I use your site to rant? No? Wonderful (such a lovely man…)

I’ll preface this by saying that I know one day I will be old(er), but I will never be a woman, and this is about “wee old wummin”.

I nipped to the shops at lunchtime to pick up my Halloween costume, and then zipped into Marks to buy some sandwiches. I picked up my items (3 of them) and joined the ‘express’ queue for 5 items or less. In front of me in the queue were two “wee old wummin”, you know the type – slightly hunched, shortsighted (but wouldn’t lower themselves to wear glasses), with tight white hair, 5 cardigans and a heavy coat.

They shuffled forward carrying a basket between them, at a glance I could tell there were more than 5 items in there.

They get to the checkout and tell the young lady that the shopping is split between them and they don’t think they have more than 5 items each… as they tell her this, they pull and prod at the shopping like a child who hasn’t yet learned to count.

The next checkout is free so I step forward.

If you have shopped in Marks you may have noticed some of the tills display, not only the amount due, but the number of items purchased. The first “wee old wummin” was paying for her 7 items as I got to my checkout, and as I was receiving my change I heard the second “wee old wummin” pip up… “I think you’ve got my change wrong dear”. I glanced across and noticed she had purchased 8 items. (You can see where this is heading, can’t you…)

The checkout girl checks the change, and apologises for her error, handing “wee old wummin” number two her extra 5p.

Queue Gordon, in a probably too loud voice:

“Ohh you CAN count then!”

Followed by a swift turn on my heel, a snatching up of my shopping and a fuming, glaring exit from the store.

My point? Wee old wummin get away with bloody murder!!!! Yes I was brought up to respect my elders, but only when they are worthy of it. It was quite obvious to me, and from the tuts, sighs, and pointed looks being thrown their way by other members of the queue, quite obvious to everyone else*, that these two ‘old dears’ were at it.

I should possibly point out that this is out of character, I had had less than 5 hours sleep (always makes me grumpy) and less than 10 minutes before had lost out on a parking space because another “wee old wummin” had gone the wrong way round the car park to get to it first. Petty? Yes, but I was in a bad mood and didn’t really need an excuse. Not big, not clever either, blah blah blah…

Wisely enough, the man collecting for the Sally Army outside the store didn’t rattle his can in my direction. I may very well have told him where to put his donation!!!!

* I must’ve missed my ovation in my rush to get out of the store.

Thanks

(posted by Martin)

martintagI’d just like to thank the people who took the time to write to me, especially those who sent photographs.

– Owen, I’m afraid that although you’re charming and literate, and almost worryingly local, I’ll have to turn you down, as your pictures suggest that you’re not ‘my type’.

– Barry, while your pictures suggest that you definitely are ‘my type’, I’m not looking for a relationship. Good luck with that.

– Paul. You’re definitely ‘my type’ too. I like the fact that you’re not looking for anything in terms of commitment, but I’m not in a position to fly over to New York, no matter how big your apartment is, and no matter how adventurous you are in bed. And if you fly over here, I suspect I’ll be freaked out and hide in a corner.

Thank you all.

Coupling

(posted by asta)

This is a tangent on Gordon’s thought-provoking post (and TD reader comments) just below. Ok it isn’t really, it’s just an excuse to happily splash about in the shallow end of the pool.

I watch a lot of tv, and living in Canada, I get to choose from the best of three worlds- British, American and Canadian productions. I get programming from France too, but the French don’t understand television, are unable to claim it as their own creation, and so are doing their very best to destroy it altogether with shabby Vegas rip-off variety hours and deep discussions by obscure intellectuals on the significance of dryer lint. So we’ll forget about them, ok?

Each country excels at different types of programming.
Canadians are crackers at documentaries and anything having to do with Anne of Green Gables.

The Americans have the rest of the world beat when it comes to crime, guns, blood or death.

The British own period pieces and explorations of class differences. I also think Brits produce the best comedies.
There I’ve said it. Reams have been written about the difference between the British and American senses of humour and how Canada fits somewhere in the middle ( twas ever thus). I don’t care. When BBC Canada was made available on digital cable I was first in line, so I can say with full conviction the American ‘Coupling’ was excruciatingly awful and deserved to be yanked from NBC’s schedule. Why?

Casting and the inability of the actors and/or directors to understand the material (the American version aired with verbatim scripts. The only changes were of the beer vs. pint variety). And it’s not just them. The critics didn’t understand the show either.
A quote from a pertinent paragraph:

All six “Coupling” characters suffer from an overconfidence and self-centeredness that renders them virtually unable to converse with anyone else, except to make reference to the great sex they’re having or could be having. Perhaps the promised edginess of the series is that the trivialization of sex is something American audiences are still uncomfortable with.

Americans want to be loved. They want all characters to be realistic and sympathetic. ( As if any sitcom character is realistic) It’s in the delivery—

When Gina Bellham – UKJane says,” He works in pizza delivery, which just answers all your prayers, doesn’t it? Man, motorbike, has own food.”, she’s speaking from her tiny little heart. When Lindsay Price-US Jane speaks, it’s with tongue firmly planted in cheek – a ‘hey I’m not this shallow and stupid I’m just having you on’. Falls flat.

Likewise every other cast member. Chistopher Moynihan( US Jeff) acts as if he doesn’t understand the meaning of the words he utters. Richard Coyle (UK Jeff) understands every word. He’s thought about these things. It’s taken hours, sometimes years for him to make sense of the world around him. He knows he’s still confused about a few things, but he figures he’s making progress on such topics as breasts and brains.

“I don’t mean individual brains, obviously… I mean, not a brain each. You know, I like intelligent women, but you’ve got to draw the line somewhere… I think breast brains would be over-egging the woman pudding.”
I’m just saying.

I give up

(posted by Gordon)

I’ve been trying to formulate a post for the past two days, but I keep going round in circles (both directions), then editing it so heavily it makes no sense.

Instead, I’ll give you the jist and coherent points and you can take it from there – hell it will probably make more sense that way anyway, and will be a damn site more entertaining if it doesn’t…

My initial thoughts were prompted by Danny’s.. err… exploits, and got me thinking about gay stereotypes. This is where I stopped to consider my phrasing and the order in which to put forward my thoughts. I don’t want to offend and I’m am truly not being judgemental, I’m just very curious (not THAT kind of curious.. well maybe a bit…).

See, I’m tying myself in knots just trying to write a synopsis… so how about I put the P.C. terms aside, show my ignorance of these matters and blunder on forward (I mean, why break the habit of a life time).

So. (Deep breath).

Why does it seem that the gay ‘lifestyle’ involves a lot more promiscuity than a straight ‘lifestyle’?

Is it just that gay men more comfortable with the fact that they have sex, and are more willing to talk about?
Do I just have a blinkered view of the society in which I live?

Obviously this is all limited by my own personal knowledge. I have sex, very good sex thank-you-very-much… hang on, that’s it, isn’t it!

Having ‘come out’ and faced society’s views, doesn’t it make sense that gay men, having had to face up to their own sexuality (OK, didn’t phrase that right), are more comfortable than hetero men? And hence, are more comfortable elaborating about their ‘exploits’?

And that’s where I stop, I’m not sure what my point is, or if I even have one at all? Maybe it’s just curiosity in a different lifestyle? Maybe it’s because I enjoy ‘playing it camp’ (particularly around some work colleagues who are VERY homophobic)? Maybe it’s because the phrase “I have gay friends” makes me sound like I’m trying to be ‘correct’? Or maybe I’m gay and in denial.

Answers on a postcard please (or just the comments, it’s cheaper, faster, and much easier for everyone else to read)