{"id":21510,"date":"2012-09-17T12:00:15","date_gmt":"2012-09-17T11:00:15","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/?p=21510"},"modified":"2012-09-12T22:39:16","modified_gmt":"2012-09-12T21:39:16","slug":"being-gay","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/2012\/09\/being-gay\/","title":{"rendered":"Being Gay"},"content":{"rendered":"

\u201cThe aim of a joke is not to degrade the human being, but to remind him that he is already degraded.\u201d<\/em>
\n\u2014George Orwell<\/p>\n

There\u2019s a famous story about Truman Capote hanging out in a bar in the Florida Keys in the 1970s when a woman, set at a queer zigzag by booze and poor impulse control, approached his table, lifted up her shirt, held out an eyebrow pencil and asked him to sign her navel. Motivated by the desire to be left alone so that he could continue his conversation with Tennessee Williams, he acquiesced to the woman\u2019s request and spelled out his name in an ellipse around her bellybutton, writing all 12 letters as if they were numbers drawn on the face of a clock. Unaware that he had committed his autograph to flesh in clear view of the interloper\u2019s perturbed and equally inebriated husband, no sooner had Capote watched the woman walk away than he found himself looking up at her incensed spouse who had returned to the table with his wife\u2019s eyebrow pencil, his eyes full of venom and his body language replete with expletives.<\/p>\n

There was, by now, complete silence in the bar, the man having made no secret of his outrage as he strutted across the room, his apparent jealousy inspiring the crowd to anticipate if not fisticuffs than at least the wretched sound of what passers-by outside might mistake for the skinning of an un-anesthetized chinchilla. \u201cSince you\u2019re autographing things,\u201d the man growled while unzipping his fly, reaching in and hauling out his penis, \u201cwhy don\u2019t you autograph this?\u201d<\/p>\n

Speaking slowly and turning the syllables over in his mouth as if to savor the flavor of his own tongue, Capote looked up at the guy and lisped lazily before a rapt audience, \u201cI don\u2019t know if I can autograph it, but perhaps I can initial it.\u201d<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

I first heard that story when I was 15, right around the time when I discovered that I was gay. At least I thought I was. This was back before I figured out that what I really was, was just sexually convivial, self-obsessed and so contemptuous of propriety that I would\u2019ve grown a middle finger out of the middle of my forehead had I been able to, just to avoid being like all the ticky-tacky robots surrounding me, smoothing their hair and testing the stench of their breath against the palm of their hand, all the while wondering whether Jesus wanted them as a moonbeam or a buttercup. Being gay was what my physiology chose to do instead of chain-smoking or shoplifting. It was an expression of nonconformity that had less to do with some deep-seated urge to suddenly proclaim my affection for one type of sex over another and more to do with my desire to lodge a formal protest against convention. I hated the idea that heterosexuality was perhaps the most widely relied upon yardstick with which society measured normalcy, as if comparing straight sex to gay sex was somehow dissimilar to comparing pancakes to waffles and that declaring a lifelong allegiance to the yumminess of one while simultaneously decrying the putridness of the other was somehow akin to a moral act.<\/p>\n

Equally infuriating was the presumed courageousness with which straight society typically infused its anti-gay bigotry, as if courage, like allegiance, was not a morally neutral virtue. After all, it is seldom the courage to be principled and civilized that keeps you alive on the battlefield, but rather it is the courage to be ruthless and cutthroat and as far from your empathetic center as possible. Of course, if that is what courage is, then what does that say about cowardice, particularly the cowardice of those who wholeheartedly embrace a prejudice with all the incuriosity of any group that prefers to stay in line and follow the leader as compared to those who might prefer to question the wisdom of forming the line in the first place, and then confuse the sensation of moving forward with advancing? Doesn\u2019t the physics of human morality insist that below the neutrality of courage there exists something like purposeful wretchedness and willful ignorance?<\/p>\n

