KnuckleCrack

Brooklyn Loves Michael Jackson

2010-08-29T17:15:00.007-04:00

Around this time last year I was riffing on the commercial success of the King of Pop's funeral but this year I was lucky enough to find myself in Prospect Park attending Michael Jackson's 52nd Birthday party. Brooklyn loves Michael Jackson.

Cabin Fever

2010-08-18T00:50:00.008-04:00

At first they were just bug bites. Simple bug bites. They were a part of urban lore. Something that would happen to a friend of a friend of yours and finish stories that began with "So I know this guy who went home a girl and..."

But then they started to appear.

My first experience with bedbugs was three years ago when a coworker curiously noticed itchy bites on the back of his neck. It was the dead of January. "That's odd," I thought "what kind of bug bites in the winter" and continued typing. How funny not to think anything of them then. It only dawns on me now that's that what those bites were. The beginning of it all.

Over the years the stories grew more frequent. They seemed to heighten during the summer. The friend of a friend became your friend and the consequence for drunken one night stands now included the only STD you could get without actually having sex.

Soho was the first to be hit. A giant warehouse sized clothing store shuttered for business because of these "little critters." They were nothing at the time. A minor inconvenience. But then South Street Seaport became infested. The expensive clothing stores were quick to act. They covered all stock clothing in plastic garment bags. Their newspaper ads touted "plastic encased clothing" in the same sunny manner as things like "free range chicken" or anti-bacterial soap. But then the New York Times and The New York Post reported stories of people leaving movie theaters with bites. Soon it was less about where you were shopping, and more about where you were going, and who you were seeing.

The bites continued. People stopped riding the subway. They stopped getting in cabs. The risk was potentially everywhere. People began wearing garbage bags over their clothing. Some even went as far as putting surgical masks over their mouths. The paranoia was setting in. And then, as if it were ordained, they began to appear. They flooded the city.

The laundromats and supermarkets were the first to be looted. Food and water was ironically much less of a commodity than containers and anything plastic. People started running for the exits with such haste they forgot about Manhattan being an island. The subways stopped running. The traffic clogged the tunnels. Ferries capsized due to overcrowding. People jumped into the Hudson. The power went out.

That was four days ago.

Through the crackled reception on my radio I can hear scientists trying to blame the outbreak on the heat: This summer has been (crackle) heat indexes in decades. The bugs are a species (crackle) they (crackle) respond to heat. Due to large underground (crackle) probable infestation (crackle) gross multiplication. After that there's nothing but static. I turn my radio off. Then on again. I leave it on.

I've been waiting for another emergency broadcast but one hasn't come for over a day now. I'm on my own. It's alright, really. I have resolve over it. Life sucks. Nature is nature. Bugs are born and if the planet says so, they'll take over. I just never imagined it would be this. What with all the trouble in the world, it just seems so easy and comical that I'd be taken out by humanity's break under a bug no bigger than a chocolate chip.

The gun shots echo up from the street and the screaming of women is endless but what kills me even more is that you guys are in Fire Island right now! Of course you are! Of course you're away from all this! But, what can I say? Work's work. Who knew this would happen? You lucky fucking queens, I swear...

I suppose I do have the last laugh though. I TOLD you this building in Murray Hill was worth something. I'm the only guy alive on my block! This, as you guys say, "dingy" post-war apartment of mine is so well built and tight that the bugs are at a minimum. I'm diet-bedbug here while the city has gone super sized. And, while we're at it, let's just call a spade a spade: You know David's Bagel is the best in the city. Can I get an amen?! Thank you. I'll tell the owner you guys say hi. Last I checked his body was still crumpled beneath the street light.

I can see you now. Speedo clad, mixed drink in hand huddled around the pool listening for the next radio update. The rescue boats from Maryland and Boston should be arriving any minute now. Hell, if they get there soon enough you can get toPtown in time for Tea. If that's the case, which going by your luck, probably is, please tell Tommy I always had an eye for him and if I wasn't being attacked by bedbugs, in a city bursting with chaos, I'd have asked him out.

I knew I shouldn't have picked up that call. You guys begged me not to, but it was just an ordinary day. Had I known I was going to be maggot-food in a week I wouldn't have taken the work call, but it was Saturday afternoon and I already had my fill of booze and boys. Now you guys are soaking it all up. Your own isle of male. I suppose Fire Island is now the literal Never-Never Land we've all been searching for. The place where you never have to grow up. Where you stay young and beautiful forever. Let me know some years down the road whether that legend actually proves to be true or not. That island, that glistening sliver of land. A swimmer on his back drifting at the edge of the ocean. Damn you lucky bastards.

The terror in the streets is growing. The glass is breaking all around me. My radio has been silent for more hours than I'd like to admit. This city, the high rent, the heat, the hustle and bustle and the creepy-crawlies which only exist in the shadows have finally taken me under. The city has officially caved in.

But hey, look on the bright side, at least they don't have to debate building that fucking mosque anymore.

The Black Knights

2010-05-04T11:25:00.002-04:00

Big Apple Dodgeball Season 6: Team Eagle
Number 1 team in the league
Who's your Daddy?

NYC Responds to Arizona

2010-05-02T11:15:00.000-04:00

From the May 1 Coalition official website:

On Saturday May 1, 2010, a diverse coalition of immigrant rights advocates, community and union leaders, artists and youth-based community organizations will gather in Union Square at midday for a rally, march and Hip Hop concert in support of immigrant and worker rights. In light of legislation passed in Arizona last week, the Union Square event will emphasize condemning this racially charged legislation that will terrorize not only immigrants but all communities of color.

The Union Square rally will also make it clear that the Schumer Plan on immigration is no better as it does not grant immediate legalization, continues to militarize the border and will ominously mean biometric identification for all people in this country. The Schumer plan also means the further criminalization of the undocumented and will serve to drive workers further underground.

$plitting

2010-04-30T11:15:00.010-04:00

I often sit wondering, wrought with pensiveness and just short of teeth-chattering anxiety, where we as a nation are heading. I think to myself how will this nation be able to pull itself up from the depths of mediocrity where we currently find ourselves. How can we turn this all around? Too often I think we're too far gone. A farewell to what's already lost.

We are at a point of such deep rooted cynicism that no system seems to work. Customer service is in the garbage. There's no surprise when our leaders prove to be corrupt. Instead, we expect them to be. This one is spending money on strip clubs, the other one votes all anti-gay while being gay himself. Sports figures, our once past-time heroes, are growing to ungodly unnatural proportions, shooting themselves up while finding ways to bend the rules. One sport star apologizes to the whole nation for cheating on his wife while we all know it's an attempt to regain his sponsors. Why do I need his apology? Text-speak is our distracting new literature. Whole generations of kids shortening "ur" for your or is it you're? Does it matter? "Your!" goes beyond my 140 word tweet capacity! Obesity rates are nearly double what they were 30 years ago and the intersection of ignorance and arrogance is our absolved route toward education. I find it astonishing that in 2010 there's actually a call to reform Texas public school books to be more pro-Christan, pro-conservative in a nation founded on the separation of Church and State.

We are at a point where "singers" are auto-tuned into talent. Where they are unable to sell their image without some font-based-emoticon symbol spelling out their name. We celebrate the sing along to lyrics about cell phone reception in clubs, brushing our teeth with a bottle of Jack and a once church-going diva somehow paralleling female empowerment to lyrics like, "this is a stick up, stick up, I need them bags and that money." Oh, come on KnuckleCrack, it's just a song. Lighten up!"

I try to, but when I hear the lyrics to Ke$ha's latest ubiquitous song:

Got my drunk text on
I'll regret it in the mo'
But tonight
I don't give a
I don't give a
I don't give a

it's just too stupid not to get under my skin. The future of nit-wit cell phone girls in halter tops, drunk at 15 and giving their mother the finger, salute you. "Long live Ke$ha! For you were the first to tell me not to give a fuck!"

Obama, the man who was to turn it all around, was trampled upon before he was even out of the gate. "How's that hopey, changey stuff you were promised" the average speaking, conservatively fashionable woman at the podium asks her audience. She's knows she can incite a howling applause from her followers cut from the same cloth. I never once thought that Obama would enter office and that change would immediately preside over this nation. Instead, I believed he was speaking to us individually, saying that we can be the change we want to see. We can be the progress we want to achieve. That his only power was instilling in us that we, the individual, are capable of turning this world around. That it is up to us and only us to better our communities, fight for the environment, take responsibility for our children. But that would require work on our part and those too lazy and dumb to do it themselves, to even understand his very eloquently spoken words, neither supported him in the first place (he's from Kenya! He's not even American! He's not fit for the job! He's the Antichrist! He's a socialist! He's a communist!) or turned their backs on him within his first week. Not that they have any answers themselves - they're just happy to point a finger and blame.

In the eight years that our former President destroyed our nation never once did he receive the amount of public disrespect our current president puts up with. Yes, we thought Bush was an idiot, we knew very well he couldn't string a sentence together and he lied our way into a never-ending war but during this time never did any congressman stand up and scream "you lie!" Understandably people are upset about Obama's route to change our current situation. I understand people being weary of Government expansion, a change in health care, but I won't budge in my belief that a lot of the anger fueling the current anti-president movement, this amount of disrespect, lies in the fact that the old power-controlling white suits lost to a black man, a female house speaker and a newly appointed Latina to the Supreme Court. Argue me all you want that this isn't the case, I'll clench my teeth and sigh the more you deny it. Call me an elitist but I'd still prefer risky changes over a woman who speaks to the nation in "don't ya knows" and "drill baby drills." I prefer smart over average. Distinguished over dumb.

Right now a few Arizona politicians are calling for illegals to be rounded up and sent back home. "Oh Knucklecrack, it's not like that," a few disagreeing friends will plead upon me, "it's only people suspected of being illegal that need to worry." "Fine," I respond, "but when the systematic profiling begins, when the police are given too much power, when the beatings and rapes occur and when US Citizens of Mexican origin don't feel safe without carrying papers on them, don't say I didn't warn you." There is no easy answer to this problem but I can assure you catching immigrants like grasshoppers as one politician suggests, isn't the way to go about things. After all, Hitler compared the Jews to being sub-human too.

So where in all of this are we going? How can we repair ourselves? What is it going to take for all of this to turn around? As a nation we are splitting by the second, dividing further and further into some unknown course. I don't think any of us know where we're going and the idea of hoping for the best seems less and less useful.

Happy Friday.

At the Corner of My Mind

2010-04-28T01:12:00.007-04:00

Recently a friend asked me where I see myself in ten years and I couldn't conceive even the slightest semblance of an answer. Then he asked what it is I want out of life and I couldn't answer that either. He suggested I begin a ritual of sitting quietly, searching the depths of my brain and asking myself what are the things I truly want in life. He believes that knowing oneself completely is the crucial key to the success of happiness, for once you know who you are and accept that, all else falls gently into place. He said memories are good to focus on and that knowing one's first memory is a good start in the process of self discovery.

I've found that to recount one's earliest memories is a difficult task, if not impossible. I rove my brain hoping for a first word, my mother's embrace but I only trundle up images in clip: The Green-knit blanket, the kitchen wallpaper, the feel of the linoleum floor. Everything else, whole important events and the pure, simple moments are scattered about like toys on the suburban front lawn of time.

The moment I may very well have been snapped into life was when I was three years old and wandered away in Disney World.

I was obsessed with the elevators. Well, obsessed with anything, really, as fidgety was my nature but on this trip with my family, the elevators dazzled me. We had been there for a few days and I in my black and red Michael Jackson sweat-pant suit was being led by my father's hand through the Grand Floridian hotel to the indoor arcade. My sisters are on the other side of him. I'm too small to play any of the games. I can't reach the joy sticks and without success my father tries to hold me up for the length of a quarter's game. There are not many people in the arcade and it's during the day. My Father and sisters are playing an arcade game. I am close by, a few feet away at most. I'm bored and I begin to fidget. I begin looking for a quarter on the ground, beneath the arcade games. I flop to the floor and look into the small space between the floor and arcade game. There are some popcorn bits and dust but no quarter. I turn my head around and see through the archway arcade entrance the elevators moving up and down. Up and down. Mom's upstairs. She's taking a nap. I'm going to go to Mommy. I glance up at my family. I see them there. Rachel, smiling, her pointy nose, so tiny at the time laughing and quickly hitting the buttons. Mer, my big sister, next to me, her hair pulled into a pony-tail, taller than Rachel and also hitting buttons. My Father watching with a smile. I am right behind him. Just right there and I walk away. My Father feels no departure, no slight gust of wind, no sneaker shuffled on the carpet. By the time he checks back, I am already gone.

Apparently there were lost child alerts. Security began screening the exits and somehow two hours had passed. None of this I remember. What I do remember is riding up the escalator. A pretty woman with gold bracelets asking, "where's your mother?" To which I reply, "She's upstairs." She takes me by the hand and leads me to a jewelery store which I think she works at. She puts me up on the counter and I sit there, looking around, kicking my feet. My mother comes running in, hand over mouth and hugging me. She thanks the woman at the store. She leads me to my Father, his eyes red and bleary, he takes me from my mother's hands and shakes me hard. So hard. Then hugs me. I can't tell if he's angry or happy it seems a frightening blend of both. "Don't you ever do this again! DON'T. YOU. EVER. DO. THIS. AGAIN!" He shakes me so hard I bite my tongue. I feel the pain. I remember the pain. The jerk of my neck. It is that pain. That one single flash of heat upon which all my memories are brought back. That is when my eyes first opened. When life as I know it, truly began.

The Vengeful Closet

2010-04-26T08:00:00.003-04:00

Three little pigs

"Was there news? If so, we didn't watch it. I don't remember Truman, or Eisenhower later, but maybe they hadn't perfected the White House hookup yet, the uranium shrine of Oval Office doubletalk. Besides, all the news that would define me twenty years later went unreported. The two sick queens who hunted us down when I was too young to know - Roy Cohn and J. Edgar Hoover - were given free rein by the Red Scare delirium; they flushed out queers and wrecked lives to throw the scent off their own ravening desire. Cardinal Spellman being the third member of the homo death squad, postwar division. Three little closeted mama's boys, ensuring that the Aryan dream of elimination would continue."

-Paul Monette, Becoming a Man: Half a Life Story

The Butch Factor

2010-04-18T11:12:00.003-04:00

you gotta be a man to watch

Grandma

2010-04-16T14:33:00.000-04:00

(see also; two posts below)

It Wouldn't Have Mattered

2010-04-07T11:37:00.009-04:00

I could tell you it was the White Party or The Winter Party or some weirdo after party where you dance in the middle of a zoo, but it wouldn't matter. I could also tell you that this was the party where the lights went out, or where the DJ collapsed on her turntables, or where Teddy and Eddy broke up, or where somebody took a dump on the dance floor, or where that guy I've seen a few times out died of a GHB overdose. I could tell you all that, but it wouldn't matter.

What matters is that it was Carmine and me, old pals, arms slung around the others shoulder, stumbling through loose-fit sneakers through the rocky terrain of empty water bottles and plastic cups. Danced-dazed-drug walking shirtless human apes, trudging for an exit. And we were with them.

It was balmy outside. Our bodies sticky with the crowd, the heat and sweat. The lights glowed, thumping lightly. We stood there rolling on our heels for awhile coming to our senses. Buoys in the middle of the sidewalk.

I lit a cigarette. "Where to now?"
"Let's go back to my room. We'll shower, sit down for awhile and head to the after party."
"Aye, Aye Captain."

The walk was pleasant and goofy. I kept grabbing Carmine from the back and squeezing his ribs, tickling him. Making him run away from me and then whining that he was too far away. Pals. Real true pals. It's the only word that comes to mind. That push-push, "I've known you forever/we've been through this thing together" familiarity and old-root strength. We've been there, with each other, the whole time.

At a stoplight I went to poke his ribs another time. He had a delayed response. He wasn't paying attention. He was somewhere else. He pushed away my arm and began walking closer to the wall. Our energy dropped.

"Hey," He said, "I have to tell you something."

I knew the tone. I stopped short, clenching my teeth.

Carmine and I go way back. Back to the gay.com days. Back to AOL Chatrooms. Back to the days when he would meet me after class and we'd take our fake ID's to the straightest Frat bar and pretend to be straight guys just "getting to know one another." It was good that we became friends and never had sex. There was never any interest on either of our parts. Instead we were allies. Comrades in a new terrain. The years of 19 and 20 were adventuresome. Flooded with memories of our delightfully shared secret amongst the keggers and house parties, of renting cars and driving to Phoenix on the dusky desert roads just to go to Pulse for the night. Man, how our hearts would pump. Together we were unstoppable. We we're going to figure this whole thing out.

I came out a little before him. And I was much more loud about it too. He was the jock. Played sports. Had a scholarship. Showed me how to work out. He was the reserved one. But what he enjoyed about my willingness to have fun, to be carefree I took from him his patient resolve, his even-keeled temperament. He challenged my urgent need to come out. He wasn't concerned about the fight or the cause or the plight. To him it didn't exist. It's not that he lacked compassion or was sheltered it's just that Carmine really is that guy who could live in the suburbs: "Give me a house, a dog a boyfriend and a 9 to 5 job and we'll call it a day." To which I'd respond with something like: "The Suburbs?! They'll lynch you!" He would shake his head, roll his eyes and continue sliding his tray down the line at the Student Union Panda Express.

He graduated earlier than I did. I had an additional semester learning how to put the useless "Fine" in Fine Arts. He held back, soaking up the desert sky. Going to the gym. Happy in his out-of-college entry level IT job making a buck and reclining before the sunset in his $400 a month Spanish style one bedroom house. I told him about my internship in Los Angeles. He wished me well. He told me he'd come visit and that I'd better too and with that we stepped out into the world alone, the first chapter of adulthood, waiting to be engulfed.

The years carried us. I bounced from LA to NY. Climbing up the ladder. Getting involved. Stirring passions and he doing the same in his own way. Finding a house, securing a job, jumping from one long term relationship to the next. Always these guys, his stability, contrasting my jump-about Rubik's cube restlessness. He was where he wanted to be, in the openness, and me in the thick of it, Tetris-like buildings falling all around me, encasing me.

The Cell phone crackled:
"So what are you working on now, big shot?"
"Big Shot? Please, I'm moving to Brooklyn."
"Still more money than I have."
"Yeah well, you've always looked better than I have."
"True."
"Fuck you."
"So are we going to this party or not?"
"Yeah, let's do it."
"Ok so I'll book the plane tickets and...we'll rage."
"I hate when you say that."
"....Is the latest coming? I promise not to say it around your beau. I want to meet him."
"Nahhh. He can't get away. It's cool. We're good."
"Cool. How you guys doing?"
"We're good, you know, I really like him. It's just that he's so young and, you know, with everything going on.... I just want to be there for him. It's really tough. But I really like him."
"I hear you, man. You just take your time, communicate. That's all I got."
"Ok speak to you later."

