Daily Archive

It’s almost a rule that I never go out much, but a few months ago on a Saturday’s night I was in a restaurant’s garden listening to music on a midsummer’s night.  For fun (her’s not mine, especially) I brought Sybil along, too.  She hadn’t been out in a while so I suggested she come with me and listen to Blue. 

Blue’s music is beautiful.  He sings a lot about his past relationships, artfully crafting blues, rock and folk into a melodic upbeat heartbreak you can dance to.   He has a stalwart stage presence that belies his short stature (maybe he’s about 5′4″?  or 5′5″) and embraces the microphone in a way that is oddly simultaneously private and public.  Watching him perform always seems like a one on one conversation between him.  Sybil has a slight crush on him, still –I think.  When she first saw him a couple of years ago she nudged me into introducing the two of them and was crestfallen to discover that he was gay.

“So why do you think he’s not dating anyone?” Sybil asked me as we watch Blue rock the small stage. 

“I don’t know,” I shrug, shaking my head to his singleness and beat of his music.  “Beats me.”  Along with Sybil there are a couple of other women that are totally feeling Blue’s vibe and wouldn’t mind feeling a couple of other things on him.   He has that sexual teddy bear quality that resonates with women; they just want to snuggle up to him and kiss him.

Sybil began to take inventory.  “Do you think its because he’s a little overweight?  Or because he’s bald?”

“I dunno,” I say again.  The gay world can be a shallow one where looks and fitness are highly prized.  Youth is also important.  My close friend Tony taught me about all of those things when we used to hang together years ago.  He used to lament (too often) that he was over the hill, too old to be a boy toy but not old (or rich) enough yet to be a sugar daddy  And this was all at the age of 28. 

But then I backtrack.  “He is Asian.  That should have some cache in the dating world where Rice Queens are searching for Potato boys. ”  Sybil looked at me as if I was speaking a new language so I translated.  “The same way a lot of straight white men are falling over Asian women its the same with gay white men who are looking for Asian men.”

“Oh,” she said but I can see that she had already checked out of the conversation and was on to her next idea.   I could see it in her eyes even before she uttered the words, “Do you  think he has a brother?”

Blues od force with women has not escaped his notice.

“If I were straight I’d be in trouble,” Blues laughs.  ” I would probably be a Baby’s Daddy and have mamas all over the place.  Women love me, they are all over me.  When I go grocery shopping on a Tuesday night I get stopped all the time.  ‘What do you think of this wine?’ ’ What do you think of this meat?’ ” Blue’s voice goes up high in pitch, imitating the coy flirtations.  “God saved me by making me gay.  Think of what a player I would be.”

For some reason his sex appeal hasn’t translated over to men, though.  “And that’s strange,” I say to him.  “Because usually what women find attractive gay men find appealing, too.”  I gave him my assessment: he dresses like the average joe and he sends gives off this straight aura which has been an attraction for the straight men that I know but for some reason the gay men he encounters can’t get a bead on him.  “You need a pink polo,” I say, looking at him sideways.  “And you need to get a manicure and some sweet smelling cologne.  You are too butch; you have to gay it up a bit.  Get a fou-fou dog.  A pomi!  I love pomies.”

“Girl, I am not getting a fou-fou dog.  I hate them.  I’ll get a big one but not a little one.”

“See, that’s your problem right there.    You are too masculine.  You need to be more feminine to attract some Rice Queens your way. ”

“So I should become a stereotype?  I refuse to become a stereotype.”

“See,” I point out again.  “That’s your problem right there.” 

He opines how it’s hard to find a good man; the ones that he meets are either vapid or supercilious.  I just want someone who can read, he says.  Someone who, when asked about current events, doesn’t go on and on about the travails of Britney Spears or what Beyonce is doing next.

“Ugh,” he says throwin his head back in disgust.  “If I screw another stupid guy I will scream.”

We both laugh and I reflect on the singular love lives of two close friends, both of whom are looking for a good man of color.

A few weeks ago I did what I never thought I’d do, at least not this soon.  I moved another step away from the big 4-0.  As my mind is still reeling with what seems to be a scientific improbability I’m getting hit up with what my friends think is a more daunting question:  when am I going to have that next baby.

“It will be so cute,” they say.  “And smart.  You’re gonna have one, right?”

For the last year I have been pondering that question, all while I help my daughter prepare for college this fall and my husband hopes and prays his son will begin to take learning more seriously as he enters high school.  So we are not really a couple you can sell on the cuteness of babies because we realize that cuteness has a window –six, maybe seven years tops and then suddenly the adorable child becomes dat brat.  Only punk newbie moms complain about the terrible twos, wait until those little wunderkinds become terrible teens and trying twenties and then they will understand what real parental angst is. 

I am a newly wed (16 months married) and because of that everyone is still expecting me to behave in the way I would have 15 or so years ago if I weren’t already a bit jaded with life.  I’m supposed to have a fresh view on life and look out into the future but with 40 looming ahead of me next year I’m realizing that I’m just a hop skip and a jump from 50 which means multivitamins.  And from there its very close to 60 and I’ll be waiting to get my AARP card.  So how can I project babies into the next few years when I see rocking chair and sensible shoes in my crystal ball.

