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Growing a Nut Duster
or Whoops, I Got Gay
By Jenni Wu and Jim Edwards
Dear Fran–
I’m going blind and this Yoo-hoo tastes like pumpkin pies and I’m stuck at the college library until God knows when. No lit crit, this time–I CAN’T SEE A DAMN THING.
I think I need glasses, which is funny because I’ve been wearing fake glasses for five years. In any case, here is what ‘we’ wrote.
In the Iowa of my childhood, we had two kinds of gay people: flamboyant show choir gays and closeted flamboyant show choir gays. Since moving to the West Coast in October, the vast spectrum of gay archetypes has driven me into a state of sensory overload, in which all men are assumed gay until proven innocent. Recently, my non-gay boyfriend, who works at a chocolate shoppe in the mall, pointed out the fallacy of this worldview. According to Jim, my non-gay boyfriend who makes me search eBay for 30x34 grey, bootcut Diesel jeans while he’s working at the chocolate shoppe in the mall, there are several categories of human beings who are neither gay nor straight, but can best be described as non-gay gays. These are:
1. The Indie Gay.
An associate, Kyle, recently moved from Portland to the STL (aka St. Louis), where he is part of a team of 15,000 engineers working to develop new weapons of mass destruction. Fresh out of college and looking for stimulating young companions, Kyle moved to a district populated by men in well-fitting dress shirts and slim-cut jeans. “You like music, right?” he asked. “No, we’re gay,” they responded. On the West Coast, the opposite is true, and the tall, long-haired dandy in Chanel sunglasses and a pink striped blazer isn’t gay; he just likes designer clothing to be ironic, listens to fey music to get chicks and smokes cigarettes to stay skinny. (Because NO ONE, regardless of sexual orientation, likes a fatty.)
2. The Gay by Default Gay.
My friend, “Matthew Phillip,” recently moved from Duluth to New York City, where he teaches emotionally disturbed teenagers in a maximum security ward of an inner city hospital. On the first day of class, he said, “My name is Mr. Phillip.” “That’s too hard to remember,” they responded, “You’re name is Mr. White-Nigger Faggot.” And compared to them: rambunctious black youths who yell “fuck” as often as they breathe air, he is a White-Nigger Faggot. Except he likes girls—girls with non-existent boobs, but girls nonetheless.
3. The Gayer than Gay Gay.
My friend, “Matthew Phillip,” may go by Mr. White-Nigger Faggot during the working week, but off-duty, he turns into the gayest gay that any gay has ever met. He buys t-shirts from the little girl’s section of Goodwill and wears a plumed hat that begs to channel Boy George. He mews at strangers like a totally coy deranged gay kitty cat and prances around the dance floors of New York in crooked eyeliner and knee-high striped socks. He’s not particularly indie; he’s just totally gay. Except he likes girls—girls with non-existent boobs and no hips who wear ties and trucker caps, but girls nonetheless.
4. The Girl Fag.
This is not the same thing as a lesbian or a fag hag, obviously. Our friend, “No Name Needed,” acts just like our gay male friends. She acts so gay that she’s growing a moustache. However, she’s a girl and she has huge boobs. I can’t really describe her, but if you’ve met a girl fag, you probably know it because it probably made you puke.
That said, as far as I can tell, anybody who works in retail during the holiday season is probably gay and anybody who writes for or reads this magazine is probably gay, too.
I can’t count the words b/c I wrote it in WORD PAD, because this college is FOR POOR PEOPLE and they CAN’T AFFORD MICROSOFT WORD. Do you think I need glasses? If you want me to make changes, you can tell me, and I’ll do it later this afternoon or tomorrow after I get done at the MALL.
xoxo
Jenni and Jim
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Volume 2, Issue 1 contents |
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