Couch Stalker

Two Soldiers

2010-11-11T15:39:00.000-05:00

Posted by riot.

When I was a small child, in the elementary school years, I spent a lot of time living at my grandparents' house. They had a big back yard full of nooks and crannies that I loved to explore. I'd construct elaborate fantasy stories and act out parts, using the trees, patio, garage, and spaces between shrubbery as my sets. Of course, as a kid who loved watching G.I Joe, Transformers, Spiderman, and all those types of hero cartoons, many of my stories featured guns.

I remember the first time I brought a toy gun to my grandparents' house, to lend some verisimilitude to my enactments. I was on the patio, shooting at an imaginary enemy in a tree, when my grandfather Otto came outside and took my gun. Now grandpa was the quiet sort who didn't seem to care much for kids and their noisy play, it's true, but he generally left me alone to do my thing, getting involved only if I tried to play around his Steinway grand. This intervention into my back yard stories was unusual enough to bring me quickly out of the realm of fantasy, so my attention was entirely focused on him as he told me that guns were not toys, he never wanted to see me holding one, and they were absolutely not allowed in his house.

Many years passed before I could understand what it meant that Otto had been a soldier in the United States Army during World War II, deployed in Europe. Grandpa was not in the trenches, he was part of an engineering battalion that re-built bridges as the Allied forces advanced. Nevertheless, even from a short remove, he saw enough of war to reject its trappings entirely.

I suppose heard most of grandpa's war stories dozens of times. There was the abandoned Nazi Youth school in which he found an orchestra room full of smashed instruments, from which he salvaged enough pieces to send a clarinet home. He played the huge Steinway concert grand there and a German opera star, who had been reduced to working the nearby fields, would come and sing for him. There was the time he talked an Army doctor into giving him a shot of penicillin for a touch of pneumonia even though he wasn't technically sick enough to warrant it; he argued that he deserved it as much as the dozens of soldiers who were getting the shot for venereal diseases they could have avoided. There was grandpa's deep appreciation for a bowl of soup and a cigarette, as if any one of those could be his last. He never told me the most gruesome stories, not directly, but somehow I always knew they lurked below, too awful to speak.

Later, when my father tried to butch me up in my teens, he would force me to go hunting for birds in the wilds of Western Kansas. There were several birthdays when I opened my gift from him to find a shotgun or rifle. I never felt I was being taught contradictory philosophies by my elders. I knew, even then, that my father would probably never understand me. I wanted to be the kind of soldier Otto was, one who abhorred the job. I wanted to be the kind of man who couldn't stand the sight of a gun.

I met Scott at a sex party in NYC a few years ago. We had a good time, but then I had a good time with a dozen guys that day, and I didn't think much when Scott and I exchanged information. It was a pleasant surprise when he stayed in touch, chatting with me online during the day, and calling me now and then. I admit I was fairly clueless that he was flirting--I have trouble liking myself at times and it seems bizarre that anyone else would like me--and I was floored when one day he said he wanted to date. I felt like the quiet girl who was asked to the prom by the popular quarterback.

None of my friends understood why an avowed pacifist, leatherman, radical faerie, and general queer freak would want to date a guy in the military and deal with all the repression that entailed. I certainly couldn't explain it. My feelings about violence didn't change while I was with Scott. I cringed every time he'd talk about kicking someone's ass, even jokingly. I kept to myself pretty much every opinion I had about his vocation and in my mind I edited out the gun I knew he must sometimes carry at work.

But in addition to being awful and antithetical to my beliefs, it was pure wonder to have my own soldier, willing to battle for my safety and honor. He was big, loud, confident, strong, and bombastic. He could channel violence, yes, but he was also honorable, chivalrous, and brave. He held my hand defiantly in every part of this big city, daring anyone to look askance. The military had taken him in when his family rejected him and it gave him a place to earn a living, get an education, and pull himself up by his bootstraps. He was proud of his calling and after a while I began to feel proud of his dedication, his passion, and the sacrifices he made to do what he loved.

He was so brave that he risked losing everything under Don't Ask, Don't Tell in order to include me in his life. When one of his friends in the service asked him to be in his wedding, which was held in the military-only resort that is part of Walt Disney World, he invited me along. His friends made sure that every person at their wedding understood that this was safe space for Scott to be with me openly. There would be no disparagement or discrimination. Everyone went out of their way to make me feel welcome. On Independence Day he took me to the picnic celebration at the military base where he worked. I was scared to death, but he assured me I could be as gay as I wanted to be--just not in his direction. As it turned out, I had a blast. No one said a negative word and everyone knew the score. This bunch of soldiers and their families didn't understand anything about being gay, but they loved Scott, respected our relationship, and even seemed embarrassed that we had to be quiet about it. I won a game of horseshoes, inexplicably, and no one blinked when I squealed and jumped up and down in celebration.

Sometimes when Scott and I would be curled up together, he'd squeeze me tight and say how happy he was to have a nerd for a boyfriend. It was sort of weird, yes, but also endearing. He wanted to be my protector. It made him happy to look after a brainy, complicated, skinny guy. Part of my mind howled at the patriarchy and high school-level roles, while most of me melted into it, feeling like the princess I'd always wanted to be, guarded by my knight.

Though I was happy and having perhaps the most open, adventurous relationship of my life, it didn't last. Travel to Scott's home near the base required hours on a bus or train, plus more hours for him to drive and pick me up at the closest station. For all the honor he usually mustered, there was a secretive side to Scott, little white lies and diversions that were entirely unnecessary. These wrecked my trust. I blame it on DADT. Scott's life was compartmentalized and "down low" in a way that I left behind after I came out in my late teens. No amount of bravery could overcome the military's demand that he hide his true self. We parted amicably and remained good friends, seeing each other from time to time in our travels.

I also blame DADT for the fact that he was all alone in his home last year, between Christmas and New Years, when he passed away at 28 years old. He had some kind of congenital defect and under stress that day, his heart stopped. It's unfair and illogical to juggle the circumstances in my mind and thereby mete out responsibility. I know this. Still I can't help but wonder whether he'd be here now if the military had honored his relationships and orientation, if he hadn't needed to hide important parts of his life, if he'd simply been free to have his loved ones in his home and life. My heart broke over again when, after his death, Scott's friends were finally able to post "gay" photos to his Facebook page and discuss the person he really was. My soldier lover shouldn't have had to die to get the freedom that my soldier grandfather fought to protect for all Americans, queer or not.

Isaac Asimov, in his seminal sci-fi novel Foundation, wrote, "Violence is the last refuge of the incompetent." Wikipedia says it was derived from Samuel Johnson's famous phrase, "Patriotism is the last refuge of a scoundrel." I believe firmly in the former and far too often in the latter. Though I believe that violence is abhorrent and the need for military is heartbreaking, today I remember these two soldiers in my life, who showed me nobility in the midst of the most evil necessity. I thank every veteran for the sacrifices they have made for this country, however imperfect its freedoms may be, and ask that they view their military institutions as yet another place where all Americans should receive equal benefit of the freedoms they fight to protect.

Priests, Queers, and Bridges

2010-03-31T11:52:00.000-04:00

Last week, as I stewed in a sticky, stinking, sad hospital bed at St. Vincent's Hospital, a priest appeared and broke through my morphine haze.

"Would you like to receive the sacraments of communion or healing?" the priest asked.

"No honey, I'm gay."

"I can still offer you an anointment for healing."

"No, thanks."

"I will keep your health and recovery in my prayers," he said, pityingly, then checked a box on his clipboard and retreated to the nurses' station.

A few moments later I began to bawl uncontrollably. Alone, afraid, and abject, to me it seemed the massive weight of history had descended on our simple exchange, fixing in antagonism the words of two otherwise gentle, loving people. In Greenwich Village, on the isle of Manhattan, in the heart of one of the most sophisticated cities on the planet, could we not overcome a few silly obstacles and get to the seriously important business of human compassion?

Of course I'm melodramatic. The priest probably deals with a variety of more hostile responses, every day. No doubt he has also held and comforted any number of queer people at the hospital. My hospital stay, while terrible in many ways, was not a brush with death. The titans of modern sexual philosophy did not clash in that little beige room on the 15th floor.

Yet I suspect that the devil is in the details, in the quiet moments when people are just living their lives and doing their jobs. I doubt the priest has any problem at all with queers--in fact he may well be one--and I imagine he felt called to the priesthood at least in part because he enjoys helping others. I certainly have no problem with taking comfort in centuries-old religious rituals, regardless of my otherwise agnostic views.

Getting ready for work this morning, I listened to another story on NPR about the embattled Pope and the ever-inflating Roman Catholic child molestation scandals. Without minimizing the suffering of the abuse victims, I must say that I tire of the church bashing. The perpetrators of such crimes and the willing accomplices who protected the guilty should be brought to justice. Then, I sincerely hope, the Catholic church--and all churches--can turn their energy toward finding a way to bridge the everyday gap between those who want to help and those who need it, regardless of where our hearts find love.

We are so much more alike than different.

Justin Bond and a new blog

2009-12-10T14:58:00.000-05:00

Photograph by Michael Hart

Hey y'all! I'm writing for Queer New York, a new NYC magazine-style group blog.

Go read my review of Justin Bond's Christmas Spells, and keep coming back for the crazy good material from all of the contributors.

Bounty.

2009-11-25T13:49:00.002-05:00

Daisy and I stopped in at Destiny after spending Halloween in White River Junction. Exploring the garden, we found that there were tons of carrots still in the ground. The deer couldn't figure out how to pull them up and eat them! Fortunately, our carrot eating techniques are quite advanced.

Golden.

2009-10-29T15:48:00.002-04:00

Last night's dinner: red lentil veggie chili, served with garlic sauteed spinach and a poached egg.

I cooked this week! Well, I cook all the time, but I haven't tried anything new or particularly creative for a while, until this week.

Chili isn't new, of course, but I tried a couple of new ingredients and techniques. Red lentils and split peas were a welcome new addition, though I think I should have soaked them overnight, rather than using the quick cook method, as they turned out a bit al dente. For the flavor base I diced onions very fine and caramelized them for quite a while, before adding in finely diced mushrooms, celery, green peppers, and bok choi. The resulting sauteed mash wasn't much to look at, but with the addition of tomatoes and chicken stock, everything disintegrated and provided a wonderfully deep and slightly sweet flavor to the chili. I only used one jalapeno, so the dish was milder than my usual chili. I'll definitely use some of these ideas again. I've never made chili that turned out the same way twice!

Garlic greens are old news as well, but I keep finding new dishes with which to pair them. They're so tasty and so good for you!

The poached egg was an experiment. I love eggs, but poaching has always been an intimidating mystery. This week I found a poaching recipe that used cling wrap to isolate the egg while it's in the boiling water, which seemed like it'd make the whole process much easier and more reliable. And what do you know? It totally worked. My only regret was that I didn't make two of them.

