End of The(ir) World

I’ve allowed myself to get sucked into Rapture-mocking. It’s fun, and, I mean, what do I have to lose? If it actually happens at 6pm today, I was going to hell anyway. If it doesn’t happen, then my dinner plans at 7:15pm are a go, and I can share a see-it-didn’t happen toast with them, although we’ll likely have better things to discuss.

Meanwhile, to get in the spirit, I’m doing what everyone else seems to be doing: posting songs that allude to or center on the end of the world or, more generally, on endings. There are some great ones. My favorite is Matt Alber’s straightforwardly titled “End of the World,” which uses the ending as a simile. Major conflict and change threaten his relationship, but isn’t the staying together worth the struggle, he asks. Isn’t the struggle simply part of life and love?

While I’m sure Alber invites anyone to put her-/himself in the persona’s place, he’s gay, and in the video he does a gorgeous slow dance with a man. Unashamed, public displays of affection between men is the kind of “sign” that Rapturites believe indicates the end of the world is near, as does increased acceptance of LGBT people. Their exclusionary beliefs on earth will be justified when they rise and co-mingle with Jesus and the dead, or some version of that.

It won’t be the end of The World, just the end of their world. As more of us queer folks reveal who we are (actors, athletes, solders–oh my!), and as the people who love us openly accept us, the vicious lies fundamentalists tell about us lose power. Sure, we’re as humanly sex-obsessed as heterosexual people, but we also long for tenderness. We enjoy a slow dance, a dip punctuated by a sweet kiss. Some people have been obsessing about terrible ends. My people long for happy beginnings.

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“Ooo-They’re-Gay” Jokes Are Still Cutting-Edge 1980s Comedy

I overheard an offensive-to-me joke–that ole chestnut about insulting two presumably heterosexual men by insinuating they’re a couple. It’s the kind of “humor” that closet cases and straight people who are insecure about their own relationships use to feel better about themselves, blending the ick factor with a dash of gay panic. I do remember that shit seemed fresh in the locker room back in junior high, and did my best to laugh along. (My time in the junior high locker room was all about trying but failing to cover what made me ashamed.)

Instead of simply fuming about the latest telling of this joke, I got a chance to respond directly and in writing. Having some time to puzzle over the situation was helpful, as it usually is for how my brain processes information. I’m all for bringing the funny, and people have a right to say what they want. I’m even open to being the butt of a joke that’s actually funny. (Ha! I just said “butt.”) But when your tired words and ideas enter my airspace, prepare to engage. Free speech is about as multi-player as you can get.

The topic is important to plenty of people other than me in this age of openly pursued “bromances,” which are decidedly “no-homo” in contrast to civil unions or marriages, but not as “no-homo” as plain ole friendship. Gay panic seems to be cooling into gay anxiety, for some, at least. I encourage them to get help with that cultural shit. I probably wouldn’t be alive if I hadn’t.

For what it’s worth, I offer the bulk of my letter here, without identifiers, to inspire, entertain, infuriate, and/or bore my dear readers. Or pick a verb of your very own.