GAY PEOPLE'S CHRONICLE AUGUST 18, 1995

ABOVE THE FRUITED PLAIN

Sign of the times:

Columbus Will work for date"

Eagle Bar

THURSDAY, AUGUST 31ST

21 YEAR OLD SENSATION CHRISTIAN FOX LIVE!

DON T MISS THE CHEAPEST HAPPY HOUR IN TOWN

by Aubrey Wertheim

I came out of the closet. But I couldn't get a date.

Went to a support group. Spilled my guts. Bared my soul. Got weepy revealing my datelessness.

No takers.

Went into advertising. Took out a personal, logged onto the busiest bulletin board, invested in a dating service.

Box empty. Silent screen. Stood up nineteen times.

Hit the bars. Worked the scene. From the latest, glitziest watering holes to cesspits where mushrooms wouldn't grow. Had matchbooks printed with my name, number, sign, brew.

No one intoxicated with me.

There must be an art to this. Get some culture. Joined local chorus, local book group. local country two-steppers. Installed myself at every homoerotic art exhibition. Dating me must be too controversial.

Stretched myself and went athletic: softball, volleyball. cycling, swimming. Pooled endorphins. Comrades. Teammates. "Doin' anything after the game?"

Spoil sports.

TOY 1121

Switched to my personal best. Joined a gym. Queer-friendly but still serious. Buffed enough to get myself noticed, but not start steroid rumors.

"Spot me?"

"Sure."

"Date me?"

Wimps.

Got sexy. Loulan workshops, Body Electric. Clit Clubs, Jacks, group massage. Queen of the Ultimate Full Body Orgasm. Not one friggin' date.

Got religion. Churches, temples, chant-

ing. Fairy retreats, solstice rituals. Generic Unitarianism. Let soar my divine queer spirit. Not one goddamn date.

Got analytical. Self-help seminars, weekends, experiences. Circle-journaled with complete strangers. Explored intimacy, issued exhaustively. Finally got to the root of it all. My inner child just wants to be asked out.

Got involved with “my community.” Answered hotlines, staffed booths, edited newsletters, raised funds, addressed my isms, addressed your isms, learned Robert's (expletive) Rules.

Nobody got involved with me.

Got more visible. Marched in my hometown pride parade. Thousands of participants. Army of lovers.

That night, local homo found naked in bed. Stunned. Dateless.

Got even more visible. Took direct action: Queer Nation, ACT UP, Lesbian Avengers. Got arrested. Got a record.

Lotsa dates. All in court.

Took visibility all the way. Went to the March on Washington. Hundreds of thousands more like a million. Surely, somewhere amongst this massive outpouring..

Clearly, not dating me is a national conspiracy.

Finally decided to go commercial. Tap that LesBiGay market. Launching a line of community T-shirts. First one up: “I Came Out of the Closet and All I Got was This Shirt."

Killer graphics, radical colors. And a great deal:

With the first five hundred orders-I throw in a date.

Aubrey Wertheim is a syndicated columnist based in Oberlin.

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