Tag: sex

  • The Sex Lives of Your Neighbors

    In ancient Rome, handwritten copies of a daily gazette called the Acta Diurna were posted in prominent public locations to keep citizens informed on everything from military developments to the latest divorces—and you can bet which part was read most avidly. In colonial America, the New World’s first newspaper, published in 1690, made a splash by publicizing a rumor that the king of France had royally screwed his son’s wife.

    Even as today’s newspapers have evolved into more somber, self-important bastions of fact-checked objectivity—and that’s just the funny pages—they continue to devote considerable column inches to divorce and infidelity. But do they really cover such matters thoroughly enough? The bedroom tragedies and farces of public figures attract their share of enterprise reporting, but how well informed are you about the sex lives of your neighbors, co-workers, and random strangers you cross paths with every day? Unless those lesser-knowns augment their crimes of the heart with major felonies or especially colorful misdemeanors, the news media generally leaves them to Jerry Springer and his brethren.

    But while Springer applies Sisyphean vigor to his trade, even he can’t showcase every three-timing cheat and floozy in America. And that’s why websites like Dontdatehimgirl.com and Cheaternews.com are such a valuable addition to the journalistic firmament. Here, you will find spurned lovers posting unsparing accounts of the “dumpster dawgs” who’ve crapped all over their hearts and chewed up their self-esteem. You will find seething jilted women determined to expose the gummy seductresses who led their boyfriends and husbands astray.

    “This loser cannot hold a job and all he does is waste his money on roids. He takes so many drugs that his penis shriveled up and it is the size and width of a woman’s thumb. ATTENTION, LADIES STAY AWAY!” advises a correspondent at DDHG. “I dated Shrek for 3 years,” writes another contributor to the site. “Hes a CONTROLLING FREAK & a SERIAL CHEATER! He gave me HPV which led to cervical cancer & now i’m unable to have children! He contracted it from the TOOTHLESS TOWN WHORE named Cheryl.”

    Now that’s news you can use, especially since the most detailed dispatches include full names, photos, cell-phone numbers, email addresses, places of employment, and favorite hangouts of the alleged man-tramps and hussies. But while the mostly anonymous muckrakers who file such exposés provide some of the web’s most incendiary investigative reporting, they rarely receive praise for their journalistic enterprise.

     

    It’s an interesting irony. On the Internet, anyone can be a reporter, and millions of enthusiastic amateurs now give us even more news to ignore while we hunt for old Love Boat clips on YouTube. Not surprisingly, the citizen journalists who’ve received the most attention from the traditional media are those who insist they’re going to make the traditional media obsolete. Except for matters of style, however, most of these supposed pioneers aren’t all that different from those they hope to replace. They cover the same subjects. They employ the same basic journalistic conventions. Meanwhile, true innovators, like the contributors to DDHG and Cheaternews.com, are mostly ignored by the media mavens who spend their days pondering journalism’s future.

    In part, this is probably because they generally offer nothing more than their word as proof of their claims. But it’s also a question of scope. As with l’amour, so with journalism: Size matters. As Nicholas Lemann explained recently in the New Yorker, “Most citizen journalism reaches very small and specialized audiences and is proudly minor in its concerns.”

    Indeed, while most women aren’t very interested in which tattooed homewrecker has been eye-humping their husbands at the local bar, they do care deeply about which foreign nation the U.S. is currently screwing, or vice versa. Unless they’re not professional journalists, that is. Then, it’s usually the other way around—which is why newspapers have been hemorrhaging readers for the last fifty years.

    Outside the world of professional journalists and political bloggers, for example, few inquiring minds want to fact-check Tony Snow’s ass, or even know who Tony Snow is. But how many would like to humiliate their lying, cheating exes?

    The market for vengeance journalism has no limit, and it goes far beyond matters of the heart. Thanks to Platewire.com, chronic tailgaters, aggressive lane-changers, and jerks who treat school zones like NASCAR finish lines receive a more permanent rebuttal than the traditional one-fingered salute. Facsimiles of their license plates are posted, along with descriptions of their vehicles and a summary of their vehicular transgressions. At Ratemyteachers.com and Ratemyprofessors.com, students turn the tables on the classroom tyrants who make their lives a living hell.