Babies are everywhere and for Hollywood it seems the new hot thing is recreating Josephine Baker’s “Rainbow Tribe” of a family with Brangelina and Madonna adopting little brown babies.   Everyone wants to do what the stars are doing but not everyone can afford to go to a third world country and pick out a child the same way regular Americans go to Walmart to pick out a shirt.  No, for regular Americans we can only use our own boring genes and hope to find a Seal, Russell Wong or Johnny Depp to give us that designer “exotic baby” look.

 It seems that everyone wants me think about having another child (except my mother who, after six kids, believes one is enough).  I suspect even the universe is converging into one single idea for me for ‘08 because for the last couple of days when I check my email I note that in an online club that I belong to someone has linked YouTube videos of Blasian babies. 

Even the local cafe owner seems in on the conspiracy.  “Have you seen my grandson?” he asks pointing out the tyke standing next to him.  Mr. Lee  is South East Asian.  His little boy shifts his big eyes towards me and smiles slowly, hesitantly.

“He’s adorable,” I tell Mr. Lee and then to the grandson I say, “You are too cute, you know that, don’t you?”  His shy mouth finally breaks into a grand smile although he still eyes me cautiously.  Maybe he’s just a wary child or perhaps he’s tired of being tirelessly gushed over.  Cuteness must be tiring.

“He’s half black you know?  His father’s black!” Mr. Lee says proudly.  I look at the little boy again and think he looks all Asian or maybe a little big like Dave Chappelle’s son.    I register this as another portent and think, “Et tu, Mr. Lee?”

That hint of Asian seems to be the in thing right now (Asian is the new black).   The same way African Americans were claiming Native American heritage in the 60’s and 70’s* is similar to how some have suddenly found Asians on their family tree.*  Asian culture is heavily influencing youth culture (Anime, Manga, J-Pop, K-Pop)  and karate movies have always been big in the hood.  Because Asian American and African American pairings have not been as prevalent as Black/White and Asian/White some people around me are expecting me to come through and give them an example of what a Blasian baby looks like.

I point to my step son.

“Don’t you want a baby of your own?” they query.  “It will be so cute.  Don’t you want to see what your genes together looks like?”

I find their interest mildly amusing; it’s similar to the fascination with the designer dogs that is the rage right now (although I’m not hating, I really would like to have a Puggle).  As if the cuteness of the child is in direct proportion to whether you should become a parent or not.  It’s automatically assumed that biracial children will be gorgeous and mono-racial children are just mundane.  But aren’t all humans mutts, especially in America?  Who can claim to have a pure bloodline of anything unless you are a recent immigrant.  I’m of the mindset that most babies, no matter what their parental heritage, are beautiful.  And beauty only goes so deep, I am much more concerned with whether at this age my husband and I have the energy and inclination to be parent a child as we have my daughter (who is mono-racial) and my stepson (Black/Korean). 

So really I have to ask him what he thinks.  So I do.

“Yeah, we can have a baby,” he says.

“But do you want one?”

“Yeah, I do,” he says in his non-committal voice.

I remind him of all the things that come with a baby: diapers (cloth or disposable), child care, teaching it to walk (teaching it to talk is debate-able), and just the surfeit of time.  And our age, more for me than for him.  But he is undaunted.  He was adopted and for him having blood connections is important.  He loves his family but he needs to see someone who looks like him (or a close facsimile); he needs to replicate his DNA a couple of times.

“We’ll try at the end of the year,” he assures me.  “Don’t you want us to have a baby?  It’ll be the embodiment of our love.”

“I guess,” I say has he pulls me close to him.  He hugs me tight.  I like that.  I guess I can check with my doctor and in the meantime re-read Ready.

“Besides,” he says.  “Our baby will be so cute.”

*According to Henry Louis Gates only 5% of African Americans have Native American ancestry)

*To be fair, when Chinese coolies were brought into Antebellum south some of them did end up intermarrying  with black and white women.

McCain must be gullible or he thinks we are naive.

Trying to backtrack from his 100 years of war in Iraq statement he defends his statement at a town hall meeting at Rice University.

“No American argues against our military presence in Korea or Japan or Germany or Kuwait or other places, or Turkey, because America is not receiving casualties,” he said. “I think, generally speaking, we have a more secure world thanks to American presence, particularly in Asia, by the way, as we see the rising influence of China. But the key to it is American casualties, America’s most precious asset, and that is American blood.”

And there you have in a nutshell why we have the problems we are having in Iraq today.  Iraq is not Japan or Korea.  Dissidents aren’t going to sit around and let our little Air Force Base, Army base or whatever militia we send in there sit unmolested.   And if you think otherwise let me point you to what was said by the Bush administration at the beginning of the war of how Iraqis would great us.

If we stay it’s going to be war so why doesn’t he just say it?