FHC’s resurrected blog : In which fHC attempts to complete his picture of gay DC

As I was working out at Results yesterday evening (actually more like pushing indolently some weights around while staring at the scenery…nothing fancy…really …trust me), I thought that the next step in completing my description of the day DC social stratification was to evoke the gay proletariat. Down with elitism. The main difference with the MNDC and the apparatchiks, is that the gay proletariat’s parents weren’t middle class (well everybody is in the US, so let’s say they were lower middle class) and they very rarely hold a graduate degree. That might explain why their appear to be more vulnerable to bad fashion, drugs, awful attitude, being cynical about love, the danger of indoor tanning and as a general rule getting caught in all the awful traps that snare young men when they come out too early. In my opinion, being gay in our society is unfortunately a trauma that you can only overcome with family support, money, a tiny bit of Judeo-Christian culture, a strict upbringing and a good diploma. Lacking of such tools, the gay proletariat focuses their entire lives on increasing their pleasure and reducing the pain of being society’s outcasts by looking for the quick gains and boozing it up with the certainty that anyway life stops at 35 (and it does…for them). The life of the gay proletariat can be summarized by the following scenario: being a twink at Nation on Saturdays and Apex on Thursdays, partying like crazy, getting depressed, moving to 17^th street (so far it does awfully sound like my own story), becoming a real estate agent/mortgage broker/bartender/front desk attendant/hustler/lawyers (for a minority), joining Results, building up muscle mass, becoming a gym bunny, joining manhunt, getting depressed, buying a condo or a basement apartment, flirting with an eating disorder, decorating the condo, staying in a relationship three months, seeing their buttocks go first and then their pecs sagging a little later, switching from Nation to JRs, getting light plastic surgery, becoming a troll, moving to Florida and ultimately disappearing in the huge gay vacuum. What is amazing is that they seem to be completely oblivious to the emptiness of their life, the frailty of their dreams (becoming huge, meeting Madonna, spending the Week-End in Miami, Going to gay Disney, and eventually getting laid) and their own inherent tragedy when you see them glowing at the gym stuck in tiny little shorts, their muscles shining as the promise of better tomorrows, lurking between the machines for the next high, confusing their own panic for passion, and their selfishness for grandeur. Like bulls they grow only in bulk. They never really go beyond coming out, miss some of the necessary steps to middle age (a little meditation, a little mdeication, reading one book a year and visiting lesser known parts of the world as well as investing in your career, a more sedentary life and adding some straight couple to the overall recipe) and therefore time (and cigarette and protein shakes and the occasional tina bump) takes a huge toll of them leaving them lifeless, burnt-out, often sick, always wrinkly, bitter and tired. They hate adulthood and apparently this is reciprocal. As someone once said “wisdom does not come with old age, only wrinkles do”.