Earlier in the week I paired the chili with cauliflower sauteed with garlic and garam masala, which turned out really well. Cauliflower is not a vegetable I've used often, though after eating it a couple days, I can't imagine why. It's so yummy! I'm going to look for more recipes that feature it.

This is my favorite part of the cool time of year--making soups, stews, chilis, jambalaya, and every sort of big pot dish, and pairing them with new and classic sides throughout the week.

The law firm for which I work is moving to a different office building in March, so I'm enjoying my view of Autumn in Central Park for the last time.

Filthy.

2009-10-27T10:55:00.003-04:00

Here's a pic of Daisy and me at the Filthy Lucre opening last Saturday. We were modeling Justina's fabulous recycled fashions. It was fantastically fun!

I highly recommend stopping in to see the show. Waterfall, Rosie, Trixie, Wave, Justina, and Orange had works in the show. Agnes, Justin Sayre, and Reno all performed on Saturday. I'm sure I'm forgetting some names...there were tons of faeries in the show. And the Sisters of Perpetual Indulgence were in the house. Nancy did a fantastic curating job.

I always complain about going to Jersey, but every time I do, I have a blast!

Unfabulous.

2009-09-25T10:39:00.003-04:00

It's a few days old, but the Westboro Baptist Church, comprised largely of the Phelps family, is at it again, this time in Brooklyn.

I lived in Topeka, Kansas for eight years before moving to NYC. For most of those years I lived near the Phelps's "church," first owning a house in the neighborhood of Westboro, then living with a friend who lived just a couple blocks away.

(As an aside, Westboro is a gorgeous old neighborhood filled with Tudor style homes, many of them on large estate lots. If you're a gay living in Topeka, it's the place to be. The Phelps's "church" is not actually in Westboro--it sits a couple blocks North of the neighborhood boundary.)

Every day, I drove by the Phelps's compound. The family owns nearly all of the houses in the immediate vicinity of their church. There's a high privacy fence around the entire compound. A major East-West road carries a large volume of traffic by the church, so they have hung a 20 foot long banner with the offensive name of their web site on it, which I won't reprint here.

Every day, I saw portions of the Phelps clan picketing along Gage Boulevard or other main roads in town.

Every Sunday, the cult picketed Grace Cathedral, the church where I sang in the choir, yelling slurs at us as we cued up outside on nice days to process in to the sanctuary.

Every performance I attended at the Topeka Performing Arts Center, I had to walk by signs telling me I was going to hell because of who I am.

Every time a concert or event was held at Washburn University, the hate slogans were blared in bright neon and chanted loudly at children and their grandparents.

For the most part, any time a group of people of any size is getting together in Topeka, the Phelps are there to tell us how we're all going to burn in Hell.

No, I'm not afraid of the Phelps. I don't believe anything they're saying. On the other hand, I can't deny that it affected me. Reading and hearing the vitriol every day was demoralizing. And while the Phelps are too smart to physically assault anyone themselves, they are only too happy to incite violence in less visible bigots, and I am quite sure they would rejoice to hear about the countless slurs, threats, and assaults I endured in Topeka.

Unfortunately, many queers think that the Phelps are actually helping the gay liberation movement. (There's a lot more than Joe, but he's where I read it most often.) The argument is that their extreme politics polarizes those who otherwise wouldn't much care about gay rights, and as most people are sensible, they're landing on our side and supporting us.

I couldn't disagree more. First, this belief focuses on the benefits that might arise from the Phelps, while entirely ignoring the negative effects. Second, generally only those polarized to our side are vocal about it, while there is a large and largely silent group of people who go to the Phelps side, believing them to be correct and worthy of support, even if this group is quiet about their agreement.

I know first hand how difficult it is for an out queer teenager to survive high school in Kansas and I've heard a variety of horror stories from queers who attended public school in Topeka. The Phelps clan is large--young queers aren't simply encountering the hate speech on the street. Phelps kids are in their classrooms, and while they may not be carrying picket signs at school, their beliefs that it's OK to bully, antagonize, and basically do anything negative they can get away with to a queer kid, are well-known to everyone and have the effect of emboldening casual bigots and bullies. Imagine trying to learn mathematics when you know the kid next to you will be holding signs calling for your death as soon as the final bell rings and everyone leaves school property. The suicide rate in queer teens is alarming and I firmly believe that this kind of hatred is a big contributing factor.

I'm very glad the students of the Brooklyn high school being picketed took a stand. I imagine they learned an important lesson. The support they show their fellow queer students and the queer equal rights movement is touching and inspiring.

Unfortunately, such a display never happens in Topeka. The Phelps won't be picketing once and then going away--they'll be on the streets of Topeka most days this week, and the next, and the next. The police won't be keeping an eye on them. No one will be counter-protesting.

Queer middle and high school kids in Topeka are and will be on their own.

Many members of the Phelps clan are lawyers. They run a law firm in Topeka. This is part of why they are so successful--they don't mind being sued. They are happy to go to trial, risk judgments and liens, and file appeals ad inifinitum. Given their horrid reputation with all but extreme right-wingers and fundamentalist Christians, you'd think they wouldn't stay in business very long. But they have, for decades.

How? The simple truth is that many people in Topeka and beyond agree with the Phelps, even if they're not willing to be associated with their tactics. They send donations. They hire the Phelps firm. For every bit of money we raise in counter-protest, be sure that there are equal or greater dollars being sent in by wingnuts from all over the country, who happen to see a Phelps story on CNN.

Other members of the Phelps clan work everywhere in Topeka, including some high levels of state government, bringing some version of this kind of oppression to workplaces, grocery stores, churches, bars--basically all parts of daily life. Adults may be better equipped to deal with the oppression and less likely to kill themselves because of it, but they still feel the negative effects--many queers in Kansas are closeted to a great degree and suffer from the resultant depression, self-hatred, substance abuse, and other problems associated with compartmentalized, oppressed lives.

This is the part that non-Kansans easily forget: the nebulous and arguable benefits of polarization caused by the Phelps come at the price of daily, concrete, and I'd argue deadly levels of oppression for the queers of Topeka.

The needs of the many do not outweigh the needs of the few. It is not acceptable to sacrifice Kansas to daily oppression in order to gain progress on the coasts. It is not appropriate to thank the Phelpses for anything!

Please, put yourself in the shoes of those who don't have the luxury of living in NYC. Decry oppression everywhere it is found. Don't pretend that hate has any up side, or that the despicable behavior of this cult is actually a net benefit to our community. It is not.

Wow.

2009-07-30T10:06:00.003-04:00

Last night I finally met Father Tony in the flesh. For once I was hardly nervous about meeting a new person, because I've known Tony through online interactions and I've had the sense that we'd get along famously. I think my instincts were correct; I certainly had a lovely time. Tony is one of those amazing people who excite by proximity and potential. Around him I felt carefully attentive, like a miner panning for gold, bending my senses to catch flashes of new insight and perspective. When will casual conversation suddenly lead to a story of the Vatican, or a new angle on politics, or some elusive artistic concept? With Tony, I felt as though every haphazard tangent could lead to a vein of wisdom and humor.

The cherry on top was also meeting David, who immediately impressed with his perfectly balanced fashion sense, and charmed his way right into my heart with stories that ranged back to when he was only four years old. Beauty will save us, indeed! I look forward to reading his blog and getting to know him better.

The impetus for our meeting was Tony's next project, the upcoming Bilerico-NYC blog, salon, and online magazine. I'm in a bit of shock that I have been asked to contribute to this project. The group of writers Tony is assembling is intimidating and humbling. If I stop to think about it closely, I get very nervous and begin to doubt myself. So instead, I've decided to simply be thankful for the opportunity, and forge ahead as fearlessly as I can manage.

Tony currently contributes to The Bilerico Project's national blog, as well as his own blog, linked above. I recommend checking them both out, and of course you should be waiting with baited breath for Bilerico-NYC!

In which I disagree with a luminary.

2009-07-16T13:12:00.002-04:00

A big brouhaha has been going through the leather world and for the first time in a very long time, I feel compelled to comment.

Chuck Renslow, President of IML, has declared that nothing will be allowed in the vendor mart that tends to promote or advocate barebacking, i.e., bareback porn.

For this Mr. Renslow has been widely and loudly lauded. The sycophants of political correctness are shouting a loud "AMEN" at the sermon. So caught up are they in self-righteousness that they don't see the insidious destruction of a fundamental principle of democracy and a turn to the dark side of conservatism.

To begin the discussion, I refer you to a Merriam-Webster's definition. Liberalism is: (c) a political philosophy based on belief in progress, the essential goodness of the human race, and the autonomy of the individual and standing for the protection of political and civil liberties; specifically: such a philosophy that considers government as a crucial instrument for amelioration of social inequities (as those involving race, gender, or class).

Queers and liberals are usually outraged when conservative Christians attempt to ban books with "gay themes" in order to protect their children from making what they believe is an unhealthy choice. We call this censorship--a constraint on civil liberties and freedom of expression--something we usually abhor.

The situation is somewhat different with STIs and HIV, of course, as the consequences of the choice to bareback are more scientifically concrete and less about culture. But the idea behind the comparison is the same--one group is deciding what is best for others to read, see, or know.

This edict that bareback porn will not be allowed at IML is an admission of defeat. The powers that be have failed to educate the community at large into making the healthier choice. Having failed to persuade, despite piles of money and decades of work, the freedom to choose is now taken away.

This action is not progressive or liberal, it is the essence of conservatism. By stooping to censorship, we have become what we most decry. We have violated a principle to which we expect others to adhere.

Yes, sometimes the results of the principle of free speech are hard to swallow. Sometimes the consequences are sickness and death. The principle of freedom of expression--our civil liberties--were bought with the lives and blood of thousands. It's an American principle, generally believed to be worth dying for.

I have heard the argument that IML is a private event and can set whatever policy they choose, which is true. However, in his letter, Mr. Renslow says, "We believe that it is our duty to inform and educate." In other words, he's using his position to influence the public and set public policy. IML cannot state its intent to influence the public and then retreat behind the defense that it is a private event. This is not an invitation-only party held in a basement, and pretending that it is in order to escape criticism and the scrutiny aimed at public policy setters is a specious and ineffective tactic.

With all that said, I know that this cannot have been an easy decision. I understand why it was made. I, too, want my brothers and sisters in leather to live long and healthy lives.

But while this policy may be for the best, it should not be lauded. This decision should be mourned as the sad last resort, and understood for what it really is: an admission that sometimes the conservative approach is necessary in order to achieve the greater good.

All leatherfolk lost some freedom today. I hope the upside is worth the sacrifice.

More ups than downs.

2009-05-21T11:37:00.004-04:00

Above: a Spring sunset over NYC from my roof in Bushwick, Brooklyn.

I bought a bike this week. I haven't owned a bicycle since I was a child.

Last night I rode over the Williamsburg Bridge into Manhattan. John and I hung out in the East Village, had some killer burgers, and went to Beastie's to celebrate her graduation from college.

