The View From Here, and Now
I got into an interesting conversation this morning while I was helping set up Gay Bingo.
We were talking about the gay community, specifically young gay men. Both of us, the only two guys who showed up to help out, were complaining about the up and coming generation, the twinks in their late teens and early twenties. It seems like, no matter where I look to get a sense of young gay men, whether it's scanning the ads on Craigslist or looking in LJ communities, there is no actual sense of community among them. When AIDS broke out in the 80s, it seemed like gay men really came together as a group, kind of grew up in a sense and learned how to look out for each other, look outside themselves. I remembered how, when I first started having sex with men, many of my partners were significantly older than I was; in my late teens and early twenties, most of my sexual partners were in their thirties, at least, and often older. Now? it seems like most young gay men think that twenty five is old, and thirty is maybe worth a pity fuck if he's really hot. When I was younger, I valued those "relationships" (I use the term loosely) for what they taught me, about myself, about sex, but these newer gays seem to think they know it all already. They seem, for the most part, selfish, petty, shallow, and cruel.
But as I drove home, another thought occurred to me: what if it's me who changed?
When I think about it, the truth is that I was just as self-absorbed as I claim the young guys are now. At least, that would be a fair perspective to take, based on casual observation of the face I put on for the outside world. Most of my energy went into a desperate search for external validation, in the arms of a lover, or in the gym, where at some points I spent up to ten hours a week trying to sculpt the perfect body, or at work, trying to be the best customer service agent (or earlier, fleet service agent) in the airline, driven not so much by a strong work ethic as insecurity and a longing for praise. Even as I remained emotionally aloof, I craved that validation, trying to make myself good enough to earn it and deserve it. I was so busy trying to be good enough that there wasn't really time for anything, or anyone, else. Instead of developing some inner substance, I was running away from it, avoiding that deep pit inside me that whispered that I really wasn't worthy, that nothing I did was going to amount to anything.
I didn't get into the business of trying to make the world a better place until I was well into my thirties, and even that, one could argue, was the result of a few happy accidents. I stumbled into it, rather than intentionally seeking it out. While I thought a lot about joining the Speakers Bureau, it was eventually money (really, the utter lack thereof) that finally drove me to make that commitment. I kind of let myself be led into doing AIDSWatch, nudged by a couple of key people who were, not surprisingly, older than I was. As an aside, this aspect of my personal progress is consistent with what I learned about normative development in my Human Development class this past semester; as a person reaches the end of young adulthood and moves into middle age (i.e. that period from mid-thirties into mid-forties), the focus moves from one's own life to concern about the next generation.
I thought further about another conversation that I had a few days ago at a health fair with a school nurse. She was bemoaning the fact that her school district does not allow her to distribute condoms, because that might "encourage" sexual behavior. Meanwhile, several of their students are pregnant, and in fact they've got one of the highest rates of teen pregnancy in the state. I'm around the age of the parents of these teens now, probably within five years of them, and I find it baffling that they cannot stop for a moment and remember what it was like when they were in high school. From my perspective, it wasn't that long ago! I mean, I guess maybe one could argue it was, but not so long ago that I cannot remember what it felt like, or remember that when some authority figure told me I "couldn't" do something that I felt compelled to do, it just meant that I had to be sneaky about it. I remember thinking, at that age, that I would never treat my kids that way, that I would never say certain things. I imagine many of these parents were the same way when they were themselves teens. And here they are, my peers, saying them.
Which leads me to my ultimate point: it seems that every generation does this. We tend to say the same things about the other generations, both ahead of us and behind us, that have always been said. Parents of teenagers tend to think that their teens are out of control, that "we were never that wild/crazy/stupid", that they are shallow, totally at the mercy of their hormones and if we don't try to control them then they're just going to fuck everything up, good. Teens tend to think that their parents are out of touch, old fashioned, unable to accommodate change. Are teens actually getting more out of control? Probably not. I mean, in some ways, sure, things are different now, but look at the context. My generation didn't have the internet, for example; the one before me didn't have to deal with AIDS, and mine came around just as that ball started rolling. Those are just two small examples. Would my generation have done any better, or different, than the current crop of teens?
All of which is to say: I hate falling into a predictable trap. As hard as I try to be vigilant about my own biases, sometimes I'm just as fallible as everyone else. While it might be a valid perspective, that today's young gay men are shallow and selfish, it's only part of the story, and I'm not necessarily in a position to criticize them for it, as if I were any different when I was their age. At the same time, my point of view is necessarily influenced by my age in relation to theirs; from the vantage point of 39, young gay men appear to be self-absorbed. The challenge, then, is to remember to examine how much of my observation is some absolute, and how much is a function of my own biases.
