Category Archives: attraction

How To Please Your Mate And Sh*t

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"I'm sorry. I don't know why I can't stop farting. I think it's that coconut water."

“I’m sorry. I don’t know why I can’t stop farting. I think it’s that coconut water.”

1. Make decisions for him.

“Her planning an entire day with me knowing nothing about it. As someone who makes majority of the decisions this would be nice.”

2. Give him compliments.

“i think you look sexy when you clean the gutters….”

“Have you seen your butt when you take out the trash?”

“I love it when you can open jars.”

“my girlfriend called me handsome 3 months ago and it still makes me feel like a stud.”

3. Wash him.

“Trust me, it will wash the stress away, relax his mind, fill him with amazing thoughts, and fill him with deep appreciation.”

4. Provide him with sustenance.

“A DVD of Blazing Saddles and a BBQ chicken pizza.”

“I once said I want a caprisun when my girlfriend came home from a girls night. Now she brings one everytime. I guess remembering little things is what makes me feel great about her.”

“random Nestle Crunch”

“case of beer and a bag of potato chips.”

“Tacos. Like, I want to have a Saturday where we’re driving to the mall or something, and suddenly she pulls out a whole tray of tacos from under the seat and is all like ‘SUPRISE! TACOS’ and then we would eat tacos.”

“Muffins. Delicious home made muffins.”

“Chocolate cake and a bottle of whiskey.”

These quotes are from Jezebel’s The Foolproof Reddit Guide to Pleasing Your Man—a collection of responses to a woman who wanted to do something nice for her boyfriend, and turned to AskReddit for men’s advice. As you can see, the quotes ran from the surprisingly mundane to the hilariously specific. (I’m not even a huge fan of tacos, but a taco surprise date would be one of the three best things that ever happened to me.)

Yet, they each had a common theme: Simple

I know it’s a stereotype that men are these walking, talking, and bleching tunnel-visioned nincompoops who don’t need more than pancakes and random dusk fellatio to keep us happy, but this is generally true. Somewhat misleading—these simple ways to make men happy only work if he’s already generally happy with the woman he’s with—but still true.

You know what else is true? Women are simple too. Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. Women are complex and difficult and bipolar and unique and moody and volatile and nuanced and special and blah, blah, blah, blah, blah. But, when it comes to putting a smile on a woman’s face, I think we (men) have a tendency to forget that they love the same things we do (sex, occasional silence, surprise tacos, etc), but the path to mutual happiness could be as simple as “You hit the snooze button on her alarm this morning so she wouldn’t have to reach over you and do it. She’ll now be able to sleep 14 minutes longer than she usually does. This made her happy, morning happiness makes her horny, and now she’ll want to f*ck you.”

Anyway people of VSB, I’m curious. What little and “simple” things can your significant other do (or not do) to put a smile on your face? 

-–Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Either She Homeless, Or She Got Problems

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ap_mario_williams_dm_130506_wblog

A couple weeks ago, the Gay Reindeer and I were sitting in my car, people watching and eating applesauce (don’t ask), when a conversation about Pittsburgh neighborhoods segued into gentrification, which then segued into the surreal experience of seeing White joggers trying to navigate past the hordes of people standing outside of liquor stores and check cashing marts, which then finally landed on a point she brought up: Those anonymous people hanging outside of those stores all day long—people who usually are middle-aged, Black, and poor—often serve as the neighborhood’s Shakespearean fools.

Perhaps they don’t seem particularly lucid or observant, and maybe their English isn’t the best, but they’re watching, recording, and assessing everything that’s going on in the surrounding area. And, if you ever have the opportunity to talk to one of them—like, seriously sitdown and talk—they have the tendency to provide plain-spoken insights and witticisms about the community and the people who inhabit it that would make you wonder if they were secretly undercover PhDs doing a years-long anthropological study.

Anyway, I’m bringing this up because this was the first thing I thought of when listening to Charles Ramsey’s entire interview. (Actually, that was the second thing. The first? That’s a really nice white tee he’s wearing. It must have been brand new.) Like a true Shakespearean fool, Ramsey’s appearance and “commoner” sensibilities belied the wit and bravery he so obviously possessed. And, also true to Shakespearean fool form, an off-hand, matter-of-fact statement made towards the end of the interview ended up being the most memorable (and insightful) thing he said.