What I heard Carmine saying, although it wasn't actually said, is that Carmine's 22 year old boyfriend tested positive after a few months of them being together. Their lust for one another flowed in the turbulent waves that are the dramatics of the situation, the being there for one another, the passion, the taking of each other's hands through the complexity of this new found situation. The younger man coming to terms with his status the older man confronting it.

Through these waves they churned. Like magnets flipping sides. They were attracted and repelled by one another depending on the week. They loved, they split. They loved again. They saw one another. They loved again. They split. They opened things up. They split. They shared the latest information and medical research to one another. They visited the doctor together. Carmine remained negative, the younger man continued armoring himself.

A year and some months later we find ourselves back on that very same street. We're waiting for the light to change and I'm still clenching my teeth, bracing for an impact.

"Well, I am.......Positive."
I exhaled. I breathed in again. Turning toward him. Staring into his eyes. "Ok." I said in the calm way the voice allows for only the real life moments like these.
"And I don't need the lecture from you, okay?"
"I wasn't going to give it to you," I spit back.
The traffic light clicked. The blinking white man appeared in the black box across the street. Carmine started to cross, his back to me. I threw my arms around him, tight as a harness. I held him back, cupping my fists over the center of his chest and held him. Our bodies warm against one another. I kissed the back of his neck with one long meaningful kiss. A kiss which would translate how much I would be there for him, how much I loved him and how much everything was going to be ok. He took it in, allowing himself to be vulnerable. To let it all go and we stood like that until the blinking man had a chance to appear once more.

We released, dabbing tears from the corner of our eyes. Smiling at one another and sucking the loose snot back into our noses. Back to being pals again he pushed my shoulder. I pushed him right back.

"Alright asshole," he said, "Let's get going."
Nothing more needed to be said.

I received the call on a violet-laced Sunday night. The sun was fading fast. You could see your breath in the air and the bare twigs huddled together like fingers trying to stay warm. Autumn was almost finished, only giving an encore at this point.

The phone bleeped with Carmine's name as I took off my coat and ran upstairs away from the television my roommate had on. I tucked myself into my room. Not turning on any lights. I shared his call in the darkness.

"Hey dude."
"Hey," He said flatly.
"What's up?"
"I just don't understand it man. I don't know what he wants. He doesn't even know. One minute He wants to be together. Then on his own. The he wants a threeway. I just don't know. And on top of it I feel like a girl who just got pregnant and dumped."
"He's 23 years old! Do you remember us when we were 23 we had no idea what we wanted. Fuck, I still don't!"
"I just wish none of this gay ever happened to us. I just wish he could be an ordinary guy without all this gay bullshit to deal with. I don't want to keep going out, the drinking, the meeting people, I don't want any of it anymore! I want what I always wanted. Just a regular guy, with no issues and no hangups who just happens to be gay. I mean is that so hard? He wants to get all caught up in the scene and I don't want any part of it anymore. Positive or not, I don't want spend my time trolling around bars, trying to find a boyfriend who when the tough gets going all the sudden wants an open relationship. I just want," he yelled and then slowed his pace, "A regular fucking guy." "I don't want to do this anymore, man."

The room grew darker. The temperature dropping.
"I know, man. I know what you're saying. I see it too. I feel it too. We all do. We're all out there searching for something. It'll be fine. It'll be ok. Maybe you two just really need your own space. Break away from one another awhile. Take time to find yourself again. Weigh your own priorities. " I kept going, not waiting for pause. I didn't want him to interject. What he was saying was all too much, too real, too true. There was nothing more I could say. I finished another few sentence and when I stopped it seemed as though the phone went dead.

It had. I looked at the brightly lit LCD screen, the only light in the room. The screen bleeped, "call failed -- call failed -- call failed." I waited for him to call back and when he didn't I didn't attempt to call him either. There was nothing more to be said and anyway, it wouldn't have mattered.

96

2010-03-16T10:43:00.013-04:00

Nothing really prepares you for seeing your 96 year old grandmother. My mother and I got off the elevator on the third floor of the retirement center. As soon as the automatic doors crack open and the fluorescent lights reflect off the linoleum floor the stench of old punches you in the face. The smell is sour, sticky and humid, nearly dead.

We walked past a reception area where the elderly, unmoving, almost drooling slumped over bean bags of people stared into space or seemed lost in a perpetual daze. Hanging above them was a sign that read "non-ambulatory."

My mother, having done this every other day since we moved my grandmother up from Florida last summer, was used to it. I, who had only visited my grandmother a few times, had to mentally deflect the surging thoughts of life and the inevitable approaching mortality. "Non-ambulatory" throbbed across my brow. My mother, sensing the onslaught of emotions from her sensitive son, grabbed my arm the only way a mother knows how. Delicate, soft, encouraging and lead me into a big open room with a dot-matrix printed sign above the door. "Rec Room."

The elderly all sat in circle. The wheels of their wheelchairs touching one another. Some rolled back and forth wanting a better angle around the perimeter of the circle. An overweight Hispanic woman with too much make-up and a heavy accent were encouraging the elderly to throw weighted balls on to a target on the floor. It was a game, like darts, where the elderly limp-lobed their balls on to the target gaining a score or hoping for a bulls eye. There my grandmother sat, her back to my mother and I.

"Excuse me," my mother said politely squeezing herself through the wheel chairs trying to get to my grandmother. She placed a hand on the back of my grandmother's shoulder and my grandmother turned to greet the hand with a delayed response. She placed a hand on my mother's, thankful she was there to relieve her of this game she hadn't been paying attention to anyway. My mother backed her wheelchair out of the circle in a k-turn and reminded her I was there to visit. When my grandmother's eyes met mine she smiled, dentures oddly placed, as a child would to a shiny object. She had grown older since the last time I had seen her just three months ago. A little thinner, her hair more disheveled.

"Well hello dahhhh-ling," she said as she had done so throughout my childhood. I bent down smiling to kiss her cheek and as my face met hers my heart cracked sending a surge of emotions to my eyes. My trembling lower lip the only protection against producing real tears. I cleared my thoughts while my mother and I walked her to a nearby table. We pushed her in and I sat very close.

"How are you, Gram" I asked. "Stuck in this place," she said dryly but jovial. My mother rolled her eyes. I pulled myself even closer to her because, for the last 10 years, I always went on the assumption that this might be the last time I would see her. My grandmother, too, for the last 10 years has been telling my family that she's ready to die. Her birthday is next week, March 21st so I wished her a happy 96.

"I never thought I'd live this long," she said aloud to myself and my mother but more so as a reminder to herself. Her brain is completely functional but her body is struggling to keep up. Fearing this might actually be one of the last times I see her I dug in with questions.

Born in 1914 in the Lower East Side of New York City my grandmother, Sarah Papish, was the daughter of Russian-Jewish immigrants. Growing up in a tenement on Delancey St. my grandmother was the third of four children. Two boys and two girls. Sarah at the age of 5, like many children her age, was given the responsibility of taking care of her younger sister, a job which she loved having. She went to school but states she mostly hung around and socialized within the Jewish community of the Lower East Side. "We were insular in those days. If you spoke Yiddish, you spent time with those who spoke Yiddish. We went to school together. We went to temple together."

"And how did you have fun," I asked wanting to hear something I haven't heard before hoping I'd peel back an unseen layer, a secret tidbit from within my ancestry. But it's always the same answer, "We didn't have fun like you have fun these days. We were poor. We worked. In those days girls didn't socialize with boys!"

"Yeah but Gram....Did you drink, smoke?"
"Who do you think I am?!"
My mother chuckles.

"Ok fine. Then, tell me about Grandpa." Grandpa Manny, Emanuel Lesser, the man from whom my name derives, died in the summer of 1980. One year before I was born. I never met the man and it stands as one of my mother's greatest sorrows that he was never an influence in my life.

"He was a great guy...a great, great guy," my grandmother remembers through a giant smile. Again my heart slingshots emotions to my eyes. I hold the forming tears back. It's funny how my grandmother has trouble remembering the name of her roommate in the retirement center but the memories of 70 years back are as clear and present as ever. "Oh! He was so handsome," she says reaching across the table and grabbing my mother's forearm. "You have his eyebrows and nose," my mother says to me.

"I met him at a party," my grandmother continues, "he was quite the man at the time because he had his own car. My friend Meryl introduced us and that night he offered to drive me home. He was living in New Jersey, taking care of his father and I was still in the Lower East Side taking care of my mother. I was old for a single girl. I was 30 and unmarried! He was 33 and single! I accepted the ride which was a little...daring. Women.... didn't accept rides from strange men in those days. But I took the ride and pretty soon we were dating. Before too long he was shipped out to the army but refused to marry me because he didn't want to leave me a widow with a kid, which was happening to couples all around us. Our relationship really began when we started writing letters back and forth to one another. He was overseas in god-knows-where and I was in New York taking care of my mother, but every day I would write. When he came back, we were in love. We got married." She quickly offered and aside, "He loved to dance. He loved to tell jokes. He was a great guy," she added once more.

"Maybe that's where you get it from, Eric," my mother suggested to me, knowing I love to tell jokes and love to dance. "Maybe," I responded knowing I'll never know the answer to that question.

Being around my grandmother and in the center of all this old made me think about life. How we go from infancy to adulthood to only return back to infancy. Again and again this cycle replayed itself in my head. Slumped over, old, achy with everything we did, and everyone we know, dead.

My grandmother's entire family is dead. At 96 she is the only one left alive. Her children now bear the responsibility of carrying the memories of her life. It seems impossible, unimaginable that I'll be there too one day. A place in life where all your artifacts, friends and family are gone. Memories become the only thing that validate your existence. My grandmother was incredibly well liked during her life, she knew so many people, but at her funeral there will only be a handful. My grandfather died nearly 30 years ago. More years than I'm alive now. This person, this love of hers, has been gone for nearly a lifetime.

This immediately made me think of my own life. What I have, don't have, what I've done, what I haven't. My heart suddenly grasped at the desire for a boyfriend, a husband. My confident independence no longer seemed like an asset. I craved somebody. Somebody to share this existence with, someone whose existence will be shared by mine. It's what we do now that matters because in the end we're all liable to be sitting in wheel chairs, throwing weighted balls at a target on the floor, just as a means to pass the time until our heart stops beating and our eyes no longer open. I thought about the stories I haven't written. The video projects I've left incomplete. The loves I've had and had not. I thought about the stresses in our lives, the achievements and for a moment it all seemed worthless and pathetic.

It's not like we have any other option. We must live. We must complete this cycle. Having a boyfriend or a husband isn't the benchmark of our lives, it is neither a success nor failure whether we fulfill that societal norm or not. The same goes for completing that project or getting to that level of success but to try is to live, and to play the game is to experience and when all is said and done and the decades of my life flash by like chapters in a book, I'll know what is written on those pages and those pages will be what I know of life.

Queer Rising Shuts It Down

2010-02-13T08:49:00.004-05:00

I feel the passion build within the continuous screaming.

Go get 'em

Perry vs. Schwarzenegger

2010-01-14T23:06:00.004-05:00

"We have said, Isabella was married to Thomas- she was, after the fashion of slavery, one of the slaves performing the ceremony for them; as no true minister of Christ can perform, as in the presence of God, what he knows to be a mere farce, a mock marriage, unrecognized by any civil law, and liable to be annulled any moment, when the interest or caprice of the master should dictate."

-Narrative of Sojourner Truth

Decade

2009-12-31T02:00:00.003-05:00

Onward

Ten years ago I was spun out, dancing wildly in patchwork pants and waiting for the sun to come up over the Everglades of Florida at Phish Millennium. I hadn't been with a guy yet, certainly no beard and clenched, as everyone else did, under the suspense of Y2K.

It's been ten years. Ten years and I feel like I've lived three life times by now. Ten years of life, adventure, experience, regrets, mistakes, men, sex, parties, dates, relationships, single life, bars, states, countries, cities, money, no money, gym, lift, fat, skinny, healthy, sick, angry, happy. So much can happen in ten years. Had you grabbed me by my hemp necklace then and told me all I'd experience by now, I'd have laughed in your face (and then probably offered you a brownie.)

I'll be 38 on December 31st 2019 and I have no ability to predict what will happen between now and then. I'll be a man. A full grown man. The point of no return so far from visibility. A distant memory of the days that were. A buoy in a fog so excruciatingly dense. The thought alone makes me eager and terrified. Life just keeps pushing forward. There's no stopping it - you just have to go along for the ride.

In ten years I went from young to younger to man. The full scale of my blind evolution so blatantly clear now in hindsight. My heart splits at the vision. I grasp at the ghosts of that child but as much as I may try, I will never hold that boy again. He's gone, now molded into what you have before you. Oh young man, from where have you come and where will you go? Forward, the only direction, the past, stones on which we walk.

Life is so fragile. So wretchedly fragile and in 100 years we'll all be dust. Is it not this fact alone that is this planet's greatest invitation for us to live our lives? To be the man we want to become? To live as freely or as wildly or as sane as we'd like? This Earth will keep turning, and turning, and turning, with or without us. We are a speck in a broad stroke of history. A tiny, worthless crumb on the table of time and when the time comes, and it will indeed come, we will be bones in the ground or ashes to the sky and yet this Earth will still turn and turn and turn. So live as you live and accept this next decade with an open chest. Allow light to beam through you offering whatever it may be. Be open, for anything else would be a simple, silly waste of time. These years are blurred at best. A flimsy, horse-haired bow of an arch between then and now, and now and then. The future so weighed down by tangibility yet light and translucent like the very air we breathe. We know it exists but we just can't see it!

So strong this younger self I shed, each passing day, each step erasing the previous. Five steps now, ten and I'm ancient.

The Cars Drive so Fast Here

2009-12-21T11:36:00.010-05:00

The Cars Drive so Fast Here

The cars drive so close to one another here you would think accidents happen more often than they already do. I forgot how much of a car city Los Angeles is and my friends drive wildly. Their swerving, speed and cursing at other drivers make me nervous and force me to slam the break that doesn’t exist on the floor by the passenger seat. Every driver has either a gadget or a wire dangling from their ear allowing them to talk to people on their way to work or the gym or while they’re stuck in traffic. I truly forgot how much one needs a car here. I’ve been out of LA for more than three years and part of me can’t believe that I used to live here for two. I too had done the same as everyone else; driving, talking, swerving. But by how I react to my friends’ driving you’d think I’ve never been here at all.

I sat at the Starbucks on the corner of Fairfax Avenue and Santa Monica Blvd., just a few blocks north of where I used to live and sipped an iced coffee while I watched the cars zoom by. Every time a car would fly through the intersection I would startle and tense up because they were just missing, by mere inches, the cars on the other side waiting their left turn. I couldn’t believe the speed of some of these drivers. Everyone seemed so busy, speeding terribly and half talking on their “no-hands” gadgets. I forgot too, how expensive and new looking so many cars were and that also left me puzzled about the drivers’ seemingly desperate need to speed. Wouldn’t they want to be more careful? Wouldn’t they want to slow down, just a bit, to ensure the safety and condition of their cars? After all, it’s just a matter of inches between safety and collision. Four inches making all the difference between smooth sailing or a body flying through the windshield. Inches. Just inches and seconds. Life and death. Everybody’s got to go somewhere, sometime, I guessed.

The intersection of Santa Monica Blvd. and Fairfax Ave. is just on the edge of gay-town West Hollywood. That said, the fence sectioning off the outdoor patio of Starbucks where I was sitting was painted rainbow. A blue SUV with 3 men in their mid-twenties stopped at the light and snickered, pointing at the rainbow colored fence. Maybe it was the traffic, the sound of the cars driving by or maybe even because of the book I was reading but I drifted off into a terror-fantasy world, thinking that if these men wanted, they could pack their car full of explosives and detonate it right here at the edge of the fence. The impact would obliterate me in milliseconds and everything would be over. There would be nothing left. I would be dead. Finished. Gone. All of it happening before the smoke even had a chance to clear.

The fantasy reminded me of the time Eric-the-Roommate and I were driving down Beverly Blvd. and talking about terrorism.

“Really, the bombs are all for show,” he said driving west past the Beverly Center, a huge urban mega-plex of a mall. “Terrorism can exist in any form. The bombs are just sudden and impactful but really anyone can stick an Uzi in each hand and walk into a place like the Beverly Center and just mow people down.”

The light turned green outside of Starbucks and the blue SUV drove past pulling me out of my memories. I sat in the sun for a while, thumbing the pages of my book but not wanting to open it. It was too noisy, the sun just a little too hot and I was distracted.

An elderly woman walked across Santa Monica Blvd. and without ordering a drink or even stepping inside pulled up a chair at the table next to me. Earlier a homeless woman with stringy blond hair and pants falling below her waist had bummed a smoke from a seated customer so I assumed this was a frequent sit-and-rest for the wayward and destitute. The elderly woman took a few breaths and popped open an umbrella to shield herself from the sun. I studied her briefly. At first I thought she was a bag lady but after further scrutiny realized she was simply an old lady with an arsenal of shopping bags and a pushcart. The elderly were frequent in this neighborhood. This neighborhood is one of the rare walkable areas of LA and so it was littered with old age homes and retirement centers. She noticed me noticing her and smiled through decaying teeth to say hello. I said hello and turned my head back to the street. I felt her studying me.

“What book are you reading? Are you enjoying it,” she asked. I wasn’t really in the mood to talk with anyone, especially an off-the-street crazy, but I smiled and said, “I don’t know if enjoying would be the right word but yes it’s very good. It’s called Afterlife by Paul Monette.”

“Oh is that something you’re interested in – the afterlife?”

“I suppose, but the book isn’t about that after life. It’s more about the lives of people after someone close to them dies.” I just went for it. “The book is about the 1980’s, set right here in West Hollywood, actually and everyone is dying of AIDS.”

“Oh yes,” she replied quickly, “I remember those times. They were very tough. I remember asking, “how long is this going to last?” I was surprised at her response. How she had said everything so casually as if the time period and the subject matter of the book was something that was just yesterday for her. Maybe she too had lost a friend, read the newspapers or was in someway affected. Despite her verge of bag-lady appearance it was clear she had more of a mind than I assumed.

