Friday, August 31, 2007


So I'm reading the news this week and suddenly cocksmoking is for gay dudes only. When did this happen? What's this world coming to when a straight man can't enjoy a casual cock in the restroom every now and then. Sheesh! I mean, what guy hasn't blown a complete stranger in a truck stop bathroom? Suck just ONE dick and all your friends are calling you a fag. What's up with that?

If you have a TV, radio, or internet connection, you are likely aware that U.S. Senator Larry Craig was flagged for being offsides in a public bathroom. It just so happens that I have first-hand experience in this area, so let me explain where the Senator fucked up.

In 1994, I was randomly propositioned for an encounter of this very nature while trying to pinch off a loaf in the rear restroom on the first floor of the undergraduate library in Urbana, Illinois. I was alone when I entered the facility. I wiped the seat down, gave the bowl a courtesy flush, and settled in with a good book for what I hoped would be a very productive bathroom break.

As I strained to move what felt like a cue ball through my winking sphincter, I heard the bathroom door swing open. The visitor loudly entered the stall next to mine and sat down so fast he could not possibly have had the time to drop his pants. I glanced under the stall and verified that, indeed, his trousers had not been freed. Very odd, I thought. I sat in silence, wondering to myself what exactly was happening with my neighbor in the next stall. Was he having an emotional breakdown? Was he snorting coke? Was he forgetful and crapping in his pants?

All of a sudden I noticed his foot appear below the stall divider. It was clearly on what I considered “my” side of the divider, and tapping.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

Then silence.

Tap. Tap. Tap. Tap.

More silence.

I felt naked suddenly. The shit I was about to unleash seized up and my rectum clenched tight. My body went into flight mode. Did this guy know he was tapping his foot on my side of the stall? He had to, I thought. And if he knew it, WHY was he doing it? The tapping continued.

Tap. Tap.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

He became more forceful with the taps, as though he thought I might have drifted off on the pot and needed a louder wake-up call. But I had not drifted off – I was completely frozen and mortified that anyone would dare invade my privacy by breaking the sacred bathroom barrier. I didn’t know how to respond, so I sat there completely still, in deafening silence. The only sound in that restroom was the thundering clap of a plastic shoe sole on heavy tile.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The tapping must have gone on for minutes – but it felt like hours. At some point it occurred to me that I was being propositioned for an encounter of some kind – and I didn’t like it one bit. I just wanted this idiot to take the hint that I wasn’t interested and take a hike. I dared not move a muscle or utter a word, lest I unwittingly give him permission to expose himself or otherwise take the encounter to another level.

After a small eternity, he rose in a rush, barged out of the stall and exited the restroom – without washing his hands, I remember. Moments later I deemed it was safe to get up. Although I was unable to complete my the mission, I no longer felt the urge that had prompted my visit in the first place.

Leaving the restroom, I looked nervously around to see if anyone in the vicinity was eyeballing me. I then spotted the shoes. They belonged to a chubby black guy sitting in a nearby lounge chair, thumbing through a newspaper. He was auditioning partners with a quick glance as they walked past him, then would follow them in hoping for a little action.

Years later I learned that this type of encounter is not uncommon. Turns out it even has a name: “the tearoom trade.” A graduate student at Washington University in St. Louis actually did a behavioral study of these types of encounters and learned something fascinating that may shed a little light on Senator Craig’s ordeal. According to his 1970 Ph.D. dissertation, an overwhelming majority of the men who engage in these random sexual encounters with other men do not consider themselves gay. They just like having quick, meaningless sexual encounters with MEN. So when Senator Craig says he’s not gay – he may in fact actually believe that in all honesty he is not a gay man. He just happens to enjoy the same sexual experiences gay men enjoy. Powerful what the mind can talk us into and out of.

I personally see a small disconnect here. As a straight man who has been in the same position as Senator Craig, I knew enough not to encourage my solicitor by tapping back, sliding my foot under the stall divider, or making a motion of any kind under the stall. I have to believe Craig knew exactly what he was doing in that bathroom, and unfortunately for him, his story did not have a happy ending – so to speak.

