Reason Thirteen: 100 Greatest Rock Songs

It's been awhile since I blogged about my secret desires of marrying a gay man, not that I haven't had plenty of HH exploits to share with the world. HH recently read my posts and finds it hysterical in the same vein of ignorant arrogance that George W. Bush exhibits.

And the same arrogance that many rock starts seem to have about their late eighties hair and makeup. Recently VH1 did a 5 part special about the 100 Greatest Rock Songs. Thanks to DVR, HH recorded all 5 hours for later viewing. I thought HH might watch these alone. I was wrong. We had to spent two evenings, watching brief clips and deciding whether or not we agreed. This was an important decision for HH, not that anyone will ever know of care if he agrees or not.

I will admit that HH is knowledgeable about rock music. This is useful for trivia nights. This is useful for, well, not much else.

HH has many assertions about music. All women hate Rush. "The Stroke" is Billy Squier's worst song but the only one that people know. John Denver is awesome. (Yes, you read that right.) HH is also particular in a way that is increasingly irritating, especially when it comes to purchasing music for him. A while back, HH decided that he wanted a W.A.S.P. CD. I had no idea who they were, but he doesn't know who many of my favorite bands are so that is fair. After what seemed like 6 months of him trying to decide which album he wanted, my time was running out to get it from Amazon on time and I chose "The Best of the Best 1984-2000." This was, of course, wrong. AND, he let me know it as soon he opened it. How could I not know what their best songs were? How could I not know that these were "cheeseball" songs?

Again, I want to stress that I do not believe that all gay men have the same characteristics, likes and dislikes. My imaginary gay husband is who I write about. The man that would not only have an iPod full of pop and show tunes, but that would also know the appropriate way to do the hand jive. The man who would rather watch a Real Housewives marathon than devote time to assessing the merits of a rock songs list. The man who would, above all, know the difference between Hair and Hairspray.

Reason Twelve: Weapons of Mass Annoyance

I had to take about 6 photos of this cannon while on vacation. HH was insistent that we get just the right angle while we sweated atop a hill in the Bahamas. I didn't even care about this stupid fort and never really quite understood it's importance in Bahamian history but HH was obsessed with this cannon.

I shouldn't have been surprised. HH has a serious weapons affection that should cause me to worry. Due to the fact that I find psychological reasoning for everything (yes, everything) I have come to believe that it is some extension of the hetero man's obsession with his own penis. Why else would most weapons have a long shaft?

HH watches the Military Channel as though he is preparing for combat some day. I often have to watch a clip of some explosive or military formation and be expected to be impressed. I am not. I do not plan on needing the knowledge of where things are on a submarine or what level of damage various weapons can provide.

So, I am forced to consider the obvious phallic nature of weapons, the imagery of explosions in many films when trying to convey sexual pleasure, and the mere existence of a Military Channel, which mostly shows the aforementioned weapons, explosions, and the most spectacularly choreographed routines, I mean military formations, in history. I am also forced to consider HHs affection for these things.

I don't know how dream gay husband would feel about weapons. I would hope he would have some "Make Love Not War" flair on his Facebook page. I would hope that the weapon he treasured most was sarcastic wit. I would hope would rather be looking at designer knock offs at the straw market instead of a canon.