“I just lost my husband a few years ago and oh, the grief is so hard! It takes forever to get over. Sometimes you just don’t think it will end. I had no idea what I was going to do without him. But time goes by and slowly things get better. Life writes itself. But the loss, the loss is never filled. That’s the part that stays with you.”

I absorbed what she was saying. She closed her umbrella and began to get up to leave. “You just make sure you live every day to its fullest. You appreciate what you have.”

“I always do,” I said, “I have shoes on my feet and water when I want it and a roof over my head which is more than I can say for millions of people on this planet. I should only be so lucky to have a problem, right? Life’s too short so I appreciate it very much."

“That’s right, my dear.” She smiled and left.

As I watched her leave I thought about grief. About how I dip into and out of it like a familiar friend I choose to hang with from time to time. I know this feeling. This comfortable sense of loss, of mourning. Holding the book in my hand and staring out at the cars I couldn’t decipher which I grieve more. The dent in our community caused by AIDS, the deaths of all those men and the havoc I wasn’t able to experience. Or is that indescribable black heavy pit of our community’s nonchalance toward those times that were, how we seemed to have learned nothing and in some ways are denying AIDS’ very existence.

I thought about the first sentence of the book: “If everyone hadn’t died at the same time, none of this would have happened” and, later on, “he knew they were laying in comas all over the city.” I swirled in my grief. Hello friend. How have you been? Is it that loss, that unforgettable unfilled crater or is it where we are now?

Just the other night at The Eagle’s wet underwear contest while the contestants were doing the Q&A portion of the show someone from the audience yelled out, “Bareback or condoms?” The MC ignored the catcall by casually giggling. But the man who had yelled the question was hoping that one, if not all four contestants, would say bareback as if in today’s world this revolution against the condom, against the very thing that protects our well being, should be celebrated as something cool or edgy or fringe. This is where we are now - our bright hopeful future.

I felt the buzz of my cell phone in my pocket. Bret was finished with the gym and he was ready to pick me up. He pulled up to the corner of the intersection and I climbed into the car. He flew through the intersection like the other cars I had seen and as we drove home I felt my fingernails digging into the rubber door handles.

Some Queens: David B. Feinberg

2009-12-08T17:54:00.008-05:00

"Some Queens"
from David B. Feinberg's book, Eighty-Sixed:

"Drag queens, size queens, shrimp queens (toe-sucking), rice queens (Orientals), Potato queens (Occidentals), Fire Island Queens, circuit queens (Fire Island/gym/disco circuit), cha-cha queens (Latinos), rice-and-bean queens (Mexicans), Queens for a Day (married men from New Jersey who go to the baths), face-sitting queens, fist queens, dish queens, Astoria Queens, dinge queens, beanie-boy queens (Orthodox Jews), salami queens (Italians), salami-casing queens (uncut Italians), leather queens, opera queens, tearoom queens, smoke queens, popper queens, enema queens, personals queens (likes long walks on beaches), glory hole queens, tattoo queens, butthole queens, studio queens (Studio 54 similarly, Disco Dollies), snow queens (cocaine, or blacks who like whites), fag hag queens, hyphenate queens (actor-model-dancer-waiter), stress queens, roller derby queens (wheelchairs, etc.), alfalfa queens (macrobiotic), diesel queens (men who dress up like dykes), chicken queens, diva queens, screen queens, seafood queens (sailors), Souvlaki queens (Greek action), crepe Suzette queens (French action), Perils-of-Pauline queens (thrill seekers), blue jean queens (Calvin Klien, Gloria Vanderbilt), teddy bear queens, cherry queens (deflowering virgins), Crisco queen, smut queens, ice queens (diamond stud earrings), banana queens (curved dicks), Jimmy Dean queens (Levi's, Elizabeth Taylor and Rebels without a Cause), Lean Cuisine queens (perpetual dieters), mean queens (S & M), twisted queens (deranged), pee queens (watersports), team queens, unweaned queens (sucking on tits - - also known as dairy queens), magazine queens (addicted to glossies and press releases), railroad queens, locker room queens, mile high club queens (making it airplane johns), rubber queens, dildo queens, beet queens (future farmers of America back in High School - - see also: "yam queens"), dream queens (GQ types), scream queens ("faaabulous!!!!"), palace queens (Leona Helmsley), tuna queens (male lesbians), pesto queens (into garlic), egg cream queens, fashion victim/style-police queens (beyond therapy), hostage queens (fantasies of being taken hostage in a foreign American embassy and being brutalized by idealistic young university-student revolutionaries), vanilla queens (into vanilla sex: basic sucking and fucking, no fantasies allowed), matzoh meal queens (reformed Jews), Wuthering Heights queens (hopeless romantics), skin queens (uncircumcised), peeled queens (cut), designer queens, steroid queens, beach queens, smack queens, Ma Bell queens (phone sex), Tom Thumb queens (small dicks), Uniform queens, piano bar queens, salad queens (rimming), bottle queens (alcoholics), flea queens (sex in run down hotels), bull horn queens (politicos), flab queens (AKA chubby chasers), evil queens (approximately ninety percent of the above), therapy queens (electro shock queens, Bellvue queens, couch queens, Valium queens, etc...) condo and co-op queens (the landed gentry in Manhattan), and closet queens."

Ugh: Lambert!

2009-12-04T09:36:00.008-05:00

American Idle

I know I'm a little tardy for the party on this one but since two people were talking about it on the subway last night I assume, much like no-balloon-attic-boy, that this story hasn't completely flown away.

Let's make a few things clear: I don't watch American Idol. I don't know who Adam Lambert is. I don't care who Adam Lambert is. I don't listen to his music. I don't really care that he's gay and apparently neither does he. Several times Lambert has gone on the record to distance himself from representing or wanting to have anything to do with the gay community saying that he's his own person and his music and choices are his own and blah blah blah blah blah... From his Entertainment Weekly Interview:

"I can talk about relationships and personal experiences because as an artist those things involve writing lyrics and that part of my process. But I didn’t feel comfortable talking about the March on Washington. I didn’t feel comfortable, so I asked my publicist to ask the interviewer to stay away from the political questions. I take full responsibility for that. I think that the editor has his agenda and has his opinions, which I respect, but they’re not necessarily my opinions. And I wish there was a little respect for that. Not every gay man is the same gay man."

So Adam Lambert gets on stage on the night of the American Music Awards and in an unrehearsed move simulates oral sex with one of his male dancers and then kisses his male keyboard player. Ooooh shocking! Soon there's censoring and edits and blurs. The network is outraged. The gays are outraged. The Christians are outraged. Everybody is outraged! Please, get a grip, and if you need some proof that the the stunt was unrehearsed then go visit the Chicken Littles at GLAAD and lick it up baby, lick it up:

"Given the live nature of the American Music Awards, Adam Lambert’s performance, which differed greatly from his rehearsal, caught many, including the network, off guard. This is not a question of Lambert’s sexual orientation. As is evidenced by GLAAD’s media report card, ABC is at the forefront of positive gay and lesbian portrayal on television."

While everyone is freaking out the issue of double standards and the famous Britney/~~Christina~~/Madonna kiss is brought to the table.

Let's just make another thing clear: The American Music Awards are on the prime time national network ABC while the Madonna/Britney kiss was on the Video Music Awards on MTV. These are two totally separate networks with two totally separate standards and practices and two totally different demographics! MTV can get away with things like sudden or rehearsed lezbo kissing. ABC, well they have a little more red tape than that.

First, let's just admit overall, gay or straight, that Lambert's stunt was simply inappropriate. Ok? Whether it's Pink, Madonna, Britney, Adam Lambert, male on female, male on male or female on female, gay or straight, simulating oral sex on a nationally televised primetime broadcast just doesn't make any sense. It's just not appropriate. I know we Americans are desensitized to everything and our media has comfortably settled within a proud norm of mediocrity complete with low-level morals but there should be some standards for these obviously pointless, gratuitous actions. Yes, double standards exist. Boo-hoo. They always existed and despite how hard we fight, they will continue to exist. Double standards are a fact of life. But, if done appropriately or subtly, I do believe one has the ability to blur the lines of what we consider double standards. (See also: David Bowie, Boy George, Marylin Manson, Grace Jones, etc...) If Lambert's "dance" wasn't so off-the-cuff, aggressive and out of the blue I don't think we'd be having this conversation. I'm not saying he should have donned a tuxedo, took a man by the hand and pecked him on the cheek but he could have gone at this from a different angle.

At least Britney and Madonna's kiss had a certain class to it. A certain, mesh to it all. Their kiss was a simple, subtle, like a little exclamation point to the end of their performance. Lambert's was sloppy, awkward, tactless and seemingly came from nowhere. His music nor choreography lead up to any crescendo which would call for that type of action and suddenly he's trying to defend himself? Please. If the Britney/Madonna kiss never existed Lambert would have no defense to stand on - or - had the female pop kiss not happened, his actions might have served a greater purpose or at least pushed the envelope. But instead, it just stood as utterly pointless with low-rent shock value. A cutesy stunt that blew up in his face. I would be less critical of Lambert if his actions had anything to do with his song, performance or talent. If it worked together in any way. But really I believe we're just using this double standard nonsense as a means to defend him from his stupid, sloppy behavior.

I wonder how ABC would have reacted if Lambert came to them wanting to include some form of homoerotic element to his performance? Maybe it would have been a little watered down and safe but we certainly wouldn't have ended up with this tumbleweed of nonsense news and the backlash we "not represented by Lambert" gays receive.

When Politician Larry Craig was busted using "gay cruising techniques" in a public toilet, me, my friends, and the gay community's reputation were dragged through the dirt as though we as a whole use these public bathroom cruising tactics as a means to pick up men. I never cruised public bathrooms and neither have my friends but suddenly this desperate "straight" guy taints my community and lifestyle with his reckless actions. Unfair as it is, much like a double standard, people will feel as though this is something "we" do, something "we" support. Lambert's actions accumulate to much the same. Here we are on the brink of marriage equality and all the sudden, a gay guy who wants nothing to do with representing the gay community, represents us in the silliest way possible. In the end, many people of this nation don't see Lambert as an "artist," they see him as just another faggot wearing eyeliner. There are people in this country actually sitting on the fence about marriage equality. People just undecided enough that a stunt like Lambert's makes them get up and walk to the other side. "See! That's what I'm talking about - they want to shove it in our faces! This is what our world will be if marriage becomes equal! This is the side effect of the liberal homo agenda" (insert dramatic music.) If Lambert wants to break that double standard of not being just another faggot wearing eyeliner than simulating oral sex on stage, in front of America, while being completely uncalled for, is not going to help that.

Now I'm not looking for a place at the table. I'm not saying we all need to behave and act like gentlemen or dress nicely or act straight or anything like that. I'm not telling Lambert to pack it up and take off the make up but what I am saying is I'm not going to support him just because he's gay. After all, he's an "individual," right? He should just focus on his music and career and prove to America that he's actually talented and not try to be some Reality-made provocateur. As if!

The stunt was inappropriate, bottom line. To me this doesn't really have anything to do with gay or straight but since Madonna and Britney got away with it then everything has to be accepted, right? Right?! Come on, are we really going to throw this example and that example back and forth to defend this guy from yet another "wardrobe malfunction?"

8,700 Miles

2009-12-03T13:24:00.007-05:00

Life across America

I suppose the best place to begin is the very beginning itself. In late August I was hired for what would become the job and adventure of a lifetime. A job, which during two and a half months, would take me over 8,700 miles, 20 states and land in cities with names I've never heard of. Paducah, Arkadelphia, Corinth, Tuba City, Manchester...

I'm no stranger to the road. Before this trip I had driven across the country twelve times. I've seen the way the land changes from green to yellow to dry to sea all to come back to itself again. I have felt the surging rush of freedom upon realizing the control we have over our own lives and destinies. As long as we have the courage we can hit this open road which disparately calls our names, encouraging us to be whoever we want, wherever we want, whenever we want. But what I would learn on this trip would be something much more - something I never thought I was capable of experiencing. A compassion I never thought I had.

When driving across the country you don't see much: Applebee's, strip malls, Waffle Houses, cheap hotels, grease, fried, fat, obese, Jesus and Red, White and Blue. But, there is a cliche that rings true; that beauty is within the detail and it is only when you pull off the main roads that you'll find the little gems within this huge nation.

I never thought I belonged in the South - what's a born and bred East Coast gay Jew supposed to think? But now, after my travels I have an understanding, appreciation and respect for the land I thought had no desire for my kind. Here in NYC in our ivory bubble it's easy to cast stones. After all, it is we who live in an multi-cultural urban megaplex! It is we who are so attuned to art and culture and life but unfortunately, it is we who often believe our own assumptions as to what this nation is and who our neighbors are. The South really isn't that different. It is not as backwards and red neck as we assume it is and in the end we're all just Americans and none of us are really that far apart from one another. We all want the same thing. Money and happiness. Or, at least enough money to afford us happiness. That's it. Throw in a few close family members and friends, a hobby or two and what do you have? An American.

In this city I have been pushed and shoved and rushed and shushed. I have had eyes rolling at me, breaths exasperated at me and in turn I have done it all back to someone else. Just a few days ago I nearly karate chopped an elderly woman for going down the subway stairs too slowly causing me to miss my train. Did she have to walk right down the center of the stairs? Why is she even taking the subway anyway? I fumed these thoughts as I shuffled the little bits of trash off the platform and onto the tracks. Then I thought there is not this rush elsewhere in this nation, this is just a tax for living in this city.

In the South I was never pushed or rushed or shushed. Life moves at a slower more temperate pace there and thus the need for the "me first!" mentality is limited. Neighbors say hi, communities work together and the lady selling boiled peanuts on the side of the road genuinely wants to know how you're doing. Yes *some* Southerns have different views on race, religion and sexuality. Yes, many of them do not support what we call our liberal free lifestyle but in the end how accepting are we of them? How willing are we to be dismissive when we hear someone say that they're from Overland Park, Kansas or Lynchberg, Tennessee or that they go to Church every Sunday? Besides, isn't it this great big urban melting pot that denied me and my friends our right to marry just yesterday?

Throughout the Southern states I experienced a level of hospitality and compassion I never knew existed. At every turn I was offered a hot meal, a great handshake and there was always, always, an extra room at a house if I needed to stay. And trust me, they knew. In the end, I'm not that butch and really I'm only one quick google search away from total exposure. Some people in the south may say that they hate the sin but love the sinner and whatever the case may be they have the right to do so. But for the people I met and the eyes I looked into I felt we shared one common bond; that of being human. I didn't wave a flag, I didn't stamp my feet, I didn't scream at the top of my lungs. I was simply just myself and appreciated I was.

So after 8,700 miles, 20 states and now back to my home in NYC where does this leave me? Who am I now? I never considered myself a "blogger" or an "activist" rather, I just liked being someone who was interested in things I cared about. Sure I screamed, sure I was opinionated, sure I was a blind-talking anti-republican rantivist, and for sure, I've certainly made my stance on safe sex, HIV/AIDS and barebacking clear. But as I've said before, blogging is like a homework assignment that is always due and never done and what makes doing that assignment even more laborious is when you spend time fighting for a community so willing to tear you down. Throughout my posts I've been called "belligerent," "stuck on my high horse," "judgemental" a "hypocrite" and the list goes on. Mostly I've used that as fuel to extend my middle finger even higher but I've tried very hard to pander to everyone and I know that is just not possible. I'm sure right now the commenters on gay blogs or Joe.My.God are slaughtering one another with exclamation marks and bold face font about how stupid everyone is and how stupid the last protest was or how much conservatives should suffer or how ineffective the latest grass roots campaign was. Everyone's a fucking genius, right? Everyone is wrong - YOU have the correct answer, right? Sure, whatever. Eat each other alive, it seems to be what we do best.

So here's my plan: I'm just going to continue being human and being myself. I'll post when I want to and say what I want to. I am going to try to find that human compassion in all of us and continue walking down this road which keeps unraveling itself before me.

Kansas

2009-10-02T01:47:00.002-04:00

Driving, Driving, Driving

2009-09-28T23:58:00.002-04:00

Life for the past two months:

"What is that feeling when you're driving away from people and they recede on the plain till you see their specks dispersing? — it's the too-huge world vaulting us, and it's good-by. But we lean forward to the next crazy venture beneath the skies."

Only Steers and What In Texas?

2009-09-18T10:05:00.001-04:00

Burleson, TX

8 years Ago Today

2009-09-11T10:09:00.003-04:00

Tucson, Arizona- September 11th 2001: Between 6 and 7AM

Nokia original sized cell phone ringing on my night stand. Don, "Eric, we're under attack. The Twin Towers have been hit! Call your sisters! They live in the city, right?" I couldn't get through. Not for several hours but Mom said they were fine.

After watching TV I wasn't sure if classes were canceled for the day but I walked to campus regardless. A ghost town. Whispers, muffled noise and even an more desolate, dried and thirsty Tucson. A University devoid of youth.

As far west as Tucson, AZ one of the first things I remember seeing was a fellow classmate, outside the English Lit. building, alone and draped in an American flag.

Demento

2009-09-04T10:16:00.009-04:00

I'm currently bouncing around the nation for work. I've driven through 8 states: Virgina, Tennessee, Arkansas, Oklahoma, Texas, New Mexico, Arizona and Nevada over three days. This makes my 8th cross country road trip and never once have I taken the same route. Stories, pictures, whatever coming soon but for now I don't have much to report other than having tried to call into the Michaelangelo Signorelli show on Sirius Out Q Radio while driving through Oklahoma and couldn't get through, but the bottom line is: Go to the National Equality March!!

In the meantime enjoy these demented videos I found:

Orbitz <3's Gays

2009-09-01T02:04:00.003-04:00

Notice a few things in this ad?

GMHC: The Raw Deal

2009-08-26T13:20:00.007-04:00

bare bones

On Friday, August 13th GMHC sponsored a public forum entitled Raw where the public was invited to partake in a discussion on barebacking: why we like it and why we do it. As the Edge New York article states the conversations were both passionate and controversial.

Lively, sometimes loud debate; passionate viewpoints accentuated by applause from the crowd; and skepticism towards the establishment’s ability to effectively advocate for public health. It sounds like a contentious town hall event in which the proposed health care overhaul takes a beating--but it was, in fact, an August 13th public forum sponsored in New York City by the nation’s oldest and largest private AIDS service organization, Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC).

Certainly, it’s understandable why high passion would have erupted at a discussion of the most sensitive topic among gay men today: barebacking. Although its topic was every bit as divisive as Obama’s sweeping initiative, the event managed to demonstrate that the town hall format need not devolve into a shouting match.

The article goes on to state the organizers decided to lose the term "barebacking" and go with the generalized term "raw" in talking about condom-less sex.