    Of course, not every maverick citizen journalist who’s set up shop on the web is seeking revenge. There are some who, in the benevolent tradition of service journalism, grandly aim to improve the lot of their fellow man via helpful how-to lists and instructional guides. At pick-up artist sites like Fastseduction.com, and Themysterymethod.com, Jedi Master groin wizards play Oprah to legions of would-be Lotharios, inspiring and empowering them to shed their “AFC” (average frustrated chump) status and learn the art of speedy, commitment-free seduction. In the old days, men had to make do with corny pick-up lines, a paralyzing splash of Brut, and the promise of free drinks. Today, a vast curriculum for subverting “chick logic” and “bitch shields” is at their fingertips, and it has all been extensively field-tested, debugged, and streamlined by thousands and thousands of research volunteers.

    Naturally, a sort of arms race ensues. Thanks to the pick-up-artist citizen journalists, men get better and better at seducing and abandoning women. In response, the women create sites like DDHG and Cheaternews.com to throw new obstacles in their way. Like all wars, this one isn’t pretty. The correspondents who publish at these sites aren’t just looking to inform—they also want to punish and humiliate. “If you people dont want ur heart broken and ur bank cards stolen keep away from him,” writes one poster at Dontdatehimgirl.com, “my friend sharon tapped him once and he was putting on pantyhose and a dress.”

    No doubt the exposés at Dontdatehimgirl.com and Cheaternews.com hamper the efforts of some serial Romeos, and keep some of their potential prey from making unwise choices. Ultimately, however, one has to wonder about the aggregate impact of such sites. In a more genteel era, public shaming was an effective means of behavior modification. Now, however, in the age of YouTube and MySpace, when we cultivate attention by any means necessary, it’s often the quickest path to your own reality show. Perhaps if all the dumpster dawgs who appear on these anti-dating sites were politicians, ministers, and CEOs, the site might come closer to achieving its stated goals. But the supposedly shamed subjects are not politicians and CEOs—they’re dumpster dawgs!

    An appearance on Dontdatehimgirl.com or Cheaternews.com certifies their prowess as such, and thus, serves as an endorsement of sorts. Consider the photos of the jilters that the jilted post on these sites. Their faces bear none of the guilt or embarrassment or frustration of traditional mug shots. Usually, they’re just candid snapshots, swiped from dating-site profiles and MySpace pages: The men are smiling, preening, putting their best faces forward—and when juxtaposed with the stories of their alleged misdeeds, they only take on an even more confident, smirking, unflappable air.

    Last year, a Pittsburgh lawyer sued DDHG, claiming that the site had published defamatory statements about him. DDHG’s creator, a Miami-based publicist named Tasha Joseph, told a Massachusetts newspaper that “men call us every day to be taken off [the site].” But bad boys (and bad girls) have their admirers too, and perhaps this is one reason why many of the cads these sites showcase do little to rebut the charges against them—the attention is getting them dates!

    But even if such sites don’t always fulfill their journalistic mission, don’t expect them to go away any time soon. In fact, watch for mainstream publications to co-opt the concept. Case in point: the curious saga of Eric Schaeffer. This forty-five-year-old Manhattan-based filmmaker provides the gale-force gust of hot, self-actualized air behind IcantbelieveImstillsingle.com, a magnificently id-splattered chronicle of his search for a mate that measures up to his standards. Still, neither the site nor any other aspect of Schaeffer’s career was attracting much attention—until the gossip blog Gawker.com published an excerpt from ICBISS in which he explained why he only considers fertile women aged thirty-six or younger suitable spousal material.

    In truth, Schaeffer didn’t seem any more picky or neurotic than the average Manhattanite who posts a Craigslist personal ad, but perhaps because his posts could be attached to a real, identifiable person, they struck a nerve. Suddenly, the man whose last feature film grossed less than ten thousand dollars was the toast of the town. Women he’d dated dished their horror stories to Gawker. The New York Post wanted an interview. Salon.com, which had pretty much ignored his work for the last decade, reviewing just one of the five movies he released in that time, made him the subject of a tedious, four-thousand-word hatchet job that read like the longest and most rambling (albeit best-punctuated) Dontdatehimgirl.com post ever.

    Now, no doubt, Salon is busy searching for more nutty bachelors it can showcase in similar fashion. Faced with a choice between reading about Schaeffer’s exploits or important matters of state, its readers acted just like the Romans of 100 B.C. “[Salon’s] piece on how untalented, uninteresting and unattractive I am inspired 165 letters, all sent in by its readership,” Schaeffer gloated on his blog a few days after the story ran. “I don’t know what the final tally was, but by noon the other front page story, on [President] Bush, had gotten 29.”