So I got a tattoo today, number five. It's a bit of a gamble for me; even though I set the money aside from selling my textbooks to pay for it, and it's something I've been wanting for about a year, it's a stretch financially. I had to spend about $450 unexpectedly on my car a couple of weeks ago, money I didn't really have at that precise moment, so maybe I should have waited on this. I know it's all going to work out; next month I get my "stimulus" check from the IRS, which more than balances what I spent on my car. Still, even though it's done and I'm happy with it and there's no undoing it, I'm not sure it was the smartest choice.
I figured out in my head, on the drive home, that I've spent $600 on tattoos altogether, not including tips. And I've got four more definite tattoos in the queue, two of which need to actually be designed, and vague ideas for probably three more after that. Heh heh. And that's not even turning me into a walking mural or anything; they're all going to be covered up when I'm wearing a collared shirt and pants, and there's still going to be plenty of non-inked skin showing.
Anyway, I attempted to take a few pics of the newest and a couple of them turned out okay, so for those who are interested, check behind the cut.
This was difficult to photograph, because it's on my back, at the base of my neck. Now that I look at it, I kind of wanted it a little higher, but that probably would have been pushing it. Oh, and I realize that in the first two pics it might look like I'm naked, but I'm not; I'm wearing jeans. It's obvious in the last pic.
Yeah, my head needs a shave:
And then, one kind of cool pic that doesn't really show the tattoo:
For those who don't recognize or know that symbol, it's an om. (It's not the number 30, sillies.)
Of course, this new tattoo just highlights the fact that I really need to get the tribal beneath it touched up. Rodney, the tattoo artist, touched up the bear on my left shoulder from last year for free, but 1) he did the original tattoo, and 2) it just needed a two minute cosmetic tweak; the tribal needs a complete overhaul, so I can't expect him to do that for free, and 3) I wasn't sure I was up to the pain today. The om wasn't too bad pain-wise, but it was relatively quick.
Again, these pics don't really capture just how cool this tattoo is, so I'll have to get someone to do a better job later.
We were talking about the gay community, specifically young gay men. Both of us, the only two guys who showed up to help out, were complaining about the up and coming generation, the twinks in their late teens and early twenties. It seems like, no matter where I look to get a sense of young gay men, whether it's scanning the ads on Craigslist or looking in LJ communities, there is no actual sense of community among them. When AIDS broke out in the 80s, it seemed like gay men really came together as a group, kind of grew up in a sense and learned how to look out for each other, look outside themselves. I remembered how, when I first started having sex with men, many of my partners were significantly older than I was; in my late teens and early twenties, most of my sexual partners were in their thirties, at least, and often older. Now? it seems like most young gay men think that twenty five is old, and thirty is maybe worth a pity fuck if he's really hot. When I was younger, I valued those "relationships" (I use the term loosely) for what they taught me, about myself, about sex, but these newer gays seem to think they know it all already. They seem, for the most part, selfish, petty, shallow, and cruel.
But as I drove home, another thought occurred to me: what if it's me who changed?
When I think about it, the truth is that I was just as self-absorbed as I claim the young guys are now. At least, that would be a fair perspective to take, based on casual observation of the face I put on for the outside world. Most of my energy went into a desperate search for external validation, in the arms of a lover, or in the gym, where at some points I spent up to ten hours a week trying to sculpt the perfect body, or at work, trying to be the best customer service agent (or earlier, fleet service agent) in the airline, driven not so much by a strong work ethic as insecurity and a longing for praise. Even as I remained emotionally aloof, I craved that validation, trying to make myself good enough to earn it and deserve it. I was so busy trying to be good enough that there wasn't really time for anything, or anyone, else. Instead of developing some inner substance, I was running away from it, avoiding that deep pit inside me that whispered that I really wasn't worthy, that nothing I did was going to amount to anything.
I didn't get into the business of trying to make the world a better place until I was well into my thirties, and even that, one could argue, was the result of a few happy accidents. I stumbled into it, rather than intentionally seeking it out. While I thought a lot about joining the Speakers Bureau, it was eventually money (really, the utter lack thereof) that finally drove me to make that commitment. I kind of let myself be led into doing AIDSWatch, nudged by a couple of key people who were, not surprisingly, older than I was. As an aside, this aspect of my personal progress is consistent with what I learned about normative development in my Human Development class this past semester; as a person reaches the end of young adulthood and moves into middle age (i.e. that period from mid-thirties into mid-forties), the focus moves from one's own life to concern about the next generation.
