I only barely read gay “blogs” (short for “Web logs,” a kind of online diary or journal), and only when I am bored out of my mind. It is another thing we do badly, you know. Likewise, I do not have a “blogroll” (short for “Web log roll,” a list of blogs [short for “Web logs”] that one reads or endorses), mostly because your sites simply bore me. (That might explain why I read them when I am bored. And adorable Tom Coates denies writing a journal or diary anyway!)
I am, however, hot-hot-hot for ugly/beautiful olive-skinned Italian Rocco Forgione and his ugly/beautiful strawberry-blond bf unit Corey. I mean, could there be there a hotter combination? (I suppose possibly. My Italian limerent object has brown eyes and red hair. Best of both worlds, shurely.)
Corey has a typical gay job (in public relations) and likes comic books or some such thing, which I can overlook given that he’s so very strapping, also de facto straightedge. (I have a harder time reconciling the name of his “blog” [short for “Web log”], OpieBlue. The use of “blue” to refer to describe items that are red – black-and-blue rare steak, the orange aircraft flown by Virgin Blue – isn’t verbal sleight-of-hand, it’s a psychology experiment.)
I revel in the excoriation and scabrousness of sexy, allegedly-rich, openly-Italian Rocco, who never met a twit he didn’t photograph and lampoon. Since he meets them in public, save for that one time at the sauna, they are fair game. They’re the ones who went to the bar dressed like that! What did they expect? If I can write about what happens to me when I go out (e.g., Tales of the Toolbox, Steamworks), and Rick Bébout can write an entire memoir about life at the Bar, so can Rocco.
Far from being racist, that lumbering, hirsute Rocco is merely staying true to his sexual orientation, which is guys with “light-brown, blond or red hair.” Fair enough. If we aren’t sexist because we don’t like wymmynz, then we also aren’t racist because we do not fancy Asians, blacks, Indics, whites, or any other group. (Hi, Christian!) We are merely being true to ourselves.
I suppose Rocco hates nonwhites the way Itchy hates cats. Cartoon violence does not require little pictures. You can also do it in writing. Or Rocco can, at least.
Anyway, Rocco, who plausibly claims to be out on straight rugby teams and to have played “college” football, also takes the piss out of himself half the time, complete with unflattering photographs and his own parody “blog” (short for “Web log”). He’s not just deprecating, he’s self-deprecating. And have you ever listened to the gay accents of his friends, as heard in the home videos he posts? Half his sisters sound like hairdressers.
I do have a couple of questions, though. If he’s supposed to be an X5-driving rich Gino (gender-conformable synonym for “Guido” [disparaging term for Italians]) who just moved in with his ginger boyfriend, what are they doing with bedsheets for curtains? (As further seen in home videos.) And what happens when the bubble bursts?
I’ve got a whole Greatest Hits package here, but you can just read the archives yourself. You’ll shit yourself laughing, unless you’re the ethically questionable Joe·My·God (q.v.), about whom Rocco wrote (link added):
I refuse to write about my pathetic, lame, tired-ass friends and our gross sex stories à la some losers. I just want to be like Oh, My God, Joe, Give It Up. You are so fucking ugly and pathetic, you make me spit up in my mouth every time someone mentions you.
And if we wanted an elder statesman of gay “blogs” (short for “Web logs”), one who might pilot us through uncharted waters, it wouldn’t be Joe Jervis, Rocco, Corey, or me. There’s a reason it’s called self-publishing: You write what you want, and nobody else has to read it.
I totes defo want a night on the town with Rocco and his stocky ginger boyfriend.