I was determined to be gay, even if I had to sleep with other guys to do it, because, just as it was with racism and sexism, homophobia was not founded in reason so it could not be destroyed by logic. In fact, to merely talk about why it might be wrong to hate gay people made discrimination against homosexuals little more than a matter of opinion, no more substantive than announcing a dislike for argyle or Mexican food or dogs in sunglasses. It was for that reason that I believed homosexual affection had to be actively and deliberately demonstrated in venues where it was deemed most contemptible. Fags, I believed, needed to have the sensationalism of their lifestyle made mundane by the sort of repetitive and monotonous public display that straight society used to render gay relationships so full of voodoo in the first place.<\/p>\n

Ironic that a mass movement predicated on the appeal of sodomy would be so incendiary to so many people who live their lives with their heads up their asses.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

What worried me most about suddenly wanting to have sex with other boys was not the emotional and physical abuse that decent society required I either experience or worry about experiencing, but rather it was the immediate acceptance that I predicted my mother would offer upon seeing me step out of the closet. After all, here was a woman who owned a three-legged dog named Bleu, a table lamp full of living sea horses, a green dwarf parrot that ate nothing but fried chicken and peanut butter, and a closet full of wigs, water pistols and rubber hands; plus, she had the largest collection of orphaned heads lifted from every puzzle in every pediatrician\u2019s office that she\u2019d ever set foot into. How do you shock somebody like that and establish yourself as a rebellious personality? How do you not feel like just another benign eccentricity with all the cultural significance of a ceramic Easter Bunny that poops M&M\u2019s or a roll of black toilet paper or a set of plastic hillbilly teeth?<\/p>\n

Here\u2019s how I imagined it going down:<\/p>\n

INT.\u00a0 MR. FISH\u2019S PARENTS\u2019 DINING ROOM\u2014NIGHT<\/p>\n

MR. FISH, his MOM and his STEPDAD are having dinner together at the family table. It is 1980 and the house is completely surrounded by hundreds and hundreds of miles of New Jersey. There is silence except for the sound of clinking silverware while everyone eats. MR. FISH stops eating.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nMom, Dad, I think I might be gay.
\nWould you please pass the ketchup?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\n(shocked)
\nYou what?!<\/p>\n

MOM
\nThe ketchup, dear. He wants the ketchup.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nHe said that he thinks he might be gay!
\nIsn\u2019t that what you said?!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nGive me the ketchup first and I\u2019ll tell you.
\nMy hot dog\u2019s getting cold.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nYou would know, wouldn\u2019t you, you
\ngoddamn fruit! If I see you touch that hot
\ndog again I\u2019ll slap your face!<\/p>\n

MOM
\nMrs. Leviticus has a gay nephew named
\nGuy Saliva. She says that he\u2019s so oversexed
\nthat after he smokes a cigar he smokes a
\ncigarette.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nHow do you know that it\u2019s being gay, son,
\nand not something like an iron deficiency?<\/p>\n

FISH
\nI take a multivitamin.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nMaybe there isn\u2019t enough iron in it. Is it
\nshaped like a cartoon character?<\/p>\n

FISH
\nLeave me alone!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nMaybe you need less iron and a goddamn
\nkick in the head!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nMom, will you please pass me the ketchup?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nWhen did all this gay nonsense first pop into
\nyour pea brain, anyway?<\/p>\n

FISH
\nWhen I was old enough to lick men\u2019s
\nunderwear ads into soggy holes in the Sears
\ncatalog.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nMaybe you\u2019re really a stamp collector.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nIf you don\u2019t pass me the ketchup soon I\u2019m
\ngoing to have to sit on my hot dog to keep it
\nwarm.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nYou\u2019d love that, wouldn\u2019t you?<\/p>\n

FISH
\nPass me the goddamn ketchup!<\/p>\n

MOM
\nMotherfucking<\/em>, dear. Not
\ngoddamn<\/em>. Remember the lesson of
\nJesus on the motherfucking cross.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nI\u2019m gay! Gay gay gay gay gay gay gay!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nI just don\u2019t see how you could be so sure.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nI want a big hairy guy to fuck me up the ass
\nand then I want to watch television with him
\nafterward and play footsies while our balls
\nreload.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nYou\u2019re not gay. You just need a library card.<\/p>\n

