Real People Behind the Screen

One of my personal characteristics that most people doubt or challenge after getting to know me is my intense personal shyness. Over the years I have learned to control the terror I feel when I walk into a room of strangers – and even more so a room full of people I know. With age has come a certain comfort in my own skin. I’m not going to get better looking without tons of plastic surgery. I’m not going to be taller without stilts.

Because of my shyness, I am comfortable being on line and discovered that I will chat with people I would not otherwise talk to. I will email a stranger or comment on a blog. I’m safe and far away. I write this blog and know some friends and family will read it, but mostly it is strangers and that anonymity is good.

Last night, however, I took a personal step and attended a blogger gathering in New York hosted by the lovely, sweet, and hysterically funny Curly McDimple. More bloggers gathered than I expected to meet, but they were all as charming and entertaining as they are in their posts online. I laughed, and groaned along with those in attendance and even swooned over some. I won’t say who I swooned over; just, that since my sex life is mostly solo – I would still be calling out the name I call out the most!

Even if overcoming the shyness was not enough, attending the weenie roast led me to violate two of my major rules: 1) I don’t eat weenies (mentioned in an earlier post) and 2) I don’t eat “bar food.”

1- I’m not much of a meat eater anyway. No moral grounds, I just don’t like it. Nevertheless, the idea of what constitutes the meat pulp that fills the casings of most hot dogs turns me off even more. The wieners being served at Cattyshack appeared more to be thin sausages than hot dogs, so I took the plunge and ate one (and since a Texan cooked it, it was pretty good).

2- I go to bars. I know what happens there. There are wise sayings about what you should not do where you eat. Those things are not necessarily common functions at bars, but close enough. No one else had died (at least among those who lived to attend the weenie roast) of the Cattyshack food, so again I took the plunge and I’m alive to write about it (but I probably won’t make it a habit in Austin).

Of the many bloggers I met, it was a real treat to meet Joe of Joe.My.God, the father (daddy) of all bloggers. After hearing an interview with him on Sirius OutQ, I came home and read his blog then started checking out the bloggers he linked to. Almost every blog I read is within six-degrees of Joe. He is the reason I was in contact with the bloggers attending the weenie roast, so he aptly deserves some credit for my trip to New York.

The real treat of the evening was meeting Southern Boy, his bf, and Lunar Gemini. I have emailed and chatted with Southern and Lunar since December and meeting them felt like picking up a conversation with friends I had not seen in a little while.

In an effort to overcome my shyness as much as I could, I had read the blogs of everyone I knew was coming and I was thrilled to discover that the real people behind the screen are as much fun as the people on the screen. Though we were only together a few hours, I was able to come out of my shell enough and discover some people with whom I could be friends.

I may be making some more weekend trips to New York. Now someone just has to throw open their couch.

Gay Dilemma 101

The closer the trip to meeting some fellow bloggers gets, the more anal I get about it. Today I double checked the list to make sure I was up-to-date on reading all the blogs so I could engage each person there in intelligent conversation.

Ok, so I’m a bit stalkish obsessive.

But at a blogger gathering, the last thing I want to say is, “What? You’re a blogger?”

I really want to say things like, “That was a very insightful review of Gypsy you had.” Or “I’m so glad the new job is going well,” or “Wow. Carrie poster. Scary.”

And I’m from Texas going to hang with the New Yorkers.

Austin may be the best city in the nation, but we are not exactly known for our style. If you can get it at a second-hand shop, it’s perfect.

I’m afraid that won’t work in New York.

My greatest dilemma is choosing footware. My choices are: cowboy boots or flip-flops. I may have a closet full of clothes (ultimately that is what forced me “out” I couldn’t live in there with so many clothes). I’m really a flip-flop kind of guy – I even wear them to church, but when I was last in New York in 1991, cowboy boots came in very handy for the walking I did – contrary to popular belief – well-fitting cowboy boots are the most comfortable footware I’ve ever had.

To resolve the dilemma, I emailed the bar where we are all meeting. They were no help whatsoever: Anything you're comfy in! Tshirt jeans, dress, flip flops, ball gown--whatever! That's how we do it! Just be SURE to have your ID with you. Cheers!

I’m 40 – ID should not be too much of an issue.

So I’m still left to decide – do I wear boots or flip-flops? Get the inch boost from the boots or go as my pocket-queer me in flip-flops. New York – be on the lookout for visitor with mismatched footware.

Losing My Mind!

I must be losing my mind.

I read Southern boy non-ranting (after a Southern boy ranting) and pull out the credit card and book a trip to New York. I’ll be in the big city a whole 18 hours from arrival to departure.

And why would I whip out the credit card?

To attend a weenie roast!

I really must be losing my mind.

I don’t even eat weenies*.

Ever.

Under any circumstance.

I could crash on a desert island with a fridge stocked with weenies and I would just have to starve.

Takeru "Tsunami" Kobayashi must be very sad for me. Almost as sad as he is about the arthritis in his jaw that is slowing his hot dog eating. Last year he at a whopping 53 ¾ hot dogs in 12 minutes only to have that record shattered earlier this year by someone who ate 59 ½ in the same time.

But the weenie roast will be more than just a chance to gag over processed meat, it will be a chance to meet some people in person after reading about them for months through their regular blog posts. I’m excited to put face, voice, and tone to the words I’ve been reading for months.

Now on to the next dilemma: what does one wear to a weenie roast in New York?

*weenie – processed meat product I would not wish to be no matter what the jingle says, not the slang for male genitalia, which I do eat.