Actually, it technically wasn’t about "barebacking," at least if the organizers could help it. The conclave’s premise was that the term "barebacking" unfairly stigmatizes gay men who have unprotected sex.

GMHC’s organizers instead chose the no less provocative but apparently more acceptable term "raw" as the title of the event.

I'm glad the organizers of this event chose to use raw instead of barebacking, although in the end I'm afraid it doesn't make too much of a difference either way. But as I've stated in the past, it's important to note there is a difference between men who "ooops! slipped up" and men who are committed to not using condoms. Those committed to not using condoms, barebackers, often over shadow those individuals who slipped up, or made a mistake, or didn't use their best judgement and the general and medical community fault them for "deserving what they got" opposed to being compassionate about the human capacity to make a mistake.

Through my speaking out on this topic I've also learned that I have to be abso-fucking-lutely clear about abso-fucking-lutely everything and just because you and your long term boyfriend decide to forgo condoms, after testing together for at least a year and trusting you won't put one another at risk (although it happens more than one would think) does not make you a barebaker, you're just having condom-less sex with someone you're committed to (in one way or another.) Also, if you're an HIV+ man and choosing to have consensually agreed upon condom-less sex with another HIV+ man than that's fine and that's your decision. There are other risks involved, but as long as there has been communication, than that's your decision. No harm, no foul. You talked, you decided, it's done. The problem isn't positive men infecting negative men, the problem is "negative men" (men who don't know their status) having unprotected sex with other negative men. That's why I feel our "bareback porn is so hot!" seal of approval these days is a major issue because men will say and/or think: he looks negative, he seems ok, he would have told me, or just not care at all.

Many in the audience who got the chance to speak held the community itself responsible for assuming the burden of outreach and education. They said they neither wanted, nor expected, the organizations represented by the panelists to work miracles on their own.

These organizations are working hard. They're out there. Working in non-profits, doing outreach, doing what they can but ultimately it's up to us to continue speaking out about this topic in order to effect the change we want to see in this community.

Bareback, raw, whatever you call it - the bottom line is just communicate with your partner and wear condoms. I can't believe we're even having panel discussions on bareback issues when the the end result is to just simply communicate and put on a rubber. Give a shit about yourself, consider yourself worth it! Study after study, report after report the answer is always wear a condom. You.are.worth.it! We are worth it.

Yes, I'm still talking about this and I don't ever plan to stop. If you don't like it, tough shit. And to the catty bitch at The Eagle who snickered to your friend referring to me as "Mr. Bareback:" I heard you and thanks for the encouragement to give you the middle finger and keep talking about this.

For more information and other great articles check out:

Ouch! The Painful Politics of Bareback Porn written by Sister of Perpetual Indulgence Activist and porn producer, Mark Kliem

Fact or Fiction: Roxy Reopening

2009-08-24T18:12:00.006-04:00

Let me see you put your hands up!

Well the rumors have been circulating for well over a year now. Does anyone have the cold, hard skinny on this? Is the Roxy going to reopen this winter?

I can only hope so! In my opinion NYC gay nightlife took a harder hit than expected when The Roxy closed. Things certainly haven't been the same. Smaller venues, less dancing. Blech! It's a sad era in NYC when the gay men here have no arena sized dance floor to call our own nor a means to represent our enormous presence here in this city.

Whether you went there or not, often or hardly at all, The Roxy was a place where on any given Saturday night you could lose yourself in a sea of men and a throbbing beat that kept you dancing til dawn.

Stepping on to that dance floor made you feel like - - - like you lived in New York City.

Capitalism: A Love Story

2009-08-23T20:22:00.002-04:00

Michael Moore's latest:

Happy Friday: Drag Me Out

2009-08-21T10:00:00.001-04:00

Kicking and Screaming

So I was in Provincetown for a week and as everyone knows PTown is a place for fun, celebration, silliness and camp. Nothing more and nothing less.

I've never done drag before and I don't even know if one would consider my ten minute walk through a house party in a leather dress as official drag, but regardless it was the first time I said, "oh what the fuck," and let some stellar, creatively-minded, kind-hearted fashion queens dress me up like I was their Freshman year fashion project.

I knew photos were being taken and I knew the inevitable Facebook upload was waiting just around the corner. I asked that they not tag me. But I knew sooner than later the tagging would happen so rather than hide from it I'm deciding to simply own it. What's the big deal anyway? It's just a man in a dress.

So yes, I zipped myself up, pranced around the house and tried my best to do any and all kinds of catwalk struts. For at least two minutes I held on to a comrade's shoulder as I wobbled through learning process of the knack of heel, toe - heel, toe stepping. And you know what? It felt fabulous.

That's right. My hairy ass got into a leather tight mini skirt zip up dress, I threw a fur bracelet on my left wrist, and walked like the world was mine and if you have a problem with this, then you can talk to the spike of my size 12 patent leather black high heel.

Werk.

Rainbow Fish

2009-08-19T23:52:00.009-04:00

SAY~~>FIP

This Saturday The Stonewall Community Fund is having their first ever Stonewall Swim, a 3 and a half mile swim between Sayville, Long Island and Fire Island Pines. 30 swimmers were encouraged to sign up and help raise money toward a collective goal of $100,000 which will then be distributed to other local NYC gay charities.

My beastly friend Eyal "Cut-From-Stone" Feldman will be one of the 30 participants to brave the 3 1/2 (against the current with the threat of an oncoming hurricane!) mile swim and has been training for weeks. He's ready to jump in the water and from what I hear he's shaping up like Beowulf so it ain't gonna be no thang. Trrrust. (Score one for the 10th grade English lit analogy! w00t! Mr. Miller where are you?! Your name is totally ungoogleable! He was so hot. So hot.)

Uh...

Below is Eyal, Owner and Founder of Boy Butter Lubes, throwing out some info about Saturday's event:

Official Stonewall Community Fund here

Official Facebook page here

and to fight friction with Eyal's cream of the crop Boy Butter personal lubricant line click HERE!

The Bride Wore Red

2009-08-19T13:33:00.010-04:00

Bi-Party Curious?

In an unlikely twist, the California Gay community now stands an even greater chance of hearing wedding bells ring in their name.

Theodore Olson, the Republican Lawyer who helped ~~steal~~ argue George Bush's election, could now be same-sex marriage's strongest friend.

The New York Times reports:

While Mr. Olson came to the case by a serendipitous route that began late last year with Rob Reiner, a Hollywood director widely known for his Democratic activism, he said his support of same-sex marriage stemmed from longstanding personal and legal conviction. He sees nothing inconsistent with that stance and his devotion to conservative legal causes: The same antipathy toward government discrimination, he said, inspired him to take up another cause that many on the right applauded — a lengthy campaign to dismantle affirmative action programs.
A hearing in the marriage case, filed on behalf of two gay couples, is scheduled for Wednesday in federal court in San Francisco. Practicing his opening argument recently, Mr. Olson declared that California’s ban is “utterly without justification” and stigmatizes gay men and lesbians as “second-class and unworthy.”
“This case,” he said afterward, “could involve the rights and happiness and equal treatment of millions of people.”

Lately I've been coming into a lot of contact with several socially progressive conservative thinkers. Meaning, I've been meeting a lot of people who are socially forward, yet too economically focused and conservatively opinionated, to vote for Obama or even Democratically for that matter.

These people are both gay and straight alike and I often say to them, "I understand you have different conservative stances and fiscal opinions but can't you see by voting Republican you are inadvertently tugging along the most ignorant, arrogant, racist people (the right of the right) to maintain power in this nation, feel righteous and absolved?" Although I seem capable of putting this algorithm together, they see it from a different perspective. They believe change will happen by being within the party more than it will from being on the outside, where the same Dem Vs. Repub tit-for-tat argument will inevitably continue to churn and churn and churn. These socially progressive but republican voting gays and straights feel as though they are welcomed to sit at the Republican table while I think, "well you may be welcomed to the table but that doesn't mean they're not going to spit in your food nor swipe the chair out from under you," but still it's becoming increasingly more obvious that we have to find friends within the red party to help further the gay community's cause. It's a hard pill to swallow but a necessary one.

If Theodore Olson, the man who was a saint to Bush administration, is now arguing for the gay cause, while also looking at the case from an completely non-objective human rights standpoint, then maybe this will help us in the end? I'm not entirely sold, but what's the harm in continuing my low expectations for hope anyway?

Moments

2009-08-19T10:48:00.002-04:00

It's just the little things in life:

Work

2009-08-13T09:46:00.003-04:00

Burn

Boys

2009-08-11T15:49:00.004-04:00

Last year's collection here

Provincetown: II

2009-08-10T10:17:00.004-04:00

Israel: Saturday August 1st 2009

2009-08-03T13:59:00.004-04:00

Israel: August 1st 2009

"Once a year, spokespersons on behalf of the gay community are requested to explain why we insist on the pride parade; so here is the answer. There are those who fan the flames of hatred and homophobia, and the outcome may lead to gunfire. Here is your answer, this is the reason: Because they shoot at us. At times they use words, and other times they use bullets."

PodCast: IML Bareback Issue

2009-07-30T10:38:00.005-04:00

Brian and David B. over at The Occasional Fag hosted Will Clark and I on their Pod Cast to talk about the IML No-more-bareback-issue which recently came down the pipes.

I thought we had a great conversation. We touch upon a lot of topics surrounding this current event and other talking points which are inextricably entwined to the ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex topic.

Listen in: Click here for the pod cast.

Guest Post: Eric the Roommate

2009-07-28T11:09:00.004-04:00

Eric the Roommate and I have known one another since we were 10 years old. We went to elementary school, Junior High and High School together. We've lived in Los Angeles together for two years and now New York for close to three. He's the closest thing I've ever had to a brother and low-and-behold he's straight! He's my best friend in the world and he wanted to contribute a little straight perspective to KnuckleCrack.

Also please note that Eric's band, Xylos, was featured in L Magazine as one of the "8 New York City bands you need to hear." Xylos is playing tonight at Mercury Lounge.

Dear Blog,

Hi, I'm Eric the Roommate. You can often spot me strolling the streets of the East Village with KnuckleCrack, en route to brunch or a early-evening cocktail or some other urban locale. And more often than not you would assume that I am the gay one and that KnuckleCrack is your salt-of-the-Earth, flat-tire changing, football-watching, beer-shotgunning butch American straight guy. But alas, you would be mistaken, for it is I, Eric the Roommate, that prefers the ladies (despite the cut-off shorts and wife-beaters I've taken to wearing).

Having lived in close company to one of this city's (and Los Angeles') most loudly growling cubs for over five years, I have learned quite a bit about the gay lifestyle, when it comes to sex (not from firsthand experience, mind you, but rather via KnuckleCrack's sagas of courtship and love).
And, as a straight man, I can say confidently.... I'M JEALOUS!

What am I jealous of, you might ask? I got the good looks (so he tells me.) Sick-tight gym body, check. Loads of money, check (I wish!) Razor-sharp wit... oh yes, my friend. But yes, I am jealous. Jealous of the manner in which gay men can circumvent the hackneyed social conventions of mating and dating and, when appropriate, revel in guilt-free carnal delight. And, as such, I have attempted, on occasion, to try my hand at the "direct approach," which has invariably yielded unsatisfactory results. For some reason unbeknownst to me, girls don't like to be asked, "So, wanna go have sex?" after leaving a bar. And this is what baffles me. Look at two scenarios:

1) It's 2:30am, Maggie (named changed to protect the innocent) and I are leaving the bar after a spontaneous, yet enjoyable hour of flirtatious talking. We get to the corner (very close to my apartment) and I ask, "So, wanna come over and have sex?" And I could tell by her reaction that she wanted to.... but, societal convention prevailed, and she responded, "Sounds fun, but maybe some other time."

2) It's 2:30am, Maggie and I are leaving the bar after a spontaneous, yet enjoyable hour of flirtatious talking. We get to the corner (very close to my apartment) and I ask, "So, want to come over for a glass of wine and to see some photos I took on my recent trip to the Amazonian rain forest?" "Sure!"

Scenario one... failure. Scenario two ends the next morning with French Press coffee, poached eggs, and English muffins.

The lesson? There is none... but if I were gay I wouldn't need to lie about having gone to the Amazonian rain forest. She never even asked to look at the photos anyway!

As KnuckleCrack says, "Be safe/have fun."

Love,
-Eric the Roommate

P.S. All the most beautiful men and women in NYC (KnuckleCrack included) will be at the Mercury Lounge tomorrow night to see my band Xylos. It's gonna be a sexy good time... myspace.com/xylos

Happy Friday: Sell Out

2009-07-24T20:03:00.004-04:00

Antioxidaisy!

Molly over at Pom Wonderful loves her some KnuckleCrack so as a wonderful ~~PR stunt~~ thank you she sent me a whole case of 100% pure pomegranate Pom Wonderful juice!

Not only is Pom Wonderful packed with antioxidants but I also learned that it benefits erectile function. Rage!

Thanks Molly! Eric the Roommate and I are drinking the hell out of it!

Jewcy!

2009-07-22T09:00:00.005-04:00

Let my people moan!

One of my closest brahs, Wayne Hoffman, works for Tablet Magazine which promises a "new read on Jewish life." Think of Tablet as a more New York Timesy version of Heeb Magazine. Tablet is perfect for us bubble-living, culturally-identifying secular Jews who didn't go to temple as much as we went to summer camp, wear Stars of David, Hamsas and frequently dine at the Hummus Place, but it's a worthwhile read for non-Jews as well. Check it out.

Recently Wayne picked up the story of Michael Lucas' new porn entitled Men of Israel which is the first gay porn in history to feature an all Israeli cast. But as Wayne points out, it's a bigger historic moment than that because not only is this an all Israeli cast- it's an all Jewish cast. Oh.muy.GAWD! Are you dying?! I'm dying!!

Lucas admits to having two agendas here:
One: Hot gay men, porn.
Two: Striving to put Israel back on the map as a sexy tourist destination for both gay and straight travelers alike. Well, ok, mostly gay.

I wonder if there will be a character like Moses although instead of splitting the seas, he splits a, errr, nevermind...

Just read:

This week, Michael Lucas is making what he calls “a bold move to promote Israeli culture and tourism.” His website extols the virtues of a country rich with natural wonders, intriguing museums, liberal politics, and friendly locals. More than a biblical theme park, Lucas’s Israel is a tourist destination, a place where lovely beaches beckon and muscle-bound men have sex with each other.
Lucas—a porn actor and director, and founder of the New York-based gay porn production company Lucas Entertainment—sees his new film Men of Israel as a tool, if you will, to promote tourism, at least among gay men. Before you laugh this off, know that it’s happened before, when the Bel Ami studio’s movies helped turn Prague into a major gay destination soon after the Iron Curtain fell, or when porn director Kristen Bjorn’s Australian trilogy put Sydney on the gay map nearly 20 years ago. The Russian-born Lucas has been ratcheting up the heat for weeks in anticipation of the film’s release tomorrow. His website—MenOfIsraelXXX.com—features still photos of the actors and excerpted video clips, as well as text explaining the performers’ biographies and Lucas’s Zionist motivations for making the film.

1 in 8,000,000

2009-07-21T12:10:00.003-04:00

1 in 10 - 1 in 8,000,000

The New York Times is doing a new Photo/Audio project entitled "One in 8 Million" where they follow the life stories of individuals living in and around New York City. Recently, One in 8 Million did a feature on Ra Ruiz, a 22 year old queer youth who identifies as one of the Christopher St. Pier kids. Her story is both brutal and inspiring.

View the project and listen in: It will give food for thought about the Pier Kids and the issues facing them and their surrounding residential West Village community.

Also, click here for a post I wrote last year entitled, "The Importance of the West Village and those God-Damned Christopher St. Kids" on the same subject.

Bareback the Fuck Up!

2009-07-15T22:39:00.010-04:00

bagged to the bone

Fresh off the digital pages of Will Clark's blog comes the story of IML President Chuck Renslow's refusal to continue including bareback vendors, videos and other bareback paraphernalia during next year's 2010 event:

Dear Vendors:

On behalf of International Mr. Leather, Inc., I would like to thank you for your past support and in particular for your participation as a vendor in our annual Leather Market. We are writing you today to inform you of a policy change affecting next year (2010) and all future markets.

Though we are now three decades into the HIV/AIDS epidemic, no cure has been found. The CDC and local health officials inform us that new infections are on the rise. And, while we have had some success developing medications that might make infection more manageable, that accomplishment comes at a price. Not having experienced the deaths - the loss of loved ones -- which preceded these medications, we have an entire generation who may not fully appreciate or comprehend the severity of the situation.

Too many in our community believe HIV/AIDS is curable or manageable. Too few understand that HIV/AIDS infections dominate life. We believe that it is our duty to inform and educate. Several years ago when “Meth” was the scourge of our community, IMLdrew a line in the sand and raised awareness and used all our influence to try and stop this addictive madness. As is the case with HIV/AIDS, we believe it is our further obligation to do everything in our power to prevent future infections.

To that end, after considerable discussion, the Executive Committee of International Mr. Leather has decided that it will no longer allow participation in the IMLLeather Market by any entity which promotes barebacking or distributes/sells any merchandise tending to promote or advocate barebacking. This restriction will also apply to distribution of gifts, post cards or any other information via our facilities. This policy takes effect immediately.

Sincerely,

Chuck Renslow, President
International Mr. Leather

I encourage you to go over to Will Clark and read his input on the matter. I really enjoyed reading what he had to say.

Here's my two cents: I know this won't immediately curb or ever put an end to ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex. I know that. The further I throw myself into this topic the more I understand this is a never ending uphill battle. ~~Unsafe sex~~ Bareback never went away, anyway. It's just that at one time striving to have safe sex and the idea of protecting oneself and their partners, mattered.

I know men have the ability, and right, to watch ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex videos without ever practicing it in their real lives and I know that sex is between the two people having it. But this is more than that. This is more than just sex.

This has always been about more than just sex.

This is taking a stand. Slowing down, knowing your risks, communicating, wearing a condom - all of that is taking a stand! This is yet another person putting their foot down, swimming upstream in his own fetish-based event declaring he will no longer participate or facilitate in the growing complacency toward unsafe sex in the gay community and HIV/AIDS. This is yet another person who actually cares how their actions impact a younger generation.

Hat's off, truly.

