Gossip is a standard part of any community. Inevitably as people get to know one another they start passing on rumors about each other. The Comfort Zone gay subculture is one such community, with the hardcore comprising perhaps 100 people. I guess sooner or later people were bound to start talking about me.
I'm sort of used to being in the background. I guess I've never really thought of myself as gossip-worthy, save during the big outing of 2001. Well dear readers, I've hit the gossip scene with a bang. I was chatting to someone last night when the bomb dropped.
"I heard that you're doing porn now."
Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaat!? This is worse still because it came from one of the few people in Toronto whose opinion I actually care about. Let me go on the record now to state that Adam has not done porn. Boys who work full-time and do porn do not have empty bank accounts. In fact, if things were THAT dire I'd probably start selling drugs before I'd do porn. But don't worry, it won't come to that. It's sort of a which-limb-would-you-lose type of situation. Neither option is particularly appealing.
So where the hell does a rumor like this come from? I'll admit that with my hair now at visible-scalp level shortness I do have a generic, if popular look. Perhaps a case of mistaken identity? Or is someone deliberately trying to sabotage me?
The worst part is, it makes me look back at people I saw a lot of potential with whose attitudes suddenly changed and wonder if maybe they heard it too. This is the kind of rumor you just can't quash. I can't very well go around asking everyone if they heard my false porn rumor and really truly honestly it's not true and please tell everyone because it's just really embarrassing...can I? It'll just make things worse.
So essentially, I'm getting all the negative stigma of doing porn with none of the benefit$. Gay Toronto 69, Adam 5.
I can dance for hours at a club, sober even, and not give a crap what anyone thinks. So why is it that when my roommate catches me dancing in the living room I'm embarrassed as all hell? It's my living room. It's my music. And my dancing isn't as...erm...broken robot-esque as it once was.
Besides everyone dances at home, right? Right? *chirping crickets*
Image courtesy of genewolf.
So I'm at the club Sunday afternoon and I go to take off my shirt. I turn and there's a string of gum going from my armpit to the shirt. That's right, I got gum in my armpit. This raises two key questions:
- How the hell do you get gum in your armpit?
- Whose gum was it?
I swear this crap only happens to me. Not only that, in my altered state I felt like going around and telling everyone. I was almost so excited to have the funny story that I was glad it happened. But in retrospect it was even more embarassing than the time I ran around Stereo with Kit Kat on my face for 90 minutes...and nobody told me.
They say when you club a lot the weekends start to blur together. Luckily for me there's always a minor disaster to make each one special.
