Cool for Scandal

So unless you've been living under a rock--or, I don't know, stuck in some sort of a closet--you know that, earlier this week, Jason Collins, late of the Washington Wizards, became the first athlete in a major American team sport to come out as gay while still active--well, while still active as a player; I imagine plenty of the other athletes who have come out are still actively gay.  Collins certainly deserves credit for breaking what may be the last major civil-rights barrier in professional sports (although I can't help but notice a continued dearth of Jewish long-jumpers),  But cynics point out that Collins is, at best, a marginal player in the twilight of his career.  As a free agent, Collins is not guaranteed ever to play again unless he suits the needs of an NBA general manager.  If anything, his announcement may have helped his chances of being signed by a new team. You know  Commissioner David Stern would dearly love to see Collins on the hardcourt (snicker) next season, lest the NBA--deservedly or not--face accusations of homophobia.

How times have changed.  An NBA player reveals that he is gay and not only does he not jeopardize his career, he may well have prolonged it.  In today's Times, even while columnist Frank Bruni laments the double-standard that condemns women as sluts even while celebrating men for sexual conquests, a front-page article discusses how numerous scandal-plagued men, including libidinous subjects Eliot Spitzer and David Petraeus, have found that the road to redemption leads through the groves of academe.  It seems non-normative sexual behavior may just be the stepping stone to greater triumphs.

All of which is to say that I, the Solipsist, would hereby like to declare myself a clam fetishist.  And if you stop reading my blog--indeed, if you don't each immediately coerce at least five more people to read it--you are intolerant bastards and should be ashamed of yourselves.  I thank you for your continued support.

What Could POSSIBLY Go Wrong?

Sometimes the blogging Gods just smile down on you at the right moment.  Here I was, tired, uninspired, about to toss up my hands and beg forgiveness for yet another missed night, when I logged onto Facebook and saw a friend's post about this: Bangwithfriends.com.

The site, from what I can tell (because I assure you I am FAR too chicken actually to click on the link), combines the anonymous hook-up possibilities of Craigslist with the safe coziness of your Facebook friends list. You can (again, as far as I can tell--total chicken here) sign up for this, uh, service through your Facebook account and then, if your friends also sign up, you will be somehow informed of their desire--not necessarily for YOU, I suppose, but just for a no-strings (if there is such a thing) encounter.

I honestly don't know whether to be appalled or impressed.  In a way, it's ingenious--until you start to ponder the ramifications.  I mean, first of all, there's the aforementioned non-guarantee of mutual attraction.  Imagine the awkwardness of finding a friend on this site, contacting him/her, only to be told thanks, but no thanks.  The last thing a guy needs to hear is that a girl "loves him as a Facebook friend." 

I suppose many, if not most, people have one or two exes on a friends' list.  I guess that could be slightly less awkward although potentially more damaging to a delicate psyche.

But, for me, here's the most potentially terrifying aspect of Bangwithfriends.  I don't know (Remember: Chicken!) whether this site allows you to specify people you DON'T want to hear from.  How many of us, for example, have cousins, siblings, and/or God-help-us PARENTS on our friends' list?  Some of my relatives are very attractive people, but still. I. Don't. Want. To. Know.  (And I'm sure they feel the same.)

Call me a traditionalist, but I think random sexual encounters with friends should happen the old-fashioned way: drunken hook-ups in a supply closet at the office Christmas party.  Just call me a romantic.