Friday night, my fiancé and I stayed home and watched “Brokeback Mountain”. I was pleased with the movie, not because it made ardent strides for gay rights, but because it was an aesthetically pleasing movie about two men who loved each other as human beings, not as flagrant stereotypes of homosexual men. Like it’s such a surprise that gay men can be cowboys…but anyway.
The next night, Russ was preparing for a departure to Las Vegas. It is his family’s first vacation together, so all involved are excited. He was planning on taking the train out to Long Island, but to my delight, decided to stay in and hang out with me and meet them at the airport this morning. We decided to grab dinner elsewhere, since neither of us were much interested in cooking.
We walked around, and found this place called Dumont Burger. For those people who are in Williamsburg, it will come as no surprise to them what I am about to write. Holy hell, was that a good burger.
As a kid, I had an underdeveloped jaw (I have since compensated ☺), and ground beef was like Chinese water torture. I would be hungry, but after the umpteenth time I tried to chew, my jaw would be sore, the beef would no longer taste like anything composed of food particles, and I would spit the food out in search of something more edible.
To say I am not really a burger person is really an understatement. To me, it is the worst kind of food torture. As you prepare it, it looks as though it will be tasty. You go through all the motions to toss it on the grill, and as you're cooking it, it still smells good. Then, you actually eat it, and it has taken on th flavor of charcoal briquettes. Gross.
Anyway, we eat burgers at Dumont burger, and they are decidedly un-disgusting. To boot, it was stuffed to the rafters with hipsters. Most were drinking wine and consuming the aforementioned awesome burger. Anyway, Russ and I eat at the bar (we aren't patient enough to wait for a table), and we start people watching.
I usually watch women, and judge them (it's a hobby). But tonight, my focus was on the men, and how they interacted with the women who accompanied them.
I know that the stereotype of men in Williamsburg (and men in New York) is that they are all hipster, with penchants for expensive facial tonics and orgasmic over sheets with a high thread count.
It is all true.
Watching the men on dates with various women, I couldn't figure out why they seemed to be getting nowhere. The men seemed to be trying to get the women's attention and doing their best job of being verbally engaging...
And then it hit me...
These men didn't share a penis among them.
Now, know that I am slamming my 'hood out of love. I would not choose to live elsewhere, but...
For fuck's sake, it is a burger joint. Stop over enunciating. Eat. Not a salad, a burger. Shut the fuck up. Chicks dig that.
It is one thing when a guy is so hopeless in the dressing and hygiene area and is amenable to a little grooming from a partner. It is quite another when the man comes so groomed that he puts his partner's femininity to shame. He is frightening. He spends too much time on his hair. His jeans are so tight you can locate major arteries along his thighs. This is all NOT ATTRACTIVE.
Maybe I am just Southern, or maybe archaically enmeshed in gender roles, but holy shit. Grow a pair, and then see how women respond.
When Russ and I started watching "Brokeback Mountain", we started laughing fit to kill over Heath Ledger's accent. Russ said, "Great. Two hours of Heath Ledger mumbling."
But then I realized, that's hot. Guys, take a page from the gay cowboy book. Wear the tight jeans, but only while herding cattle. If you have product in your hair, it must best be categorized as a by-product from an engine, or some type of synthetic lubricant you come into contact with at a job where you work with your hands. And no talking about your band. No one knows who they are, and we all hate your superior attitude about them.
And I am spent.