Then we biked home. Oh, my gawd. I thought I was going to die. Did you know that those gorgeous suspension bridges are actually giant, artificial hills? Very steep hills!

And I'm out of shape. I nearly died crossing the bridge. I don't entirely remember the trip after that, as I was huffing and puffing too much to really pay attention to the world. All I could think about was getting home. Of course when we finally arrived home, then I had to carry my bike up to the fourth floor. My legs were noodles and I could barely stand!

Biking will definitely be good exercise. Hope I do it often enough to get super buff!

I'm heading to Vermont tonight with D for a glorious holiday weekend among the fae. I'm so excited I could pee.

Artichokes.

2009-05-15T12:12:00.002-04:00

"The major novel about love and terror at the end of time."

That may be a bit much. Dhalgren, by Samuel R. Delany, is a major novel. It's definitely terrifying at times, and terrible (in the "formidable" sense) in scope and construction.

The novel is classified as science fiction. I'm not sure I agree with that classification, but if we accept it, then it's one of (if not the) best science fiction novel I've ever read. Beyond the questionable genre assignment, it's one of the best novels I've ever read, in general. It should be studied at every level of academics. It should create its own genre and classification, because there simply isn't anything else like it out there, at least in my 33 years of reading.

The story follows the life and adventures of a man who cannot remember his own name, but who is soon given the appellation "Kid." It suits him, and of course it refers to a few of the Greek, Roman, and pre-Greco-Roman gods on whom the character is based. Reducing the character to its ancient references would be criminal, however.

Kid is a drifter, apparently, who has some mental problems in his past, has selected but deep amnesia, has a tendency to lose time (sometimes hours, sometimes days), may be a touch schitzophrenic, and writes poetry that may or may not be brilliant.

At the opening of the book Kid is headed to Bellona, a city in the American West that has been devastated by some unknown tragedy, and because of this has dropped off the map--both literally and from the consciousness of the country. Perhaps a few thousand people remain in a city which was once home to many millions. There is no law and no explanation for how this came to be. In time it becomes apparent that Bellona may not actually be in America anymore, though how and why it shifted into whatever dimension it now inhabits is never explained.

Kid quickly begins to meet the major figures of Bellona. Things get off to a good start with Tak, a gay leatherman who shows Kid around and takes him home for the night. Lanya quickly enters the fray and becomes Kid's girlfriend. She remains the next major character for the duration of the story, but don't think his relationship is simple--Kid also aquires a boyfriend before too much longer. What's that? A three way bisexual relationship at the center of a major literary work? Yes, this was first published in 1974.

Don't think for a second that Delany deals with the unusual sexuality of his characters in an oblique way. No, this novel is very nearly pornographic. In fact, had it not so much literary value, I would simply call it pornography. But Delany has written a lot of pure pornography, and to reduce Dhalgren to that status would be incorrect. Still, I have never had a hard-on so much while riding the train to and from work! Gay, straight, bi, butch, femme, interracial, gangbangs, oral, anal, vaginal...they do it just about every way possible in this book.

But I think I've been a touch unfair, as all my glowing praise and rampant sexuality may have the reader running out to buy the book. And you should! But I must confess, nothing about this novel is so simple.

Bonfire admitted, after he'd given me the book and I was drawn in, that this was one he had never been able to get himself to read. And, researching the novel as I neared the end of it, I found that some literary critics at the time the book was first published couldn't stand it--one literally threw it against the wall 300+ pages into it, and refused to pick it up again!

Because you see, Kid may be schitzo. Or time may be running in reverse, occasionally. Or perhaps Bellona is warping space, because nothing is ever in the same place twice. It's entirely possible that the book begins in the middle of Kid's story. And none of the mysteries are explained. That's right--none of them. Why do half the inhabitants of city wear an "optical chain" of prisms, mirrors, and lenses? Why won't anyone explain how they got the chains? What do they mean? Why do some buildings in Bellona burn for weeks, but never fall down, and sometimes show up whole and unburned at a later time? Why are there two moons?

Whatever is going on in his head, Kid quickly becomes a big man in town. He gets a job working for the Richards, a family whos matriarch is intent on denying that anything has gone wrong in Bellona, even as anarchy reigns outside her apartment building. Kid is smart and just, and so becomes the de facto leader of the scorpions, a rough gang who live communally, wear projectors that can surround their bodies with holographic shields, and who are feared and respected more for the violence of which they appear capable, rather than anything they've actually done. The town is lead by the never-seen Roger Calkins, who prints the local newspaper (and every day usues a different, apparently random date), and who ends up publishing a book of Kid's poems. The interaction between the classes who remain in the city, between Kid and the various outrageous characters who inhabit the city, and with his own mental challenges, form the basis of the novel.

But there is no linear plot arc. Kid doesn't have an arch nemesis to overcome. The story is circular. It returns to the beginning, repeats, refracts, changes slightly, and repeats again. There is no beginning, middle, and end. It's a riddle. It was not meant to be solved.

This novel is structured dramatically different than anything you've ever read before. If you can relax and enjoy that, then you'll love the hell out of it. But if you want the traditional rewards for reading, you may end up throwing it against the wall and never picking it back up.

One of the major themes is writing, which is definitely a subject that interests me. As Kid fills in the blank spaces in the notebook he finds at the beginning of the novel, he writes his poetry, but must struggle with the question of how much of that art is his own product and how much was inspired by the unknown previous owner of the notebook. From where does the urge to write come and why does it overtake him when it does? Are Kid's writings any good, and who gets to decide what is good, anyhow? Was the novel itself written by Kid, or was it written by an unknown third party who found Kid's notebook? When the passages of the book begin to break apart, end suddenly, begin in the middle, and repeat with small variations, how much of what we are reading is real and how much is fantasy, delusion, or simply recalled incorrectly?

It's a challenge. But in the end, it's a challenge I'm glad I was able to stick out. Because while the ordinary rewards are not there, I feel I may have learned more about storytelling from this book than I have since I was a child. I feel I have experienced something that is truly unique and has no peer in literature.

I really hope I get to meet Samuel Delany soon. I'd almost go back to college just to hear him speak.

Thinly veiled.

2009-05-11T15:58:00.004-04:00

Above: a pic of me at the faerie sanctuary in Vermont earlier this month. The black flies were thick, necessitating the elaborate chapeau, which I think is rather fetching.

And speaking of hiding behind a thin veil, D and I saw the movie Outrage last week. It's a documentary about closeted gay politicians who vote contrary to their orientation and community.

There's a lot to be said about this movie, both positive and negative. I won't go into it deeply here, because if you're all that interested you can find thorough reviews elsewhere.

What interests me most was a concept explained by one of the interviewees of the film. He said that closeted people often have an "I'm strong, you're weak" attitude. The assertion is that coming out of the closet is taking the easy route, and conversely, the person who refuses to discuss his or her sexuality is actually walking a more difficult, more noble path.

Of course, this is bunk. Out people are not following the path of least resistance--on the contrary, we face all kinds of discrimination and loss of opportunities because of being out.

The discernment that I make her is that yes, in a way, closeted people do have to work harder. They must compartmentalize their lives and work every hour of the day to keep those compartments separate. They must expend incredible amounts of energy lying to almost everyone in their lives. In that sense, yes, the out person has an easier life, because we don't have to play those elaborate games.

However, there is nothing noble about the lies that closeted people tell. The challenge of living a dual life is not greater than the challenge of living an open, out life. Even if it was, no credit for that work is earned by the dishonest person. Credit goes to those people who have the courage to be honest.

This concept especially struck me, because I think I have encountered it many times in my life, though I have never been able to articulate it. Now that the idea is crystallized in my mind, I am better prepared for the closeted person who tries to look down their nose a me.

A final note: I am sick of Jim McGreevy. He is generally portrayed in this movie as a noble, enlightened sort of guy who realized the error of his dual life and corrected it. Maybe I have it all wrong, but as I read the story, he only came out when he was caught in his indiscretions. I'm sorry, but coming out because your lies are found out is not noble. McGreevy is not a shining example of anything other than a sad coward trying to capitalize on the fact that he couldn't play the game as well as some. Dude, just shut up and go away.

Order! Order in this kitchen!

2009-05-07T13:43:00.006-04:00

Above: our kitchen before new shelving (but after John had already cleaned it out a lot--I couldn't take a pic of how cluttered it was before that). Below are a couple "after" pics.

Some say that a clean desk is the sign of a sick mind.

Um, yes. I am sick. Terribly, terminally ill in my head. Not only do I have an organized desk, I like to have an organized home. I like everything to have a place and be in it.

Of course, I don't always succeed. There are times when my dirty laundry and dirty dishes pile up. It's always a challenge for me to see a project all the way through to the end, including cleanup--all too often I find myself living among the pieces of a half-baked scheme or the detritus of a weekend whim.

Clutter is like awful static for me. My eyes can't focus on it. They slide off, looking for any unblemished surface. My senses shut down and my world begins to contract, until I am paralyzed in the small areas that remain relatively neat. I become uninterested in starting new projects or putting my space to its proper use, because I'm daunted by the noise.

Yeah, yeah, I know you feel this way too. Most do. But darlings, I am afflicted with this to a degree that I can't put into words. And I think it's getting worse as I get older.

I'm becoming my mother.

On the up side, I now have a roommate who understands this. John appreciates surfaces. Last night he and I went a little gangbuster crazy on our kitchen. I am immensely pleased with the results. I can't wait to cook in there--in fact, I already have the perfect recipe for tonight.

There are several young punk kids living on the second floor of our building. They're absolutely adorable--authentic, anarchists, destroyers, chaotic, circus freaks, head bangers, tattoed, long haired, insane kids. They're dirty, sullen, and indifferent to consequences in a way that only our post-grunge, post-everything culture can produce.

But if you want true depravity, look for it in the details. It's very easy to embrace chaos. One must be deeply disturbed to try imposing order.

Yeah, right.

2009-05-06T14:40:00.004-04:00

Above: two weeks ago, Daisy and I went on walkabout to Roosevelt Island on a beautiful Saturday afternoon. Ain't he cute?

I spend way too much time on Facebook lately. That is one big element that has cut into my blogging. I post so much there, especially pics, that I don't feel the urge to re-tell my stories here. That's a bit silly, of course, because writing is nothing like uploading a few iPhone pics.

Another annoyance about Facebook is the groups and pages some people create. Today I had an invitation to join a group called "Sarcasm!" Someone out there wants me to "become a fan" of it!

Sarcasm is an insincere form of expression. You're saying the opposite of what you mean. The Webster's definition says it is used to "cut or give pain;" it is "bitter," "caustic," and "often directed at an individual." In other words, it's not nice.

Much has been written about the origin of the bitter, sarcastic tone that is so often used by queer people. Some think that it's a mechanism learned to survive the discrimination and hurt inflicted by a world which torments minorities. I tend to agree.

I can be a sarcastic, sardonic, bitter, ironic, and all of those bitchy things, with the best of them. Lately I've chosen to avoid all that, in the hopes that I'll get something nicer out of life, having put something nicer into it.

