Once again, this last weekend, I spent time with my friends in Minneapolis. Apparently my name is becoming associated with the white-space-filler the club's newsletter editor uses instead of advertising. I suppose that means I owe my friends some lost revenue.
Some people complimented me on these episodes of lucidity, argued against its drivel-esque qualities, and even feigned excitement for the next installment. Perhaps personalizing personality portions preceded posting, pride precluded prudence. I immediatly announced to the mailing list my plans for vacation in two weeks and promised to upload barely intelligible activity reports.
All this presented an interesting challenge... what to post next. Well, I got nothin'.
One of my friends has a far more interesting story to tell about his weekend and the excitement he enjoyed than I've got about mine. Sadly, I was too preoccupied and exhausted from driving on so little sleep (a poorly planned combination) to be as social as I would have liked at either of the parties I attended last Saturday. I suppose I could repeat the professional critics' poor reviews of the movie we watched together or make some clichéd commentary about the naturists' love of all weather (it rained) but none of that would be worth reading.
Perhaps what may be interesting, to some, is the apparent normalization of these events in my life to the point of actually growing bored for a few moments while being in a house with nearly 100 nude & gay men. Perhaps the real story of my weekend is the mere possibility of finding myself restless in such a idyllic situation. Only 1970's porn could convey a more perfect situation for any homosexual than to be surrounded by other homosexuals in an absolute state of undress. Of course, the porn would have depicted us all with side burns, furry chests, massive erections, and in states of melodramatic ecstasy.
I've commented before that I think the anxiety one feels in the first moments of a social nudist event is the same anxiety anyone feels during the first moments of any social event. The only difference being the amplification of those feelings due to the stigma placed on nudity as being equal to a state of shame... such as Adam and Eve covering themselves before the wrath of God.
Does it not follow then, given my amazing inability to socialize effectively with my peers, that I would eventually run out of those generous enough to initialize conversation with me and find myself, once again, among the flowers along the wall while those with enviable skill should kiss a stranger fully on the mouth before an audience of dozens?
A former lover of mine once contemplated moving to Chicago for a better life then chose against it and the irrational hope his problems would not follow. So too I now find some of my expectations - just because I'm nude and have yet another reason to dig deep into my reserves of self-confidence does not mean I can change the fundamentals of my personality. Unfortunately, I am socially awkward. I find people, in general, frightening and difficult to predict yet I also have an external focus of validation requiring me to seek approval from others. Placing myself in the midst of social nudity is either brave or insane, depending on how this all plays out.
The first event this weekend was officially for new members, but while I failed to meet any of them prior or during, it was only at the more intimate gathering of men to see a recently released film that I took notice of people new to the group. Three men seemed obviously unnerved yet I heard only one of them give voice to his anxiety while another took more decisive action. I can think of many reasons, both noble and otherwise, for my protective impulse when I witnessed this and wisely did I refrain from action. No one attending had any legitimate reasons for shyness or shame. All posessed the same basic forms, the same basic abilities to manuvuer, articulate their thoughts, and express their emotions within the limits of society's accepted moray.
Perhaps at upcoming events I should compile anecdotes from the men attending of their anxieties. Since an old hat, such as myself - able to be un-entertained after only three weekends - can still be uneasy during the first minutes of each event, perhaps I'll find the even older hats to have similar disquiet. Perhaps the bravado of certain internet personalities is mearly the same effort at acting as I, myself, have performed on occation. Maybe repeating those stories here would help even one person face their anxiety with more knowledge in its commonality than before. (Though surely both of my readers have heard it all before.)
I just hope my Captain Save-A-Stray cape doesn't clash with my reporter's fedora.