  • Listen Up, You Little Nippers

    There was a time, believe me or don’t, when machines didn’t have memories. They opened cans, maybe, or suctioned dirt from carpets, and that was plenty wonderful. We were happy as fucking clams when we no longer had to trudge out to a shed in the backyard to relieve ourselves.

    And put this in your pipe and smoke it: There was a day in the not so distant past when there were no malls in all the world, children.

    Every year they still let Mary go into any school in America to give birth to the Christ child, and I can for damn sure tell you that no teacher ever told us that it was possible to have sex standing up.

    There was none of this nonsense then. Oh, there was plenty of monkey business that could get a fella’s goat, sure, but there wasn’t this wall-to-wall horse hooey that you run into everywhere you turn today.

    The Sears holiday catalog represented desire’s vanishing point, the place beyond which no child would dare dream, the last frontier for Christmas wishes. Whatever a kid could want or imagine was in that catalog, and there was no point in getting greedy. Santa Claus would bring you whatever the hell he damn well pleased, and you were lucky if he bowed to a single one of your true desires.

    The Sears catalog was nothing, really, but a fat book of pornography for children, and the holiday was about desire and anticipation and disappointment. That was just the way the world worked, like it or lump it.

    It’s still the way the world works, of course, but plenty of you greedy little bastards apparently don’t get it. I can assure you that your version of disappointment is a trip to Disney World compared to the version experienced and felt so keenly by the elders you treat with such disrespect and ingratitude.

    Good lord, most of us didn’t get squat for Christmas.

    One year I got some socks, a pair of underwear, a little felt bag of marbles, some pencils with my name stamped on them in gold lettering, and a candy cane. Those pencils, now that was thrilling. Seriously, they were quite the treat.

    I’ll ask you to think about that for awhile.

    I’ll ask you to imagine that.

    ponygirl.jpg

  • Cruise Control

    At approx. 1015 hours on 12/31/03 I saw a white male driving a white Ford Taurus. The male backed his car into a parking spot to my left. I was also backed in. The male began reading the paper in his car. He continued to make eye contact with me while reading the paper. After about 5-10 minutes the male got out of his vehicle with some trash in his hand. He approached on the driver’s side window. When I rolled down the window the male asked me how I was doing. We engaged in a conversation about work and the holidays etc. I told him it was my first time in the park. He said he comes down to the park once in a while. I asked him if he wanted to get in the car. He said, “If you got time.” After a short discussion over what I was reading I asked what he was “up for.” He said he didn’t know. After standing for a few minutes, I told him he could get in if he wanted to. He said, “You’re not a cop, are you,” in which I responded no. He said, “You need to be careful around here.” The man said he was going to throw his trash away and then he would sit in the car for a little bit. He walked over to the garbage can, came back, and sat in the front passenger side seat of my vehicle. . .

    There was a few minutes of looking around, then he said, “Well, do you want it or not?” I asked him again what he had in mind. He said he wasn’t sure. I asked him what he was in the mood for. He then asked me what I wanted to do. I told him I didn’t care, I would give or receive. He said, “I like to receive, myself.” … I took my department-issued badge out of my pocket and told him he was under arrest and to take a walk over to the van. —St. Paul Police Department Incident Report

    Especially in the last twelve months in the Twin Cities, closeted husbands, naughty clergymen, and oversexed gays have been caught hard at it in parks, rest stops, health clubs, and even the basement bathroom at the Southdale Mervyn’s. Since the dawn of gayness itself, sex has been exchanged in this obscure yet public ritual. In the straight world, “cruising” calls to mind eight-track tape decks and muscle cars on Main Street. In the gay world, cruising has mostly come to describe the practice of men meeting in public places for fast, anonymous sex. And the history of cruising provides a much more instructive survey of the culture clash between gays and straights than the relatively recent controversy about same-sex marriage.

    Mostly, the clash takes place when straight people try to stop gay men from doing it. Ironically, this requires police to seduce gay men in public. In 2003, responding to community complaints that men were having sex in public view, St. Paul police set up decoy operations in Crosby Regional Park, along the river south of St. Paul. Most defendants arrested here are eventually charged with misdemeanor indecent exposure, lewd conduct, and loitering. Father Edward McGrath, a priest from Rochester, was not so lucky when he encountered a decoy at Crosby Park on a spring day in 2003. According to court documents, he “cupped the officer’s genitals in his hand while slightly squeezing them,” bringing on a charge of fifth-degree criminal sexual assault. Though McGrath was acquitted of the charges last March (District Judge Joanne M. Smith found no evidence that the decoy officer had not consented to the contact, and had, in fact, encouraged it), the damage to the life and career of a Catholic priest need not be described.

