In praise of vain, silly guys

My sexuality puts me in an odd place sometimes. I resent the gay stereotypes of Queer Eye for the Straight Guy. But those swishy guys have been the ones I've loved.

I'd never heard of Steven Cojocaru until seeing him mentioned in someone else's weblog last night. Out of curiosity I Googled him, discovering I'd seen the face. TV and I don't mix. If a cyclopean Tesla coil blasted all broadcasting out of existence I wouldn't much care.

That doesn't mean I don't engage in channel surfing. A few weeks back I ran across the numbers wondering if there was anything I'd like to watch before going to bed. A very faggy sounding guy was chattering with someone famous. I don't know celebrities. Or even movie stars. It was years before I could remember that Tom Cruise wasn't Rob Lowe and that Rob Lowe wasn't a third Hollywood hottie.

Look, I may say "faggy sounding" but from me that is an endearment. I got up to look closer and saw a fake-haired, glossed-up artificial queen talking to someone famous I'd never heard of. Being a man who remembers the first time he saw a guy wearing eyeliner, I like phony hair and queerish artificiality.

You saw Steven Cojocaru and go "Ugh!" I thought "Gosh he's pretty." That didn't stop me from turning to something else. I can half tolerate listening to a superficial painted guy gossip in my ear, I don't have to pay attention but I'm not going to watch some distant TV personality do it.

But if I were stranded on a desert island and the Sex Genie appeared and said I could have Cruise, Lowe or Cojocaru in the evenings the last would win. Nor would I pick him if the genie were more obliging. As many chattering ninnies as I've loved I'd rather have more peace and quiet on my desert island.

Maybe sometime later I'll make a wholly superficial entry on my shortlist for my desert island.