How to do what’s wrong right
HOWARD LEWIS RUSSELL | Special Contributor
askhoward@dallasvoice.com
Hey, Howard,
Can you tell me, please, what does “PDA” stand for? My boyfriend keeps griping at me because I won’t ever give him any “PDA.” I feel like such a confused idiot for not being able to figure this all out, and it’s not helping my scorecard much under the sheets with him in the meanwhile. — Timothy
Dear Tim,
You’re not alone in your confusion regarding what “PDA” means — trust me; its definitions are both many and mind-boggling.
Let’s start with the obvious, though: Seeing as how Dear Howard’s advice column is devoted mostly to questions that of a sexual and personal nature, in purely dating/relationship slang, “PDA” stands for “public display of affection,” aka, exhibiting sexual contentment with your mate on the street.
However, venturing outside-and-beyond the world of private-life intimacy into, say, the 9-to-5 arena, then “PDA” mainly refers to a “personal digital assistant,” aka, one’s hand-held, electronic device.
Moving farther away from the obvious, “PDA” equally stands for “patent ductus arteriosus:” In medical lingo, the ductus arteriosus is a blood vessel in human embryos that compensates, pre-delivery, for the circulatory system by bypassing a baby’s heart until it’s born … at which point the screaming tot’s lungs are supposed to take over. Thus, this PDA is a condition usually affecting premature infants.
Venturing even further still from the medical into [gasp!] the political, “PDA” is acronymic for “Progressive Democrats of America,” which, founded in 2004 during Dubya’s exasperatingly disastrous regime, is, by its title, a self-explanatory organization.
Howard is just guessing, here, but his gut tells him the first definition is your boyfriend’s complaint. But if your confusion is still not cleared up by now, Timothy, regarding the multifarious definition(s) of “PDA,” then join the club. My advice: Just hit your unsuspecting boyfriend with every single one of the above definitions, and watch him melt in your very arms when you knock a triple-header home run out of the entire, behind-closed-doors, damned ballpark!
Hi, Howard,
I have a problem with which I hope you can help. I consider myself an average, regular guy. I am middle-aged, masculine and take care of myself by going to the gym, etc. But other regular guys my age don’t seem to want anything to do with me. I’ve noticed the ones who are interested are the very cute, young guys half my age. I’ve even had several of them call me “Daddy.”
Ultimately, I am interested in a long-term relationship. I will admit however, several of the twinks do look appetizing. To complicate matters, in the last six months, I’ve had four lesbians tell me they’d be interested in dating me. Lesbians? Twinks? Thanks, Howard — Confounded
Dear Confounded,
There’s a fabulously famous line at the end of Now, Voyager — one of Bette Davis’ old cockamamie, camp-classic potboilers — in which Bette stares lovingly into Paul Henreid’s eyes and coos, “Don’t let’s ask for the moon. We have the stars!”
Con’d, my weathered space cadet, it’s time you face up to countdown reality here: Homosexual males “of a certain age,” no matter how glisteningly gym-pumped they remain, simply no longer turn the moonstruck eyes of their fellow, contemporary cronies.
But don’t expect anyone to cry for you being attractive only to young, supple studs. Count your galactic blessings, daddy-oh, and just be gratefully thankful that the worst earthbound, bedroom problems you’ve got these days is having to fight off helium-heeled twinks begging you rip their starry-eyed britches down; meanwhile, inform those mooning lesbians your Milky Way is taken.
This article appeared in the Dallas Voice print edition October 11,, 2013.