    Even Father McGrath may seem lucky compared to William Plaine. Plaine was the first American on record punished for what, judging by the number of offenses alleged, could only have been cruising. In his History of New England, Massachusetts Bay Colony Governor John Winthrop reported in 1646 the following about Plaine: “…he had corrupted a great part of the youth of Guilford by masturbations, which he had committed, and provoked others to the like above a hundred times.” Community service had yet to become the fashion in sentencing guidelines. The “monster in human shape,” as the magistrates described him, was hanged in New Haven.

    William Plaine was certainly not the world’s first cruiser. “Australopithecene,” said Jean-Nickolaus Tretter, when I asked him to date the practice. Tretter is curator of the gay, lesbian, bisexual, and transgender collection at the University of Minnesota Libraries. If a history exists of anything gay, it’s here. Located eighty feet underground at the Elmer Andersen Library, the Tretter Collection in GLBT Studies is, depending on one’s point of view, either a gold mine or a cesspool of gay history, artifacts, memorabilia, and minutiae. Reporters and researchers make regular use of the archive, and Tretter said it has also become an indispensable resource for anti-gay activists seeking to document the sins of homosexuality. Security is tight, the humidity and temperature controlled. In the event of fire, sprinklers could damage surviving materials, so smoke detectors instead trip a system that evacuates oxygen from the air. The gnomish, bespectacled Jean Tretter himself took me down the elevator shaft and through the airlocks for a tour of the archive. The Tretter Collection began as a hobby, but outgrew Tretter’s St. Paul apartment when he gained a reputation for accepting orphaned materials. Boxes of gay Americana, gay pulp novels and ’zines like Holy Titclamps started showing up on his doorstep “like abandoned babies,” he explained.

    For an ostensibly covert activity, cruising has left a surprising paper trail. Tretter has found turn-of-the century newspaper ads for what were euphemistically called “friendship clubs.” Another of his treasures is a preserved green carnation. “This was an identification symbol for cruising in the nineteenth century, especially in Victorian England,” said Tretter, adding that this is most likely the signal Oscar Wilde would have used when he cruised St. Paul’s Rice Park in 1878, after an opera date with Bishop John Ireland. “Using specific symbols for cruising is probably about four to six thousand years old,” Tretter said. Perhaps the most popular of these symbols is the now clichéd hanky code. “You would find the standard old-fashioned 1940s hankies that look like the back of a deck of cards,” he explained. “Depending upon the color and depending upon the pocket you put it in, it told what your particular preference was sexually. It was cruising taken to its ultimate. Because you could look at this guy and say, ‘OK, he’s wearing a red hanky in his left-hand pocket. He must be into…’ whatever it was, what particular type of sexual act. Some of the old travel guidebooks actually published the codes.”

    Other signals have been far more subtle, said Tretter, especially in modern times. “Say you’re at Southdale and you’re on an up escalator and you see this really cute guy on the down escalator. You would start whistling the tune to, say, ‘Somewhere Over the Rainbow.’ You would stop halfway through. If he picked up the tune and then finished it, you knew that he was cruising and he was interested in you.” Another popular signal at one time was a pack of Pall Mall cigarettes placed on a bar and stood on end. A man could reply by doing the same with his pack.

    Tretter spoke of these elaborate rituals mostly in the past tense. To hear it from the St. Paul police, cruising has indeed lost much of its celebrated subtlety. Though he admits that the criminal sexual assault charge against Father McGrath was a bit of a reach, Sergeant Jerry Vick of the vice unit says that decoys at Crosby Park were having too easy a time of it when they first cracked down. “Last year, they [cruisers] were very aggressive. You wouldn’t even say anything and guys would grab you or expose themselves.” When I mentioned I would be visiting Crosby myself to observe the scene, he cautioned me. “You’re going to be like a blonde walking past a construction site.”

    Further evidence that the delicate exchange of cruising signals and codes has given way to a coarser approach can be found at a website called cruisingforsex.com. It’s an adults-only site with a warning that begs minors to stay away for the sake of everyone involved. For straight folks who have ever wondered exactly what some gay men do in the privacy of a public restroom, it supplies a thorough, graphic education. For gay men, it is a detailed guide to “cruisy” locations all over the world, giving specific addresses, phone numbers, and ratings. There are numerous locations in the Twin Cities.

