Big Fat Hairy Living

Yesterday I took the boyfriend to my mother’s place meet my sister and her. He bought purple crysanthemums for my mother, and she loved them. My mother made rouladen with spaetzle. Having a German mother (but luckily having the Italian looks of his father), he loved it.

Because my boyfriend and my mother are actually much closer in age to each other than he is to me, they got along really well. They talked about living in Montreal in the 60’s and 70’s, and about German cooking. It was almost like my mom was making a new friend; it was so cute seeing them get along so well. This morning my mom called to tell me that she really likes him.

On the way back from my mom’s place, we took the Sheppard bus so that I could show him all the construction work being done on the new Sheppard subway. I was able to sneak a peek at the new platform being built on top of the existing Sheppard station platform by looking up through the new stairwells on the platform. It was a nice complement to Saturday, when Greg and I took a look at the now-abandoned Wychwood carhouse near his apartment.

My landlord has been doing a lot of work on my building, and generally speaking, I’m very pleased with the results. They completely tore up the gardens in front of the building, planted new bulbs, trees, bushes, and flowers, repaved the driveway, placed new stones on the walkway and restored the old flagstones. In addition, they’ve put new carpeting and paint jobs in the hallways, and have upgraded the machinery, and now the interior panelling, of the elevators. I’m just afraid of how much I’m going to have to pay in rent increases for all of this.

I just found out that the guy I share my office with is busy boinking one of the former internship students — one of the Asian ones from last year who kept on asking questions about sex. He’s keeping it a big secret, as if he’s afraid that we’ll find out. Why does he think we care? I don’t get it.

A cute little Flash song.

I was very impressed with the service at the First Unitarian Congregation. The people seemed genuinely friendly, and the sermon actually made me think a little. Apparently one can be an atheist or a humanist and still be a Unitarian.

I went with the boyfriend to his friend Joshua Burston’s gallery opening. The subject of one of the pieces of artwork was there, and we chatted with him briefly. Later in the evening, the subject walked past me and rubbed my belly. Not knowing how to reply, I simply said “I’m padded for extra comfort.” He looked at me, winked, and said “I like that!”

In seven hours, I’m singing at a service at the First Unitarian Congregation. They’re Unitarians, so I suppose it’s okay; Unitarians are as close as one can get to religious atheists.

I went to the Toolbox with Mark last night for the Ron Suresha book reading.

I was not impressed. Ron Suresha was late and seemed unprepared. There were frequent pauses while he flipped through the books looking for passages to read, and he seemed to me like he didn’t want to be there.

Worse, though, was the content of the books. I haven’t read the books, but if what he read to us is an example of what his books are like, I won’t be buying. The interview book, Bears on Bears, was filled with interviews of people from “the bear community” as well as questionable bear celebrities. The questions he asked were questions we all know the answers to already: Bruce Vilanch doesn’t like being valued only for his body; Richard Hatch had body image problems as a child; bear chasers hate going to bear bears and being excluded, but they still go because they like watching big fat guys. The excerpts from the porn book were typical middling, clichéd porn filled with the unecessary details that bad writers think make a good story. (”He let his towel drop to the floor, where it hit the indoor-outdoor carpeting.” Gee, thanks for jarring me from my masturbatory trance by reminding me that I have to recarpet my balcony.)

I’m not going to buy the books because I don’t want to buy books for the sole reason that they’re about bears. I made the mistake of buying The Bear Book I and The Bear Book II, both filled with San Francisco scene name-dropping and idiotic “research” unworthy of the author, someone who claims to be a university professor.

Throughout most of the reading, I kept of thinking of how much better a job my friend Jonathan Cohen could have done. His book, Bear Like Me, is due to be published early next year by Haworth Press.

The A-list Bears meme is making the rounds on a certain other journalling site. (Link via Brodie Chree.) Of course, one should never point out the hypocrisy in someone saying that “the bear movement” is supposed to be about “inclusion” yet at the same time identifying a bear archetype. It’s bad to discriminate against people who are fat, but if you’re skinny there’s no problem. You’re not like our archetype.

Responses range from “I agree” to “There is no A-list” to “Bears used to be so nice, but because of my internalized homophobia, I choose to blame A-list attitude on the fact that gay men are all catty queens.” I do agree somewhat with someone who says that if you worry so much about the A-list, you must have serious problems.

Most precious, though, is the typical BML-style response displayed by many people: “It’s just sour grapes. If you get attitude, it must be because they’re responding to you!” Blame the victim? Spare me.

Come on, everyone. Just admit that the “bear movement” is nothing more than a bunch of fat hairy guys who want to have sex with each other. It makes things a lot easier and allows you to avoid all the angst-ridden soul-searching crap about “what is a bear?” and “why is the bear community no longer inclusive?” It never was. This vision of the bear community’s past as an inclusive, accepting utopia is just that, a vision. It never was really like that. Get over it.

Last night I went with my boyfriend to a barbecue one of his friends was having. Near the end of the eveining, I tripped on something that had been left on one of the steps leading down to the back yard. I scraped my knee and cut my forehead just above my right eyebrow. The boyfriend’s reaction was so adorable! He acted like a big furry mother hen and apologized to me because he had brought me to the house where I was hurt.

I was a little surprised, not in a bad way, to see how intense and protective his reaction was. It made me feel all special and loved.