Still

2009-05-05T16:17:00.002-04:00

Above: a photo I took last weekend while in Vermont, as photoshopped by Chris S. to remove some power lines.

I have resolved to write as often as possible, preferably every day, in order to build my blog momentum once again.

Unfortunately, I'm not sure what to write about today. The zillion topics zooming through my brain all seem banal when reduced to writing.

I'll try again tomorrow.

Long Time Gone

2009-05-04T11:55:00.003-04:00

I haven't been writing much lately. Life has been full of changes, at work, at home, with my family, and with my health. I have had a very busy six months or so.

Everything is going well, now. I have many fun projects on my list and lots of fun adventures on the horizon.

I hope this Summer will bring more time for reflection and writing.

I was in Vermont last weekend at the first work weekend of the season at Faerie Camp Destiny. We started planting the garden and getting the land open. I made a little video, which I'll try to post below, that shows some of our handiwork.

I am trying to write from a new place--a quiet place. In the past I've written the most when upset. I become loquacious when offended or emotional. I rant. I rave. I emote. All of that is fine, and often interesting to read, I'd just like to find my creative spark when I'm mentally in a calm, centered place.

I was quiet this weekend in Vermont. I often "lose my words" when there. More correctly, I lose my urge to speak: that little push that forces the words from my stream of consciousness out my mouth. It's a pleasant sort of effect. I spend more time examining the stream and choosing carefully what I want to express, so that my words of substance tend to be a little closer to the poetry I'd always like them to be.

This weekend, some of the quietness was simple fatigue. I am seriously allergic to Spring and the things that trees do during the season. I had to take so much medication to control my allergic reaction that I ended up rather lethargic, and while I could force myself to garden in order to keep my body moving and engaged, it was difficult to do the same with my mind. I spent too much time zoning out, instead of carefully reflecting.

I have a feeling I missed some of the lower volume, lower frequency rumblings of this weekend's song. I hope those harmonies will appear again when I'm better able to listen and join in.

IV

2009-04-02T15:48:00.002-04:00

She watched the stars
Through boughs burdened
Low by glistening leaves
Ready to let go

Crystal dagger icicle
heartbeat drops fall on snow
splashing razor thin lines
In circles

Slick sheets
Require baby steps
Elusive searching
For solid ground

Gusts kick up
Change and debris
Skidding across worlds
To young abodes

Strangers in a strange land.

2009-01-16T12:15:00.005-05:00

We come from Planet Purple

Where everything is purple

And people are all the same

All the boys are named Paul

All the girls are named Pauline

And everything is purple

One day Lady Elaine Fairchilde

Of the Neighborhood of Make Believe

Found the Planet Purple

And traveled back to Earth

With our friend the Purple Panda

To learn more about your planet

On Earth the Purple Panda learned

That people can be different

And there are many colors

Like blue, green, orange, and pink!

Purple Panda traveled home

And told the Purple People what he learned

We were tired of all being purple and same

So we decided to be different

Now some boys are girlie

And some girls are boy-ish

And Purple People aren’t all purple

And we all have different names

This is your invitation

To join the Purple People

Who struggle to be different

While loving each other the same

Christian H.

Inspired by

If We Were All The Same

Fred Rogers, 1988

Photo credit for the last two pics: Chris Scanlon

III

2009-01-12T22:57:00.001-05:00

Justin Bond: Rites

2009-01-08T13:28:00.005-05:00

Howdy, y'all!

2009 is off to a really good start. The universe has been kind to me lately. I'm knocking on every kind of wood.

I'll have a post up soon looking back at 2008, but in the meanwhile, I figure the best gratitude I can show for my happiness is to share it with my friends and throw a party!

Pre-Party for Justin Bond: Rites
January 25, 2009
7:00pm
Christian's Crib
Cocktails, beer, and seasonal nosh.

Justin's show starts at 10:00pm at the Zipper Factory theater, which is on my block. Buy tickets for $20 through his site (link above).

Email me for address and directions, if needed. (riotpuprex at gmail dot com)

Please RSVP directly or through Facebook so I can make my plans.

I'm thinking of some fun Justin-themed party games for before and during the show.

I'll be dressing up in something sparkly/insane and I hope you'll feel inspired to pull a say-something outfit out of your closet. I know they're in there. Don't make me invade your wardrobes.

Happy 200FINE!!!

II

2008-12-15T23:38:00.002-05:00

She watched the stars
Through boughs burdened
Low by glistening leaves
Ready to let go

Crystal dagger icicle
heartbeat drops fall on snow
splashing razor thin lines
In circles

2...4...6...8...

2008-11-13T14:44:00.004-05:00

Above: Dan (left edge), me, and Richard at the Prop 8/Mormon Church/Equal Rights rally last night in NYC. Thanks to Chris S. for the pics!

Do I look happy? I totally am. The mood was...demanding and festive. It was an odd combination.

There was also some anger, of course, but it wasn't the shrill kind screamed by the few brave souls of ACT-UP. It was the kind of anger that knows its own numbers and knows it will be heard.

What we want is not revolutionary. The revolution has happened. Most people, and certainly most educated and thinking people, understand that equal rights are morally necessary. Equal rights are the true basis of our country, not any re-written ideas of tradition.

We are no longer a small few representing a terrified many. We are many representing ourselves, without fear of retribution. We are also allies who have no personal stake in the outcome, other than seeing justice done.

And we make damn pretty signs.

Below: stealing a kiss from Richard.

Seriously people, it's 2008.

2008-11-10T12:18:00.002-05:00

Via Towleroad and various Internet sources:

Prop 8 Protest Against Hate
Mormon Temple, Manhattan
125 Columbus Ave at 65th Street
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
6:30pm to 8:00pm EST

I admit it. I am spoiled.

I entered the adult world in the mid-1990s. By that time the foundations of equal rights for gays were well-laid. Thanks to ACT-UP, NGLTF, HRC, GMHC, and too many others to list, the government was no longer ignoring the AIDS crises. Thanks to a variety of courageous pioneers, gays no longer hid shamefully in the corners. We were beginning to be openly elected to public office. Thanks to superior antiviral treatments we weren't dying left and right. Thanks to the accumulated victories in the many small and large struggles over the previous two plus decades, a huge cultural shift was beginning, affecting everything from prime-time television shows to the gay ghettos, which became less necessary in order to live a safe, mostly discrimination-free life.

The way America's views on queers has changed in the past three decades is wonderful.

And yet.

I have been aware of the various constitutional amendments and legislation that has been passed in states around the country with the intent of "protecting" marriage. These things were irritating but not particularly surprising. The snowball of cultural enlightenment and tolerance was rolling downhill, and despite these bumps, we would continue to inch our way toward equality in all things, without pushing too much.

And then there's California.

I think the marriage equality fight was ill-timed. Had we waited another five or ten years to begin demanding equality in that area, the battle may have already been half-won thanks to the time spent living openly without the world ending. Marriage equality by nature only benefits a small portion of the queer community which is interested in getting married--many queers I know, including myself, have no desire to validate their relationships using this antiquated heteronormative ritual. Fighting for legislation like a trans-inclusive ENDA seems like a far better investment of our resources.

Still, the rights that couples can acquire through marriage are important. Financial considerations, health decision making, and other such civil rights are can be critical things. And the philosophy of separate but equal, i.e., civil unions, chafes my delicate places, to say the least.

So when California's Supreme Court ruled that the citizens of that state could marry, I was very happy. It seemed to be a huge victory. It was a continuation of progress made in Massachusetts and other states. And it seemed to be a solid victory--with 18,000 couples married in California since that ruling, it seemed impossible to think that anyone could still genuinely argue that the world would end if gays are allowed to marry. Years and years of battling discrimination and bigotry couldn't be reversed overnight.

I was wrong. Bigotry won the day.

It feels to me like the snowball came to a screeching halt and then somehow rolled back uphill. It's unfair. I'm angry. Suddenly it doesn't matter to me anymore that I was lukewarm on the marriage equality issue. It doesn't matter that I don't live in California and I don't anticipate ever getting married.

The bigots won this victory for a variety of reasons, but a big one is money. Tens of millions of dollars were spent convincing people who could otherwise care less that it was best for them to vote yes on Prop 8 and constitutionally remove rights which queers had fought hard to earn. This was all accomplished in California, and while it's not my favorite state, it's a place where I believe most people know better than to permit this kind of discrimination. I don't believe that more than 50% of Californians want to take away rights from their queer neighbors. I believe that many were victims of a well-organized and well-funded marketing campaign.

The Mormons were the largest contributors of money to the Yes on Prop 8 campaign. The church gave money directly and incited its members to give even more. This is in direct defiance of one of the oldest tenets of our government, that church and state should remain separate. The separation of church and state is more than a tradition, it is an important axiom of our culture and government. And yet it is regularly flaunted by Christians in the course of trying to constitutionally limit marriage to their traditional interpretation.

I'm sorry folks, you can't have it both ways. If the Constitution and the ideas of our country's founders are really sacred to these conservative religious people, then it is incumbent upon them to first respect the fact that the founders forbade them from allowing religion to dictate personal liberty. In order to ensure the religious freedom which was the goal of the pilgrims, government is a secular institution. And once religion is removed from the argument, there is no legitimate reason to deny gays the right to marry.

There are a ton of religious groups to blame for this injustice. The Mormons become the largest target in this case because they gave the most money.

So I'm going to picket the Mormon temple in Midtown Manhattan this Wednesday. If you're so inclined, come join me. Let's show them that we won't go quietly back into the dark corners.

Leftovers.

2008-11-07T13:08:00.002-05:00

I love Cafe Grumpy. It's my favorite coffee shop on the planet. If you're ever in NYC, stop in! Despite the name, they're really quite nice.

Where the wild things are.

2008-11-05T10:51:00.003-05:00

Above: Matt, me, Jerry, and Daisy, ready to go out on the town on Halloween evening. Thanks for the pic, Matt!

Matt was a King, I was a spreadsheet (not visible is this awesome Excel icon I made), Jerry was his usual country bumpkin hotness, and Daisy was simply awesome looking (if pressed he would say wizard, but free your minds people, costumes don't have to be literal).

We headed first of all to Snaxx, where we ran into a few friends. Ricardo and Steve were fabulous in their hoop dresses. Gustavo and Rich King always pump out groovy tunes at Snaxx, but unfortunately that's about the only thing I enjoy at the party. It's cramped in the basement of the Westside Tavern and generally full of heatherbears who have no concept of flow in a room and no qualms about squishing anyone smaller than themselves (yeah, that means me).

Afterwards Matt and Jerry headed to the Eagle. They report that it was packed and rockin', with tons of great costumes.

Daisy and I went over to Nowhere for a party there. I have no desire to go back to the Eagle any time soon and Daisy wanted to see friends at the Nowhere party. The party there was okay. We saw some people we knew. Friday night is a tough night to go out, when one is tired from a long week. So we didn't stay very long.