    Comment threads supplied by cruisers are often a bit pedestrian, like “I had trouble finding the parking lot described here. Better directions would have been helpful.” Others go into more detail about the kind and quality of action. One enthusiastic cruiser described a scene of “close to thirty guys” on a Thursday night. These explicit comments can sound like absurd, X-rated eBay recommendations. “Two guys were practically sucking [everything] that was put in their face. I’ll definitely be back!”

    Entries for Crosby Park last spring, flagged with red “Heads Up!” tags, documented the decoy activity that bagged McGrath and many others: “Several arrests were made here in the last week, with undercover cops leading men on and then pulling out the badge as soon as a touch starts. Three arrests, including two priests, hit the news. It’s bad enough they had cameramen walking around filming for the TV stations…” “Undercover activity has greatly increased with lots of entrapment. It’s not safe at all anymore…”

    It was probably inevitable that when cruisers headed for the web, those devoted to stopping them would follow. The City of St. Paul’s anti-prostitution website, which publishes the names and mugs of suspected johns, has been so popular that the police department has now readied a website to publish the photos of men convicted of cruising-related crimes.

    “Putting them on a website is like putting them on a fence,” said defense attorney Randall Tigue of the plan. Tigue represents an Eden Prairie man arrested at Crosby. Despite his objections, Tigue believes the website meets the constitutional test. What is most troubling about such additional penalties, he said, is that most men who are busted for cruising have not actually committed a crime. “It’s the use of police to manufacture a crime,” he said of the decoy operation that caught his client. “It’s the defendants who are the victims and the police who are the perpetrators.”

    Because a large number of cruisers are closeted men, a website posting may be the cruelest penalty of all, said Minneapolis defense attorney Jerry Burg. I met with Burg over coffee near his downtown Minneapolis office to talk about how his clients become entangled with the law. Burg is gay, and after coming out he started getting cruising cases by referral. He is now half of Heltzer & Burg, a firm specializing in the many and varied legal needs of GLBTs.

    Some of Burg’s clients have become suicidal over the prospect of far less exposure than the website. “One of my very first clients in the early nineties was a gentleman in his sixties who had called me for an appointment,” recalled Burg. “And then he called from the hospital. His wife had found him nearly dead from carbon monoxide asphyxiation. That really slapped me.”

    “About fifteen years ago we had someone commit suicide over getting a citation,” recalled a Minneapolis officer who asked not to be named. Minneapolis has its share of cruisy spots that generate perennial complaints, but this officer wondered about the wisdom of St. Paul’s website. “Is it worth that? I don’t think so. These guys are consenting adults. I don’t see them as sexual predators.”

    Even so, the St. Paul website is only the latest in a series of escalations in the way the capitol city deals with cruising crimes. Most authorities use local indecent exposure ordinances against cruisers, and often handle the offense with a ticket. But a couple of years ago, defense attorneys started seeing a new number in charges originating in St. Paul. It was Minnesota statute 617.23. At a glance it reads much like a typical municipal ordinance against indecent exposure, citing as guilty any person who, in a public place, “willfully and lewdly exposes the person’s body, or the private parts thereof” or “procures another to expose private parts.” The statute also contains subdivisions for violations in the presence of a minor under the age of sixteen and intentional confinement of other people witnessing exposure.

    What sets the statute apart for cruisers is the “enhancement” feature. Simply put, a previous conviction for the same offense elevates a misdemeanor to a gross misdemeanor. Other enhancements can lead to felony charges, which in turn can lead to sex-offender registration. While the felony enhancements are triggered by the act of restraining another person or the presence of minors, attorneys like Burg are nervous. It was only two short years ago that Lawrence v. Texas overturned sodomy laws that had forced consenting partners to register as sex offenders in some states. Jim Rasor of the Rasor law firm in Royal Oak, Michigan, said that he knows of at least three cases in that state where laws similar to 617.23 have led to registration for cruising crimes. But even if a cruiser is unlikely to trigger the felony enhancements in the statute, the planned website looks like de facto sex-offender registration to many defense attorneys.

    Another escalation in cruising enforcement is mandatory booking. “St. Paul and Fridley are now requiring that defendants come in and get booked—formal booking with fingerprints and photographs,” said Burg. The St. Paul City Attorney’s office refused to discuss their motives for the practice, or any of the city’s other anti-cruising efforts, but Burg noted that the Bureau of Criminal Apprehension only accepts records accompanied by fingerprints. He also sees no coincidence in the fact that BCA records are the source for employers doing background checks: “It’s a way of bringing these offenders into that database and upping the ante in terms of the consequences. For most of these guys, the real negative that will happen to them is if they apply for a job with a thorough background check.”

