CHE BELLO cleans out his inbox.
A sampling of subject lines from e-mails in my spam folder, because I don’t really have time for a formal post. (Maybe Sunday?)
“Your bazooka will explode her”
“No test, no class, buy yourself Bacheelor/MasteerMBA/Doctoraate” (I’m pretty sure this is where my assistant principal in high school got his “Doctorate.”)
“Be a monster and ravish her”
“Satisfy Pamela Anderson”
“Tire your mate out today” (As if I need a supplement to do that…)
CHE BELLO gets honest.
It’s almost universally true that gay men love to gossip. Something about the orientation of our X chromosomes, yadda yadda, blame it on what you want, the majority of us get an intense feeling of satisfaction from being the informant, placed at the center of attention due to the juicy knowledge we’re about to impart. But there are some things that we have to stop.
For me, coming out was different. Let’s be honest, everybody knew. Friends, teachers, my parents (although they didn’t want to admit it), my grandparents…the town didn’t shut down for a day because everybody fainted in shock when I finally owned up to it. The fact that people talked about it behind my back before I was ready to accept it caused me anxiety, but only because I was still fighting against something I already knew to be true. People would joke about it to my face, and I laughed and denied it. Gossiping about my being gay served the purpose of spurring me onward toward acceptance of myself, and so, looking back, I’m not upset at those who did it.
It’s an entirely different story when someone is discrete about their homosexuality, and is actively pursuing coming out to people important to him. For one person to overhear something and run to tell the next shows a lack of respect for the wishes of the person undergoing a major life transition. And the ones who rush to out others are always the ones who most vehemently protected their own identity until they were comfortable enough for everyone to know about it.
If you must gossip, pick up a tabloid and find a tidbit about some celebrity that I haven’t read about on Perez yet. Tell me about your dog’s love affair with the chocolate lab next door. Or regale me with a harmless story about the oncoming senility of your boss’ secretary. But do me a favor: don’t rush to tell me that someone is gay. You’re doing both that person and me an egregious wrong, and it isn’t your place at all to determine the pace at which they open themselves up to others.
CHE BELLO quote of the day.
Girl at the service center, after having purchased a first-class stamp for a normal envelope:
“So, do I need like, a special California stamp if it’s going to Los Angeles?”
“Nope, that one will do just fine.”
“Oh. I just thought that California might have its own since it’s so far away and all.”
CHE BELLO loves sorostitutes.
Overheard today on the Arts Quad:
Blonde: So I’m talking to Michael.
Brunette: Oh, Lord.
Blonde: It’s not even like that anymore, like, feelings-wise.
Brunette: What changed?
Blonde: I don’t know. I just don’t care about him anymore.
::contemplative pause::
Blonde: I mean, we’ll probably still do it and stuff, but, whatever.
CHE BELLO’s worst date.
Everyone remembers middle school dates, right? You joke about getting your picture taken in the little booth with a curtain, when really you want your first kiss. You go all out and buy the biggest drink and popcorn available so that you’ll look like a gentleman, but really you just want to assure yourself that you’ll have something to fidget with for the entire movie. You feel like a badass walking up to the porch to pick them up, when really you’re some punk midget with a lollipop shoved in your back pocket.
CHE BELLO loves Pennsylvania.
At the beginning and end of school each year, I get the distinct pleasure of traveling through one of my favorite states: Pennsylvania. All of the fields and hills are gloriously beautiful, and some of the nicest strangers I’ve ever come across have been in the Keystone State. But today I was given another reason to celebrate the land of Hershey’s chocolate — a gay marriage ceremony for four couples presided over by the mayor of State College, home of Penn State.
CHE BELLO 