And, though it pains me to say this, I'm not a bar person anymore. I used to make fun of people who said this. I used to cajole them, saying they should support their community institutions.

I guess I'm getting older, or wiser, or more boring. I don't know, but I do know that I don't much enjoy standing around in bars any more.

Still, it was a great night to be out and about in the city. The trains were packed with people in costumes having a rollicking time. It's always fun on those days when New Yorkers let their guards down and interact with each other in public.

Happy Halloween! And to Matt, Happy New Year!

Saints.

2008-11-04T14:33:00.005-05:00

This is Matt and myself at the Saint's Halloween party at Roseland this weekend. Thanks for the pic, Peter!

Matt was dressed as an Oracle. Not seen here is a really awesome cape/cloak he hand made from sheer black silk. And you can't really see it above, but he's in this awesome sectioned skirt which he also made. He looked great!

I didn't dress as anything in particular for this party. I used some purple and lime green rope which I bought at IML to make two leg harnesses, which came together at the top. Jerry helped me pull it all together--I needed more than two hands to hold everything! Matt braided the extra ends together in a long plait which went around my back side. Daisy was kind enough to do up my face with some groovy makeup. I have no idea if the whole thing worked, but I certainly felt good. It felt like the best dancing outfit I've ever had.

In fact, the whole party was very enjoyable for me. It feels great to return to a place in my life where I am enjoying stuff like this again. It felt really remarkable to be there with a special person who was on a similar wavelength as me. And as I danced among my friends, some of whom are especially close and important to me, I felt truly happy in a way I have only recently begun to experience.

The last Saint party happened last June over gay pride weekend. I helped decorate for that one also. It had all the ingredients for a good time. Unfortunately, that was the time when I was under attack by other members of NYboL who had petitioned to have me removed from the club. My anxiety, anger, and hurt at that situation kept me from enjoying the party. I left early and went home feeling more dejected and rejected than I had since the debacles with my parents in my late teens.

Little did I realize that those feelings could and would intensify. I learned this shortly thereafter, when, thanks to some fooling around with the procedures, the votes of only two NYboL board members were sufficient to oust me from the club of which I was one of five founders.

In the wake of that vote, and in that moment of utter despair, I decided not to exercise my right to appeal the decision to the entire NYboL membership. I believe that had I appealed, I would not have been removed from the club. Only the fact that most of my detractors were board members allowed the ploy to succeed. If I had the chance to make the decision again, I would do differently. However, Mr. Smartypants that I can be, I wrote a very short appeal time into those very bylaws which were used to kick me out. By the time I came to my senses, it was too late.

However, I have no regrets. While the ouster was one of the most painful, terrible things that has ever happened to me, it also served to broaden my perspective and it taught me some powerful lessons about people, including myself.

Don't get me wrong, I will never thank those who caused it. I can't say for sure if there is such a thing as right and wrong, good and evil, but if there is, I believe that malice of the sort that was directed at me falls in the latter of both those spectra.

As hard as I and the other founders faught to be an inclusive organization, some club members faught to exclude me. Whether I had done anything to deserve this is entirely debateable--after all, the charge was essentially "conduct unbecoming" a brother, which is about as subjective as it gets. I believe the accusers were guilty of conduct equally as unbecoming as mine was alleged to be; they simply benefitted from being the ones to first file a formal complaint.

Regardless, the change of philosophy from inclusion to exclusion is by itself unjust, unfair, and ill considered. I won't even go into the procedural manipulations used and the lack of any understanding of the concept of due process.

To me, "being leather" was first and foremost a rebellion. The leather community, therefore, is a collection of people who share some similar interests, but who are fiercely individual and unique. I believed we were all rebels. Disagreements are to be expected and differing opinions should be embraced.

The decision to exclude me from NYboL represents the antithesis of leather. It is a move toward conformity and politically correct behavior. It demonstrates that in order to be leather and belong to one of the community's organizations, one must repress individuality and conform to the majority. This idea is anathema to me.

Nevertheless, good can come of bad. My singleminded dedication to the leather community for all these years was shortsighted. There is much more to me than can be expressed within the rules and regulations of leather. I am exploring once again the kind of "gayness" which came naturally to me in high school, when I first began to explore my sexuality. I understand much better now the nature of judgment and how it can affect me and the people around me. I am reigning in my constant urge to control. I am beginning to explore some areas of artistic talent which have lain dormant for a very long time.

And, most importantly, I am building friendships with an eye toward quality rather than quantity. I am living a life that is more thought-out and directed. I am taming my demons and asserting control over more of those areas of my life where control is an asset, rather than a deficit.

It has taken me all these months to write about the club situation. It still hurts to think of it. I develop a tightness in my chest which I can't relieve with any amount of deep breathing. But I don't have panic attacks anymore. I no longer feel unworthy of love and friendship. I don't believe I deserved anything like the treatment I received, but neither was I without fault.

I am finally, truly moving on.

In the future, I will treat my friends with compassion at all times. I will refrain from judgment where the topic does not directly affect my life. I will speak less and listen more. I will use more caution in all things, guarding and nourishing my relationships with care and deliberation. I will try to figure out what else should be on this list! When I fail to do these things, I will try to look at myself with ever greater honesty, making apologies and amends without reservation or hesitation.

Wow, how did this post ever go this direction? Weird. I guess it needed to come out. I expect I'm probably wrong about a lot of what I've written. It's so hard to figure out how to "do right" sometimes. Ah well, if at first you don't succeed, try, try again!

This weekend shows that, depite it all, I am a very lucky man. I can't wait to see what tomorrow brings!

MIX 21 NYC

2008-10-15T16:30:00.003-04:00

X Marks the Spot at MIX 21
Friday, October 17th, 10pm
217 Water Street at Beekman
2345JMZ to Fulton, AC to Broadway-Nassau
www.mixnyc.org

MIX 21 is the New York Queer Experimental Film Festival. I would like to tempt you especially to the X Marks the Spot event at 10:00pm on Friday. Filmed and projected on Super8, Punk Fuck Fuck!! is a Qurash Co-Lab film produced and directed primarily by my friends John and Blaise, along with a cooperative of talented, anarchist, Brooklyn-based, super-8 lovin' queers (including me!). All the films in this program look to be boner-inducing and are sure to leave you with lots of new ideas for bedroom fun.

I

2008-09-28T22:34:00.002-04:00

She watched the stars
Through boughs burdened
Low by glistening leaves
Ready to let go

Learning curve?

2008-09-22T11:27:00.004-04:00

Via James, cutie-pie extraordinaire.

To forgive is divine.

2008-09-18T15:39:00.002-04:00

Today Father Tony posted this on Bilerico Project. The entire post is a great read, but I especially like the following:

Do not ditch friends. They are for life so be careful about the ones you acquire.

Friends do not need to measure up to your expectations. They do not need to perform to your standards. They do not need to be perfect. Expect to really hate some of the food they lovingly make for you on a regular basis. Expect them to sometimes lose at love and to need you to side with them even if you think they were the source of the problem in the relationship. Expect to marvel at some of their politics and some of their clothing choices. Expect to see them put on fifty pounds and learn to see them as if they were still skinny. Go out to a gay bar with them even if they visually reduce your status. Treat them with esteem when you are socializing with them in a group. Realize that it is only a matter of time before you are the one with no mate, no money, bad shoes, dumb opinions and an extra fifty pounds.

Do not disclose to others the personal and private things you know about them. This is sometimes a spectacularly difficult thing to do. In recent years, an entire protocol has been unofficially developed about how HIV status is disclosed or nor disclosed among friends and acquaintances. If a friend tells you in confidence that he is HIV+ and swears you to secrecy, saying that only you and the doctor know this, you had better be willing to keep that secret to the grave if required. You should keep that secret even if you think that gay men should always disclose their HIV status. You should keep that secret even when you are drunk. You have no right to dictate this decision to anyone else. Consider it an honor and a privilege and a responsibility to have been told this or any secret.

Expect friends to sometimes be a hell of a lot of work.

I have learned some of these lessons the hard way lately. Others I have always tried to practice. No matter how these rules have come to me, inevitably I have broken them and failed to be a good friend. I have made these mistakes rarely with some friends and often with others. Some have forgiven me and others never will.

Regardless, life goes on. I will do my best, as I always have. I think keeping these rules in mind will raise the bar for what constitutes my "best."

Whirl.

2008-09-14T18:00:00.004-04:00

This is chicken enchiladas with salsa verde, with a side of fresh orange and red tomato salsa with corn. Inspired by this recipe, I spent Saturday in the kitchen whipping up some nummers.

Cooking is a kind of therapy for me. I've been practicing lately, trying to reach outside my comfort zone and explore new territory.

But after a week of Asian curries, I felt like returning to comfortable TexMex. Enchiladas were new, however; I usually go for burritos. The salsa verde was a particular surprise--I will definitely be making it again!

I often feel like I don't have much art compared to those around me. My friends are all so creative and have so many fresh ideas and perspectives. I wasn't gifted with much skill for visual or audible artistic expression.

I really enjoy the satisfaction of a meal well made and appreciated by those upon whom I impose my little works of art. I'm going to start thinking of food more as my artistic expression. I think I'll enjoy that and I think I have a lot of room to learn and grow in that area.

Photography, on the other hand, is hard as hell. The Mexican food took so long that I missed the soft evening light. I did my best with the photos above. I'll get better at that, too.

Recipes and Photoshop suggestions are welcome.

Dude! Dude! For reals!

2008-09-10T16:06:00.004-04:00

Okay, I know the science is more complicated than this, but still:

If pot will kill MRSA, then sign me up, baby!

I had MRSA two years ago. It was a painful, embarrassing, awful experience. And I was lucky--my doctor diagnosed it immediately and treated it appropriately. I have known many other New Yorkers who have had far worse experiences due to missed and late diagnoses.

Incidentally, at that point in my life I was, shall we say, less "green." It could be that I currently have a lot more defenses against the superbug than back then! Suddenly I'm putting a lot more thought into exploring "herbal" medicine.

Via Towleroad.

It's about that time.

2008-09-09T14:26:00.003-04:00

I generally hate the idea of "they don't make 'em like they used to." Usually that just isn't the case. The grass always seems greener on the path behind us. Our world, for all its foibles and flaws, is better now than it has ever been.

However, they just don't make ads like this anymore. Brilliant!

I'm looking forward to the day when I earn my cane and daily dose of thorazine. I swear I'm going to forget to take those pills as often as possible, so I can run through the nursing home swinging at visitors and staff.

And you'll be able to hear my cackle all the way in China when they threaten to put a straightjacket on me!

Weirdomatic via Consumerist.

Grammarocide

2008-08-25T16:35:00.004-04:00

These two men plead guilty of conspiracy to vandalize government property after a cross-country spree during which they defaced public signs by correcting typos. The men are members of the Typo Eradication Advancement League.

I'm awed and inspired by their temerity. Bravo boys! May your probation pass quickly.

Via Apostrophe Abuse.