    It’s been more than a year since the cops and cameras put Crosby Park on the “Heads Up!” list at cruisingforsex.com. The park is reached by a steep drive intersecting Shephard Road near Cleveland Avenue. The road goes past the Watergate Marina before leading to three separate parking areas, all of which offer good views of approaching traffic. The park itself covers one hundred and sixty acres of Mississippi River bottomland and forest, stitched by nearly seven miles of foot and bike paths. With its remote location, urban proximity, and public facilities, it’s a cruiser’s trifecta. And it doesn’t take much of an eye for action to see that plenty is still going on. Single middle-aged men back their cars into parking spaces and roll down their windows, making it possible for another car to drive forward into the adjacent space, lining up the driver’s side windows for a chat. A pair of men emerges from the wooded paths and wordlessly separates, each walking to a different car.

    Like many other idiosyncrasies of gay culture, gay men tend to cite closeting as a major factor behind cruising. I had several conversations on the topic with Travis Stanton, editor of the Minneapolis GLBT magazine Lavender. Stanton said that even though only a small percentage of gay men cruise, closeting can play a role in the development of sexual habits. “While in the closet, gay men are unable to discuss relationships, desires, or even who they find attractive. Consequently, there is often a sense of sexual freedom upon coming out,” said Stanton, adding that in many cases, “the coming out is only to one’s self.” For closeted men, the anonymity of cruising may be a practical necessity as much as an act of sexual discovery.

    Stanton also observed that anonymity brings thrill-seekers into the game. “For some, there is a voyeuristic, exhibitionist motive. Those individuals believe the sexual experience is heightened by the risk involved with public sex.” It is this feature of cruising that has generated almost as much friction within the gay community as it does with law enforcement. In public image and public policy, today’s mainstream gay agenda is same-sex marriage rights, all day, every day, and straights have heard the news. Cruising does little to cultivate the wholesome family image promoted by gay marriage advocates. “There is a definite rift in the gay community between some who feel it is important to present the public image and those that feel being gay does not automatically make them public representatives of the gay community at large,” said Stanton.

    Yet another controversial look at cruising seeks to explain it biologically. Syndicated sex columnist Dan Savage, for example, has argued that the fabled male sexual imperative has generated habitual promiscuity in the absence of (also fabled) female restraint. A Minneapolis man who has been arrested for cruising (speaking on condition of anonymity) put it this way: “If straight men could cruise women the way men can cruise men, they’d be doing it all the time.” I encountered this declaration a number of times while talking to gay men about cruising, and the consistent implication is that straight men don’t simply because they can’t.

    “I believe this image is slightly flawed, but it may account for a small percentage of the men who participate,” said Travis Stanton of the theory. He also pointed out that straight sex is everywhere. It gets depicted on billboards, in diamond ads, sitcoms, rap videos, and Top Forty hits. “And don’t tell me that men and women don’t park and have sex in cars,” quipped Randall Tigue.

    “Straight cruising takes a more public and certainly more socially tolerated form,” concluded Stanton. “The concept of make-out point is as American as apple pie, but if the rendezvous involves two gay men, rather than the captain of the football team and head cheerleader, it’s prosecuted as if the two were selling crack to kindergartners.”

    Without civil rights laws to protect gay couples from evictions and job loss for simply taking someone home, cruising, paradoxically, was the original safe sex. Oddly, gay efforts to be more like monogamous heterosexuals are now more threatening to anti-gay activists than lewd conduct in public view. The conservative Minnesota Family Council devotes most of its energy these days to supporting state Senator Michele Bachmann’s constitutional amendment to prohibit same-sex marriage. But president Tom Prichard was uncharacteristically short on opinions when I asked him what he thought about the escalating cruising enforcements in St. Paul. “Just enforce the law, I guess,” was all he had to say.

    If the religious right fails to see imitation as the greatest form of flattery in same-sex marriage, cruisers are finding it’s an even worse deal that decoys have become more and more practiced in the art of seeming gay. Unlike prostitution busts, where the financial transaction defines the crime, cruising decoys must encourage some sort of sexual activity to take place to make the arrest. Jerry Burg says that because of this gray area, vice decoys depend on escalating their provocations to produce the desired results. He says that an undercover cop will sometimes actually ask his target to expose himself, to “show me what you got.” And to get him to do it, an officer has to talk and act like he is himself cruising. It’s “not the kind of language you hear on ER. They’re talking sex language.”

