The Difference

I've grown immune to the reproachful glares and comments of my friends over this topic...a fact I am grateful for as it allows me to finally articulate the meaning behind my frequent complaint that "Seattle men suck".

The most common defense to this-once it is determined that I won't be silenced with a stare-is either "All men suck" or some version of "Men are the same everywhere". I particularly love it when people who have lived in the same place their entire lives use something like that last chestnut.

Now, let me explain the basis of my complaint: I have lived in many cities, both in and near major metropolitan areas: Portland (forever my hometown), LA, Tampa, Long Beach, Houston, KC and Seattle. I have never failed to secure a relationship in anyone of them, until Seattle. It is my relationship Elba. To save you the trouble of googling Elba, it is the exile of Napoleon. Famous for the palindrome, "Able was I, ere I saw Elba" that defined Napoleon's impotency as a ruler. Likewise, Seattle defines my impotency-in a shituational, not sexual manner-as a lover. I'll work on a palindrome to capture the full tragedy of my shituation.

While I declare the men sub-par, from a dating and relationship stand point, simply leaving the city is not the easiest means of correcting my displeasure. I love the lifestyle of the city. I live and work, essentially, downtown. I walk everywhere. My carbon footprint is smaller than a foot-bound Chinese woman's footprint. I have made many great friends who accept me for me, what's not to love about that? And the guys I meet casually out on the town are pretty nice, too. Very nice, actually-and usually pretty damned hot. For many reasons, Seattle is the town I have lived in that I feel the most connected to despite the pull from home.

Many times, I will be out and be perfectly ignored by men. Which is fine, I am one who definitely appreciates looking and not touching, sometimes. But on those occasions that someone comes and talks to me, I suspect they are simply killing time while waiting for their friends to arrive or punishing their friends by ignoring them for a while. I know, how jaded can I be, right? Seattle men simply do not venture out unaccompanied. Too insecure to stand alone in a bar is my guess, and I will explain my theory there later.

Seattle is a sometimes brutal town, perfect for someone as judgmental as me to blend into and disappear. LOL.

On those occasions where my friends are feeling "encouraging", they will be my perfect wing-man. Spotting guys who are "into me" or gently nudging me toward the current object of my erection-er, affection. To what avail, I cannot say. I usually decline because the typical Seattle gay has proven to be a formidable adversary I dare not face when overloaded with drink and when underloaded, seen simply by yours truly as a fruitless endeavor.

I will say this. Seattle men love their sex. Getting my rocks off has certainly been easier in some cities from an opportunity standpoint, but generally never easier to do without fear of entanglement. It seems anyone in Seattle who wants a boyfriend already has one, and I have slept with many of them-in one week I managed to hook up with both men in a relationship...unbeknownst to either of them, which is it's own tragedy in my opinion. But the vast majority of Seattle men claim to not want a relationship, many in this category have a very close group of friends that meets the emotionally intimate needs they may have that are normally channeled into a relationship. This leaves only-in most cases-their sexual needs unmet.

This is where guys like me come in. No pun intended.

When I arrived in Seattle from Portland three years ago, I was amazed to find myself in the middle of a "fresh meat phenomenon" at the advanced stage of life I had achieved. Yet there I was, Ball of the Belles, so to speak. Getting chatted up in bars, people throwing undies at me as I walked down the street-figuratively. Yet when I would try to wrest this phenomenon from the bar and to a restaurant or show, it was no dice.

When you could wrangle an encouraging response from someone, it lacked the enthusiasm and spontaneaity of sincerity. "Let's get together for dinner next week" was met with "I'm busy next week". It always seemed people were two to three weeks out. Then you had to deal with re-scheduling as the date approached. I've forgotten why I liked you or what you looked like by then. I began to recognize this as part of the phenomenon that people referred to as "The Seattle Fade". That's basically the live and impersonal version or "It's not you, it's me". Trust me, I know it's you, buddy.

Confuzzled, I banged my head against this wall for a couple of years, slowly both building my own insular group of friends and giving into the free, one-off sexual environment that Seattle appeared to be. Neither of these situations was a full fledged shituation, but neither was fully satisfying to me. My life was and is in imbalance.

While vacationing at home, it hit me over dinner one night.

Last night, to be specific.

Friday the 13th.

The day before Valentine's Day.

Apropos, no?

I met my friends in the bar at Starky's while we waited for our full party to arrive for dinner. The waiter approached, flashed me a 100-watt smile that hit his eyes and expressed his interest perfectly, took my order and wandered off.

