My Machismo

Recently, my masculinity has come under a bit of long overdue scrutiny. The catalyst, if you will, of this McCarthy style witch hunt was a simple misunderstanding about a local piano bar. To make a long story slightly shorter but nonetheless uninteresting, a friend of mine (and theoretical co-blogger) Jon plays the piano and has for many years. To my amazement, he is actually very good. This is alarming to me because as far as I know, his hands spend so much time on and around his own cock and balls that I didn't think there was any time left over for piano practice. Apparently there was. Jon has been looking for a bar at which to participate in an open mic night, and get some experience playing before a crowd. He currently enjoys a weekly gig in front of about 250 people. Unfortunately, since it's at a soup kitchen, most of his audience is homeless, or at the very least, more hungry than they are interested in his piano playing. So he's been looking for the chance to entertain a slighly more upscale crowd, and so far has not had much luck.

While returning some of the Christmas gifts I got my wife (an annual custom) I happened by Brandy's Piano Bar, which is around our neighborhood (UES). It was about four in the afternoon, so the only people in there were the bartender and a delivery man. I asked about open mic nights and was pleasantly told that they have about 6 hours of entertainment a night, and are always looking for open mic piano players. I happily took his business card, and was told to email him and schedule a block of time for my friend to come in. (At this point, it should be clear that my earlier declaration of my intent to keep this story short has been abandoned, much like the integrity of the few Baseball Hall of Fame voters who left Cal Ripken off their ballots) I gave Jon the card and told him to contact the email address. He was excited about the prospect and a few days later sent me an email titled "Piano Bar," which I was expecting to detail when he would be playing there. Turns out, Brandy's Piano Bar is in fact, a gay bar. A gay piano bar to be specific. Most, if not all of their piano players specialize in show tunes, and the bar is "famous" for its sing-a-longs. Oops. I say he still should play there. He's single, Italian and the highly suggestable type.

Normally, such a mix up would not cause an investigation into my manfulness (it's a word, trust me), but the investigators dug up some other evidence which paints me in something of a less than heterosexual light.*

The case against me is as follows:

1. I have little to no interest in football - The problem is all my sports energy is focused on baseball. I'm so invested, that by the end of October, I'm just worn out. You want to know how many home runs David Ortiz hit last September (7), I'm your man. You want to know where Eli Manning went to college, try the internet.

2. I don't like beer - This by itself wouldn't be a huge issue. I know a lot of guys who don't like beer, and they have "their drink" when they go out and nobody makes a big deal about it. However, "my drink" is a frosty beverage known around town as a Smirnoff Ice. And whenever I drink them, unless I'm groping my wife (who often has a beer in her hand) assumptions are being made.



3. I love my dog - Again, on the surface, hardly a big issue. But she's small (about 35 pounds) and my wife insists on a purple collar and matching purple leash. When I walk her, I might be putting out a certain vibe. And that vibe is not that I like vaginas. Also, I probably should sleep spooning her a lot less.

4. I spent a week deep in the Canadian woods with four other guys, and no power - Believe me, this one's hard to get around. When I start describing this trip to people, I always get the same response about half way into it: "You're married, aren't you?" Why can't a bunch of friends just bond in the wilderness together? I admit, the idea of a reunion with people who live in the same city is strange, and the fact that my buddies ate their weight in Keilbasa isn't helping, but dammit, there's nothing gay about sitting around a frightening large (and dangerously uncontrolled) campfire, making smores with your old high school friends.
I just read that sentence again, and I now I'm not sure.

5. My favorite dessert in NYC is a Chocolate Salami - please see www.thepickygourmand.blogspot.com for more information about the restaurant UVA. The Salami is a 6 inch long chocolate cock filled with cookie dough. If you don't like it you can kiss my ass.

6. I have a favorite dessert in NYC.

7. I go to the gym a lot - This may be true, but I am not one of those tank top wearing closet jobs, who wear as little as possible while they work out and claim it's to watch their form. Little tip, there aren't a lot of girls around the free weights, so you aren't wearing those teeny tiny tanks for the ladies...