Long Time Gone

2008-08-24T15:44:00.003-04:00

Above: Jerry, me, and Matti at Coney Island yesterday.

We rode the Cyclone and the Wonder Wheel, which you can see in the background above. It's truly remarkable how excellent the rides were back in the day, before there was the technology to understand how dangerous they were!

Wow, what a Summer.

I have started several update posts. Eventually one may be wrapped up enough to be delivered to you with a little yellow bow.

Until then, I hope you are enjoying yours!

And in other news...

2008-06-25T15:08:00.004-04:00

From the weekly newsletter at the law firm where I work:

Ron Smith and his assistant Jan Cooper will be joining our firm--moving date is Friday, June 27th....

Also, on Friday we will be acquiring a new fridge and dishwasher.

For some reason the Summer associate who sits next to me and I find this extraordinarily funny. (Names were changed to protect the guilty.)

Never forget you.

2008-06-15T17:42:00.005-04:00

My apologies for the blog silence. To make up for it, here's a pic of me at IML this Memorial Day weekend. Maybe I'll actually report on it at some point.

There are tons of events going on in NYC this Summer, starting especially next weekend with Leather Pride.

And mark your calendars, the July NYboL party is TOGA, a frat party. Fun!

This one goes out...

2008-05-15T11:15:00.004-04:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

This one goes out to everyone who uses smilies and terms like "lol" in the place of actual phrases with words while instant messaging.

Smilies are spice, not substance! If you respond to an IM of mine with only a smiley, you haven't said anything or moved the conversation forward in any way. Say something else.

The same thing goes for "lol" and its ilk.

Use your words, people!

End of rant.

NYC AIDS Walk 2008

2008-05-14T12:19:00.003-04:00

Above: the St. Mary the Virgin 2007 AIDS Walk team. I'm on the far left.

This is my second year participating in NYC's AIDS Walk. This year the Walk is on Sunday, May 15th. As you can see, I'm rather late sending this fund raising email, so I hope you'll log on and donate right now!

Again this year I am part of the team at my church (St. Mary the Virgin, Times Square) and our team goal is to raise $20,000. My personal goal is $1,000. My hope is that you will help me and my team far surpass our goals.

If you do, you'll be helping the Gay Men's Health Clinic and various other organizations which serve those with HIV/AIDS. I can't emphasize enough the importance of supporting these organizations, especially given our current administration's reduction of funding for...well...everything other than war.

I greatly appreciate even the smallest donation. $5 is great, and if each of you receiving this email gives just that amount, I will be well on my way to reaching my goal. Of course, greater amounts are fantastic.

You can donate by going to my personal fundraising web page at the AIDS Walk web site.

Or, if the above link doesn't work, go to http://aidswalknewyork2008.kintera.org/riotpuprex

This year the St. Mary's team will be walking early, on Saturday, May 14th, just after the noon Mass, because we'd all like to be in church on Sunday morning for Trinity Sunday. If you'd like to join us, just let me know via email or comment nd I'll send you all the details.

Thank you very much.

Gratuitous male beauty!!!

2008-04-11T12:41:00.002-04:00

Above: the fantastically-named Brandon Hancock, who plays some sport, though I really can't be bothered to figure out which.

Brought to you by Hot Jock of the Day, a blog run by a friend of mine, which is celebrating its first year anniversary today. They've gone from 900 hits per month to 123,000 in just a year. Congrats guys!

Go check them out and drool.

Ritual.

2008-04-04T16:10:00.005-04:00

Above: The Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori, Presiding Bishop and Primate of the Episcopal Church of America, celebrating Mass at St. Mary the Virgin - Times Square during the Feast of Annunciation (transferred). I am a torch bearer, the baldy in the foreground, third from the left.

++Schori preached an excellent sermon which even pushed the boundaries of gender, at one point saying we should all be pregnant with God, as Mary was. I personally interacted with her almost not at all, but from what I observed I found her to be a very gracious, poised lady. Mass certainly went off without a hitch--something that is not so easily achieved at St. Mary's. The liturgy demands more of the celebrant than any other church of which I'm aware.

Liturgical trivia: the torches at Solemn Mass are normally balanced with three at the rails on either side of the altar. For only two people in the world, the Bishop of New York and the Presiding Bishop, we use a seventh torch, which always goes on the Gospel (left) side, as seen above. For every Solemn Mass at St. Mary's, the seventh torch is lit, so that when it is used it is the same height as the other six.

Below: the Invitation to the table.

XYZ

2008-03-20T09:54:00.002-04:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

One of these things is not like the others.

2008-03-12T14:52:00.002-04:00

This quote is from a blog which I like and it sums up my feelings on Spitzer very well:

"[I]t's how Americans pick politicians. We want charismatic, ambitious, driven men . . . who happily go back home to their wives every night.

Riiight. Tell you what -- you find a guy who fits that order, and I'll go open up the tuna.

There are certain combinations that just don't go together, and it's stupid to pretend they do. We elect egotistical control freaks -- Bill Clinton, Michael Bloomberg, Rudy Giuliani -- and then freak out when they act egotistical and start controlling things. What, you thought guys like this actually waited for old ladies to cross the road? You thought they only slept with the chicks they're married to? Where's the challenge in bedding a woman who got a pillow embroidered with "Tonight's the night!" for a wedding gift?

We're breeding Rottweilers, and then we freak out when we find pawprints on our chintz."

Via World Class Stupid.

To thine own self be true.

2008-02-29T21:05:00.003-05:00

Today I read an essay about Bishop Paul Moore, who was Bishop of New York for many years. It's quite long, but very good, and I recommend that you read it if you're at all interested in these types of things--or even if you're not. If your eyes are dry by the end, then I'm not sure what planet you're from.

Most powerful to me is not the fact that he was gay and his daughter has told the whole world about it. That's not terribly surprising, though I do commend her bravery.

What affects me is that I have known this man. Not Bishop Moore himself, but men like him.

Priests, monks, judges, doctors, lawyers, accountants, politicians...I have known them all. (No, not biblically, get your mind out of the gutter just this once, even if I can't.) They are all amazing men who exert influence over the world more strongly than your average guy. They make things happen. They heal. They give. They walk through the world surrounded by a n irresistible sphere of influence.

For the most part, these men use their power for good.

And yet they lived their lives in secret.

I have felt, all my life, that being out and proud--being all of who I am on all occasions--is critical to my mental health. Sure, I omit certain details on certain occasions. The biggest exceptions are my grandparents and my job, though the latter is arguably a simple matter of professionalism, as I'm not closeted, I just tone the personality down a lot.

These special men probably went further in society than I could because they hid their sexuality. In the process they attained positions where their unique ability to inspire was felt widely. They changed the world, if only just a little.

I'm not sure what my point is, if there is one. As I grow older and more of my dear friends leave this world, I grow less and less sure how to honor a life. I do, however, know for sure that these lives need to be honored and respected.

I did not get anything I have because of, or even mostly thanks to, my own merit.

I've seen it happen. Not to me, of course.

2008-02-20T12:13:00.001-05:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

It is not the critic who counts.

2008-02-08T10:16:00.000-05:00

I don't get into politics much. Sure, I listen to NPR, I understand the broad strokes of most issues, I vote (usually for Democrats as the lesser of evils), and I occasionally raise funds or donate money to activist organizations. I don't spend much time reading about the details of the issues, debating all of it with my friends, or writing about it on my blog.

However, if you start dissing Matt Foreman, you're making it personal. I've been feeling a rant building up in my esophagus.

You see, Matt is a personal hero of mine. He is both brilliant and extraordinarily compassionate and kind, in my experience a rare combination. In the past year or two he has become a friend to me and to NYboL, which never ceases to amaze me, because he travels with great ease through the A-list scene of NYC gays. Most of those guys are perfectly content to stay entirely within their own strata. And he's not merely slumming it with us--Matt and his partner Frank instead have included me and my brothers in events which we'd otherwise never see. His focus on full inclusion of all types of queer people in our struggle for equal rights is incredibly courageous; the assimilationists at HRC have never had such balls.

So when some dude named Jamie Kirchick writes a disparaging essay about Matt, claiming that during his tenure leading the NGLTF he didn't really focus on advancing gay rights, I get mighty pissed. The man sat down in the middle of Broadway and was arrested there while protesting Don't Ask Don't Tell!!! Who among us has gone so far in recent times?

I'm glad to find that there are others out there who also find Kirchick's words to be ridiculous. To save me a rant, I'll refer you to Alex Blaze. I haven't a clue who this person is, but I am completely on board with his support of Matt and his criticism of Kirchick. Go and read it his piece.

I am sure that Matt is used to this type of thing and his thick skin is serving him well. Still, I am going to make an extra effort to thank him for all he has done, in the hopes of offsetting this dimwit conservative gay who some misguided media person decided to give a platform to spew erroneous negativity. I hope you will consider doing the same.

It is not the critic who counts
Not the one who points out how the strong man stumbled
Or how the doer of deeds might have done better.
The credit belongs to the man
Who is actually in the arena,
Whose face is marred with sweat and dust and blood;
Who strives valiantly;
Who errs and comes short again and again;
Who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions,
And spends himself in a worthy cause;
Who, if he wins, knows the triumph of high achievement;
And who, if he fails, at least fails while daring greatly,
So that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls
Who know neither victory or defeat.

-Theodore Roosevelt (1910)

Smells like infatuation.

2008-01-30T15:58:00.000-05:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

I admit it. This has totally been me on more than one occasion. I know, I know. But don't act all shocked! There's a reason this blog is called Couch Stalker. You knew what you were getting into.

MALicious.

2008-01-23T10:33:00.001-05:00

Above: Scott and I at MAL 2008.

Ah, MAL. It's one of the bookends for my year. I've attended every year since 2002. I know so many people there that I can't keep track of them all and have no hope whatsoever of remembering all the names. I generally eschew comparisons of the leather community to family, because it's a bit treacly and not really appropriate given my dysfunctional biological family. However, calling MAL a family reunion is not very far off base. It's a bucket full of fun.

This weekend I stayed with Scott, who lives only two blocks from the host hotel. Scott is my oldest friend who I still see regularly. We founded the KC boys of Leather, one of the first few boy clubs in existence, and I'm proud to say it's still going strong. We've traveled the country causing all kinds of scandal and havoc. We've laughed and cried together, succeeded and failed. We've fought like cats and dogs at times. We've always pulled through and were stronger for it. When we get together, it's like we never spent any time apart.

When I think of what it means to have a brother, I think of Scott.

Years ago, during a trip to Wichita, Kansas for a leather event, we got all dolled up in our matching Navy Dress Blues for an evening on the town. Naturally we couldn't pass up the opportunity to document the occasion. After a few appropriately stoic photos, Scott kicked his leg up in the air, I deftly caught it, and, grinning like idiots, we were rewarded with one of the cutest, gayest photos either of us has ever taken.