(Paraphrasing) “If you see a pretty White woman running towards a Black man, either she homeless or she got problems.”

You know, out of all the interracial dating/relationship-related conversations I remember having, I can recall in-depth, nuanced, emotionally charged, and surprisingly sober discussions about…

1. The type of Black man who dates White women

2. The type of Black woman who dates White men

3. The type of White man who dates Black women

…conversations where everything from the way they typically look to the base reasoning behind their choices is examined and assessed with care.

But, there doesn’t seem to be that same level of discourse among us about attractive White women who choose to date Black men, mainly because we have a tendency to dismiss whatever attraction they may have for brothas as some sort of sexual fetish, a way of “getting back” at her family in some way, or a blatant cash grab.

Basically, if she runs to a Black man, either she homeless, or she got problems.

While this line of thinking is usually thought to be an indictment on White women—or, rather, the type of White woman who primarily dates Black men—it actually is a bigger insult to brothas. By believing that White women who choose Black men are effed up in some way, you’re also implying that there’s no reason for a normal, well-adjusted White woman to want to be in a serious relationship with a Black man.

Admittedly, I’ve fallen victim to this line of thinking as well. I’ve joked before about the type of White woman you might find at a predominately Black nightclub (I even have a name for them: “snizzles”—a term that derives from “snowbunnies”), but those jokes were rooted in a very real belief that something had to be wrong with a White chick who was into Black dudes. While I do believe that there has to be something wrong with someone who only dates outside of their race, I make concessions and justifications for Black men, Black women, and White men who do this that I never have with White women, and this lack of interracial dating-based empathy boxes me into a very awkward corner.

“If I believe that there’s something seriously wrong with her if she’s into me, that a decision to date a Black man is a seriously bad one, doesn’t that also suggest that I believe there’s something seriously wrong with me?”

I haven’t answered that question yet. Maybe I just don’t want to hear the answer. And, maybe I’m just not smart enough to be a fool.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

On Black People And “Our” Homophobia

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t1larg.blackchurch.ts

1. As I listened to Jason Collins and Oprah discuss the extra “stigma” of being gay and Black, I couldn’t help but wonder how true the “Blacks are more homophobic than everyone else” sentiment truly is. I think many of us—myself included—have said it so much that we’ve accepted it to be true, and since we’ve accepted it to be true, we don’t bother challenging or even testing that theory. And, over time, this widely-held theory is repeated as fact.

I’m not here to argue whether it’s true or false (at least not yet), but how do we really know? Sure, we can cite a few rap lyrics or some loosely connected vagaries about Black people and Christianity, but all that might prove is that a certain type of Black person might be more likely to be homophobic. But, once you control for education, class, location, and any other environmental factors, how would we (Black people) fare?

This phenomenon sort of reminds of me of the theory that Black people are the worst tippers. Whether or not the theory might be true is inconsequential (And yes, I believe it to be true). It’s so ingrained into so many people’s minds that they don’t even bother challenging it, they use confirmation bias to strengthen their beliefs, and after enough circular thinking it becomes a self-fulfilling prophecy.

2. I think that when people say that Black people are more homophobic than everyone else, what they’re really saying is that Black men are more homophobic than everyone else. Black women generally get a pass, and I think that pass is undeserved.

Generally speaking, I think straight Black women are more superficially accepting of homosexuals—more likely to have gay male or lesbian friends, more “comfortable” around gays, more likely to participate in the fight for gay rights, etc. But, when it comes to actual beliefs about what constitutes male homosexuality, they’re no different than the typical Black male, as both the typical Black male and the “gay-friendly” Black woman tend to believe that there’s no such thing as a bisexual male. Basically, if a man has ever participated in any type of non-straight activity—a one-time act, a thought, a recurring dream, anything—he’s gay now, and gay forever. This is homophobic.

3. I think quite a few women are going to read those last couple sentences and tell me that I’m wrong, that they and most of the Black women they know don’t have any homophobic bones in their bodies. I think that before they leave any comments today, they should ask themselves two questions: Would you date a man who had one gay experience fifteen years ago? If no, would your answer change if you were 100% certain he wouldn’t do that again? If the answer is still no, I’d like to know why. What is it about that one-time act that would completely eliminate a man from your consideration?

