Entourage, or, When I was Heterosexual

So guys I'm sitting in my house watching Entourage as we speak.

And let me tell you.

It reeks.

I mean it fucking sucks. It's so desperately reeking of testosterone I can practically feel my hormones going wacky just by watching it. I might have grown a third testicle by the end of the episode if I didn't turn it off quickly.

This show sucks so much and I used it LOVE it. In fact, I watched the first three seasons right up until AquaMan. I was addicted. And then I realized.

I liked this show when I was heterosexual.

Let me repeat that.

That means I used to like Entourage until I acquired better taste.

Ok, I know what you're thinking. That might be a big jump I'm making by saying that just because you're a homosexual it means you have taste. It doesn't, as we all know.

But it certainly helps. It helped me.

And then I started to think of everything else I used to do back when I was younger and more foolish and in pursuit of my hetero-normative lifestyle with my 2.2 kids, a generic wife with a vagina, and a legal marriage certificate (wamp WAMP).

And I'm recalling Linkin Park CDs. I'm remembering lots of puffy skate shoes. I most definitely said in my fourth grade yearbook that "Will Smith" was my favorite musician (which at the time I thought would "butch up" my bio and offset the fact that I put "dance" as my favorite sport. Don't worry, it's back when I was competing in dance competitions around the Boston area. In tap and jazz. I swear to god it fucking happened, people.)

But worse is that I really enjoyed these things at the time. Or I thought I did. Just like Entourage.

It was a dark time for me, having to lie about who I was. And no, not about being a heterosexual, that was whatever, but I had to lie about having INCREDIBLE taste. Because I think I actually do. I have incredible taste. I said it. It's nature versus nurture people. It's DNA.

And I guess apart from the fact that women are bat shit fucking crazy and Entourage is so fucking bad... I just came back from looking at my nicely polished Florsheims in my closet and my recently laundered, powdered, and pressed dress shirts and I have to say: things just look brighter on this side of the fence. Because this side of the fence is tastefully decorated with lilacs, arbor ways, and carefully manicured topiaries to compliment the intricate Venetian style tile work on the table tops of our wrought iron steel patio set.

Oh, and sure, I guess you could say it's the self-acceptance and self-love and the sense of community and the blah blah boring boring. Because mainly, I'm in it for a shoes.

-Max

KATE'S EDIT: 10/26/10 8:22pm

Max, I sadly remember this time and am glad to hear that it's labeled as "dark" not because of the fact that your homosexuality was being stifled by the rigid expectations of blah blah blah (because we know that's not true...obligatory and uneccesary assertation of love and acceptance) but that your "heterosexuality" was stifling your need for ANTM marthons and decent footwear. Also, after reading this, I have to apologize for encouraging you to buy Foo Fighters albums...just please remember that back then I was listening to S-Club 7 so I thought I was giving you hip, unground music recommendations. I went to Newbury Comics for the posters...I knew what I was talking about.

Although amidst all of your Entourage, taste in the toilet woes, may I remind you that I dated an openly gay man that hit on you for the majority of high school? I like to think that we've both acquired better taste, only yours involves vintage Florsheim shoes and mine involves a handsome Italian with a permenant 5-oclock shadow. And the long-awaited ability to perform a good blowout for my Jew-hair. We're winners.