My AA: Approval Anonymous

My AA: Approval Anonymous
In my entire 40 years, I’ve never once been high or intoxicated. Still, an AA program would serve me well. Approval Anonymous. A support group that could help eliminate my need to be accepted by other people and direct me toward the sense of self that I am just beginning to claim after decades of living inauthentically.

Faggot. Fruit. Fairy. Homo. From the time I was 6 years old, the epithets were pitched with perfect aim, piercing a genuine heart that yearned to beat true. Sure, other kids were tormented too, but they seemed more easily able to identify the differences that made them targets: They were overweight, redheads or handicapped. Somehow the bullies knew that I wasn’t “normal,” but I had no idea that their disdain was borne out of how I felt inside.

I was uneasy about being around other children, because I didn’t feel like I fit in. It wasn’t about my appearance or a lack of confidence in my ability to communicate with them. And it wasn’t as though I knew yet that my precocious interest in the arts set me apart. At that age, it was simply a fiber of awareness that ran through my body. My skin was a costume that I was wearing to a party that didn’t call for dress-up. My exterior told the story of a typical little boy who was cute, clean-cut and running toward tomorrow; my gut — and the “mean kids” — knew better.

The messaging from my peers was reiterated through high school, giving way to an eating problem; I ate so my soul could survive. Food had no obligation to me, yet it was unconditional in making me feel whole and satisfied, even if only for the fleeting moments that it lingered on my tongue. And it let me have control: I could decide how much of it I wanted and when. I had the power, and I made the rules; the food was happy to oblige. Unlike my classmates, who relentlessly teased me about my homosexuality, pecan pie was accepting. It comforted me after a verbal battering, filling me up and hugging me with its buttery crust.

The only thing worse than being a “fag” was being a “fat fag,” or so I was told repeatedly, and I took drastic action to improve my appearance. An addiction to plastic surgery led to a nose job, multiple liposuction procedures and injectables that were certain to generate attention — and they did. I elected to cut into my body to get positive feedback from friends, acquaintances and co-workers. When that wasn’t enough, I had to up the stakes.

I forged a Hollywood career that provided me with more money and status than most people my age enjoyed, but I still felt like a half-baked person who was an undesirable outsider. The perception of success gave me a misguided sense of acceptance. The pariah, the kid whom everyone mocked for being different, now enjoyed access to — and attention from — the rich and famous, which made him uniquely alluring to those who envied his glittery lifestyle. My pain wasn’t recognizable to others; my bleeding was internal.

Finally, in my late 30s, I decided to take a look in the mirror. Losing 15 pounds wouldn’t be so bad for my health. I wasn’t terribly concerned, though, about how the weight affected my appearance anymore. The idea of finding a local gym and perhaps a part-time trainer — and maybe even buying pants with a larger waist size — crossed my mind. A surgical remedy was no longer my go-to solution; I wasn’t willing to take the risk or suffer any more pain by choice.

A professional reinvention was also on the horizon — one that didn’t include the dangerously alluring glamour of the entertainment industry. The guy looking back at me from the mirror was OK with that. Maybe it was time to pursue old passions, to become a writer or go back to school for an M.B.A., two possibilities that now got me more excited than a red carpet. I realized that my identity wasn’t wrapped up in a job or high-level title. And it certainly wasn’t defined by the celebrity affiliations that came as a “gift with purchase.”

I am a work in progress; I haven’t quite figured out all 12 steps of the Approval Anonymous program. But I am well on my way.

www.huffingtonpost.com/josh-sabarra/my-aa-approval-anonymous_b_6082740.html?utm_hp_ref=gay-voices&ir=Gay+Voices

Meet The Hulking Young Stars Of Senegal — Male Professional Wrestlers

Meet The Hulking Young Stars Of Senegal — Male Professional Wrestlers
In Senegal, professional wrestling reigns supreme. Seeing as it’s the national sport, those who successfully practice lutte sénégalaise, or laamb, are considered heroes in their home country, treated like movie stars or royalty. Though unlike the WWE stars in America who transformed wrestling into an entertainment spectacle throughout the ’90s, the burgeoning wrestling champions in Senegal are reaching new heights of popularity while attempting to maintain ties to their traditional folk roots.

Amsterdam-based photographer Ernst Coppejans recently spent several weeks shadowing the men and boys who are working to become the next big laamb champions. His portraits capture the hulking subjects on a beach in the small village of Yene where they train. Contorted and posed, mid-grapple or lounging by the sea, Coppejans’ images demonstrate a different kind of masculinity.

