Someone named Gordon describes me in a comment on this post: “Not as bright as he imagines himself to be.” What are you, Gordon, my fifth-grade teacher? What a smarmy, smug thing to say. Way to psychoanalyze me based on one 800-word opinion piece. You have no idea how bright I don’t imagine myself to be sometimes.
As for the actual post itself, Farmboyz has it all wrong.
1) Once again: I love sex. And anonymous sex can be lots of fun. Guess what? I’ve had lots of it. It can be quite a rush. But at least three different people so far have come to exactly the opposite conclusion after reading my piece, which means either that I should have thought harder about how my words would be read and revised the piece accordingly, or that some people equate criticism of repeated unprotected sex with prudery. All I can guess is that some people are so bitter about the outrageous criticism of the religious right and Anita Bryant clones – at least 30 years’ worth of criticism – that they lump any questioning of the 1970s way of life into that same category. This, despite the fact that I specifically wrote in the piece that my original feeling of scorn was wrong.
As I also wrote in my piece, sex in itself is not inherently dangerous, and there’s a difference between anonymous sex and unprotected sex. As far as physical health is concerned, whom you have sex with is less important than the precautions you take with that person. That’s more or less a direct quote.
2) As for meeting Farmboyz: I do remember meeting him at Pieces during a Christopher Street blogger bar crawl, and he’s right: whatever dissing or judging he imagines is completely in his head. I’ve only read his blog once before, actually, and it was because Joe (I think it was Joe) linked to a multi-part piece he wrote about something that happened a long time ago. I thought it was amazingly well-written. No idea where he came up with the feeling that I was judging him.
It’s true that I was uncomfortable that night. I was flattered that Joe invited me, but I get shy when I’m in a large, unfamiliar group of people who all know each other. Makes me feel like the odd one out. All I can guess is that my discomfort must have been visible on my face and he misinterpreted it.
I don’t get where the hostility toward me is coming from, but then again I don’t know Farmboyz or his blog very well.
Farmboyz seems particularly spot on. Those who haven’t really “lived” shouldn’t presume to know what you have in your piece.
Goodness, Jeff! Now we’ve a real predicament. Whatever will we do if we should ever cross paths again? Will it be icy air kisses like Paris and Nicole? Hair pulling like Crystal and Alexis? Or, maybe some relaxed and honest jousting. I suspect we have a lot to disagree about and that any verbal wrangling between us might be beneficial to anyone listening, if not to us alone.
I keep rearranging the sexual components of my life, like gilt ikons on the night table of a Russian empress. Trying to get it right by votive light. I won’t mind hearing your voice.
Your Farmboyz
What struck me about Gay Sex in the 70s is how completely inconclusive it was. It did not moralize. It did not try to “make sense” of the era. I can well understand why the movie generates heated discussion, because it forces you to apply your own judgment and, in the case of sex, everyone’s judgment differs.
Oh, perhaps Farmboyz just wants to show how erudite he is while he sits upon his clever metaphors, pronouncing the whole world will bow to the wisdom of the judgement that passes from his tender lips. Sheesh…
Ed, You’ve made me laugh, thanks, and how exactly have you come to know that my lips are tender?