4. I think I’m anxiously waiting for the day some prominent person just stops the denials, double-talk, and mealymouthedness and just comes out and says “Yes, I’m homophobic.” I think I’ll be waiting a while for that to happen. I don’t mind that, though. I’ve been waiting a couple decades now for a public figure to just say “Yes, I’m racist. Can you stop asking me whether or not I’m racist now?” so if anything it proves I’m patient.

5. I think I don’t like it when certain people (and by “certain people” I mean “certain Black Christians”) are asked about their views concerning homosexuality, and are criticized for responding honestly. But, I also think that socially abhorrent views are meant to be criticized. I think my problem isn’t necessarily with the criticism but with the ambush tactics—ask someone a question even though you already know how they’re going to answer just so you can make an example out of them—especially from other “progressive” Black Christians.

6. I think you can ask a million Christians about the Bible and what they take from it and get a million different variations. I mean, we (Christians) all believe that, to paraphrase Bill Maher, there’s a “magic genie in the sky that’ll grant our wishes if we ask really hard,” so is it really that bad when one of us also believes homosexuality is a sin or that you can legitimately pray your gay away?

7. Speaking of progressive people and homosexuality, I think there’s a bit of a disconnect when it comes to what people are willing to admit. To wit, many people (myself included) believe that human sexuality exists on a continuum. Basically, there’s a sexuality scale that we all fit somewhere on. Most of us are gathered either at the gay end or the straight end, but the rest of us are somewhere in the middle.

But, if a scale exists, I think it also stands to reason that a person in the middle can consciously choose to be gay or straight. Yet, I think you’re unlikely to find a liberal/progressive person publicly admit that people who can actually make that type of choice exist because it opens a Pandora’s Box for “less enlightened” people to say “See, I told you that all gay people are only gay because they chose to be.”

8. I know I’m far from the first person to say this, but I think someone needs to invent another word to use to describe someone being uneasy around, unaccepting of, or hateful towards homosexuals. “Homophobic” just doesn’t seem comprehensive enough to capture all of that. Feel free to list any suggestions.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

Where’s The Love Jones?

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love-jones

***After watching Love Jones again last weekend, I was urged to revisit and revise something I wrote about the film for the Loop21 a few years ago***

Approximately halfway through Love Jones, the iconic 1997 romantic drama centered around a Chicago-area couple, protagonists Darius Lovehall (Larenz Tate) and Nina Mosley (Nia Long) attend a dance together—their first real “date” since a few somewhat contrived situations caused them to momentarily break away from each other. Predictably, the date goes extremely well. The otherworldly connection and chemistry Darius and Nina share is palpable, and, despite any romantic roadblocks (contrived or otherwise or just named “Bill Bellamy”), you know that things are going to work for them.

But, while this date night dance scene’s main purpose was to give the audience a visual segue from Darius and Nina’s short-term separation to their impending romance, writer/director Ted Witcher does something else, something a bit subtler and a bit more poignant. With the vibrant music, colorfully coordinated dance steps, and equally colorful (and equally coordinated) attire, Witcher introduces the audience to the world of Chicago steppin’—a derivative of swing dancing popular in the South and Midwest. Although the scene is only a couple minutes long, Witcher presents this dance phenomenon and the anonymous steppers to us with the same regard, enchantment, and love exhibited when the lens is focused on any of the main characters.

Says the late Roger Ebert:

“There’s electricity when they go on a date to the weekly steppers’ ball hosted by Herb Kent the Cool Gent, who plays himself. Steppin’ is a Chicago dance style that comes out of jitterbug, cooled down, and as we watch this scene we get that interesting feeling when a fiction film edges toward documentary and shows us something we haven’t seen before.”

In the 16 years since its release (damn, just typing that made me feel old as f*ck) Love Jones has gone from underappreciated romantic drama with a banging soundtrack to the cinematic standard for realistic black romance. (Well, “realistic” other than the fact that it featured a bunch of underemployed negros living in lofts…with exposed brick…in Chicago. But, who’s nitpicking?)