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The series, titled “Lutteur,” began while Coppejans was traveling in West Africa, seeking to meet and photograph members of the gay community there. The resulting project, “Dans le Milieu,” explores West Africa’s laws that prohibit same sex relationships. While in Senegal, however, Coppejans became particularly fascinated with the wrestlers he saw on the beaches. After a bit of research, he decided to join the Senegalese hopefuls for a month, attending their tournaments and observing their practices.

“Champions are worshiped,” Coppejans explained to The Huffington Post. “Many Senegalese boys train fanatically to make their dream, becoming a famous lutteur come true.” The allure of fame and fortune from sport clearly crosses national borders. Talented lutteurs will wear talismans (gris-gris) and douse themselves in blessed liquid to better their chances of triumph, while connecting to the older folk rituals based on faith and luck. But while the majority of competitors make around $2,000 per season, the small percentage of elite winners can earn up to $100,000 per combat.

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There is a mirage, a sort of dream, that the youth of the country are living,” Malick Thiandoum, a sports broadcaster for Senegalese Radio and Television, stated to The New York Times. “But we are in the process of telling them, ‘Be careful, because there is a gap between what you believe and reality.'”

Cappejans captures portraits of the wrestlers, clad in loincloth and shorts, before they’ve been fully enveloped by this reality. “What I love about this series is that it is all about hopes and dreams,” he added. “Not many make it as a professional wrestler, but they sure are gonna try. It’s a way out of poverty and a way to a better life.”

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For more on the multinational world of wrestling, check out Laurent Goldstein’s series on kushti here.

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www.huffingtonpost.com/2014/10/31/meet-the-hulking-male-sta_n_6064230.html?utm_hp_ref=gay-voices&ir=Gay+Voices

Scorned Ex-Boyfriend Emails Nude Photos Of Teacher To 250 Of His Students

Scorned Ex-Boyfriend Emails Nude Photos Of Teacher To 250 Of His Students

kz2ncybxj9cddhbfe7ghA word of caution to those of you who text X-rated pictures of yourselves to others: Be very careful who you send them to or your naughty bits may come back to haunt you.

One Pasadena school teacher has learned this lesson the hard way.

38-year-old David Galvan allegedly hacked into his ex-boyfriend’s, high school teacher Richard Rosa, work email and sent provocative pictures of the science instructor to 250 of his students, colleagues, and friends, the Los Angeles Times reports.

The email’s subject line simply read, “Enjoy!”

Attached to the body of the message, which was sent on July 10 while Rosa was out of the country, were four nude pics of the teacher showing off his bare chest and penis.

According to Pasadena police Lt. Terysa Rojas, Galvan was angry that his relationship with Rosa had ended and so he was seeking revenge. A warrant for his arrest was issued a week after the email was sent on five charges, including identity theft, sending obscene matter, and impersonating Rosa.

Upon learning he was a wanted man, Galvan allegedly fled the state. Three months later, officials tracked him down in Hillsboro, Oregon. Last week, he was transported to Pasadena city jail, where he was released shortly thereafter upon posting bail.

As for Rosa, school district officials say he’s not at risk of losing his job. Just to be on the safe side, however, students have begun rallying around their beloved science teacher. An online petition titled “Save Mr. Rosa” began circulating over the summer, insisting he not be punished for what his awful ex-boyfriend allegedly did to him. It currently has over 500 signatures.

A court hearing on the matter is scheduled for November 21.

h/t: Gawker

Related stories:

Nude Pic Etiquette: Five Tasteful Tips For Photographing Your Junk

Hacktivists To Revenge-Porn Scumbag Hunter Moore: You’re Going Down

Eleven Hilariously Shallow Reasons To Break Up With Your Boyfriend

Graham Gremore

feedproxy.google.com/~r/queerty2/~3/j8MCpmMXTMs/scorned-ex-boyfriend-emails-nude-photos-of-teacher-to-250-of-his-students-20141031

Ellen DeGeneres Sends Staffers Andy and Jacqueline Through a Haunted House: VIDEO

Ellen DeGeneres Sends Staffers Andy and Jacqueline Through a Haunted House: VIDEO

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Ellen’s Halloween ritual of sending faint-hearted staffers through haunted houses is back – with Executive Producer Andy Lassner and his assistant Jacqueline being the lucky two chosen to brave a vampire-themed maze this year.

Watch, AFTER THE JUMP

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And if you missed (or care to re-watch) Ellen’s hilarious videos from last year, check ’em out HERE and HERE

 


Kyler Geoffroy

www.towleroad.com/2014/10/ellen-degeneres-sends-staffers-andy-and-jacqueline-through-a-haunted-house-video.html