    “Not just anyone can do it,” said Sergeant Brian Rogers. Rogers coordinates vice enforcement with the Minneapolis Park Police. He carefully selects and trains decoys because, he says, “We want to make sure we deal with these people in a professional and courteous way.” Rogers also doesn’t favor the harsher measures across the river. The Minneapolis Park Police citation for “prohibited conduct” can be settled out of court. Cruisers are not booked, he says, and they can settle their fines on the spot, like a traffic ticket. “These guys are different from guys exposing themselves around the lakes to women and children. Those are the guys you want to get.”

    But no matter whom they are looking for, tumescent men prowling lavatories and parks will most likely be considered a nuisance long after they gain the right to marry the kindred souls they meet up with. And so they will be busted. And despite the less-punishing approach in Minneapolis, they “go into a complete panic right away. They can’t pay [the fine] fast enough and just get out of there,” said Rogers.

    Or, as Jerry Burg explained, “They’re feeling incredibly stupid and manipulated because they thought they were with somebody who wanted to be with them.”

  • Hormones on Overdrive

    It’s another spring evening at the Mall of America, where the Glitz
    store is in full bloom with taffeta and tulle. Pastel Cinderella
    dresses glimmer under the fluorescent lights, and the skirts bursting
    from these sleeveless bodices are so lush, they make the satin wedding
    gown I wore fourteen years ago seem downright drab. I touch the
    bejeweled outer layer of a particularly lovely dress, and then I see
    its $298 price tag, which further confirms the dowdiness of my own
    once-upon-a-time princess costume (now stored dutifully in a cardboard
    box in the basement, for posterity).

    In any case, I’m not here for a dress, but for the teenagers who buzz
    around me, circling the racks and ducking in and out of dressing rooms
    with their selections. I’ve already spent countless hours in
    legitimate, moderated teen chat rooms, marveling at the banter among
    twelve- to fifteen-year-old boys and girls. Most recently they’ve been
    asking each other for advice about whether or not to have sex, what to
    do if your dad thinks you’re a ’ho, how to get a girl back, combating
    lust, and whether boys prefer shaved pubic hair on girls. Now I’m
    hoping to break out of the close, sweaty space of these anonymous chats
    and talk to some local teens face to face. I see a friendly looking
    girl at the rack with the jeweled skirt and I make my move.

    Melissa, it turns out, is a junior from Lafayette, Minnesota
    (population 529), and she’s here shopping for the prom. She doesn’t
    have a date yet, but she plans to go either way, because, as she
    explains, prom is a very big deal. “I guess girls like to get all
    dolled up, it makes us feel important,” she told me shyly, averting her
    gaze. When I asked if she thought there would be drinking and drugs and
    sex at the prom, she looked a bit wounded. “No, I don’t think we really
    have that kind of thing,” she said.

    Of the fifteen or so kids in my highly unscientific sampling at the
    mall that night, Melissa, the shy girl sporting a mouthful of braces
    and little or no make-up on her almost clear skin, was the only one who
    expressed such reassuring naivete.

    If the lilac buds outside my window pop open today, then others were
    blooming yesterday along roadsides approximately seventeen miles south
    of here, and still more will be doing so tomorrow seventeen miles
    northward. Spring rolls along at a pleasantly predictable pace year
    after year, global warming or no. As it arrives, it greens the lawns,
    buds the trees, and transforms winter’s faded trash into dirty
    pinwheels to blow in the wind. Spring also heralds prom night, a
    cultural relic that UrbanDictionary.com now defines as an “unusual
    American custom in which otherwise Puritanical just-say-no parents
    support, tolerate, approve of, or feign ignorance and/or disapproval of
    teenage public drunkenness, destruction of hotel property, and lewd
    behavior.”

    Today’s proms are not at all the crepe paper-and-punch affairs of times
    past. As the premiere social events of the teen season and the last
    hurrah of adolescence, today’s over-the-top, limo- and hotel-enhanced,
    booze- and sex-soaked proms might even be viewed as emblematic of the
    way everything about American adolescence has changed. And adolescence
    has changed, in that it now lasts for all of about twenty minutes—or
    twenty years, depending on how you look at it. We simultaneously want
    to accelerate childhood into adulthood, and spend our adulthood
    resisting the trappings of age and idolizing and emulating youth.

