Definition: A person who is desexualised and offers support to a more charismatic and more "attractive" person; a "wacky best friend;" a modern-day eunuch. The term originates from the plethora of wacky and quirky roles played by Ms. Cusack in her film career--so far. A "Joan Cusack" does not get the "guy" at the end of the day, indeed, she spends her time trying to make sure someone else's love or sex life is running well.
This new term aptly describes my experience at New York Pride this year, because I was without a doubt Garrett's Joan Cusack, and the funny thing is...I didn't care that I was.
It all started with the parade. Although my very first Pride was only last year, I approached the whole she-bang as if I was some sort of grizzled veteran. I guess, I figured if you've seen it once, you've seen it a thousand times. And yet, the parade was quite stirring. The cheers when Hilary Clinton came past, the boos when Michael Bloomberg came. (Nearby, someone yelled "Give us our rights!") I have to admit, it was moving and part of that was that I was viewing it from Garrett's perspective, which was for the first time.
Defintiely not present last year (at least from my vantage point) was the sign of the year:
To see this sign was like going to a gay bar for the very first time: I realised that I was not alone. I've always felt that there was something extremely wrong with the messages that we are being sent from The Advocate, Out, HX, and the like. Not being a demonstrative person by nature, I made sure to tell the sign holder that I totally agree with his statement. Some marchers in the parade also made a point to tell him that they agreed with him.
On the other side of the sign was "I'm not your interior decorating ho!" Amen.
And then we went to the Pier Dance.
I have to say that I approached the Pier Dance with a lot of trepidation. For starters, although I willingly chucked the Corset from Hell today, I'm still healing and under the same restrictions the doctor gave me. In other words, no dancing and no taking my shirt off until sundown [due to potential mucking up of my scar].
Yet, I would find myself adrift in a sea of shirtless men of all body types: There were huge musclemen the size of a Mack truck, bears, men on steroids with Cripps' bellies, toned muscle twinks, and regular men not afraid to show the world "hey, this is what I look like and I don't care what you think." And you know what? It didn't matter that I didn't look my best. I felt just as secure.
This is where I really realised that I am a Joan Cusack and Garrett is a Julia Roberts. How come? Well, due to my surgery, I can't have sex--or at least the kind of sex I'd like to have, so I immediately took myself out of contention for snagging a one-night stand. All my gears were switched towards making sure that Garrett had a good time and approached at least one guy who he thought was good looking.*
*Garrett & I are rarely in competition for men. He likes good looking boys, I veer towards the slightly older handsome type. Very interesting that our tastes would be so divurgent even though we share the same birth year.
I guess what I'm trying to say at the end of the day, is that Pride is what you make of it. If you can go home and feel good about being gay, then you realise why this last Sunday in June is so special.
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