As for the tearoom trade, I feel obliged to submit that sucking cock, at least in my book, makes a man bisexual at the very least. Sexual activities, tendencies, and desires of this nature are precisely what define a person’s sexual orientation. In the world I know, straight men don’t have gay sex. If we did, we wouldn’t be straight. As Dr. Kinsey reported in his famous studies on human sexuality, we’d be something in-between. And that’s fine…we are who we are. Let’s just call it what it is.

And Senator Craig is a gay hypocrite who deserves the shame he has received for the votes he has cast against the very activities he participates in.


I often hear people say, "I've been real busy - but that's good."

Busy is good, they say.

I disagree. Busy sucks.

When I first started this thing called the “real world,” I had more time than I knew what to do with. My "work" days were pretty stress-free, probably because I didn't have a whole lot of work to do. I played a lot of video games, took long walks around the neighborhood, strolled home to nap and watch Maury Povich over lunch, and brushed up on my ping-pong skills.

That gravy train lasted 4 ½ years, believe it or not. I didn’t bank a whole lot of coin at that gig (some friends were pulling 2-3X my paltry salary), but I was rich in other ways. I had lots of time to drink, think, and write. And I was a fucking blast to be around...or so I imagine. At least that's the way it appears when I thumb through old photos.

These days, I don’t have a whole lot of time to drink, think, or write. Most of my time is paid directly to the exchange for a slightly more lucrative role in corporate America. There’s always a trade-off, I suppose. I wouldn't say I'm a blast to be around anymore – more of a muted bang, or a faded pop. Just loud enough you can almost tell I was once someone alive.

I celebrated another birthday just a couple weeks ago and came to the startling realization that I was missing an entire decade of my life. 10 years vanished. Can’t get those back. I don't regret them – they were what they were. But I do wonder sometimes if, perhaps, I could have been a whole lot more than I am today had I been able to focus on something – anything – productive.

Instead of investing so much time in fantasy sports, what if I had spent years analyzing trends in financial markets?

Instead of spending so much of my hard-earned money at the bar, what if I had been paying off student loans and credit cards?

Instead of clinging to the security and comfort of low-paying jobs for which I am grossly overqualified, what if I had challenged myself to do something far more adventurous and rewarding?

Instead of spending all of my free time playing video games, what if I had continued playing guitar, perfecting and adding to my collection of under-exposed acoustic pop masterpieces?

Instead of sleeping in every morning, what if I had got up just a ½ hour earlier to do a few push ups and run a few miles?

Instead - I am what I am. And 10 years vanished like they never happened; the unspent creativity swelling inside and strangling me like the swollen fingers of visceral fat taxing my vitals.

The Oasis refrain, “go let it out” echoes somewhere inside.

Maybe I should, I think.

Maybe I will.

Tuesday, August 28, 2007


There are people in our government - people we elected to represent our best interests - who made, and keep making, the decision to spend our taxes like this. If you don't like it, do something about it.

Monday, August 27, 2007


A friend sent me a YouTube clip this morning - perhaps you've already seen it. It's Miss Teen South Carolina answering a question by answering a question. Amazing, really.

I would post the link here, but I think the written transcript is more meaningful.

Question: "Recent polls have shown a fifth of Americans can't locate the United States on a world map. Why do you think this is?"

[A sad fact, indeed. The answer to the question, of course, is that education in America is embarrassingly underfunded compared to things like nation-building and gratuitous hand-outs to Israel. Calling attention to our nation's obsession with celebrity and pop culture might have even earned a few points. Hell - anything remotely coherent might have registered as a "good try." The answer provided answers the question in itself. Wow. Heaven help us all if this is the future of our nation.]

Miss Teen South Carolina:

"I personally believe the U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uh, some, uh...people out there in our nation don't have maps, and, uh, I believe that our education like such as South Africa and, uh, the Iraq everywhere like, such as and...I believe that they should, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., err, uh, should help South Africa and should help the Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future for our..."

If nothing else she could become a speechwriter for G_Dubs when he starts making the post-presidential circuit.