8. I don't like buffalo wings - I don't know what this means to people, or why they care, but I was asked last weekend while at a bar trying to watch football, why I wasn't taking advantage of the $2 wing special. When I responded with the fact that I don't like wings, I was told in not so polite terms that I was slightly less than heterosexual. To prove my assailant wrong, I chugged what remained of my Smirnoff Ice.

9. My taste in music - This is where it all falls apart for me. I cannot tell you how many times my taste in music has been compared to, or has directly matched that of a teenage girl. It's scary. Some of my favorites include: Christina Aguilera (though strictly because she is fucking hot), Kelly Clarkson, Avril Levigne, Nickelback, Staind, Green Day, Blink 182, Backstreet Boys (admit it, 'I Want It That Way' is a fucking good song and you still know exactly how it goes). For some reason the fact that I don't like Bob Dylan upsets a lot of people, too:
Guy: What music do you like?
Me: Christina Aguilera.
Guy: I guess she's hot. You like Bob Dylan?
Me: Not at all.
Guy: Are you gay?
That is an exact conversation I had recently had one night at Brandy's Piano Bar.

10. There are some women whom the media tells us are hot, but for various reasons, I am not the least bit attracted to them:

• Pamela Anderson - She's got an STD, people. And there is absolutely nothing real about her. Now look, I don't care if a woman has fake breasts, if I can see them, they're real enough for me. But when they're bigger than her head, and you can see the skin puckering constantly, it does nothing for me. Also, SHE HAS A FUCKING STD. Not that I ever could, but I'm pretty sure that I don't want my penis going anywhere that Tommy Lee and Kid Rock have been.
• Jennifer Lopez - Has a woman ever become famous for doing so little? Can't act, can't sing, but wears a fucking robe to an award show and suddenly she's huge. I don't get it. But quite obviously she's confident that she's better than everybody else. Thankfully, she married some ugly dude who's way more talented than her, and she's been reduced to a reality TV judge on MTV.
• Jessica Simpson - There is nothing attractive about this idiot. Nothing. Don't get me wrong, if you told me you knew some stupid chick with huge tits that I should meet, I'd be excited, but all you have to do is watch one frame of Dukes of Hazzard, or one second of that fucking reality show and you'll want to murder her. (and after she's dead, probably have sex with her, but that's because you're disgusting)
• Kate Bosworth - Never have a I wanted to force feed a girl a sandwich more in my life. She literally has the body of my 13 year old nephew. As a guy who likes asses (which could be another item on this list in itself) this flat assed boy/girl and all of her anorexic-bulemic friends are of absolutely no interest to me. (See also: Nicole Richie, Calista Flockhart, Keira Knightley, Lara Flynn Boyle, Mary-Kate Olsen, the girl on HOUSE, the new Lindsay Lohan, Mischa Barton) If I were to have sex with one of these girls, I can guarantee you two things. First, I would be arrested, because the sex would not be consentual, and secondly, all I'd be able to think about the whole time was little league baseball. If I wanted to have sex with a boy, I'd kidnap and rape one. Again.
• Britney Spears - Admittedly, she has a great body and yes I went online to look at pics of her vagina, but people, take a look at her face. Seriously. A long look. Really look at it. Guys, look at it for about two minutes and if you're still hard, then turn the fan down, or push your dog away.
• Paris Hilton - Simply put, this chick is a twat.

I'm sure there are others, why just off the top of my head: I wear silk underwear, I like popsicles, I've started to use color in my blog postings, I have a blog, I like having parties, there are several photos of me wearing a dress - including one in which I am being spanked by a cowboy, I refuse to watch porn with uncircumcized guys, when I have sex with my wife I think about my male friends and I have a red pair of athletic pants.

*I feel I should say that I do not consider myself a homophobic person, and I'm all for gay rights and am a big supporter of gay marriage. This blog was meant to be amusing and was not intended to offend anbody. If you were offended, you probably shouldn't be reading this blog. And you probably also shouldn't join my friends and I next fall up in Canada.