And, while the story and the chemistry between Tate and Long are the most memorable aspects of the film, Love Jones is held in such high regard because Ted Witcher was so obviously in love with everything he put into this movie. More than just a drama, it was an ode to Black culture, to Chicago, to music, to movies, to love, to words, to sex; a paean to the possibilities of people not constrained to 140 characters or less. It’s loved and appreciated because it loved and appreciated both its characters and its audience, a trait also found in Soul Food—a movie that, although not necessarily a romantic drama and not as universally praised as Love Jones, shared Love Jones’ love for its characters and their customs.

These movies, and the level of love and exuberance they were shot with, stand in stark contrast to much of today’s Black romantic fare—both at the theater and on the small screen—which seems to be content with browbeating the audience with messages so heavy-handed it feels like you’re being kicked. (Before this devolves into another angst-ridden conversation about all things wrong with Tyler Perry, I do think that Perry loves his characters. But, Ike loved Tina too, didn’t he?) Instead of a peek into a world we may not have been completely familiar with, we’re left with 60 to 120 minute long psychotherapy sessions and self-help pamphlets featuring people who have never existed on Earth, After Earth, or any other planet humans have ever lived on—movies where writers and directors use the screen as a palate to work out their own issues instead of allowing the audience a chance to be vicarious.

Maybe this cinematic shift is our doing. Maybe our expectations have devolved to the point that we wouldn’t be able to handle a Black movie with more love and nuance than ill will and temple knocking. Still, after watching Love Jones again last weekend, I think we’re ready for another one. We just need to find the love needed to pull it off.

—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)

On How To Play A Woman And Have Everyone Ok With It (Hint: Be Gay And Be “First”)

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jason collins

A little over two weeks ago, as my entire family was gathered at Sunday dinner, discussing the plans and preparations for my sister’s upcoming (June) wedding, she (my sister) unexpectantly broke down in tears and rushed out of the room, running upstairs. My parents and I looked at each other baffled, each of our faces simultaneously stuck on “Was it something I said?” mode. After the shock wore off, my mom went after my still hysterical sister, whose cries could be heard downstairs.

After a few minutes, my mom returned to the dinner table, alone.

“The wedding is off”

“Wait! What? What happened?”

“Rick broke up with her this morning. Said he didn’t want to marry her. Apparently didn’t give any reason for it.”

This news, while shocking, wasn’t necessarily surprising. They (Rick and my sister) met in college, and dated for eight years, and eight years is a hell of a long relationship gestation period. I know there are exceptions to every rule, but it’s been my experience that “eight years of dating” = “yeah, he doesn’t really want to marry your ass.”

I think my sister sensed this as well, but she still tried her damnedest to believe in their future together. She’d invested so much energy, so much time, sweat, love, and tears into this relationship she wouldn’t allow herself to think otherwise. Also, she wanted to have children—multiple children—and she was aware that as she got older (she’s 33), she honestly didn’t have much more time to be able to do that. Quite frankly, she needed this relationship with Rick to work.

As I mentioned earlier, I had an idea that this was coming. But, there was no urge to remind her or anyone of this. Instead, I was filled with rage. I thought about all the pre and post-wedding preparations my parents made, and the stress that put them through. My dad even developed an ulcer. I thought of all the people—friends and family—who’d saved up and altered their schedules to attend the June wedding. I thought about all the awkward conversations my sister was going to have to have for the next several months when co-workers and acquaintances who haven’t heard the news yet will ask her about Rick and the wedding. I thought of how she always wanted to be a wife and a mother. Even as a kid, she’d joke about wanting to have enough kids to field her own basketball team. Yes, she can still get married and yes, she can still have kids—despite what the media might tell you, a 30-something woman breaking up with a man isn’t a death sentence—but realistically, the chances of that happening are much lower now than they were even five years ago.

I wasn’t the only one filled with rage, either. Since hearing the news, my parents and I have both struggled to juggle the surreal ambivalence of wanting to be supportive for my sister and wanting to shed Rick’s blood. Some days, I’m so consumed with antipathy that I think about what I’d do to Rick if he ever had the misfortune of crossing paths with me. I know these feelings will eventually pass, but right now it’s all I can think about.