    American adolescence is both the shortest and the longest it has ever
    been at any point in history, which isn’t saying all that much, since
    the term “teenager” with all its associated connotations was only first
    coined in 1942—prior to which the notion of an extended passage between
    childhood and adulthood had yet to be embraced in ideological or
    practical terms.

    Modern adolescence has been defined as lasting until anywhere between
    age nineteen and thirty-four (the latter being the age of adulthood, as
    pinpointed by the $3.4 million “Transitions to Adulthood” project,
    funded by the MacArthur Foundation). Known as the Peter Pan syndrome,
    the trend of extended adolescence is represented by a growing number of
    twenty-somethings who depend on their parents well past the point of
    legal adulthood. According to the Institute for Social Research at the
    University of Michigan, the number of young adults in their twenties
    living at home with their parents increased by fifty percent between
    1970 and 1990. Today, sixty-three percent of college students say they
    plan to live with their parents after graduation.

    Meanwhile, when does adolescence start? Scientists have noticed that
    this physiological phase begins as much as a year earlier with each
    passing generation. And younger adolescents’ exposure to sex, drugs,
    alcohol, and independence from parental authority is becoming more
    widespread and intense. Increasingly younger children are taking up the
    outer vestments of teendom. Meanwhile, the physical signs of puberty
    are also creeping down to affect eight-, seven-, even six-year-old
    girls (and the newest research suggests the age of puberty is also
    falling for boys). A century ago, the average age for a girl’s first
    period, or menarche, was about seventeen. Menarche now hits girls
    between twelve and thirteen. Alcohol, drugs, and sex are now typical,
    rather than exceptional, components of modern adolescence. Social
    research also shows the most influential forces in the lives of many
    teens shifting from family to peer culture, including the media, at
    younger and younger ages. This is not restricted to urban settings.
    Suburban high school students have sex, drink, smoke, use illegal
    drugs, and engage in delinquent behavior as often as urban public high
    school kids. This is according to senior researchers at the Manhattan
    Institute, who drew their findings from the National Longitudinal Study
    of Adolescent Health—one of the most comprehensive and rigorous studies
    of American high school students. Regardless of where they live,
    students also engage in these behaviors much more often than most
    people realize.

    The American press is saturated with stories about the “crisis of
    adolescence,” with new headlines literally every day. And then, every
    so often, someone cries foul, protesting all the fuss: “Shut up,
    already. They’re teenagers! Teenagers have always been reckless and
    there never were any good old days, so get over it!”

    It’s an appealing sentiment, in a way. If we accept it at face value,
    we can let out a guilty little sigh and go back to business as usual,
    convinced that things are not, after all, so bad out there—and
    certainly not so much worse then when we were kids. This denial ought
    to hold up for as long as it takes to read the facts from a recent slew
    of news stories: The U.S. has the highest rates of teen pregnancy and
    births (and abortions) in the western industrialized world. Half of all
    fourteen-year-olds have been to a party with alcohol. Self-harm
    (cutting) is increasing among children as young as six. More than
    79,000 teens under eighteen received cosmetic surgery in 2001, and
    3,682 of those got fake breasts—up from 392 in 1994. Almost half of
    fourteen-year-olds report current drinking behavior; about a quarter
    report heavy drinking and marijuana use. Girls as young as twelve are
    reporting pressure to have sex. Twenty percent of twelve- to
    fourteen-year-olds have had sex. The percentage of sexually active
    eighteen-year-olds has risen steadily from twenty-three percent in 1959
    to eighty percent in 1999. Sixty-six percent of all high school seniors
    have had sex. Half of all young people report experience with oral
    sex—which they, like Bill Clinton, don’t define as “sex.” American kids
    spend twenty-eight hours per week watching television. Childhood
    obesity has hit an all-time high. About three quarters of teens believe
    that the actions of other teens are influenced by the sexual behavior
    seen on television. Sixty-five percent of the sexually transmitted
    diseases diagnosed this year will be among people under twenty-five. A
    statewide study shows that ten percent of adolescent males in Minnesota
    have chlamydia. Teens are five times more likely to get herpes today
    than in 1970, and because most teens think oral sex is safe, record
    numbers of teens are contracting a strain of mouth herpes that was once
    associated only with genitals.

    The story spins out as far as you can follow it and beyond, and in the
    end it should force us to wonder if, after all this, the kids are all
    right.