Last Friday during MAL we attended an invitation-only party at a gorgeous private home in Arlington, Virginia. Our hosts had a room set up with a professional photographer so all their guests could remember the occasion. After a couple oh-so-appropriate shots, Scott proved that he still has his high kick. It was fab.

MAL, IML, and alphabet soup.

2008-01-09T16:12:00.000-05:00

A NYboL associate whose blog I read and admire inspired me to write this post. It began as a comment on his recent post regarding MAL. Ultimately I didn't feel it was appropriate as a comment, however, as I am sure he is well aware of everything I have to say. My thoughts are more for the many others who I have heard express disdain or disappointment with the alphabet soup of leather gatherings.

Expectations are the worst part of leather events, if you ask me. When did it stop being extraordinary to see so many like-minded people, who spend most of their lives exercising severe discretion in exhibiting the particular nature of their individuality and personality, instead exalting and enjoying large volumes of those beautiful qualities which make them peers? Every time I begin to feel disappointed by MAL, IML, or the rest, I remind myself of the many years of my life during which I felt no kinship to any such group, no chance to meet a man with so many important qualities understood before the first exchange of words, and no understanding of those subtle yet powerful forces of my personality which have decided the direction of almost every part of my life. That I have the health and means to live a life which provides such opportunities is good fortune and success which many would envy.

I will be in DC for MAL. I cannot possibly be disappointed. The simple fact that such a gathering exists and I can be there is enough to make me happy, and as Drew says, everything else is gravy. I hope to see you there.

I do so love sacrilege.

2008-01-02T16:15:00.000-05:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Ch-ch-ch-changin'

2007-12-31T10:16:00.000-05:00

Every year when I write these updates it seems that I have just had my most dramatic year yet, full of the biggest changes of my life. For once I think that I may have just had a year which won't be topped in the change department.

I will write updates soon on all of the recent developments. For now, suffice it to say that I am in love. It's an unexpected, un-euphemistic, uncomplicated, unquestionable kind of love. It came out of no where and hit me sideways, taking me completely off guard, and not only am I defenseless, I can't think of a single reason to slow it down or stop it. I never would have expected the year to end like this, but I'm very glad it is.

I am very happy and hopeful.

Thank you to Dave, for knowing exactly when tough and tender love are needed. Thank you to Scott, for constancy that spans more years than that of any other, and for being the most inspirationally brave person I know. Thank you to John, for giving me my 25th chance (at least). Thank you to Dale, Direktor Dave, Brad, Jerry, John, Blaise, Spiky, Jake, and Ray, for teaching me about the nature of friendship, new and old. Thank you to Papa, who understands what makes a home. Special thanks go out to Matti, who understands some things better than those who should be teachers, and who may have saved my life.

Best wishes to everyone for 2008.

Humility.

2007-12-03T17:14:00.001-05:00

You so crazy.

2007-11-30T11:17:00.000-05:00

Ah, evangelicals.

Towleroad reports that Pat Robertson is claiming the highway Interstate 35 was mentioned specifically in the Bible as the "way of holiness" and should now be used to cleanse America of sin.

I was born and lived most of my life in Kansas City, where I-35 bisects the metro area from Southwest to Northeast. It's impossible to live in KC without spending hours on this highway. Rest assured, it is both full of sin itself and a conduit to many sins around the city. The number of times the Lord's name has been used in vain while waiting in traffic jams must be easily in the trillions. And if the evangelicals begin their cleansing with the most obvious and egregious offenders--the car dealerships lining most of the highway--they'll need far more than 35 days just to clean those up! The gay bars and strip joints won't get attention until 2010.

Why must so many "religious" people behave so stupidly?

See the movie. Read the book.

2007-11-29T19:56:00.000-05:00

Brains, delicious brains.

2007-11-27T16:13:00.001-05:00

I regret I haven't posted more lately. Life has just been overwhelmingly busy. Fortunately it's also a lot of fun and good things are happening. I'll be back to report soon. For now:

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Dinghy, dong.

2007-11-12T11:43:00.000-05:00

Julie is in a long-term coma and there are no indications of brain activity. The lawsuit regarding the disposition of her body will rage for years. Barring some miraculous return to consciousness, I imagine her feeding tube will be removed by a helpful night nurse any day now.

Don't cry for her, New York City. Y'all had good times, and cruising will go on without her.

By the way, law enforcement officials are looking for a shady character named Tate, who is wanted for questioning regarding the fateful evening when Julie received an unexplained blunt force trauma to the back of her head.

And I always claimed to be a geek.

2007-10-26T16:45:00.000-04:00

Your Score: Pure Nerd

52 % Nerd, 43% Geek, 21% Dork

For The Record:

A Nerd is someone who is passionate about learning/being smart/academia.

A Geek is someone who is passionate about some particular area or subject, often an obscure or difficult one.

A Dork is someone who has difficulty with common social expectations/interactions.

You scored better than half in Nerd, earning you the title of: Pure Nerd.

The times, they are a-changing. It used to be that being exceptionally smart led to being unpopular, which would ultimately lead to picking up all of the traits and tendences associated with the "dork." No-longer. Being smart isn't as socially crippling as it once was, and even more so as you get older: eventually being a Pure Nerd will likely be replaced with the following label: Purely Successful.

Congratulations!

Also, you might want to check out some of my other tests if you're interested in any of the following:

Buffy the Vampire Slayer

Professional Wrestling

Love & Sexuality

America/Politics

Thanks Again! -- THE NERD? GEEK? OR DORK? TEST

Link: The Nerd? Geek? or Dork? Test written by donathos on OkCupid Free Online Dating, home of the The Dating Persona Test

I aim to misbehave.

2007-10-25T11:16:00.001-04:00

Above: Washington State Troopers were named the "best dressed State law enforcement agency" by the National Association of Uniform Manufacturers and Distributors. I'll consider doing my own personal investigation into this question. I am quite impressed that the puppy gets his own uniform!

I caught this thanks to the magnificently-named Keckler.

Uniforms are especially on my mind because NYboL's gear party last Saturday was uniform-themed and particularly successful, in my humble opinion. MAUL made quite a splash with their entrance in force. It looked like the bar was being raided! At some point I was handcuffed for some infraction. I vowed to commit greater crimes next time. Later, while we were getting some fresh air on the sidewalk, three lovely old tourist ladies asked to have their photo taken with the dashing officers. Fantastic. Thanks to all who attended.

Next month's theme is rubber. Mark your calendars for November 17th.

R.I.P. Natasha LaBelle

2007-10-20T19:40:00.000-04:00

Always big, but never too much a diva to chase the mice.

Everything's up to date.

2007-10-19T15:00:00.000-04:00

I'm very homesick today. I don't know why.

Improper.

2007-10-18T11:43:00.000-04:00

I haven't posted much lately because my life has been crazy.

Last week I was busy every evening with something I had to do, and while much of it was fun stuff like the Tori concert, it's still exhausting not having any down time. The weekend was also spent running around taking care of things, and then was topped off with an early Sunday, because I had to be at church to serve at the altar at both the 10:00am and 11:00am services.

I really, really enjoy being an altar server at church, but by Sunday afternoon I could feel myself wearing down. I wasn't feeling well at all by the evening, and I ended up being sick through Tuesday. I'm still getting my strength back today.

Then work has also been busy, topped off with a lost client last night. And when I say "lost" I literally mean lost--he didn't show for an appointment and we couldn't find him. He's an 85 year old man, so it was a big concern. This morning we finally heard from him and learned that he had blacked out on his way to our office, only waking up much later and finding himself inexplicably in Midtown. As bad as that sounds, it could have gone much worse, so it was a relief to hear that he was home and safe. I had to go down to his place this morning to take care of various paperwork to resolve his matter. Apparently he has no family, and his living conditions are so sad that I'm about to cry while writing this. It's squalor, really, right in the middle of the largest city in the most advanced country on this planet. Not because he has no money--he appears to have plenty--he simply has no one who cares about him. Being in his apartment this morning was deeply disturbing to me. I have a lot to think about.

I have never felt so much like a spoiled, selfish American brat. What are these things that matter to me, the silliness that I blog about? Rope light bondage and exotic pipe organs seem so irrelevant when I'm forced to look at the unmet needs of fellow humans. How is it that I can ignore these things so completely for 99% of my life? How long will this feeling last before I go back to ignoring that which violates my sense of what is proper in the world? I can feel my imaginary world full of acceptable right angles--it's just around the corner, ready to reassert itself at any moment. Should I fight it off? Can I fight it off?

Is this a mid-life crisis? I thought I had at least another ten years before I had to worry about one of those. Oy vay.

So that's me, checking in. When this ride slows a bit, hopefully I'll have more stories to share.

Tonight, tonight.

2007-10-12T13:54:00.000-04:00

Above: the five concept characters from Tori Amos's latest release, American Doll Posse. From left to right we have Santa, Clyde, Isabel, Tori, and Pip. One day I'll figure out why Tori is holding a chicken.

Thank god it's Friday.

Tonight Matti and I are going to see Tori at the Madison Square Garden Theater. We have pretty good seats, if I'm not mistaken. We're in the second balcony, but only a row or two back from the front, which should be good. We were online the instant tickets went on sale, but with all the brokers lately, it's almost impossible to get good seats through the normal routes.

I first saw Tori live on June 13, 2006, during her Dew Drop Inn tour, subsequent to the release of Boys for Pele. She played Memorial Hall in Kansas City, Kansas, a dinky little venue where area Catholic high schools also had their graduations. She sat alone with her piano, harpsichord, and organs, and she was fantastic.

Over the years I've seen her a couple more times, last with Scott in Kansas City, during the Scarlet's Walk tour.

Describing what Tori's music has meant to me over the years would be very difficult. I am intimately familiar with her first three albums. In fact, I'd venture to say that they contain the most influential music on my late adolescence and early adult life.

Her influence in my life has waned over the years, as she moved towards electronics and mainstream themes. Still, she produces quality work that I'm very happy to hear interspersed with her more classic material.

And I've never been to the Garden before!

All that remains to be seen is which of the five concept characters from the latest album will open the show tonight. Matti and I are hopeful we'll get Santa. Keep your fingers crossed!

Honey, I'm taking up scuba diving.

2007-10-11T10:41:00.000-04:00

Sometimes I wonder why I can't get more boys interested in going to church with me. All the kinkiest people are at church!

Take, for instance, the minister of Montgomery, Alabama's Thorington Road Baptist Church. Rev. Aldridge was found dead, alone in his home, hogtied, dressed in two wetsuits, a rubber mask, rubber gloves and socks, with many leather and rubber belts and straps holding it all together, and all topped off with a dildo up his butt.

Of course there's no way to be sure, but I suspect that this poor man would still be alive if he had an accepting support structure around him. He managed to have some incredibly elaborate gear sex alone (how does one hogtie oneself?!?!), and it's staggering to think what he might have come up with if he had the chance to explore his kink with another like-minded man or woman. At least with someone else in the room he may not have strangled himself!