I imagine most people would also feel that strange combination of feelings—anger, confusion, disgust–if their loved one was hurt in a similar way. I’m sure you’d feel even more strange if the man who broke up with your sister so suddenly was being celebrated nationally—hailed everywhere as a hero—for basically the same reason he broke up with your sister so suddenly. Perhaps this reason makes him a pioneer, a vanguard, a spearhead to newer, better, and more progressive America. But, while bravery and a willingness to stand alone, to do what others haven’t done are part of its definition, “heroism” also implies a certain selflessness, a benevolent altruisticness, and knowing what this man did to your sister and your family, you’ll never be able to call him a hero.

I’m sure by now you’ve deduced that my story about my sister was a bit of an allegory. If you hadn’t figured it out, well, my story about my sister was a bit of an allegory. I wrote this from an hypothetical perspective of a hypothetical family member of Carolyn Moos—the woman who Jason Collins dated for eight years, proposed to, and broke up with a month before their wedding.

I didn’t write this to discredit or dismiss the bravery it took for Collins to make his recent admission, nor am I so myopic that I can’t see how an act like that has the potential to make a positive impact on thousands, even millions of lives. I also am fully aware that I have absolutely no idea about the inner workings of Collins’ and Moos’ relationship, and I couldn’t even begin the fathom how it must feel to spend decades trapped inside of a box, forced by societal constraints to live a lie.

I am, though, aware of how much of an influence perspective has on perception, and the Collins’ case—and the prevailing reaction to it—is an perfect example of that. A big part of the reason why Collins is being lauded as a hero is because he told his story first. Think of how much different everything would be if our first news about Collins’ sexuality was told by a scorned ex-fiancee who wanted to set the record straight after being led on for a decade.

There also lies the uncomfortable fact that his “heroism” is predicated on the fact that he very likely deceived and even hurt people—people very close to him—for a very long time. Lemme put it this way: If Collins was “Rick the civil engineer who just broke up with your sister a month before her wedding” instead of a guy who’s really, really, really good at playing basketball, and the story of Rick finally coming out was told from your sister’s perspective, I doubt you’d throw many positive-sounding nouns and adjectives in Rick’s direction.

Yet, Collins’ position as a professional athlete has made us assign a heroism to an act—publicly admitting that you’ve been living a lie—that isn’t really all that heroic. Yes, you cannot discount the role societal expectations played in Collins’ life, as I’m sure he did not set out to delude or hurt anyone. And yes, what Collins’ did—either intentionally or unintentionally lead a woman to believe their relationship was something that it wasn’t—has been done by men everywhere (me included). My eyes are filled with planks. This is exactly my point. If you take away the “firstness” and the homosexuality and just look at it as a “man spends decade deceiving woman who was in love with him” perspective, what separates him from the thousands of men (and women) reading this today? Obviously, being shitty at relationships doesn’t mean that you can’t be a hero. Just not when the heroism is directly linked to the shitty behavior.

You could argue that since Collins himself wasn’t completely sure of his sexuality—in his own words, this realization was “baking” for 33 years—it doesn’t really count as deception. Basically, deception isn’t truly deception if you’re genuinely deluding yourself. This is a valid argument. I don’t agree—a person unsure of their sexual preference telling someone they want to get married sounds like true deception to me—but it is valid. You can also argue that anyone hurt by Collins’ lie is America’s fault for forcing a man to think that he had to live that way, not Collins’. This is also a valid argument. I don’t agree—while America may have made it very difficult to come out as gay, America doesn’t force you to get into long relationships with women (What’s wrong with just not seriously dating anyone?)—but it is valid. But, the argument that context makes Collins a hero, that the impact of his admission supersedes any possible collateral damage caused by him living a lie, isn’t.

I applaud Collins for being real with himself, for having the courage to be free, for being the first active male athlete in one of our major sports to stand up and tell the world that he will no longer pretend to be something he isn’t, for having the balls to be the first member of a club that will likely grow much sooner and much larger than we think, for “outing” himself when he apparently didn’t have to.

But, as we rush to praise him for being first, we can’t forget that it came with a very human cost. If this still makes him a “hero” to you, fine. I understand. We all have our own definitions of the word, I guess. For now, though, I’ll be safe and just call him a “man.”


—Damon Young (aka “The Champ”)