Last weekend was lots of fun. Thanksgiving was a blast, with every kind of special moment and disaster that you'd expect from such a holiday. There were grandly gay decorations and there were grand topplings of such. There was new family love and there was blood family guilt. There was fantastic food and a giant mess that required a bulldozer to clean up. Who could ask for anything more, really?
Saturday McJock arrived for a visit. Naturally I had an insane morning and afternoon which left me exasperated and irritable. Fortunately my intuition that he and I would be comfortable with each other was fully borne out. It took no time at all for me to be curled up under him on the bed (with our clothes on--such dirty minds you have!) and a little bit of that cuddly action went a very long way towards cheering me up.
I was a touch concerned that our interests were going to be too disparate for us to enjoy Saturday night out on the town. He was very interested in gay clubs in my neighborhood of which I had never heard and had no knowledge. He flipped through HX and Next (local gay rags) looking for ideas, and I consult neither of these publications when I'm going out, or any other time for that matter.
But as usual my narrow view of things was laughably inappropriate and my prejudgments were misapplied. We talked about music and I asked specifially what the "electroclash" genre sounds like. As it turns out, I'm a big fan and I even have some of it in my iTunes already. Who knew? Then he decided that he'd like to hear Larry Tee (the "father" of electroclash) spin at Element. I've not been to Element but I was fairly sure that it was far too gay for me. I simply have zero patience for the attitude and shallow-ness that are the prevalent themes of such places. If it matters to you what brand any item of clothing or accessory I'm wearing is, even for a moment, then we're probably not going to be comfortable in the same room. And there were a ton of boys there to whom it did matter. Frankly, it's funny, they pretty much all looked the same. Boring. And then there are the usual pitfalls of going to dance clubs with someone you don't know well: am I paying too much attention to my guest, or not enough? Am I dancing too close or too strangely? Are either of us drinking too much? There are just so many more things that can go wrong in such a place than in...say...a restaurant, coffee shop, neighborhood bar, or even the Eagle. Danger Will Robinson!!! But I need not have been concerned. The club had all of the drawbacks listed above, plus a $20 cover and $10 mixed drinks (fucking cheese on a fucking cracker--I am not that kind of fag!) and I still had a really good time. As usual, I spoke to not a single other soul there other than McJock, but he and I vibed really well. We wanted to dance at about the same time. We wanted to rest at about the same time. He didn't mind my spastic dancing. I thought his dancing was very fun in a vaguely butch way. And the music was fantastic. Really and truly some of the best I've heard at a club in a very long while. Well...at least the first half. Later when the crackheads showed up and the place really got packed Larry Tee began to play remixes of Justin Timberlake and Nellie Furtado, which I'm told are beneath him and not normally his style, but which he must endure to keep the masses happy.
It's really sortof sad that the majority of fags, after seeking out a life on the fringes of society, must insist on such mainstream music. Boring!
But I was very glad we went. I enjoyed McJock and I enjoyed a club and a DJ who I otherwise would never have discovered.
And the rest...well, that's the thing. I'm not sure how much to write. McJock reads my blog, and I'm glad, because there's a lot here about me that I'd like to share. I asked and received his permission to blog about him. But I'm not sure how much I want to tell. My writing would be influenced by my audience (as all writing should be) and I'm certain I don't want to make this blog into a place where I pull punches or color things in an effort to influence anyone. I've actually done that before. My former Daddy made me write a blog which was supposed to be a journal that only he would read. It was awful. It basically became a way to communicate directly with him, rather than a clearinghouse for my thoughts and opinions. Toward the end most of my posts consisted of song lyrics, all of which were very important and significant, but none of which he bothered to understand. True, there's not a single Tori lyric that can be interpreted in any straightforward way, but he didn't even read generalities.
So for now I will hold my cards close, though nearly every one of my many personalities is demanding to shout its thoughts from the nearest mountaintop. All of me loves to babble.
I'm writing a book. It will be called "Blog Ethics" or "That Day When the Everybody-Knows-You Internet Decided that Discretion Really Does Have a Purpose."