"And out of my life forever" is the way I have come to describe those scenarios. You all know my penchant for waiters, baristas and bartenders...I have learned to take those attractions as life's simple pleasures without expecting anything other than the enjoyment I get from a little eye-hockey and smiling during whatever transaction is at hand.

While we waited, Big Word Ben pointed out a guy who would be right up my alley. Short, cute, even had some ginger hair going. Eagerly I spin around in a not-too-obvious way to look, locking onto the proposed object of my affections just as BWB chuckles and says, "Oh wait, you already had him!"

How droll.

He was a guy who picked me up in a bar. Not literally, but he had game. He chatted me up. Asked for my number. Made a date. And then we did something prior to having sex.

The way the god of the godless intended.

Giving up on a seating quorum, lesbians running on their own timetable as they are want to do, we are seated in the dining room where our waiter comes over and proves to be more than attentive to every man at the table. Ending, and lingering on your humble scribe. I write this off as his schtick initially, but he keeps coming back to me. When the ladies in our party finally arrive, they know him and he introduces me as his Valentine.

Cute.

The thing is, he actually did ask me out. He wanted me to come back when he finished work and when I couldn't he actually asked me out for Valentine's Day. All apologies and no guarantees, I thanked him for the invite but told him I was probably not going to have the time.

On the sidewalk, it hit me.

I had just witnessed the difference, specifically, between Portland and Seattle men. Perhaps to some degree between Seattle men and men most anywhere else.

Action.

Not the kind that takes place between the sheets, figuratively or literally. The kind of action that happens before that.

The kind of action that requires balls. A fearlessness and willingness to pursue what you want because you are worth it. The perfect compliment to this is tact, of course. Manners. An ability to say, "Thanks, but no thanks" without judgment, ridicule or scorn.

Seattle lacks both of these traits, by and large-in my experience. I say that in a completely non-judgmental way, not that it will be believed. My epiphany last night was full spectrum. I saw the entire evolution of this social phenomenon-I almost said "problem" but that would be judgmental.

The men I have encountered lack the willingness to expose themselves enough to rejection to express a valid interest in getting to know someone, giving it instead lip service in their on line "dating" profiles by saying something along the lines of "Open to LTR, with the right guy". But they also lack the tact to politely decline the advances of another man without using the opportunity to elevate their own worth at this would be suitor's expense. Most often, you see someone walk away to a disdainful lear or the subtle "heads in, voices down so he doesn't hear us talking about him" recap. What happened to the days when you could be hit on by someone and tell your friends about it after he left and they would say "Well, that was nice" versus "What was he thinking"?

I think I know.

Seinfeld is the answer.

Seriously.

And he owes me an apology, specifically, but the town itself, as well. Now, his forgiveness is assured, because I do adore him, but still...

I'm going to unofficially pinpoint the date of this emotional deterioration to George Costanza declaring Seattle as "the pesto of cities". I imagine that this began a snowball's journey that has ended with hearts both retarded and frozen inside the chests of many a Seattle-ite. Who wouldn't want to be in the trendy, new city in the Wild West?

Partner that endorsement with Microsoft, et al's creation of new wealth in such a small city area and you probably have a higher than average concentration of people who aren't quite sure how to behave, being caught between the social "caste" they were raised in and the one they now percieve themselves to exist in. As a stranger in a strange town, they have no one to hold them accountable to their behavior. No one knows where they belong, so they self-direct and recreate their social status according to their new geography and wealth, by wallpapering themselves with ego-inflating paycheck after ego-inflating paycheck, losing the person they were along the way.

Didn't these people watch the Brady Bunch growing up or any of the ABC After School Specials?

So, while I enjoy living in the urban setting that Seattle offers and love my friends there as intimately as my personality affords me; I am reminded of an old adage that has been replaying in my head since last night's encounter: "Be it ever so humble, there's no place like home". Perhaps it refers not just to the surroundings in this instance.

Anyway, I'm sure this type of observation is better left to the Diane Fossey's of the world, but there's my $.02 based on my experience. Do I give up? Most certainly not. Am I enjoying the adventure? A little less over time. That's on you, Seattle.

I'm sure this will rain down the ire of many people in my adopted town, so be it-if I am not allowed my opinion, my point is likely made for me. For those who can't accept that, build a Chris-shaped effigy to symbolize your insecurities and I will put the match to it.