Now, Mr. Renslow could have participated and facilitated in the distribution of ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex over the last couple of years as the niche's popularity climbed to a 3-to-1 selling ratio, but not any longer. Hell, maybe he was never comfortable with it? Maybe he was? But not anymore and I'm not going to get caught up in any bullshit tit-for-tat argument (if there is one) about what he did and didn't do since the existence of IML. That's the same worthless conversation the community always gets in and we wind up completely ignoring the matter at hand. For those of you who want to call this censorship, go ahead, call it censorship. I choose to look at it like this: I don't eat McDonalds because McDonalds is obviously an unhealthy money making waste-hole that's no good for you. Therefore, if I were throwing a house party I wouldn't serve McDonalds to my guests. This is all Renslow is doing and to do this at event like IML sends a big bold message to our current pop-porn culture while simultaneously spreading the consciousness that ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex does not exist at this venue because ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex is an unhealthy choice. Still some men will choose to forgo safe sex during that weekend and that will always happen, no matter what, but we know now where the President stands. In the face of what I'm sure will be a monetary setback and rejection from members of the IML community, I'm glad that Chuck Renslow, President of International Mr. Leather, has the balls to stand up and start doing what he can to help his community.

--

Recently I got a promotional coupon from Manhunt.net offering me several free hours of profiling and online cruising. I hadn't been on since last summer when I deleted my account after we all caught wind of Old Man Crutchley (owner of the site) donating the civilian max of $2300 to the McCain campaign! Anyway, I signed up, created a name, put up my pics and stated my case.

The third email I got, that's right, the third email, was from a "neg top" who only prefers ~~unsafe~~ bareback sex. He wasn't interested in anything else and if I were game, he had a group of "buddies" he was willing to introduce me to. Naturally, the rage inside me sparked like a napalm fueled blowtorch and ricocheted throughout my body like a red hot pinball, but I took a deep breath and responded kindly by saying, "nothing elicits more rage within me than stupid complacent motherfuckers like you." And I meant it. Because what's "hot" to this "neg top" is putting me, and the rest of this community, at risk. He is as "negative" as much as I know the next card you're going to pull is the Ace of Spades. Whether truly negative or not the idea that he didn't even seem to care blows my mind.

As I've asked before: How this community could go from screaming "Silence = Death" to the casual, shrug-of-the-shoulders response of, "aww, come on..barebacking is hot" in what, 12,13,14 years? is something that will always bewilder me.

No, Mr. Neg Top, I don't want to meet you or any of your "buddies." I don't care how hot a time you think we could have by not using condoms and putting ourselves at risk. You don't give a shit about me and that turns me off much more than the ~~unsafe~~ sex you want to have with me. I don't think you're hot. I don't think you're sexy, edgy or some lusty rebellious sexual outlaw. Listen very closely: I am worth more than that. I am entitled to and worth healthier decisions in my life.

I am interested in men who understand that there is a younger, less exposed generation out there who could use some care and actual healthy guidance. I am interested in men who care. This is me putting my foot down.

This policy takes effect immediately.

(PS: Read my post here if you're wondering about all the crossed out ~~unsafes~~)

Sex in an Epidemic

2009-07-14T10:19:00.004-04:00

Sex in an Epidemic, a documentary by ACT UP'er Jean Carlomusto, was shot years ago and it's now finally making a release on youtube.

Unbuckling Straps: An undoing of the NYC Leather Community

2009-07-08T15:19:00.015-04:00

Past or present?

A week ago the decades-old organization of Gay Male S/M Activists (GMSMA) of New York put the kibosh on their twice a month meetings and community. Over the years numbers of attendees dwindled from hundreds to just a handful and as the letter below states, "there are simply not enough men who are willing and able to step forward to lead the organization."

The letter below was dropped in my inbox a few days ago.

I recently attended the final Wednesday night meeting of Gay Male S/M Activists (GMSMA). That’s right, I said “final.” Finished. Done. It’s over. The organization’s annual meeting on Wednesday, June 17, 2009, was billed as a “celebration of GMSMA." What’s happening is that after decades of being a vibrant, thriving organization of gay men interested in learning about safe, sane and consensual s/m, GMSMA is now “transitioning” into a non-profit foundation. There will be no more Wednesday night programs.

During its heyday, GMSMA had hundreds of members from not only New York City but from across the country and even from overseas. Regular meetings were held twice a month, and it was not uncommon for the third floor meeting room of the gay community center on West 13th Street to be jam packed with dozens or even 100 or more men eager to learn and to socialize. One night the topic might be how to tie up your boyfriend in really good rope bondage, another time you could learn all about flogging and whipping, or how to put together a really kick-ass cop or firefighter uniform....

GMSMA was also an activist organization. Its leaders were instrumental in securing a place at the table for the leather community in groundbreaking gay civil rights marches in our nation’s capital. It was also the first s/m organization to include “S/M” in its title. That may not sound like much of a big deal today, but when GMSMA was founded back in 1981 those who engaged in s/m activities were often looked upon as freaks or deviants — even by those in the larger gay community. Believe it or not, GMSMA had to fight to be allowed to meet at the gay community center. In later years it became one of the center’s biggest financial donor organizations.

There were about 45 men in attendance at the last meeting in June, including a leather top who brought a very sexy and shirtless tattooed slave on a leash, who greeted the men he was introduced to by getting down on his hands and knees and licking their boots. Most who showed up were old-timers — one came in on the train from northeastern Connecticut. A few who came were newer members. At least half — including me — were former board members of the organization who had put in years or in some cases even decades of service to the community. But when the official business of the meeting got under way and the remaining officers announced the sad plans to effectively shut down the organization, only one man in attendance raised an objection.

It was painful for many others as well, but the unfortunate fact, what everybody knew — and what ultimately led to the end for GMSMA — is that there are simply not enough men who are willing and able to step forward to lead the organization anymore. The current board was down to just three members (a fourth signed on to help in the coming months with the transition). They were over-worked and under-appreciated. The harsh reality is that the organization simply could not continue to exist in its current form without more manpower.

It's unfortunate when an organization such as this, where gay men can come together and learn "safe, sane and consensual" ways to broaden their sexual horizons comes to a close.

I'm not a leather guy and I suppose that's just the problem. Very few men hovering around my age range and younger seem to be interested or know or know-to-care or care-to-know anything about the leather community or the meaning and history behind it. Sure some of us have our Sam Brownes and harnesses for events like The Black Party and Folsom Street East, when leather is acceptable and down-right dress code but by no means is there a trend going toward the leather lifestyle. Older friends tell stories of what leather truly means. That it is much more than fashion, accessories, more than "Masc and solid," more than butch and mean. Leather is a means to discovering the deeper connections two men can have between one another. A bonding experience. An exposure and measure of trust and vulnerability. Still, maybe for those of us whose closet doors were left ajar rather than bolted shut there isn't that search for sexual comprehension or need for fetish-based sexual fulfillment. Sex is here. It's now. It's out, it's open. It may not be talked about as much as it's happening but it is happening. The analogy of leather, no longer, necessarily applies? Maybe if play spaces and dungeons were more widely available, established or more culturally/socially accepted leather would be more current or stand a greater chance? Yet even though I'm one of those casual street event, Folsom-based leather guys it strikes me as a loss, a changing of landscapes, a shifting of wavelength when communities such as these meet an end.

Is it all be too far gone? The men of true leather are either dead or significantly older and the few still proudly fastening chaps and strapping harnesses, outside of commercial scenes, are seeing their beloved, sought out organizations closing. I suppose it's all fitting. What place does leather have these days? Here in NYC. New.York.City. We have only The Eagle, which is rather leather-light and The Lure and Spike are long gone, gone, gone. If International Mr. Leather and Mid Atlantic Leather are major events, then where are the pockets of that in other urban/rural areas? Have we become lazy or casually unconcerned?

Will we see a resurgence in leather and this community? Will men step up and lead or will this be yet another relic of our past?

Nothing Sacred: brought to you by America

2009-07-07T14:16:00.004-04:00

"Peanuts! Popcorn!"

I've been having a field day on Facebook today posting snarky comments on the Michael Jackson ~~show~~ Funeral and how low I think it is. Below is a sampling. Oh, and in case you're wondering - Yes, I do think I'm pretty fucking funny:

Michael Jackson's funeral brought to you by HyperMegaGlobal Corp!

Michael Jackson's Funeral: Streaming to you live in 3D! The D is for "dead." Brought to you by Swifer and CitiBank!

Michael Jackson's Funeral: "And now one of the highlights of our show (ahem) funeral!! The showcase of Pop Stars born AFTER the bulk of his greatest hits. Everyone round of applause for Carrrrrrrrrrrrie Underrrrrrwood!" Brought to you by Nexium and Jesus*TM!

Michael Jackson's Funeral: Brought to you by Joel Osteen Ministries and Farmland Eggs - "Just beat it!"

Single Rope Action

2009-07-06T12:23:00.000-04:00

Whatchu' know 'bout me?

Bronx Best Couple

2009-07-05T15:00:00.000-04:00

Best couple!

Victoria Cruz and her girlfriend Deoine Scott were voted best couple at Mott Haven Village High school in the Bronx. This is a first Mott Haven and most likely a first for The Bronx.

Way to go Mott Haven Village High!

NYT: Texas Responds

2009-07-05T10:58:00.002-04:00

Fort Worth and US rage

New York Times picks up the Forth Wort raid story:

The raid in the early hours of June 28 by Fort Worth police officers and agents from the Texas Alcoholic Beverage Commission has set off a political uproar and galvanized gay advocates in Fort Worth, who have traditionally been less vocal than in Dallas and Houston. After years of keeping a low profile, gay men and lesbians in Fort Worth say they are furious, and their complaints have spread on the Internet, attracting support from gay rights groups across the country.
They have organized protests and formed a new organization, Fairness Fort Worth, to keep track of various investigations into the incident that have begun or been requested. They also have taken up collections and organized a benefit concert to help the injured.
“It has brought this community together so tight — it’s almost impermeable now,” said Randy Norman, the manager of the lounge.
....
Tom Anable, a 55-year-old accountant who said he was in the bar during the raid, said that for more than a half-hour the officers entered the bar repeatedly in groups of three and escorted people out. Then around 1:40 a.m., he said, the officers started to get rougher, throwing one young man down hard on a pool table.
Minutes later, one of the state agents approached Mr. Gibson, who was standing on steps to a lounge at the back of the bar with a bottle of water in his hands, and tapped him on the shoulder, Mr. Anable said. Mr. Gibson turned and said, “Why?”
Then the officer, who has not been identified, twisted Mr. Gibson’s right arm behind his back, grabbed his neck, swung him off the steps and slammed his head into the wall of a hallway leading to the restrooms, Mr. Anable said. The agent then forced Mr. Gibson to the floor, Mr. Anable said.

Next time, hit back.

Still, 40 Years Later

2009-07-03T12:37:00.007-04:00

"Gay Americans aren’t just another political special interest group. They are Americans who are actively discriminated against by federal laws. If the president is to properly honor the memory of Stonewall, he should get up to speed on what happened there 40 years ago, when courageous kids who had nothing, not even a public acknowledgment of their existence, stood up to make history happen in the least likely of places."

The quote above comes from a terrific Op-Ed entitled, "40 Years Later, Still Second Class Americans" by Frank Rich from the New York Times, June 27th 2009.

The next day, June 28th 2009 - the exact date of the 40th Anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, a group of squealing pig cops "raided" a Fort Worth, TX gay bar and beat the shit out of a man drinking a bottle of water. The victim is left with severe brain injuries. A full scale investigation has been launched into the case.

Fuck that. Fuck calling your senators. Fuck sending emails. Fuck signing petitions. Fuck the "Hey, Hey, Ho, Ho, Homophobia has got to go" chanting and let's start fighting BACK again.

I know I'm not in Fort Worth so yes it's *easy* for me to say this- but I think the Fort Worth LGBT Community should march to the front door of the police precinct responsible for this "raid" and throw some eggs against their front door. Let them know, somehow, some way, just like the kids at Stonewall, that we're not going to take this shit anymore. We should show them we're not the limp-wristed faggot pushovers they think we are and we refuse to let our heads be bashed in any longer.

Stonewall didn't become history through chanting, through sign making or "full scale investigations." It made history because cops got punched back, bottles were smashed and trash cans lit on fire.

Cars were burned out during the White Night Riots. The glass of SF City Hall, smashed.

We deserve better. Now.

Life's Checklist

2009-06-30T14:07:00.003-04:00

Bring Mom and Dad to PrideCheck!

(Thanks again, M & D, for everything)

Pride 2009

2009-06-29T17:44:00.016-04:00

40 years later

Ordinarily I'd try and write some lovey-dovey, all inclusive post about Pride. I would probably make it more difficult on myself by trying to write in prose, be dramatic and aim for the tear ducts. I'd struggle to tap into that root source of what all the love and visibility and pride truly mean. But I don't feel like it this year. I know what it all means. I know how love and visibility and pride twacks my heart and stirs my consciousness. I don't need to convince myself any further.

All I can say is that from the Drag March to the Dyke March to the Pride Parade to the Pier Dance I saw thousands of faces that are all special, all important and deserve to be heard and respected.

Walking with Drags, the Dykes and the entire community one bewildering question came to mind repeatedly, "How can anyone hate our community? Why would anyone want to detract from this color, this vibrancy, this diversity, this joy?" Never have I seen a greater celebration of life than within these marches. It's all so motivating, so inspiring: the fight, the cause, the oppression, celebration, tragedy and romantics that is our lifestyle. All of us together under the same banner. A community. The thought alone drives light into my body, surging through my veins and beaming out of my pores.

We are so much to this nation. To this world. To humanity as a whole. We'll wait for our marriages to pass through the bureaucracies. We'll let our politicians argue endlessly over something as stupid as "Don't ask don't tell." They can take it. Go ahead -have at it, clowns.

But all I really want is my god-damned thank you. We, the gay community, are responsible for so much beauty, art, color, life - our threads are inextricably woven into the fabric of humanity and for that I want my appreciation. I want my thanks. How dare anyone deny us of anything when we contribute so much?

I'd fight a lifetime just for that.

Dyke March:

More to come...

Countdown to Pride: Dyke March 2009

2009-06-26T16:21:00.010-04:00

Not a parade but a protest march!

Tomorrow at 5PM is the 17th annual NYC Dyke March. It'll be my 4th year in row to attend the Dyke March. I love supporting and showing love for our lesbian/queer sisters and I suggest you do the same. Besides, it's a helluva lot of fun!

Meet up is Saturday June 27th 5PM sharp at Bryant Park.

Click HERE for everything you need to know.

It's the time to hit the streets! Make some noise. Be visible. Be heard. Demonstrate, agitate, liberate! Bring signs, banners, drums, giant puppets, flags, hula hoops, or just be there! And if you really want to make things happen - be a marshal (check out ACT-Up’s marshal training for what marshals do during a march).
The Dyke March is a protest march, not a parade -- we don't ask for a permit, because we have the right to protest. As lesbians, we recognize that we must organize amongst ourselves to fight for our rights, our safety, and for visibility. Thousands of dykes take over the streets every year in celebration of lesbians and to protest against ongoing discrimination, harassment, and anti-lesbian violence in schools, on the job, in our families, and on the streets.

My Amazing friend Rich Weaver pointed me in the direction of some old Queer Nation fem-based Artivism. I'm posting them below to get your feminist anger to a raging boil!

Little Boy Lost

2009-06-26T11:00:00.007-04:00

Another one bites the dust!

I actually feel sorry for the douche bag. Now, don't get me wrong here - I think the guy is a total jackass, low life hypocrite but I'm sure I would have thought that before his slip up into an extra marital affair and sinking below the moral standards which he himself set. But yes, I do feel sorry for him.

The poor guy, really. He wrapped himself up in this holier-than-thou suit of armor and by the time he realized he was nothing but a simple human it was all too late. He had it all. The wife, the 2.5 children, the Church, a political seat and a whole bunch of colorless friends who pat one another on the back in absolution and resolve.

But then, yikes! Uht oh. His ~~cock~~ heart made a flutter and before he knew it his red, discriminatory ass was jet setting to Argentina to follow the tormented love of his life.

On June 24th Rachel Maddow exposed the emails that Gov. Rick Sanford wrote to his Argentinian love. The letters were flowery, romantically written. They were in prose and spoke of a love everlasting. A love which existed but couldn't be.

These letters aren't written by a Republican Governor. Instead, they are written by a little boy lost. A man who made too many black and white decisions, who lived too closely to bogus moral standards and, in the end, all of it bit him in the ass. He should be capable of the love he seeks, he should have the right to it like anyone else, but when you stand at a podium and condemn others for the very same behavior, you're nothing but a horrible creature shrouded in your own misery.

On her show Rachel Maddow hosted the reporter who initially broke the story. She said the source of all the information came from an anonymous tipster. I might be wrong here but if that anonymous tipster never comes forward I'm inclined to believe it was the Governor himself. Consciously or subconsciously this man wanted to get caught. He was sending emails back and forth for goodness sake! He wanted to free himself from the man he had become and live as a free human once again. A man who wasn't so obligated to live under such strict guidelines while the state of South Carolina watched. He was trapped.

This is why I feel sorry for him. Because he put himself in his own prison. He set a destiny for himself which he couldn't live up to and now he's done. Finished, disgraced...yet I suppose, now free.

See ya later sucker.

On to the Next...

2009-06-24T10:21:00.004-04:00

I can't fucking believe it!

Twenty-Eight
XXVIII
28
Today!

Oh man!

The Documents

2009-06-19T11:33:00.004-04:00

In celebration of the 40th Anniversary of the Stonewall Riots, Outhistory.org has uploaded some official Stonewall Riot police reports detailing the exact what, where and whens of the "unusual occurrences" which took place that evening.

To honor the 40th anniversary celebration, in June 2009, of the Stonewall Riots, OutHistory.org is, for the first time, publishing nine pages of New York City Police Department records created early on the morning of the rebellion’s start, June 28, 1969.
Reproduced in facsimile with transcriptions, these sometimes hard-to-read but historic documents provide an immediate sense of what the police called an "Unusual Occurrence" at the Stonewall -- the rebellion that has come to symbolize the start of the modern, militant LGBTQ movement for civil rights and liberation.

It's Just a Drag March

2009-06-17T22:49:00.007-04:00

I had the chance to sit down with TheOccasionalFag.com's Brian Griffin and learn about NYC's annual Drag March and what to expect this year:

Friday June 26th 7PM
Tompkins Square Park

View from your Pride: Tel Aviv, Israel

2009-06-16T15:45:00.001-04:00

Sally Kern will burn in Ellen

2009-06-16T13:00:00.000-04:00

Thanks Ellen,

Iran: June '09

2009-06-16T09:00:00.003-04:00

This report was written by a witness to events in Tehran this weekend. CNN is not identifying this witness and others who have filed accounts or photos of the protests and violence in Iran and requested anonymity for fear of reprisals.