I thought further about another conversation that I had a few days ago at a health fair with a school nurse. She was bemoaning the fact that her school district does not allow her to distribute condoms, because that might "encourage" sexual behavior. Meanwhile, several of their students are pregnant, and in fact they've got one of the highest rates of teen pregnancy in the state. I'm around the age of the parents of these teens now, probably within five years of them, and I find it baffling that they cannot stop for a moment and remember what it was like when they were in high school. From my perspective, it wasn't that long ago! I mean, I guess maybe one could argue it was, but not so long ago that I cannot remember what it felt like, or remember that when some authority figure told me I "couldn't" do something that I felt compelled to do, it just meant that I had to be sneaky about it. I remember thinking, at that age, that I would never treat my kids that way, that I would never say certain things. I imagine many of these parents were the same way when they were themselves teens. And here they are, my peers, saying them.
Which leads me to my ultimate point: it seems that every generation does this. We tend to say the same things about the other generations, both ahead of us and behind us, that have always been said. Parents of teenagers tend to think that their teens are out of control, that "we were never that wild/crazy/stupid", that they are shallow, totally at the mercy of their hormones and if we don't try to control them then they're just going to fuck everything up, good. Teens tend to think that their parents are out of touch, old fashioned, unable to accommodate change. Are teens actually getting more out of control? Probably not. I mean, in some ways, sure, things are different now, but look at the context. My generation didn't have the internet, for example; the one before me didn't have to deal with AIDS, and mine came around just as that ball started rolling. Those are just two small examples. Would my generation have done any better, or different, than the current crop of teens?
All of which is to say: I hate falling into a predictable trap. As hard as I try to be vigilant about my own biases, sometimes I'm just as fallible as everyone else. While it might be a valid perspective, that today's young gay men are shallow and selfish, it's only part of the story, and I'm not necessarily in a position to criticize them for it, as if I were any different when I was their age. At the same time, my point of view is necessarily influenced by my age in relation to theirs; from the vantage point of 39, young gay men appear to be self-absorbed. The challenge, then, is to remember to examine how much of my observation is some absolute, and how much is a function of my own biases.
So I got a tattoo today, number five. It's a bit of a gamble for me; even though I set the money aside from selling my textbooks to pay for it, and it's something I've been wanting for about a year, it's a stretch financially. I had to spend about $450 unexpectedly on my car a couple of weeks ago, money I didn't really have at that precise moment, so maybe I should have waited on this. I know it's all going to work out; next month I get my "stimulus" check from the IRS, which more than balances what I spent on my car. Still, even though it's done and I'm happy with it and there's no undoing it, I'm not sure it was the smartest choice.
I figured out in my head, on the drive home, that I've spent $600 on tattoos altogether, not including tips. And I've got four more definite tattoos in the queue, two of which need to actually be designed, and vague ideas for probably three more after that. Heh heh. And that's not even turning me into a walking mural or anything; they're all going to be covered up when I'm wearing a collared shirt and pants, and there's still going to be plenty of non-inked skin showing.
Anyway, I attempted to take a few pics of the newest and a couple of them turned out okay, so for those who are interested, check behind the cut.
This was difficult to photograph, because it's on my back, at the base of my neck. Now that I look at it, I kind of wanted it a little higher, but that probably would have been pushing it. Oh, and I realize that in the first two pics it might look like I'm naked, but I'm not; I'm wearing jeans. It's obvious in the last pic.
Yeah, my head needs a shave:
And then, one kind of cool pic that doesn't really show the tattoo:
For those who don't recognize or know that symbol, it's an om. (It's not the number 30, sillies.)
Of course, this new tattoo just highlights the fact that I really need to get the tribal beneath it touched up. Rodney, the tattoo artist, touched up the bear on my left shoulder from last year for free, but 1) he did the original tattoo, and 2) it just needed a two minute cosmetic tweak; the tribal needs a complete overhaul, so I can't expect him to do that for free, and 3) I wasn't sure I was up to the pain today. The om wasn't too bad pain-wise, but it was relatively quick.
Again, these pics don't really capture just how cool this tattoo is, so I'll have to get someone to do a better job later.