Now Is The Time For Quick And Immediate Response

To possible latent homophobic tendencies. Or something.

A day or so ago, I read a blog by the boyfriend of a friend of mine, who, not just a few hours earlier, we had seen at his place of work while having coffee. Said boyfriend of friend is a student of human observation and thus, observed, from his own blog, this:

anyway ching yee went to spin @ hrn wif her frens wayne and charlene today. and its ironic dat someone quite the looker like wayne actually detests workin wif ppl in the media…the beautiful mtv types as he calls it. well when he came by wif his kitaro hairdo and all and i noticed a bunch of gay guys turning their heads to look at him. hey maybe he should model for gay quaterly or something. heard dey pay really well.

This caused me no end of mild (Or even wild, swinging from one end of the emotional spectrum to other) apoplectic hysteria as, contrary to numerous speculations (grudgingly, I admit, deserved by my total lack of girlfriend for decades on end…) as to my sexual preferences, I am not gay.

For the record, I am primarily straight, with possible repressed bisexual tendencies. While I do like girls, (It’s that soft n’ purty hair that I wanna’ touch that does it every time, damn them…) I would be mad to refuse A) Daniel Day Louis, B) Jude Law or C) Peter Jackson if they propositioned me. Although I have had an alarmingly high rate of unasked for success when it comes attracting the Y.M.C.A contingent.

I remember once at some gay club that no longer exists in Edmonton when I got dragged down to support a couple of friends, Valentino Wong and Michael Pylko (Hey, whatever happened to those guys anyway?) that I found myself getting hit on, in rapid succession over a matter of just a few minutes, a flurry of flabby, deep voiced and decidedly oogy guys. My only explanation for this is the whole “Delicate Flower of the Orient Thing,” since I’m slim and “oriental looking” and all that, and maybe the fact that I was the only guy not wearing shoes. Perhaps that’s cute, or some secret gay-lingo sign (Sort of like the signals hobos leave for each other to describe possible places of generosity) that indicates “I will do it without lube.”

For someone who desperately wished that the opposite sex would pay some attention to him and wondered why it wasn’t happening, this was a horrifying possible explanation. My friends, in true comradely fashion, left me high and dry to stutter my way through various conversations with men that 1) Immediately sat down and started stroking my forearm, B) Grabbed the fashion program out of my hand and asked me to explain it to them while their nose was 2 millimeters from my own, C) Grabbed said program out of my hands, put it on their crotch and asked me, “What does this say?”

After watching me flounder for a bit, my friends realized that there was a very real possibility that my hysterical muteness might just be taken as a sign of silent consent, and so in order to keep my virgin body cavity just that way, they finally grabbed me by the arm and literally dragged me away shouting, “THERE YOU ARE! WE’VE BEEN LOOKING ALL OVER FOR YOU, THE CAR’S PARKED OUTSIDE!” And then berating me afterwards for somehow throwing out a magnetic force that only people of a specific sexual wavelength responded to. I don’t remember her name, but some girl asked me, “It’s not FAIR! What do you have that I don’t?” And by God, I wanted to smack her somethin’ awful…

Even if I were gay, I think I would have been horrified by these come ons. Flattered, but horrified. I’m a wine and roses kind’a guy. Tell me about my eyes, say I have really deep thoughts, don’t stick your tongue down my throat on the first date, and no matter what anyone tells you, they can say “No!” even after penetration and it’s still considered rape.

In Other News

The concept proposal was favorably received with the SMS message from Nadya, and I quote:

“I love the attack of the giant squid!”

No, I am not making this up.

Yes, I managed to squeeze a giant squid attack into a concept proposal. Do not ask how, do not ask why, that is the secret of my genius.

Man. I was so sure she was going to make me take that squid part out…

I’m A Nice Guy. I Own Slaves And Abandon Wives, But Really, I’m Nice!

This is what I keep telling myself as I tackle my latest assignment. I’m supposed to do a write up for a museum here, a 1st person narrative, about 1,000 words, telling the story of a famous historical figure, in this case Ibn Battuta, who the girlfriend has christened “Batman” and which I am sticking with, ’cause it’s just easier to pronounce and doesn’t make me feel like I’m ordering the dish of the day at some Turkish restaurant.

“Hm… I’ll have the Ibn Battuta, please. And don’t cheap out on the saurkraut like you did the last time.”

Anyway, Batman was an Islamic explorer in the 14th century who ranged across Africa, central Asia, Asia and South East Asia, and is, by all accounts, a sort of Islamic Marco Polo, eventually having a record of his 24 year journey recorded for posterity.

Frankly, I just don’t like this guy.

For one thing, he easily qualifies as The Most Easily Impressed Human Being On Earth. When he visits a town, it is, “The finest town in the world, a shimmering jewel of Africa, and equalled by none other on Earth.” When he visits another town, it is, “Simply, undeniably, the greatest town of this age, and shall never be surpassed.” When he visits cities, he practically has an orgasm, and let us not even get into his opinion of the Mosques he sees. I’m sure some tenet must be deeply violated by the spasmodic rapture he expresses on them. If he were a modern guy, he’d definitely be a DOA Extreme Beach Volleyball player.

He is also, I think, what my university friends might have referred to as a Trysexual: Try dogs, cats, boys, girls, holes in trees…

Upon meeting with certain King, who was versed in poetry and composition, Batman said “This is the most beautiful human being on Earth!” and spent much time with him, doing things he refuses to get into. Hm… not too difficult to read between the lines there. However, over the course of his 24 year vacation, he laid a swathe of alimony across the world, marrying women willy nilly, leaving children behind, some of whom died before he ever met them, and purchasing numerous slave girls who were “Of undeniable beauty, undoubtededly the most charming creature the world has ever seen.”

He also got frequently beaten and robbed and left for penniless, but I figure that’s just karmic payback for all the times he was a jerk.

Of course, the part that really pissed me off was when he wrote of his yearning for home and how strongly it called to him, for nothing affects the heart as truly and deeply as one’s homeland, finally returned after 24 years, spent a week there and then went on another trip across the Sahara desert.

Jerk.

So now I find myself in the unenviable position of having to write a “Hi kids! I’m Ibn Buttata!” sort of 1,000 word essay which is supposed to leave the less savoury parts of his nature (Homosexuality, debauchery, slaving and multiple abandoned wives and children) out, while still sticking to the facts. They want historical accuracy that’s not going to disturb the innocent world view of the kiddies.

And yet, I can’t help writing this thing out, imagining that it’s all being retold by Micky Mouse with a fez on his head:

Batman: And then I went on my Haj to Mecca, and oh BOY! Was that ever fun, wasn’t it Pluto?!?

Pluto: PRAISE ALLAH!

Batman: Hawhawhaw! Right you are, Pluto! There was the Kabaa, and fasting, and reading the Koran, and I married two women, bought a really cute slave girl, then left th
em all at the harbor when someone offered me a free ride to Calcutta! What an adventure! Hawhawhaw!

As God is my witness, I’ll never, ever understand how I get roped into these things…