TEHRAN, Iran (CNN) -- He was surrounded and pleading for them to stop but six men with clubs, batons and metal rods kept battering a young Iranian man with ruthless force. The swing that keeps replaying in my head was the black baton that smashed the man in the skull behind his left ear.

Seconds earlier the man had dared to stand up to the baton wielding men because they had shoved a 14-year-old girl. For his chivalry he got one of the most savage beatings I have ever seen at the hands of four Iranian riot policemen and members of the Baseej, Iran's plain clothed volunteer militia.

"To hell with Iran," he said as he sat beaten and battered along the sidewalk. "This is not my government. This is not my country."

A grown man who watched the beating burst into tears.

This was a glimpse of the ugly aftermath of Iran's presidential elections, which sparked outrage among supporters of candidate Mir Hossein Moussavi.

Moussavi's backers are calling President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad's landslide victory a sham. They're demanding the vote be annulled. The government's response has been a ruthless and violent crackdown.

For eight chaotic hours I saw the two sides clash throughout the streets of Tehran. These were Iranians versus Iranians, but the two sides were worlds apart in appearance, ideology and brute force.

Moussavi's supporters were mostly young 20-something men and women. They were college students, young professionals with degrees demanding social freedom, a better way of life, and better relations with the West.

Two teenage girls carrying bricks had French manicured fingernails and designer sunglasses. The protesters threw objects, burned trash bins, honked their horns and chanted "death to the dictator!"

They were loud, until they heard the roar of the motorcycles.

The motorcycles belonged to two groups of Ahmadinejad supporters: Iran's riot police and the Baseej.

The riot police looked like modern gladiators, muscular and menacing with camouflaged uniforms, black boots, black bulletproof vests and black shielded helmets. They rode in pairs. One drove while the other wielded a club or a baton. They swarmed crowds of rowdy protesters in packs of about 20, beating anyone who got in their way.

On several occasions I saw female Moussavi supporters plead with their male counterparts not to run away. But they almost always did. They were clearly intimidated by the brutal show of force.

The Baseejis were just as ruthless. Those who didn't ride on motorcycles walked the streets in large packs carrying clubs. They didn't wear uniforms, so they could easily ambush protesters. They beat one protester so badly that he collapsed in the middle of an intersection and trembled uncontrollably. I saw one battered young man crawl into the lobby of an apartment building, curl up under the stairwell and sob. He had welts on his forehead and bruises up and down his arms.

"They hit me with everything," he said as he gasped for air. "They hit with clubs. They hit me with chains."

When the two sides weren't throwing objects at one another, they were hurling insults. I heard and felt the hatred on both sides.

During a Saturday afternoon news conference Ahmadinejad compared the violent crackdown against the protesters to a citation after a traffic ticket. A few hours later thousands gathered in midtown Tehran to hear Ahmadinejad deliver a victory speech. The re-elected president said the elections belonged to Iran's people.

Never since the Islamic Revolution of 1979 have Iran's people appeared this divided.

Further reading: Iranians using web tools and social network sites to fuel fight

View from your Pride: Shanghai, China

2009-06-15T20:00:00.001-04:00

Over the weekend Shanghai, China held it's first ever Pride Event:

New York Times reports:
SHANGHAI — It was shortly after the “hot body” contest and just before a painted procession of Chinese opera singers took the stage that the police threatened to shut down China’s first gay pride festival. The authorities had already forced the cancellation of a play, a film screening and a social mixer, so when an irritated plainclothes officer arrived at the Saturday afternoon gala and flashed his badge, organizers feared the worst.

After some fraught negotiations, Hannah Miller, an American teacher who helped put together the weeklong festival, agreed to limit the crowds, keep the noise down and, most important, “not let anything happen that might embarrass the government,” she explained after returning from the impromptu sidewalk meeting. “That was a close call,” she said.

Crisis averted, the party continued.

And so it went for Shanghai Pride week, a delicately orchestrated series of private events that revealed how far China’s gay community had come, and how much further it had to go. In the 12 years since homosexuality was decriminalized in China, there has been an unmistakable blossoming of gay life, even if largely underground. Most big cities have gay bars, and social networking sites ease the isolation of those living in China’s rural hinterland. Antigay violence is virtually unheard of.

But official tolerance has its limits. Gay publications and plays are banned, gay Web sites are occasionally blocked and those who try to advocate for greater legal protections for lesbians and gay men sometimes face harassment from the police. For years, movie buffs in Beijing have tried, and failed, to get permission for a gay film festival.

This month, public security officials forced Wan Yanhai, a prominent advocate on gay issues, including AIDS, to leave Beijing for a week because they feared he might cause trouble during the 20th anniversary of the Tiananmen Square crackdown.

“Sometimes I feel like we are playing a complicated game with the government,” Mr. Wan said. “No one knows where the line is, but we just keep pushing.”

We've certainly got our battles here in The States but we're still further along than some many people and so many places. This should not be taken for granted.

"...With Liberty and Justice for ALL" (unless you're gay, of course)

2009-06-15T14:45:00.005-04:00

This has been stewing within me for the last couple of days...

Alright, O'Reilly at the 0.15 mark you state that "if you oppose gay marriage some far left people will try to hurt you." Hurt you, Bill? Did I hear that correctly? Because although the gays may go tit-for-tat with you it is only to defend our names and families from people like you who incite bigotry and hate against our community. How many bashings need to happen? How many stories do you need to hear before you realize that the platform you take and the words you speak fuel anti-gay zealots to feel absolutely vindicated in the actions and prejudices they take against the gay community? When was the last time you heard of a group of gay people beating or killing a straight person for the mere fact that they were heterosexual? The thing is, Bill, I think you know exactly what you doing and you get a kick out of keeping gays as second class citizens and targets for abuse.

The pledge of allegiance, the quotes which you so desperately cling to, state "with liberty and justice for ALL," and then at the 3:45 mark you so proudly claim that the bogus accusations you have against the gay community are "not the American way" and "un-American." You love considering us "Un-American" and unpatriotic because of our "non traditional marriage" but my question to you is, who are the real patriots of this country - those of us trying to uphold the idea of "liberty and justice for all" or those of you who are trying to deny it?

I would have a lot more respect for you, Bill O'Reilly, if you just put all the bullshit aside and stated simply that you hate gay people and want to keep them as a segregated community apart from the rest of the world. You have enough balls to incite the murder of a Pro-abortion Doctor - where are your old wrinkly, loathsome balls on this one?

Let freedom ring.

40 Year Old Table

2009-06-15T00:51:00.016-04:00

'69/'09

On Saturday The Ali Forney Center hosted a panel discussion on the involvement of queer youth during the 1969 Stonewall Riots. The panel consisted of two actual Stonewall Riot participants, Martin Boyce and Tommy Lanigan Schmidt as well as Ali Forney Center Executive Director Carl Siciliano and four of today's LGBT youth, all in their early twenties, answering questions relating to the ever changing now vs. then Queer spectrum.

The youth, two of whom were transwomen came across as confident and sturdily self possessed when discussing topics like being gay in today's world, coming out and how history serves as a backdrop for today's sense pride and personal identity. As a whole the four seemed ambitious and spoke to their current lives and potential futures as though their identity and diversity serve only as an asset to who they are and who they hope to become.

40 years down the table Thomas Lanigan Schmidt and Martin Boyce, who were both twenty somethings during the summer of 1969 spoke of gay life during that time, their experience, struggles and triumphs and being the first in history to step out. Lanigan Schmidt talked about realizing his attraction to men when a best friend protected him from a local bully and Boyce described a New York where gay bashing was a city sport and electro-shock treatment a consequence. Yet still there was much talk of celebration, of life. A jukebox at the Stonewall, the rage in a queen's eye.

Below Martin Boyce sets the stage for life as a queen living in NYC in 1969 and at the 4:30 mark describes being at the Stonewall Inn the nights of the historic riots.

A Gay Soldier's Husband

2009-06-10T11:55:00.003-04:00

InTheirBoots.com is a fantastic documentary site that gives you a first hand look at what some of America's troops are facing over seas and what their families at home are experiencing.

One doc entitled, "A Gay Soldier's Husband" was featured in Today's online Op-Ed section of the New York Times. It is very well done and deserves a look as do many of the other stories. Click the link above to view the documentary.

Happy Friday: Gay Penguin Dads Defy Prop 8, Flip CA "The Bird"

2009-06-05T15:12:00.005-04:00

Aww:

"We're just like any other Penguin Family. We build our nests, hunt for fish, we deserve our equal rights."

BERLIN - A German zoo says a pair of gay male penguins are raising a chick from an egg abandoned by its parents.
Bremerhaven zoo veterinarian Joachim Schoene says the egg was placed in the male penguins' nest after its parents rejected it in late April. The males incubated it for some 30 days before it hatched and have continued to care for it. The chick's gender is not yet known.
Schoene said the male birds, named Z and Vielpunkt, are one of three same-sex pairs among the zoo's 20 Humboldt penguins that have attempted to mate.
Homosexual behavior has been documented in many animal species.
The zoo said in a statement on its Web site Thursday that "sex and coupling in our world don't always have something to do with reproduction."

Gym Nasty

2009-06-03T15:05:00.005-04:00

Gym pre iPodGym post iPod

Daddy's home....
(especially when listening to Madonna!)

Current albums: NoFx - Punk in Drublic
Bikini Kill - Pussy Whipped (oh that 1:50 mark gets me every time!)

NYC George Tiller Rally

2009-06-01T19:50:00.007-04:00

George Tiller 1941- 2009

George Tiller, Pro-choice physician and abortion practitioner, was shot to death yesterday during a service at his local church.

This is NYC's reaction to his murder:

NYC Day of Decision Rally

2009-05-27T00:37:00.006-04:00

The cops were surprised by our numbers. Nice turn out.

Learn how to lobby your NY Senator by going here: www.meny.us

And don't forget about Queens this Sunday.

Washington Square Park Face Lift

2009-05-26T14:00:00.001-04:00

The fountain was successfully moved and now you can see the water from any point North, East, South, West. The new benches are nice and the ground has been leveled. Good job, NYC.

Action Alert: NYC Day of Decision Rally TODAY

2009-05-26T09:02:00.005-04:00

The insiders are saying the CA Supreme Court is going to be split on same-sex Marriage. This means that the Prop 8 initiative will hold but those already married will be able to stay married. Whether it's a yes or no, split decision or not New Yorkers will be rallying at Sheridan Square at 6PM TONIGHT!

Official website: Cities across US

Official website: New York City

Official facebook Page here

Happy Friday: Landslide

2009-05-22T13:30:00.000-04:00

Hey Mr. B, this one's for you...

May 21st. 1979: White Night Riots

2009-05-22T03:35:00.006-04:00

Some argue if Dan White had just killed Mayor Moscone he would have received a life sentence but since he killed Harvey Milk too, a known and out homosexual and liberal, it seemed to complicate things. The end result was a lenient sentencing. A few years. Less than a decade for killing two innocent people.

This is where the famous and famously absurd Twinkie Defense was born and out of that the angry White Night Riots ignited.

On May 21, 1979, Dan White was found guilty of voluntary manslaughter after his assassination of both Mayor Moscone and Supervisor Milk on November 27, 1978. The prosecutor asked for a finding of first-degree murder with "special circumstances", which would have permitted the death penalty under the terms of a recently-adopted capital punishment law in California, Proposition 7. The "special circumstances" in this case were that Mayor Moscone had been killed in order to block the appointment of someone to fill the City Supervisor seat from which Dan White had resigned, and also that multiple people were killed.

White's sentence was reduced due in part to the so-called Twinkie defense, a verdict that provoked outrage in the community. The so-called “Twinkie” defense was presented by a psychiatrist to the jury, essentially saying that too much refined sugar (the type of sugar found in “junk food”) can cause depression and that White may have acted irrationally as a subsequent result of his eating copious amounts of foods containing refined sugars. The composition of the jury was also considered a factor; composed of mostly working class, predominantly Roman Catholic, heterosexual, and white men and women, just like Dan White. This was the segment of the city who felt sympathy for White. The jury heard a tape recording of White’s confession, which consisted of highly emotional ranting about the pressure he was under, and members of the jury wept in sympathy for the defendant.

Keep fighting.

Fuel gay rage now.

Fierce Pussy

2009-05-21T09:00:00.001-04:00

Righteous, Babe

I first reported about Fierce Pussy here but to reiterate they are:

a collective comprised of a group of queer women committed to creating public art and performing direct action around issues of lesbian identity and visibility. fierce pussy was composed of a fluid and often-shifting cadre of dykes. Adamantly low-tech, fast and low-budget, fierce pussy relied on modest resources: old typewriters, found photographs, their own baby pictures, and whatever material they could get donated. Much of the work was produced using the equipment at their day jobs. Emerging during a decade steeped in the AIDS crisis, activism, and queer identity politics, fierce pussy brought lesbian identity directly out into the streets in a manner characterized by the urgency of those years.

And so I stopped by Printed Matter, Inc today just to browse and I came across a Fierce Pussy compilation that Printed Matter just published. It was only selling for $15 so I had to get it. I love and salivate over this kind of in your face, tough-street activism/artivism.

Between Gigs

2009-05-20T11:34:00.004-04:00

I'm currently between gigs and not working for the next few weeks (somebody hire me! Producer? Director? House Painter?) I was going to spend the day blogging but...but:
What's that Skateboard? What's that you say? You want me to ride you? I think I have to - she's looking at me with sad puppy wheels.

Rage.

Alert: Heritage of Pride looking for Volunteers

2009-05-18T15:57:00.002-04:00

Heritage of Pride, the organization responsible for putting on NYC's annual LGBT Pride Parade is looking for volunteers for this year's march on Sunday June 28th. This is the 40th anniversary of the Stonewall Riots so now would be a great time to lend a hand and help out. They are looking for volunteers in all aspects from organizing the parade/rally to helping work booths and other events. Go for it. It's a hoot! Tell em KnuckleCrack sent ya.

Go here for the official Heritage of Pride website

And here for the official facebook page

Contrast

2009-05-18T12:00:00.010-04:00

The contrast between two marriage rallies yesterday in NYC couldn't have been greater. In the early part of the day I jumped uptown to attend an anti-marriage equality rally organized mostly by a group of Hispanic and Latino church goers who despite their insistence that Jesus loves us feel very strongly that gays do not deserve equal rights.

The number of people defending the gay name and standing up for marriage equality was small if not minute. A smattering of the usual faces with a dab of young lesbians. Small signs and a few banners. We were outnumbered 10,000 to 30. We stood at our barricades, mostly in silence, and held our signs as men and women, old and young, many accompanied by a small child yelled, "One man and one woman!" "Read the bible!" "Jesus loves you!" and "God bless you!" As a Jew, all this Jesus/God bless you stuff is always hard to stomach but when you see first hand the degree to which these people truly dislike you and use God's name to defend their twisted logic it leaves the feeling of a sucker punch to the soul. Their "God bless you" and "Jesus loves you!" reeked of being inauthentic and that was later proved when the sound of their mass applause carried up several blocks into our ears. It sounded like an army preparing for a battle. Combative, charged and ghastly. It's been a long time since I felt that kind of hate. It was ugly and simple in it's color. Black and white. The people rejoicing in their efforts to keep gays as second class citizens were bleak and boring, scared and traditional. Old world. They showed nothing but commitment to keeping this world as colorless and dry as possible. As I write this I'm still trying to shake the shiver of hearing their roaring applause traveling upwind. It was clear sooner than later that this was an anti gay rally and had little to do with marriage.

But the protest ended and those of us remaining shook hands and went our separate ways until the pro-marriage rally later in the day. Weighed down by what I just experienced I was craving a distraction. Some reminder that despite the mass of people I just witnessed that there are people who love us, who care for us and would like to see us equal. I ran into Elmo in Time's Square and he helped cheer me up. We both thanked Governor Paterson for supporting marriage equality and a smile returned to my face.

At 5PM at 45th St. and 6th Ave. a mass of young and old, gay and straight, white, Black, Asian, Latino, Everything gathered in celebration of equal rights and marriage. Immediately the crowd was everything the morning crowd wasn't. We were full of life, optimism and energy. Color flowed out from everyone as did hugs and handshakes, smiles and "how are ya's." Our signs were smart and creative. This is when everything started to feel a lot better because I was reminded what gay is and why we're fighting for equal rights. Because we matter. Because our color and contribution to this country, to this world, matters and I'll be damned if the color we bring to the fabric of humanity goes unnoticed and remains unequal. While the morning's anti-marriage rally featured men in suits and black clothing ours featured vibrancy and singing and the perfect combination of comedy and anger. It was all a very nice moment and to have our Governor and Mayor speak to us, in support of us, gave a certain validation that things are going to change. Those people at the morning's rally will be on the losing end of this fight. We aren't going anywhere any time soon and I know we will keep rallying, keep screaming and keep bringing color to this world until our voices are heard and our lives and families appreciated.

Happy Friday: Zombie Love!

2009-05-15T12:15:00.008-04:00

You leave me so hungry!

My fascination with horror films began early on. My father, a horror enthusiast himself, would take me along to the midnight screenings of horror flicks when I was just a wee lad. My first in-theater horror film was Nightmare on Elm St. 4 (I love you Alice!) when I was just 7 or 8 years old. But even before actually going to the movies we would have family screenings of C.H.U.D. and The Fly at home. C.H.U.D. (Cannibalistic Humanoid Underground Dwellers) is your run of the mill classic B Grade horror film. But after seeing it that night I was afraid to go to bed and although the film takes place in NYC my father lied to me and said that CHUDS actually live in Mississippi and pulled out a map of America to show me how far Mississippi was from New Jersey and that it would be impossible for them to ever get me. To this day whenever I hear of Mississippi I think of C.H.U.D.

Since SAW and Hostel I feel Hollywood has really fucked with the horror genre. SAW and Hostel aren't horror films. They are torture/Gore films and completely lack the classic conventions of traditional horror films. Since then horror films have been a mess and I've put my foot down and now am only focusing on one genre: Zombies!

I don't know what it is about the living dead that I love so much but I can't get enough of it. Maybe it's the fact that you can't hurt or scare a zombie or the fact that zombies are nothing but the undead savagely hunting for your braaaaaains or maybe it's all just a coping mechanism for living in New York City in the age of doom and terrorism but whatever it is - if there is a book or a movie about Zombies I'm into it.