MOM
\nThe c-a-t-s-u-p spelling of ketchup makes
\nme think of cats. Isn\u2019t that weird?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nHow could you be gay? You grew up
\nwearing speedboat pajamas! I wanted you to
\nbe a Marine!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nAnd there aren\u2019t any gay Marines? Come on,
\nPops\u2014wake up!<\/p>\n

MOM
\nMrs. Leviticus\u2019 first husband was a Navy
\nSEAL who got slaughtered for his pelt. She
\nsays that she wasn\u2019t surprised, that his pelt
\nwas why she married him. That and the fact
\nthat he could play \u201cPop Goes the Weasel\u201d on
\na row of little horns using just his mouth.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nOK, if you plan on being welcome in this
\nhouse and to keep drinking my root beer
\nand eating my ketchup and being gay at the
\nsame time, I need you to do something for
\nme.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nWhat?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nIt\u2019ll be for the good of the family.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nWhat!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nDate Judy the Mustache.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nWho?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nJudy. The Mustache. She\u2019s the shemale with
\nthe circus that comes through every summer.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nYou\u2019re crazy!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nFor five bucks you get to watch her through
\na peephole while she makes an apple pie
\nfrom scratch and then, after she sets it into
\nthe oven to bake, she holds nails in her
\nmouth and builds a birdhouse. The whole
\ntime she\u2019s wearing nothing but a garter belt
\nand a hard hat.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nMom, will you please pass me the ketchup?<\/p>\n

MOM
\nMee-owww! Cats-up! Get it?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nShe\u2019s in the trailer way in the back behind all
\nthe tents, right next to the Unidentical
\nIdentical Twins. Damnedest things you ever
\nsaw, those twins. They look nothing alike!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nI\u2019m not dating Judy the Mustache!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nBut she\u2019s got a penis! True, it\u2019s a little
\nmisshapen and definitely on the maroon
\nside, but what do you expect with all the
\ngoddamn pies and birdhouses she has to
\nmake? She\u2019s working 12 hours a day, six
\ndays a week! Jesus frigging Christ, we
\nshould all work half as hard as she does!<\/p>\n

MOM
\nWhere\u2019s your hot dog, honey?<\/p>\n

FISH
\nI\u2019m sitting on it, Mom. Dad wouldn\u2019t give
\nme the fucking ketchup and the goddamn
\nthing was getting cold.<\/p>\n

MOM
\n(offended)
\nMotherfucking thing<\/em>, dear, please.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nHe\u2019s sitting on it, woman! Now leave him
\nalone! Son! Just consider it!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nNo!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nWhy not? You get a penis and your mother
\nand me get to see you holding hands with
\nsomebody with breasts and lipstick and her
\nown toolbox.<\/p>\n

FISH
\nNo!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nShe\u2019ll put beard burns on your tummy!<\/p>\n

MOM
\nMrs. Leviticus has such bad 5 o\u2019clock
\nshadows under her arms that whenever she
\nbowls she catches fire.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nWhy can\u2019t you just act normal for two
\nseconds, you big sissy?!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nShut up old man and pass me the lousy
\nketchup!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nJust do it for your dear old dad!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nNO!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nIf you get married you\u2019ll be Fish the
\nMustache, you fucking little useless piece of
\nno good dog shit! I thought I raised you
\nbetter!<\/p>\n

FISH
\n(pause)
\nAll right, give me the ketchup bottle and I\u2019ll
\ngo down and suck her dick. But I\u2019m not
\nmaking any promises!<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nThat\u2019s my boy!<\/p>\n

FISH
\nI love you, Dad.<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nAnd I love you, Son.<\/p>\n

MOM
\nHey, that reminds me, honey. Do you
\nremember that story that ran in the paper last
\nThanksgiving about Mr. Kirby, the widower
\nover on Dudley who trained his cat to use a
\nregular toilet instead of a litter box?<\/p>\n

STEPDAD
\nNo.<\/p>\n

MOM
\nIt turns out that the only reason he did it was
\nso he could sneak into the cat\u2019s bedroom
\nwhenever the cat was taking a dump and try
\non its underwear and dance around in front
\nof its mirror.<\/p>\n

