Bit of Rough

I've always liked the people that I date to be a little on the trashy, rough side. It comes from where I grew up, and from my constant ambivalence about what I do for a living, typing away on a computer all day. I want people to smell like home, and to have walked the path I rejected.

It is a cliche, although a common one, that effete city boys would rather be cops or cowboys than be the type of men that they are. This explains much of our retail culture. REI, North Face, Jeeps and SUVs. This explains soft lads hard hobbies: rock climbing, boxing, weight lifting, triathlons, gangster hip hop.

I am fully part of that demographic: despite being genetically ideal for occupations like filing, dusting or needlepoint, I still have my macho dreams. My 1323rd place finish in the Malibu Tri proves it. And while exercise does good things, but no amount of lifting will make me M&F material.

Somewhere in this tangle of roads not taken, dreams of lost youth, desire to be a real man, and ordinary gayness comes my dislike of the overly clean-cut. This explains why, for a couple of months, I went out with Tony, a guy from the old neighborhood, who was homeless, tattooed, swazied and occasionally on drugs.

Which brings me to my case in point. I open up the news, see some picture of a guy, think "yeah, I'd hit that" then read the caption only to find he'd killed someone.

Cesar Laurean. Yeah, I'd hit that.