Recently I just saw Quarantine which I didn't have high hopes for but ended up loving! It's a classic zombie flick! A female lead, a group of people trapped and one by one they all die or worse, become the living dead themselves. If you haven't seen Quarantine and are a fan of Zombies I strongly suggest you check it out.

Other Zombie and Zombie/Apocalyptic things you may want to check out are:

Films:

Night of the Living Dead (The original)

Return of the Living Dead

Dawn of the DeadAnd Remake

Day of the DeadAnd Remake

Land of the Dead

Diary of the Dead

Quarantine

28 Days Later (technically the victims are infected with "rage" but employs classic zombie convention)

28 Weeks Later

The Hills have Eyes (more monsters than zombie)

The Descent (best horror film in a decade!!)

Night of the Creeps (classic horror/humor!!)

Books:

World War Z (the above-all-else quintessential best Zombie book ever written)

I am Legend (more vampirey/monster but totally apocalyptic)

Patient Zero (current book I'm reading- Love it!)

The Road (The reader doesn't really know what is chasing this father/son duo but fantastic apocalyptic powerhouse)

Blindness (no monsters or zombies but very end of the world)

The Dresden Files (on going zombie series)

If I'm forgetting anything let me know...

The Blogfather

2009-05-14T13:35:00.008-04:00

"Don Corleone, I am honored and grateful that you have invited me to your home..."

I suppose it was around March of 2007 when I was working in a Midtown East post-production house supervising edits of promos and googling my day away when I clicked a link and stumbled upon Joe.My.God.

I was originally looking for Michael Fierman music but what I suddenly found was this whole online discussion from men who through their blogs were discussing and meeting and caring and giving a shit and not a giving a shit and seemingly having a great time doing it all. I was hooked!

I had been searching for this community for a long time. Where were the activists? The voices of our time? Where was the whole big gay discussion going on? And here it was like a treasure chest beneath the sand.

This isn't to say that Joe.My.God is the gay blogging community. He's not, by far, and I realize that there is a vast spectrum of LGBT blogs who represent all the colors of the blah blah blah.... but he was my first! He popped my blogging one and zero and through following him I realized that the activism and conversation, the yearning and caring and need, the community gathering it was all still happening. It never disappeared and in it's own way seemed to be just beginning.

Now two years later I'm sure of that...

Last night Wayne and I went to hear Joe speak at The Center on the topic of "Queering the Blogosphere." Joe and Bradford (founder of Queerty) and Oriol from Poz and Erin Mulrooney a, Research and Planning Associate at NYC’s LGBT Center sat around and talked about how they got involved in blogging and what their experience has been like and the role gay blogging plays in today's community.

During the discussion somebody used the word "pedestrian" to make a case about facebook. Actually the person was saying that she felt Facebook was too pedestrian now that everyone feels like they have a voice or thinks they're funny or has the next best thing but it dawned on me that in the end it's that "pedestrianness" which might be the catalyst that dissolves closet doors all over this country.

We're all walking on a digital highway these days. Make no bones about it. If you're on facebook or read blogs or simply sign in you're getting a feed to everything, what everyone is doing- now. Facebook and blogs especially. Signing in is lacing up your shows and being in is walking down the sidewalk with everyone in that community. No longer does that isolated person in North Dakota not see ("on the street") a gay person. It's inevitable. Personal collisions are almost unavoidable these days, even if it is online. If you want to seek something or someone out you can and will and even if you don't want to seek something or someone out you can and will!

The chances that we collide and see one another "on the street" is becoming greater and greater and soon, if not already, we'll be able to gather in moments. At the drop of a hat. On the hit of publish. Sooner, not later, we'll be unstoppable.

The future is literally ours - we're making it right now.

In the 1980's ACT UP used phone trees to call members and friends about the where and when of their latest action. In a few day's time they would be able to assemble 500 or a 1000 people at most. Now, using the Prop 8 Protests as an example, which could be considered the first massive digitally organized protest rally in history, we know that with the right push we can organize 10's of thousands of people in a few days if not a few hours.

It was the afternoon of Saturday Nov. 8th when Corey Johnson alerted me to the Facebook Event Page for the NYC Prop 8 rally. When I clicked "attending" the numbers were still in the double digits. Then the bloggers got the word out and by the time I went to bed that night there were 300 people attending. The next day the facebook status updates began - by Wednesday night we had 12,000 people (young, older, male, female, black, white, Asian, Latin, straight) marching from Lincoln Square to Columbus Circle.

Think about the iPod for a moment. It began as a hunky, clunky heavy iPod and went to an all encompassing, everything in your hand iPhone in what - Six? Seven years? Now apply that rate of growth, that speed in technology, that change of culture to blogging, social network sites and what this means for the gay community. It's only now that we seem to be uncovering the hugeness of what this all is.

The playing field has completely changed. We're limitless and it's only just the beginning. We're here and we're in numbers and we're not going to be silenced nor ask for your permission any longer.

And by the way, there's a rally this Sunday.

Saturday's Jump

2009-05-12T13:33:00.003-04:00

Still a little rusty with catching the rhythm but getting better. The second attempt is much better. This is becoming a heavy addiction of mine. Once you get it, you just can't stop!

Sex +

2009-05-11T11:54:00.007-04:00

Quad Cinema - NYC, NY 6/12/09

Unfortunately I can't embed the trailer because the option has been disabled but here's the link to the official trailer.

Here's the official Website

And here's a little synopsis and comment from Richard Berkowitz:

SEX POSITIVE explores the life of Richard Berkowitz, a revolutionary gay S&M- hustler-turned-AIDS activist in the 1980s, whose incomparable contribution to the invention of safe sex has never been aptly credited. Berkowitz emerged from the epicenter of the epidemic as a community leader, demanding a solution to the problem before anyone else would pay attention. However, it was not Berkowitz' voice alone that sparked contention.

Dr. Joseph Sonnabend, a controversial virologist and AIDS doctor, postulated that AIDS was more complicated than just a new virus. With Sonnabend's theory in tow, Berkowitz fought, alongside beloved activist and musician Michael Callen, for safer sex practices without giving up on sex altogether.

SEX POSITIVE explores the explicit bravery of this unrecognized triumvirate, and their dire quest to save lives in the midst of unwavering dissent. Now destitute and alone, Mr. Berkowitz tells his story to a world who never wanted to listen.

Through the eyes of Mr. Berkowitz, the audience is made witness to a graphic testimony of sex, death, and betrayal, while placing the invention of ‘safe sex’ in a fresh and compelling context.

From Berkowitz:

I always hoped that my book Stayin' Alive: The Invention of Safe Sex would spark interest in a new generation--I just never expected it would come from a young guy who happens to be straight.

The Bush years have been a trying time for many Americans, but for those concerned with HIV prevention, it has been a disaster. Ever since George W. Bush took office in 2001 and replaced safe sex education with abstinence programs, HIV infection rates have climbed as reported by the Centers for Disease Control (CDC). Unfortunately, the past two years, 2005 and 2006 have been the worst. If anything good can come out of this tragedy, it would be that we now have ample evidence that abstinence programs do not work.

The media has barely taken notice, and I'm hoping that SEX POSITIVE will sound the alarm. If the media needs a hook, here's a great one: May 2008 marks the 25th anniversary of the invention of safe sex.

Unfortunately, these aren’t good times for those involved in safe sex education. It doesn’t bode well that even though everyone has heard of safe sex, hardly anyone knows where it came from. Safe sex came from activists, porn stars, sex workers and their community driven efforts. That's what we've lost over the years and that's why I'm hoping people will learn from this very timely film.

YOU'RE Hurting People

2009-05-07T13:02:00.007-04:00

Mike: "We name Charlie Christ for example..."

News Guy: "By doing that what do you do to Charlie Christ's family....? You're hurting people..."

Does this guy not think that the actions of people like Larry Craig, Mark Foley, Bob Allen, Ted Haggard, Charlie Christ doesn't hurt us? That we as gay people know that our would-be brothers are fighting tooth and nail to silence us? Are we supposed to sit back and be complacent as our names, our community and our lifestyles are dragged through the mud due to these politicians dirty, lying infidently and self hatred? And, we're hurting their family?!

What about my mother fucking family, asshole? What about my friends? My feelings? My place in the world? I should care about their families? Give me a fucking break!

The News Caster can't even have a conversation with Rogers without threatening to take him outside and punch him in the face. It's too bad I wasn't on that show because I would have LOVED to have taken this matter outside - show the world who the real fucking men are.

Fuel.the.rage.

Here are some pics detailing my immedate reaction to the Larry Craig scandal some years ago:

Dan Savage: How many Partners is too Many?

2009-05-06T14:01:00.006-04:00

This is a conversation Eric the roommate and I find ourselves having quite often (he's straight, btw's.) However, it always boils down to what do we define as "sex."

For the straight world (most straights I talk to tend to agree,) sex is going all the way; while for me, sex is any form of getting off from light stuff to the whole enchilada. I suppose there is no answer, like Savage points out. But I do feel as though the difference between a healthy amount of partners and an unhealthy amount all comes down to the way you feel about yourself, your partner and how the choices you made make you feel in the end.

Thoughts?

Meeting Alert: Last NYC Meetings before Prop 8 Decision

2009-05-06T11:37:00.006-04:00

NYC LGBT Center

Tonight May 6th

Tonight NYC's LGBT Center is holding the final meetings for Marriage Equality NY and The Civil Rights Front before the California Prop 8 decision is announced.

From the organizers:

Both Marriage Equality New York and Civil Rights Front will be having their
monthly meetings tomorrow at the LGBT Center. MENY is at 6:30pm, CRF at 7:30pm.
These may be the last meetings before the Prop 8 decision is issued, so I'd
strongly urge you to attend one or both.

Both meetings will also talk about the counterdemonstration that's being planned
against the National Organization for Marrige (Sunday, May 17, 1pm, 3rd Ave & 40t St).

Finally, if you're been reading the headlines, you know that the marriage bills
in Maine and New Hampshire are chugging along, and we should soon know the
outcome of both (Maine possibly this week, and New Hampshire probably by the end
of the month).

So, again, try to attend the MENY/CRF meetings because this will be a busy month
for protests.

Kramer Vs. Kramer

2009-05-04T11:38:00.007-04:00

I ain't no queer

According to GayCityNews one of my favorite middle fingers in the gay community, Larry Kramer, spoke at his alma mater, Yale, for failing to secure the course of Gay History at the Ivy League school. Kramer also didn't hold back on venting his feelings about how the course study of "gender studies" and "queer theory" are not gay history. He also threw in his two cents about the word "queer" itself and his belief that the usage of the word is deleterious to the gay community as a whole.

At Yale's Gay and Lesbian Association to receive a Lifetime Achievement Award, Larry Kramer apologized to the group for failing to secure a program to teach gay history at his Ivy League alma mater. The Larry Kramer Institute, funded with a $1 million contribution from his late brother, Arthur, in 2001, was closed by Yale in 2006. "When this happened, I thought my heart would break," he said.

Kramer also lamented Yale's dismissal of gay historian Jonathan Ned Katz from the faculty, the suppression of information about the homosexuality of Yale's first benefactor, John William Sterling, and the university press' refusal to publish C.A. Tripp's "Intimate World of Abraham Lincoln" dealing with the 16th president's homosexuality. He also expressed dismay at how the Institute mainly taught "gender studies, queer studies, [and] queer theory," not gay history as he intended. "I would like to proclaim with great pride: I am not queer! And neither are you," he said. "When will we stop using this adolescent and demeaning word to identify ourselves? Like our history that is not taught, using this word will continue to guarantee that we are not taken seriously in the world."

I've never really supported the word "queer" myself. I always identify as gay and have never had a problem with it. Now I understand that "gay" is a very specific label while "queer" is rather open to an interpretation of sorts but I've always felt that queer was a word that we "reclaimed," so to speak, to fill ourselves with pride. But queer is so rainbowy and too kumbaya for me.

The youth seemed to have run with this word and if that continues than so be it. More power to 'em and I'll support them. But I do hear quite clearly what Kramer is saying: "Queer" is silly, it's court jester - what are we to expect from that? I prefer the hard hitting, guttural three letter G-A-Y. That's where my pride comes from.

I also support Kramer's deciphering the difference between Queer Theory and Gender Studies and Gay History. The two aren't the same. Gay History is much like American History or any other history. It's factual records of time. Our place on the time scale. Queer Theory and Gender studies, while they may incorporate aspects of history, is a vague term that seems to tip-toe around the idea of our place and importance on the time scale. On one hand you have Gay History (simple enough, huh?) on the other Queer Theory (hmmm...wha?)

Now I'm not trying to diminish or play down the importance of course work along the lines of Queer Theory. Certainly it has it's place and I'm sure if I were to look over a syllabus I'd probably think it was very interesting. Still it doesn't seem to encompass the simplicity of factual gay history and the course isn't even called "Gay History." If I were signing up for courses I would be much more inspired by "Gay History" than "Queer Theory" although I'd probably sign up for both.

It's always been a pipe dream of mine that if/when I ever get out of the TV industry I'd go back to Grad School and study to become a professor in Gay History and Comparative Literature. What I'd hope to do is teach my students actual gay history (which seems to have been the goal of Kramer) and have them read fiction-based literature published within the contexts of that time to match the historic facts with the cultural consciousness of the surrounding event.

Now that I'm wrapping on my umpteenth TV gig and hearing Kramer's disappointment that idea seems that much more appealing.

Go here for Kramer's full speech: http://tinyurl.com/beast-larry

Documentary: Outrage

2009-05-02T09:00:00.002-04:00

Intriguing...

You might notice some other blog faces in there such as Mike Rogers and Michaelangelo Signorile

Blog Comment Remix

2009-04-16T23:38:00.009-04:00

this hits the spot

via Today'sBigThing

Sometimes Dreams Come True

2009-04-16T00:20:00.006-04:00

He's been *somewhat* of a running joke on this blog since I've reported about him time and time again but this last mention takes the cake:Yup, the rumor that I helped circulate last summer has come true. Billy Mays, the man whose voice makes you change the channel yet whose straight oblivious bearliciousness makes me weak in the knees, is getting his own reality show!

Oh Billy, congrats!

The show is called Pitchmen and follows Mr. Mays as he does what he does best: Make infomercials about cleaning supplies. Look, if Groomer Has It (the show about America's Best Dog Groomer) can be a show then Billy is entitled to have his shot at it too. Plus, if you watch his youtube videos here and here. You can tell that the guy is fun and has a good sense of humor (unless he turns out to be some right wing Christianist which wouldn't surprise me but would cause me to reneg every ~~fantasy~~ nice thing I've said about the guy.

Anyway:

The nation's preeminent pitchman for hire, the 50-year-old Mays is the emphatically gesticulating star of nine commercials for nine products, now in heavy rotation. And he's just getting started. A handful of new shoots will commence as soon he's back on his feet, and big-league advertisers like Pepsi have started calling, presumably to put his unironic style to some irony-intensive use. Plus, he recently moved into health insurance, as spokesman for a company called http://icanbenefit.com.
But wait. There's more.

In the fall, Mays will start taping a TV reality show, "Pitchmen," which will follow the creation of a two-minute commercial, from start to finish. But with many of his ads appearing 400 times a week, often at two minutes a pop, Mays could already be the single most ubiquitous figure on television today, measured purely in face time. His only competition comes from actors in perpetual syndication, like Seinfeld and Bart Simpson.

Now, don't get me wrong. Billy Mays is as annoying to me as he is to everybody else, but come on- you're telling me if you ran into him on the roof deck of The Eagle, shirtless bearded with a beer in his hand, on some hazey summer night and he told you he was from Maine and worked in Cleaning Supply Distribution you wouldn't go home with him?

Yeah, sure you wouldn't...

My Life Lately

2009-04-14T14:41:00.008-04:00

work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work work

Don't stop - get it, get it.

Holla.

200 Steps

2009-04-02T23:44:00.000-04:00

The underground transfer between the L Train and the 123 Trains is approximately 200 steps. I made the mistake of counting one day as a means to pass the time during my every morning commute. Now those steps are all I can think about. Every morning I'm plagued with the thought of how I am going to spend those 200 steps.

"How today will I spend these steps? What will occupy my time? What will I think about? What will I ignore? Will I pay attention to my walking, every step and beat of the way, or will I reach the end without even realizing what all I have traversed?"

There is no skipping them. No fast forwarding. They are an every morning constant and those steps never become more or less than what they are: 200 in total.

To take my mind off the 1 to 200 count I've created games that I play with an unknowing public. I'll jump off the train in haste and clamor up the steps before anyone else. My game is to remain the first person up the stairs and to remain the leader of the pack from all who have just gotten off the L Train and are making the same underground transfer to the 123. Other times I'll give someone I've spotted a lengthy head start and try to catch up with them, if not beat them all together, before the 200 steps are out.

Then there are those days when I put my body on auto-pilot and let my mind dream wildly. I'll find myself in the heart of a zombie Apocalypse, dodging those who have been recently infected and walk briskly to my desperate point of escape. Other times I walk past the advertisements, roll my eyes and cringe at the world around me. Often, I'll take in the graffiti, wonder about who left it there and why it tickles me so to see a moustache painted over a sickeningly thin female model or the words "I smile because I'm complacent" written over Scarlett Johansson's face on the He's Just Not that Into You movie poster. I'll dream about the movies I want to make (but never will,) the books I want to write (but won't get to,) the blogs I want to post (but I have work!) the world I want to save (but why?) When the 200 steps expire, these thoughts will become ghosts. There one moment - gone the next.

There are the mornings when I study people. The way they walk, the swagger in their step, the shoes they decide to wear. How women can spend lifetimes walking in high heels and how people regard or disregard the man selling poetry and the youth strumming his guitar. I'll half cruise the men walking against me. Men wearing suits or dirty jeans and work boots. There are those who still carry lunch boxes, possibly still sitting on steel beams, overlooking an ever expanding city and there are those still carrying briefcases - what these days cannot fit on an iphone, I don't know - yet the briefcase remains in hand, a trench coat flowing behind them.

I have teased myself with the thought of counting the number of fluorescent lights or the number of lightly tainted, now off-white tiles but it all seems too much. 200 steps in addition to an umpteen number of fluorescent lights and the ungodly amount of tiles stretching across the transfer is overwhelming enough, let alone knowing the count.

In 200 days I will have left a younger version of myself behind for every step of the way. So strong these evaporating thoughts, my younger self. Five steps now.

Ten and I'm ancient.

Everyone take a Deep Breath

2009-03-28T19:13:00.003-04:00

...Spring has arrived!

Public Health Menace

2009-03-19T21:42:00.004-04:00

What me worry?

So the Pope walks into a bar...

