Rollergay
In NYC, some people thought I was gay. I don’t know why. I would rollerblade around Manhattan and ponder this fact…
That’s not some hacky joke, that was my life in Manhattan. I would strap on my rollerblades almost every day and go about my business. No doubt, people would see me zipping by in my sunglasses listening to my iPod and think, “Wow… what a fag.”
I didn’t really care that strangers thought I might hunger for turkeyneck because of my mode of transportation. Hell, subway platforms give me panic attacks and the smell of falafel in taxis makes me feel nauseous. Rollerblading was and is the best way to get around the impossibly crowded island of Manhattan.
I never truly got the ROLLERGAY stereotype anyway. Yes, it’s true that sometimes I wore a fashionable tank top and may have been lightly oiled once or twice, but I never understood why my incredibly effective mode of transportation got people so riled up about my sexuality. There are a lot of gayer things that straight guys do, many of them on a daily basis. I mean, does everyone who goes to a gym blow dudes in the steam room? Of course not! I mean, unless you’re counting Crunch Fitness. But I got crap for rollerblading my entire time in New York. Once, a guy with a heavy New Yawk accent literally grabbed my shoulder to stop me on 42nd street.
“Hey pal, what’s the hardest part about rollerblading?”
He looked sincere, so I started to answer him. “Um, probably learning to stop, that –”
“Nawww, it’s telling your dad that you’re gay.”
He laughed, high-fived his friend in his best imitation of 1986, and they triumphantly jogged off together. I would have kicked his ass if it weren’t for the fact that I just had my nails done. Kidding!
The fact remains I loved it. Some of my favorite memories about Manhattan involve me being on my rollerblades… It’s a sweltering Friday afternoon; an avenue bumper to bumper with traffic that’s vibrating, not moving. Everyone is eager to get home or just away — rich bankers in black town cars, poor people in pickups, tourists in taxis. All stuck, all honking, entwined in a gridlock of glaring glass and metal. The sea of humanity in the city I love…
I give ‘em all the finger as I sail past them.
Ahhhhhhhh, so satisfying, such sweet redemption.
When I moved to LA, I sold my rollerblades on eBay, since they aren’t an effective way to get around. BUT STILL, some people would think I was gay…
I don’t know why. Sometimes, I would drive around in my Mazda Miata convertible and ponder this fact…
Again, true story.
Apparently, although I don’t like men in a sexual way, I am obsessed with the gay man’s means of transportation.
Now, I had no idea that an inanimate object could be ‘gay’ but apparently the Miata is the gayest car in history of gay cars. Allegedly, it’s gayer than Tom Cruise dipped in a vat of Kevin Spacey. I have personally never seen my Miata have sex with another male car or try to suck its muffler or something, but JUST LIKE THE ROLLERBLADES, everyone feels the need to inform of the gayness of my vehicle.
A fellow comic recently told me upon seeing me pull up to the Laugh Factory in my electric blue Miata: “Bill, you know what: you would look manlier if you oiled yourself with organic KY jelly, put some rollerskates on a rainbow, threw a saddle on it, and hopped on with some buttless chaps.”
The truth is I never owned a car and I didn’t realize the implicit gayness of my action when I bought the thing for 2 grand from a girl I hooked up with once after a show. I simply thought: “Chicks dig convertibles! Woooohooooo! I win!” Clearly, I’m out of touch or borderline retarded.
Now I can’t drive in West Hollywood without some aging queen in his own Miata giving me a knowing look and flirty smile. Sometimes I even get the gay Miata club secret horn toot.
The worst part about my Miata? It makes road rage impossible. Seriously, how am I going to intimidate anybody who cuts me off? I’m the bottom bitch of the 405.
Oh well… Anyone reading this, lemme know if you’re thinking about selling a truck.
Hey, nice post, really well written. You should blog more about this.
Well, I’m not selling a truck but the blog was pretty funny! I had remembered your opening act from the Jamie Kennedy show in Louisville (I know, I know, the audience totally sucked!!!) but I thought that joke was hilarious. Of course I have lived mainly in the bay area (San Francisco/Sonoma)so I can appreciate where you are coming from - I think you guys will do better in the Bay…more of a sense of humor I am sure.
Yes, you are definitely out of touch or borderline retarded. Jenn and I (well Jenn really) used to have a Miata and I occasionally drove it. Jenn didn’t hesitate to remind me about how gay I looked in it. Anyway, once we had a kid the Miata had to go. So now I look so much less gay when I drive Jenn’s Saab Convertible…
‘Sometimes I even get the gay Miata club secret horn toot’ – please don’t tell me that’s a euphemism for coke fuelled orgies?