As MOM speaks, the camera slowly pans over STEPDAD and FISH and out of the dining room, coming to rest on a pot of hot dogs on the stove. A FLY buzzes in a manic circle upside down on the surface of the greasy water, hopelessly trapped and struggling hard against drowning.<\/p>\n

MOM (CONT.)
\nThe cat set up a video camera and got the
\nwhole thing on tape. Seems she started to
\nsuspect something was up when the dog
\nbegan complaining that somebody was
\nstealing money from his sock drawer every
\ntime he shaved.<\/p>\n

* * *<\/p>\n

The thing about the Truman Capote story that so amazed me when I was 15 was how well it illustrated the ability of a good joke to recalibrate the politics of a dangerous situation and suddenly make it safe. Not only that, it demonstrated how jokes are uniquely capable of temporarily nullifying every prejudice within earshot of its telling in deference to both the high hilarity and camaraderie guaranteed by the levity of the moment. It didn\u2019t matter that Capote was gay, for example, any more than it mattered that a grown man had just exposed himself in a public place. The punch line had given justification to every detail of the story, as if the exposition could be substantiated by the pyrotechnics of the gag. Why was this? Was it because humor was escapism and that a joke provided a welcome interruption for people who felt as if their souls were being continuously ground down by a dastardly and unrelenting reality hellbent on telling it like it was without ceasing? Was comedy a lens through which reality was skewed and ultimately perverted into a fantasy that had no real relevance to what was commonly referred to as the truth?<\/p>\n

Or was it the opposite?<\/p>\n

Was it more likely that jokes actually provided insight into a reality rendered invisible by mainstream thinking and conventional wisdom? It was generally understood that civility destroyed humor, sure, just as being well mannered crippled candor and often encouraged subterfuge and duplicity. This certainly wasn\u2019t news to anybody. Still, I couldn\u2019t remember ever hearing anybody ask why the insincerity of decorum was prized over the bluntness so crucial to a sense of humor, which it was. Joke making, it seemed to me, was the human equivalent of what animals did when they play wrestled each other in nature. For instance, when tigers tackle each other and roll around pawing and gumming jugulars they are reinforcing their communal bonds and practicing how not to exercise lethal behavior. They are learning about the strengths and limitations of their physical bodies and demonstrating what it feels like to be free and alive in the world. Jokes, likewise, represent the intellectual play that reinforce communal bonds between people and demonstrate how they should not exercise lethal behavior with each other. They reveal what our behavioral limitations are and teach us the importance of dissent from a standard that seeks to indoctrinate us with intolerance and humorlessness and paranoia and prejudice.<\/p>\n

Jokes teach us that while a fart may not be at all amusing to a pastor whose job it is to stand at the head of a church and celebrate humankind as the greatest miracle of God\u2019s creation, it is at least a reminder that a pastor and the antediluvian sales pitch that he preaches from the Bible are, minimally, not the whole story.<\/p>\n

That\u2019s when it occurred to me that instead of hoisting myself upon the broad shoulders of outrage and announcing that I was gay because I wanted to express my contempt for the priggishness of the dominant culture and the dishonesty that would be the guaranteed result from succumbing to it, I should be like Truman Capote in a bar in the Florida Keys in the 1970s and set about saving the world by inspiring people to want to publicly expose the indecency of truth by beautifying the androgyny of its nudity one yuck at a time.<\/p>\n

___________________<\/p>\n

Mr. Fish lives in Philadelphia, PA.\u00a0 He never asked to be born. Occasionally, he laughs his head off.\u00a0 His mother has no idea what he\u2019s up to.\u00a0 She cries very easily.\u00a0 For more information, date him.<\/em><\/p>\n

Go to Original \u2013 truthdig.com<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

I was determined to be gay, even if I had to sleep with other guys to do it, because, just as it was with racism and sexism, homophobia was not founded in reason so it could not be destroyed by logic. In fact, to merely talk about why it might be wrong to hate gay people made discrimination against homosexuals little more than a matter of opinion, no more substantive than announcing a dislike for argyle or Mexican food or dogs in sunglasses.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[181],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-21510","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-sexualities"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21510","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=21510"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/21510\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=21510"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=21510"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.transcend.org\/tms\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=21510"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}