YAOUNDE, March 17 (Reuters) - Pope Benedict on Tuesday reaffirmed the Roman Catholic Church's opposition to the use of condoms in the fight against AIDS as he started a visit to Africa, where more than 25 million people have died from the disease in recent decades.

The Pope, who arrived to a tumultuous welcome in the capital of Cameroon, also said the continent's people were suffering disproportionately due to the global challenges of food shortages, financial crises and climate change.

"It (AIDS) cannot be overcome by the distribution of condoms. On the contrary, they increase the problem," he said in response to a question about the Church's widely contested position against the use of condoms.

High Holidays

2009-03-10T15:34:00.004-04:00

Not your Rabbi's Purim Party

Although Purim isn't considered one of the "High" Jewish holidays, DJ Josh Sparber and I have a history of throwing gay jew parties just for the chutzpah of it. This time around we've wrangled in our other brother from another mother, Benji Solomon, to help us host the Jewcy event:

Wednesday March 11th

Eastern Bloc

10PM

Groggers, Kippahs, Free Manischewitz shots and your favorite chosen people

*No, you don't have to be Jewish to go.

Lest We Forget...

2009-03-09T11:12:00.005-04:00

...This man is an overweight ex-Oxycontin addict.

Really, that's the best you got?

Some more on this here.

Quentin Crisp's 100th Birthday Celebration

2009-03-06T18:16:00.005-05:00

This Saturday - Santos Party House

This Saturday I will be performing some of Quentin Crisp's unpublished pieces alongside NYC's most dazzling queens and freaky freakazoids!

From Joe Birdsong, event promoter:

Family and Friends in New York City and Beyond - please join me in celebration this Saturday, March 7 from 7 - 10pm, at Santo's Party House, as we honor the life and wit of one of the world's most influential dandies of the past century. As this will be the final, and I should say pinnacle, event under two+ years of the Rapture Cafe and Books umbrella of excellency in literary and artistic achievement, I am humbled to produce a show with such an extraordinary calibre and diversity of talented artists and writers.

This evening will kick off a year-long series of Quentin Crisp-related events in and around New York City, and serves as a fundraiser for The Quentin Crisp Archives to continue the work of Phillip Ward at www.crisperanto.org to compile and distribute the vital work and wisdom of Quentin Crisp. In addition to the phenomenal show hosted by Linda Simpson, expect video and film footage, an auction of some of Quentin's items donated by his estate, and a special surprise by New York City's fastest-rising gaggle of glamourpusses, The Pixie Harlots!

The fabulously flamboyant and witty gay icon Quentin Crisp (who died in 1999 at age 90) gets a party fit for a queen. The lively literary salon includes readings, recollections and performances by some of Crisp’s most ardent admirers. The Naked Bon Vivant! is produced by Joe Birdsong (owner of the dearly departed bohemian stronghold Rapture Café), in association with Phillip Ward and the Quentin Crisp Archives. Proceeds from the event go to funding the archive.

Today's Yesterday, Today

2009-03-02T09:00:00.001-05:00

Left out of textbooks and any sense of educational history, I often feel as though Bookstore literature is the only window gay people have into our actual, cultural, factual history. It's also remarkably uncanny how certain threads of yesteryear's struggles are still so boldly woven within today's fabric.

The passage below is from Alan Helm's Young Man from the Provinces:

"...The summer after my junior year in 1958, I remained in New York doing test shots and putting together a modeling portfolio; otherwise, I spent my time exploring the gay world. It was such a different world, and now such a vanished one, that it's not easy to explain. Intensely secretive and hidden, it went on mostly at night behind the unmarked doors of the bars and in apartments where the shades were always drawn. The 415 Bar on Amsterdam Avenue was typical: you walked in, saw a few locals talking with the bartender, and figured you'd made a mistake. But through an unmarked door and in the back and down a flight of stairs, you entered a cavernous basement teeming with hundreds of gay men who were dancing and laughing and cruising and kissing and drinking and passing out in the johns. No wonder that during my two years with Dick I'd not had the slightest suspicion such a world existed. It was determined to remain as hidden as possible.

The men were too. Everyone I knew was more or less closeted and spent a lot of time in the workaday world passing for straight. Save for a few artists and hairdressers and decorators and dancers, we were all terrified of being found out. Gay men regularly married for the sake of appearances or inheritances and just as regularly committed suicide. If you heard that a gay man was seeing a shrink , it only meant one thing: he was trying desperately to "go straight," which sounded more like a road sign than a way of life. Parents routinely disowned and disinherited their gay sons or had them committed to mental hospitals where they were subjected to shock treatments and lobotomies and a popular therapy of the day called "aversion therapy": "by means of hypnotic suggestion and conditioning, the author has been able... to create deep aversions in the male homosexual to the male body." How do you do that? "Suggestions of filth associated with the male genitalia of their partners were implanted in their subconscious and reinforced periodically during the hypnotic trance." Psychiatrists published abominations like that with pride and impunity. In their view, which was mainstream America's view made professional and scientifically unassailable, homosexuality was an abnormality to be corrected at all costs; the most barbarous treatments were justified in the name of destroying such pernicious tendencies. There were gay men walking the streets of Manhattan in those days who had been rendered incapable of sex or had their memories obliterated by electricity. For some, it would take years to put their minds back together again; for others, the effort was hopeless. Of all the enemies we had, psychiatrists were among the most dangerous. And our parents, of course. I never met anyone who was out to his parents; you had to be crazy to do such a thing.

There was no place in public where it felt safe to be gay. Even inside the gay world you weren't secure, since bars and parties were raided all the time. You'd be having a beer and a chat with someone in a bar when suddenly the police would appear at the door screaming "Stay where you are, this is a raid!" Fear would sweep over the place, followed by a stampede for the back door, people falling over each other and jamming the exit in their panic to get out. During one of my own terrified escapes, I was fleeing out the back when I saw a fat man I knew wedged in the bathroom window leading to the alley. The next day, his name appeared in the papers along with the names of the other men arrested in the raid- a couple of dozen all told, an average take. He was fired of course and evicted from his apartment, and there was nothing he could do about it. There were no legal aid societies or political action groups for gays in those days, no gay weeklies or bimonthlies to publish his plight and raise money for his defense. What defense? Firings, evictions, arrests, entrapments, blackmail, muggings, murders- they happened all the time, they came with the territory.

At parties, you knew the instant the police had arrived. The room would fall silent and without even turning to look, you knew a couple of New York's finest were at the front door, "Fuckin' Faggots" scrawled all over their faces. Sometimes they told us to keep it down and they went away; other times they told us to break it up and then stood at the door as we filed out between them like guilty things caught in a shameful act. I never once heard anyone protest or ask why we had to break it up. We just did as we were told.

Except for the drag queens, bless their sassy, revolutionary hearts. But they always got beaten up and arrested and thrown in jail, over and over again. "Such masochists," we said. "They're really sick."

Whenever our world came into conflict with the straight world, group loyalties crumbled. Threatened with arrest or blackmail, thrown out of a party, chased down a midnight street by a gang of fagbashers, it was each gay man for himself, running for fear, lost in panic to save his own skin. We didn't have much political awareness, partly no doubt because our enemies were so often invisible: cultural opinion, legal precedent, psychiatric theory, social convention, religious stricture- nothing you could insult or demean or punch in the face in return. The most pernicious enemy of all, and the most invisible, was our own self-hatred.

Almost all of us bought into the straight notion that there was really something wrong with us, something abnormal and perverted and ultimately pathetic. It still astounds me to think how many derogatory names the straight world has invented to designate gay men: fags, faggots, pansies, perverts, inverts, aunties, flits, queers queens, cocksuckers, nellies, sickos, homos, sodomites, pederasts, sissies, swishes, fairies, fruits, and the list goes on. The reverberations of that lexicon sounded even in our dreams, inducing a kind of concentration camp mentality. We were disposable, the scum of the earth, living crimes against nature (thank you, Thomas Aquinas), and we knew that socially, religiously, legally, psychoanalytically, and in every other way that mattered, we were beyond the pale of what was considered acceptably human. I don't remember that we talked about the sense of shame the straight world bred in us, but it was pervasive in our lives, and I don't know anyone of my gay generation who's ever been able to shake it. I certainly haven't. You can still see it in the timid gestures toward self-exposure of a John Ashberry or Jasper Johns, and in the furtive, guilty cruising of gay men in their fifties and sixties.

With so much fear and danger hedging our lives it's no wonder we were a wildly romantic bunch. Mainstream America was too, of course. My parents had grown up in a world fed by Hollywood fantasies of romantic love, and the lyrics of popular songs urged a desperate, eternal monogamy: "Once you have found him/Never let him go," and then the repeat in case you weren't paying attention the first time. In 1957, 96 percent of adult Americans were married, if you can imagine such a statistic. Heterosexual marriage was the only model of adult life that existed at the time, so gay America was busy coupling in the imitation of its masters.

Since romance thrives on obstacles (Tristan and Isolde, Romeo and Juliet, Cupid and Psyche, Antony and Cleopatra), there was no more fertile ground for romance in those days than the gay world. I don't think I ever made love with a man without first convincing myself he was a potential long term lover, and if the first date went well, which invariably meant the first night of sex, I was ready next morning to shop for monogrammed towels. All the frenetic cruising and partying and sexing had as its goal the paragon lover, a gay knight on a charger who would sweep us off our feet and make everything all right, compensate us for the oppression we had to put up with and for the pervasive sense there was something lacking in us that only the right man could supply. We fell in love a lot and conducted our mostly brief affairs with operatic drama-passionate avowals of eternal devotion, fits of jealous rage, wrenching breakups replete with nervous breakdowns and threats of suicide. The few of us of sustained affection managed successful relationships, but most of us got "married" and settled down for a brief while, then broke up and broke down, then grieved and cruised until we met the next candidate for our troubled affections, and thus the same round all over again."

Obama: Consciousness

2009-02-25T11:28:00.007-05:00

Hope made real

Who would have ever thought that a liberal lefty cynic like me would ever stand in solidarity and applause of our nation's leader? I certainly didn't think so but here I am today, elated after President Obama's State of the Nation Address, rooting for the country and truly feeling that over-used cliched word: hope. Hope is out there. Change exists! This is exactly what lead Obama to win the presidency and exactly that which will lead our nation out of crisis.

There is no plan for hope and change, despite the naysayers and critics request for one, and I feel Obama made that very clear last night. The only plan for hope and change is that we as Americans begin taking responsibility for ourselves.

Nothing made me more proud of our President last night when he declared that dropping out of High School is "no longer an option" for American people. My applause became louder when he declared that this issue is neither democratic nor republican but an American issue! Education is the root of life opportunity and progressive change and our country should not carry a nonchalant attitude regarding it. We must become better parents, better educators, better eaters, better citizens and we should carry a consideration for our common man. The responsibility to shape this nation is ours and Obama spread that consciousness last night. He can only take us so far. After that the repair of this nation is only up to us. I applaud President Obama and congratulate him for talking to his citizens like actual people and not running us through bullet points, numbers and dry statistics. Morale and personal motivation are the key ingredients for any sense of healthy esteem and those are the same ingredients which will be applied in rebuilding this nation. I salute President Obama for spreading this message and I will work with him and my fellow citizens to ensure this nation reaches the high-set goals so absolutely attainable.

"But while our economy may be weakened and our confidence shaken, though we are living through difficult and uncertain times, tonight I want every American to know this: We will rebuild, we will recover, and the United States of America will emerge stronger than before."
"Those qualities that have made America the greatest force of progress and prosperity in human history we still possess in ample measure. What is required now is for this country to pull together, confront boldly the challenges we face, and take responsibility for our future once more."
"I've appointed a proven and aggressive inspector general to ferret out any and all cases of waste and fraud.And we have created a new Web site called recovery.gov so that every American can find out how and where their money is being spent."
"But credit has stopped flowing the way it should. Too many bad loans from the housing crisis have made their way onto the books of too many banks. And with so much debt and so little confidence, these banks are now fearful of lending out any more money to households, to businesses, or even to each other."
"Well, I do not accept a future where the jobs and industries of tomorrow take root beyond our borders, and I know you don't, either. It is time for America to lead again."
"So let there be no doubt: Health care reform cannot wait, it must not wait, and it will not wait another year."
"It is...It is our responsibility as lawmakers and as educators to make this system work, but it is the responsibility of every citizen to participate in it. So tonight I ask every American to commit to at least one year or more of higher education or career training. This can be a community college or a four-year school, vocational training or an apprenticeship. But whatever the training may be, every American will need to get more than a high school diploma. And dropping out of high school is no longer an option. It's not just quitting on yourself; it's quitting on your country. And this country needs and values the talents of every American."

Stop the Arrests: Protest 2

2009-02-23T10:55:00.004-05:00

Footage from this weekend's Stop the Arrests Protest in Sheridan Square.

I had a little hard-drive crash but was able to salvage NYC Council woman Rosie Mendez speaking out about the subject:

More to come...

Wingsuits!

2009-02-17T00:20:00.002-05:00

Via TodaysBigThing.com

Stop the Arrests Footage

2009-02-16T10:59:00.002-05:00

Footage from Saturday's Coalition to Stop the Arrests protest at Mayor Bloomberg's crib:

Farewell Oscar Wilde, What Becomes of Stonewall?

2009-02-13T10:47:00.011-05:00

Farewell indeed. Another piece of gay history bites the dust.
From NY Magazine

One of the subtler pleasures of the movie Milk is its vivid portrayal of those small rooms where the conspirators of the gay liberation movement first came together. Sadly, one of those sanctums, the Oscar Wilde Bookshop, announced it was closing last week, after 42 years.

As it happens, the place has a direct link to the film: Its founder, Craig Rodwell, was an early boyfriend of Harvey Milk, at the time a closeted actuary in Brooks Brothers drag. They met cruising on Central Park West and parted after Rodwell, uninterested in monogamy, passed along a case of the clap. By far the more militant of the two, Rodwell had arrived as a teenager, from Chicago, to study ballet, but was distracted by sex and the dawn of “the homophile movement” in the early sixties. In 1967, two years before the Stonewall riots, when most gay activists still used fake names to avoid arrest, he took his savings from cleaning Fire Island hotel rooms and opened the nation’s first gay bookstore.

Not that there were many gay books then. The real action was in the cramped back room, where Craig and his staff—he hired men and women in equal numbers—plotted a better future. The city’s first gay-pride march was planned there. Strategies for getting the Mafia out of gay bars or confronting police brutality were discussed. When I found my way out of Kalamazoo, Michigan, in 1979, as a teenager, I longed to be in that conversation and one day found the courage to ask Craig for a job. He let me run the register one Saturday a month. My sense of arrival was complete.

But my awe for the place never dimmed. I remember how it felt a few years later when copies of my first book lay in a pile on the floor there and Craig handed me a pen to sign them. Craig died in 1993 (cancer, of all things), a few months after selling the shop. It has gone through four owners since. Kim Brinster, the manager since 1996, bought it three years ago. Shoppers, who for years have consisted more of tourists than locals, disappeared in August. Last week, she told her staff, “I’ve never been the owner, I’m the caretaker. And unfortunately there’s nothing we can do now.” Oscar Wilde himself might have been more sanguine. As Lord Henry told Dorian Gray (in a slightly different context), “They spoil every romance by trying to make it last forever

I suppose this is a good opportunity to bring up a certain idea: Every year, whether rumor or fact, I hear that the famous and historic Stonewall Inn on Christopher St. faces an imminent closure at some point in the near future. My friend suggested that we should start rallying around wealthy gay people and gay organizations to raise money so when that time comes, we can buy out the building which the Stonewall Inn is located, clear it out and turn the space into the Official Gay and Lesbian Liberation Museum. This way, the West Village and more specifically, Christopher St., can go through as many changes and gentrifications as it will yet the gay community will always have that space on that street to call our own.

Thoughts?

Action Alert: Stop the Arrests!

2009-02-11T12:04:00.010-05:00

This just in:

Join us on the picket line at the Mayor's private residence for a legal and peaceful constitutionally-protected protest. As with any political event these days, there is always some risk that the police will violate our rights. Legal observers will be on site; no arrests are expected.

Tell Mayor Bloomberg to Stop the False Arrests of Gay Men for Prostitution

DEMONSTRATE at the home of Michael Bloomberg
17 East 79th Street
Saturday, February 14, 2009
12 Noon – 1 PM

In an overzealous and illegal effort to close down adult video stores in Manhattan, the New York Police Department has been found to be engaging in the false arrests of gay male patrons of these stores, charging them with prostitution. The cops then cite the establishments for condoning illegal activity and the City sues to shut them down as public nuisances.

Scores of innocent men have been swept up in these false arrests, documented in the Gay City News. Young undercover cops go up to middle-aged gay men, cruise them, ask for consensual sex, and then offer to pay the older men to have sex with them. Though none of the men agree to the offer, they are then arrested by a gang of undercover cops and put through the system. None of the men have prior arrests. And while only 17% of male prostitutes arrested in NYPD's Manhattan South district are over 40 years old, 66% of the men arrested at the Blue Door video store are. The legitimacy of these arrests is inconceivable. It also casts doubt on arrests at other targeted stores.

These false arrests have been condemned by City Council Speaker Christine Quinn, Council Member Rosie Mendez and State Senator Tom Duane. Mayor Bloomberg must put a stop to these arrests now and bring the rogue cops engaging in these crimes to justice.

WE DEMAND:
1.     MAYOR BLOOMBERG – Stop the false arrests of gay men for prostitution!
2.     GOVERNOR PATERSON – Appoint a special prosecutor to investigate and punish these crimes by the police!
3.     MAYOR BLOOMBERG, D.A. MORGENTHAU and POLICE COMMISSIONER KELLY – Sit down with gay groups, leaders and victims of these illegal stings, to get to the bottom of this outrage, and stop the arrests and prosecutions –NOW!

STOP THE OUT-OF-CONTROL VICE SQUAD NOW!

Sponsored by the Coalition to Stop the Arrests & Queer Justice League

Related info and articles: Here and Here

The Digital Archive

2009-02-10T00:59:00.009-05:00

Some rare gems no longer collecting dust:

Footage of the pre-action meeting for Target City Hall, March 27, 1988 (eve of Target City Hall demonstration).

The 3:28 mark stirs something.

WNBC-TV News 4 New York at 6:00 PM. Coverage of ACT UP's Target City Hall, March 28, 1988. A re-edited report by Gabe Pressman for the 6:00 PM edition of News 4 New York.

Videos courtesy of Alan Klein

What's sitting in your dusty box in the closet? Digitize it.