500 words on “This Guy Fucks”

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“This guy fucks.” This joke from the TV show Silicon Valley has made its way into the wider culture or, more likely, I’m losing my handle on what the wider culture is. I love this joke—and the context in which it can be used—so very much because of its naughty wink towards some truths about the straight male psyche and its conditioning.

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“It is just something to say when you want to mess with somebody. Meaningless.” reads the online Silicon Valley Encyclopedia. There is a level on which this joke works as a non-sequitur (it’s incredible how “fuck” becomes vulgar again when it’s used as a verb and not an ejaculation!), but to dismiss it as meaningless misses much of the humor.


In the scene, the hyper-heterosexual Russ Haneman (it wouldn’t work from a character that actually fucks guys) says it to the sweet, neurotic, and likely deeply broken Jared. Like everything about Russ, it’s a cultural ideal taken to a grotesque extreme. The taboo it dances on is the same one that keeps straight men from referring to another man as sexy (unless it’s in a context like humor that rewards it by showing How Secure They Are In Their Masculinity). Or, more subtly, straight men’s conditioning about their appearance: an unreasonable, soul-killing expectation to be sexually attractive but never ever acknowledge that there are more and less attractive men, that they have put any effort into their appearance, or that they even know how to or why you would try.

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It’s a ludicrous mass delusion! Of course when we are sexually attracted to people, we think about them as sexual partners, and we also think about how people are attractive to other people, and what they might think about their sexual potential. Of course straight men do too. Of course straight men think about which guy fucks.


When you step on that taboo, you open the door to other culturally inappropriate thoughts like “Women can choose their own mates” and “I should put more effort into my appearance” and “I should probably have an informed idea of what women’s preferences are.” This, in turn, could lead to disturbing questions about the value of the Patriarchy to men who don’t conform to its ideals. It’s much easier to just pretend we don’t see all this, a school uniform in a district with high inequality. In fact, anything else would be Gay.

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Gay is the great magic spell that has the power to expel from the patriarchy. And it eventually comes for all straight men, and the style movements they participate in, who celebrate their own appearance. Look at the punks and the mods, grunge and hair metal, the retro- and metrosexual, the beatnik and the men in the gray suits, new jack swing and gangsta rap, hipster fashion and athleisure. It all turns Gay in the end.

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journaling is an incredibly aspirational practice for many people. the people that dominate online spaces about journaling are the same kind of hucksters that dominate any sort of practice where the principals are easy and the execution is hard. fitness. career planning. budgeting.

the easiest way to journal is to write, which is also the hardest way.

i’ve never felt particularly secure in my journaling habit, and yet each year I’ve filled more pages than last year and that’s been true for almost 16 years.

the last time i took a run at reimagining this space, i wrote:

At some point I lost faith in my voice, and I’m just now dreaming about finding it again. When I look at old posts on this blog, all I read are the qualifications on my thoughts, my uncertainty to voice opinions, my wordiness. I feel like my inner monologue is different these days, and I want my writerly self to reflect that difference.

the incredible thing is, that experiment kind of worked. almost nobody read the posts, i felt like i was stylizing myself in real time, and my transparency only destroyed one of my friendships. for about four solid months, i kept a radically transparent online journal.

that’s just fine

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but growth has its own trajectory, and right now i am in the process of harvesting the fruits grown since that last post, and clearing space to plant something new.

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New Year

A new year, possibilities and promises, for many of us a few days to catch your breath, remember that you’re a person with a job and not your job, a person with problems and not your problems. It’s the one time of the year where we all silently agree to pretend that we have more faith than we do in the idea that we make choices, and our choices do not make us.

I am as happy as everybody else to see 2015 go. In my small world, I went through an episode of major depression, was very frustrated with my job for long stretches, and got very ill twice. On a larger scale, I found myself more emotionally distressed by the unrest and conflict in the world than any other year of my life. I did not understand the language of national paranoia of the late ’60’s (think Joan Didion’s The White Album) until experiencing this year.

So, green shoots. The time off has done its work, and I’m ready to go back to my routines and begin again. It’s incredible how reassuring and grounding our daily routines can be.  There is this apropos/revolting term that I see online a lot, “adulting,” which is a wide-eyed incredulity that somebody out there trusted you to take care of yourself, and then—surprise upon surprise!—you actually did. In both the best and worst senses of the term, being grateful to go back to routine, like an escaped dairy cow led back to the pen, is adulting at its highest.

I did make resolutions, just a handful. I don’t want to make them public, they are hard and they are big. What I will say is that at all of their roots is courage and bravery.

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Cultivated strangenesses are one thing. Uncultivated strangenesses are another thing; perhaps more authentic, but more unpredictable, less controlled? On days like this one where I spend most of my time silent and in slow thought, it can take me a full fifteen or twenty seconds into an exchange for me to get used to the pace of conversation with another person.

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I finally got around to watching the video of the confrontation between the Yale professor and the student. This is not a social issue that I understand fully. I generally want to side with those that are testifying to an injustice that’s been done to them. But the student in that video is not speaking from a place of strength, and I don’t believe that the student activism I am seeing from Yale is building strength. Of course, the moment that we are in (or were in before the attacks in Paris) is a high water for student activism on the national level, but life is complex enough for similar looking demonstrations of force in Missouri and in Connecticut to lead me to opposite conclusions.

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I performed on Friday, and since then have felt more myself and more like an artist than in a while. There’s a horrific stasis that sets in when you let yourself rest in the place of knowing what your next steps are, but not yet taking them.

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Wednesday

One of my least favorite feelings is that the whole day has gone by without me doing anything at all. It’s Friday evening, and I honestly cannot remember a single thing from before I got back home on Wednesday evening.

So it goes.

When I got home, I was filled with some energy and spontaneously asked my roommates if they wanted to come out to a bar with me. Natalie said no, but Luke was game. I was excited, because we hadn’t hung out like that for a while. After eating dinner, we went out to Dot’s and had a grand time, complete with a long meandering discussion on what it means to work, what kind of lifestyle to aspire to, relationships, love, gossip about other people, family. We drove home afterward content in the other’s company.

Thursday

I was going to have to work all day on Sunday, so I took Thursday as a flex day. I offered Luke a ride to work, and woke her up from oversleep to get there. After dropping her off, I had a mini weekend day, starting with my coffee and bagel at Spielmans. I made a kickass playlist and read more Dharma Bums. (I might give that up soon).

After breakfast, I went home and did housework naked and then took a shower and prepared food for dinner. I watched some of Pink Narcissus, a bonkers 1971 gay experimental film that’s somewhere in between a fantastical phantasmagoric third-world musical and a jerk off video. Basically, an art director for magazine photography would take these sets for photo shoots and off the books pay rent boys to touch themselves erotically while he filmed it. It’s a lot more visually cool than tawdry, but it’s also plenty tawdry.

I fell asleep for a nap, and when I woke up, Natalie was deep into preparations for a Bonfire Night party. We didn’t end up having a bonfire, but we did have meat and watched V for Vendetta and got pleasingly drunk.