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Was there any little boy during the femme game's phase, who played it surreptitiously, yet did not grow up to be gay?
And where are they now? Darien, CT????????? Wizened alcoholics, in cheap, dive gay bars? Or tired old queen, in their New York apartments, sitting arms folded, in armchair embitterment?????????????
It can't all be blamed on "Mystery Date." Some us, like yours truly, turned out fine, without there being a gay component.
But, think if there had been. And start with that cover. Look at the guy in the plaid shorts and knee socks. Loser! And don't you just LOVE the white poodle?????????????
Here is a gay parody of a commercial for "Mystery Date!"
Fabulous, darlings!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
2 comments:
Oh, please: our whole gay lives between long-term partners is one big exhausting game of "Mystery Date": a packaged game would be redundant.
Especially if you're boomer age, as we are, and spent most of your dating time pre- smartphone apps. My primary "app" was placing or answering dating ads in the classified sections of Village Voice, New York Press, New York magazine, Advocate, etc. Remember those once-ubiquitous classified "personal ads"? They died out right after I met my current partner thru NYP back in 2000. Obsoleted overnight by dating or hookup websites, which were then obliterated (right after you met YOUR partner) by smartphone hookup apps. Everything now is hookups: I don't think you could find a worthwhile gay dating site or app for the monogamy-oriented today if you tried.
Of my three partners, I met the first by answering his ad in the long-defunct OUT magazine (which referenced Rimbaud: c'mon, who wouldn't be curious?). The second I met accidentally in an Astoria diner thru a friend of a friend. The third, current (and last, so help me) was acquired when he answered my own ad in New York Press.
Talk about "Mystery Date" - you never knew who (or what) would actually turn up during the classified era. Dozens upon dozens of times, they'd be nothing like their descriptions (big ole whores instead of partner-seekers, or bridge trolls instead of "average looking"). A depressingly high proportion of them were psychologists or therapists, which I always found immediately off-putting. Here and there would be a prospect so stunningly attractive, I'd be rendered speechless in awe (why on earth would they need to use the classifieds?), which of course tanked the first date promptly.
Eh, it was far less dehumanizing than the smartphone meat market, but I can't say I miss it. Very time consuming and repeatedly disappointing. When the one who became my current partner revealed himself to be 10x more attractive and engaging than I expected, I swore he'd be my last ride in the corral. Being alone is easier than weeding thru a sea of New Yorkers. Most of whom today aren't even real New Yorkers, so they'd have no idea how to relate to me at all (and vice versa). Not giving a shit anymore is one of the few great advantages to being middle-aged.
How well I remember the classified
ad period. I thought then I was
following the path of Amalia in
"She Loves Me." I used The Native
a lot--remember that--and met some
real losers. The word "average" I
came to dread, as it meant so less
than.
One thing the ads taught me--if something
read as too good to be true--it was.
Just like CraigList. I think folk on
there are worse!
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