Today is National Coming out Day. It will pass quietly for me, as it does every year, because I have very few closets left. I'm lucky to live in NYC, where being different is pedestrian and conformity can be outrageous. However, for those who endure fearful lives in places like Alabama, having visible peers could make all the difference. I salute all the high-profile individuals who are brave enough to come out and live directly in the glare of today's media spotlight.

Visit Towleroad for lots of cool videos and coverage.

12 Steps to Godliness

2007-10-10T13:14:00.000-04:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Blade Runner: The Final Cut

2007-10-10T11:40:00.000-04:00

Above: Movie poster for Blade Runner, circa 1982.

Blade Runner: The Final Cut
Clearview Ziegfeld Theater
54th Street between 6th & 7th Avenues
Monday, October 15th, 8:30pm

Click this link to buy tickets.

Be sure to change the date to the 15th before you purchase.

This is an open invitation to join me in viewing this sci-fi classic. This version is a complete remastering and final cut by Ridley Scott. It is only playing in NYC and LA through October 18, so this will be your only chance to see it on the big screen.

I'm meeting my crew in the plaza in front of the theater at 8:00pm. We'll have plenty of time to hobnob, get snacks, and find good seats. I suggest buying tickets in advance, as this limited screening may be very popular.

Hope to see you there!

From Hell's heart, I stab at thee.

2007-10-03T11:04:00.000-04:00

Above: screen shot from a Family Guy episode which featured a Wrath of Khan scene.

Last Friday afternoon I was browsing the movie listings when I noticed that Star Trek: The Wrath of Khan was screening at midnight. What??? Hello??? Wrath of Khan???

I'd seen listings for Rocky Horror Picture Show at midnight, as well as a couple of other cult classics. But who ever heard of Wrath of Khan being included in that category of weird movies people will come out to see late at night? After contemplating this weirdness for about sixty seconds, I decided I could not miss it.

I sent out a call for victims, but it was last minute so not many could go. Matticakes and I headed down together after partaking of some herbal recreation. We fueled up with candy, popcorn, and soda at the theater.

From the credits it was clear that this was going to be a fun ride. All the actor names came up in classic 1980s style before any of the action began. The theater cheered for their favorites and you wouldn't believe how many loved George Takei!

It had been quite some time since I last saw this film. I completely forgot how campy it is! The audience laughed, quoted lines, and generally had a fun time. It wasn't quite the production that Rocky Horror would be, but it was still quite a party.

All in all, it was another great "only in NYC" evening.

Delicately Presbyterian.

2007-10-02T10:30:00.000-04:00

Above: beauty shots of the new Casavant pipe organ at Brick Church.

Last night I heard Stephen Tharp play a lovely recital on the above instrument. This was my second experience with the instrument and my fourth Tharp recital. Overall, I think the Casavant is an incredibly interesting instrument that never quite becomes great, and Tharp is an fantastic recitalist and virtuoso.

First of all, Tharp is amazing. As this is the fourth recital of his I've heard in NYC over the past three years, I think I have a fair sampling of what he can do. He was actually the first organist I heard in recital in NYC, and that was on my first trip to St. Mary's, so I owe some of my recent elevated infatuation with both pipe organs and St. Mary's to him. His playing is spectacular. As another attendee aptly stated, he is capable of great flash for the grandiose pieces, as well as quiet beauty for the more serene moods. At times I could hardly believe how fast his fingers were moving. The Dupré was especially impressive--he laid into the 2nd Symphony at a breathtaking pace and he never let up through all three movements. The first movement was especially fun for me, as I have a recording of it I rather enjoy, and hearing it live for the first time played so very well was really special. Tharp had an entirely different take on the piece, one which I liked a lot better than the recording. I was on the edge of my seat.

The Casavant is a peculiar instrument. It's very, very good, make no mistake about that. It is unique in that it was built as a virtual copy of a Cavaillé-Coll French Symphonic instrument of the 19th Century. Modern materials were used, of course, but a vast number of too-technical-for-me details were created in the historic fashion, so the instrument probably comes close as any American pipe organ to accurately reproducing the sound for which the great French Symphonic composers wrote their music. This no-compromise approach to organ building is unique in the U.S., as by far most instruments are built here to adequately handle all of the major periods of pipe organ repertoire, rather than focusing on any one. The "plays everything" sound is, simply put, the origin of the American Classic school of organ building.

I appreciate the great effort and care that was devoted to creating this instrument, and I readily hail it as a success in reaching its goal. However, it's not really my favorite sound for pipe organs.

I think its strengths are its dynamic range and variety of colors in its solo stops. The organ can play so beautifully at nearly-inaudible volumes that I found myself sitting forward in my seat, straining to hear the teasing, subtle, precious sounds. From that low level it grows smoothly and steadily up to fortissimo, without a hint of any abrupt rank additions. Also, at times the solo stops sang out with incredibly interesting and colorful sounds. Unlike the Dobson at the Kimmel Center, I really felt the variety of options available in a 118 rank instrument, and every new rank presented a new idea.

The weaknesses for me came with the full organ sound. The organ seems weighted toward the high end of its range, without much gravitas in the bass. I know it has a full compliment of 32' and 16' stops, and I could certainly hear them played, but they never shook my insides. I want to feel the pew vibrating with the power of the final big chord. Perhaps the problem arises because the two sections of the organ reside on either side of the choir/altar area, and speak across that narrow space to each other, rather than directly out into the sanctuary. The result is a subtle difference which may not even be measurable in terms of volume, yet significantly affects the sound. Imagine a person singing a song just around a corner from where you are listening. You'll probably hear them without any trouble, but at least half of the sound will be the result of reflections, rather than hearing it directly, and the difference will stand out. The result is a somewhat muddy sound which kept me from hearing much of the quick keyboard work Mr. Tharp was doing, along with the lack of bass presence.

All in all, while it's easy to find issues with this pipe organ, it is still a gorgeous, complex, and unique instrument which I thoroughly enjoy hearing. Stephen Tharp brought out the best in it, without a doubt.

It was truly a lovely way to spend an evening, and well worth the trek to the stodgy Upper East Side. Why do I love scaring all the delicate Presbyterian ladies into clutching their pearls? I suppose I could wear my work drag and avoid all that, but it's really not me, so they just have to put up with my skinny black jeans and gold-skulled Vans. Oy, I'm a bad person.

There's no such thing.

2007-09-28T16:20:00.000-04:00

Above: Bonfire, Spiky, and myself cheesin' it at Wednesday's Newd party. Yeah, we look like goobers, but clearly we don't care.

You love Nasty Pig don't you? Yeah, I know you do.

Well, I'm a little late posting this, but you should definitely check out David, owner of Nasty Pig, educating Mo Rocca on jean fit. It's hilarious.

Click here.

Frankly, I don't know what the debate is all about. There's no such thing as too tight, everyone knows that.

From the sound of things, if I moved to Idaho I could be governor. I love NYC and all, but that is somewhat tempting.

Big, bad, bold.

2007-09-27T14:57:00.000-04:00

Above: photos from the Newd party last night at the Eagle.

Wow, what a good time that was. Do I look happy tying up the hottie? Actually, it was the end of the evening by then, and I was untying him. Hopefully a clear photo of the body harness will come through, because it was fairly impressive. Of course he looks hot with all the lights as well. Peter does an amazing job with the photos.

It's a good thing I'm not actually a bondage top, because I'd spend most of my time making things pretty, and very little worried about whether my bottom was having any fun!

I never thought I'd be part of performance art, but that's really what it is, and it a whole big bucket of fun. I'm going to be smiling about it for a long time.

All worked up.

2007-09-26T10:15:00.000-04:00

Above: The Most Reverend Katharine Jefferts Schori, Presiding Bishop and Primate of The Episcopal Church of America.

As I said this weekend, I'm not a very good Episcopalian. Yes, I go to church and I make my donations, but my faith don't quite rise to the level of sainthood. In fact, I might best be called an agnostic theist, though I acknowledge the inherent contradictions and problems with that point of view. For me, contradictions are not a fatal flaw. Many, many elements of my life are at odds with each other and I feel no drive to resolve them. I nurture my contrary nature.

This is not to say that religion, and specifically the Episcopal Church of America, is not important to me. My participation is sincere. The inherent unprovable nature of deity does not invalidate the benefits of morality, ethics, love, support, and community which are the result of religion at its (arguably rarely seen) best. I cannot know and will not pretend to have discerned the nature and will of God, but the beliefs of the Episcopal Church constitute a reasonable "best guess" to me, and as a practical matter it is undeniable that my participation in church is a net benefit to my life, and I hope to the lives of others.

Then there's the fact that I'm a gay man. I don't think I need to delve into the variety of ways in which my life departs from the "traditional" American norm and the lifestyle of the majority. Read a few posts down if you have any doubts about that.

These two parts of my life are important to me, so I watch the "Current Unpleasantness" unfolding within the Anglican Communion with great interest. To briefly summarize the recent statement from the bishops: we love our gays, but we promise not to marry them or make them bishops until doing so isn't going to cause a rift in the Communion. Also: get off our turf, African bishops!

The last part is actually the easiest to support. How in the world can anyone allow the prejudices of the continent of Africa influence the lives of so many Americans?
We are vastly different cultures in far more ways than just our tolerance of homosexuality. We generally have no problem coexisting with those differences, though we'd never consider allowing one culture to impose its way of living on the other. Why in this one area does it become reasonable? Who are these American bishops who can look their peers in the eye while facilitating this incursion into their jurisdiction, which has borders that should be protected as a matter of course, for patriotic reasons, if nothing else? It boggles the mind.

As the issue of full inclusion of gays, I don't find myself terribly worked up about any of the recent events. I accepted long ago that I am on the outside of American culture. I don't believe in marriage for anyone--least of all the gays. Why are we fighting to join this failed, flawed, and feeble institution? My relationships are not likely to ever fit into the mold it demands. For the rest, I acknowledge that full inclusion and open participation for gays in every part of the church is an appropriate and admirable goal, and at the same time I'm not shocked or dismayed that we haven't quite reached it yet. To me it seems that the bishops are taking baby steps toward the goal, or at the very least are not giving up ground. Their most recent proclamation does not represent "caving in" to the African demands. They have merely slowed the rate of progression toward full inclusion.

We'll get there, I'm confident of that. I will continue to support those who fight for inclusion. I will also be happy with a result that finds the middle ground and maintains the fabric of the church. Compromise is a good thing. Time and generational change will ultimately wear away at these illogical prejudices.

At any rate, I'll be praying for that in church on Sunday.

Best ad ever.

2007-09-25T12:53:00.000-04:00

This is, without a doubt, one of my favorite advertisements ever.

The fact that it pisses off CWA and zillions of other crazies makes me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

I told you I'm a weird Episcopalian.

Via Towleroad.

Without clothes.

2007-09-25T12:22:00.001-04:00

Above: poster for this Wednesday's Newd party at the Eagle.

The image is of a bondage scene created by Bonfire and myself at the last party. I'm rather proud of how it turned out and the photo by Peter Lau makes it look even better than it did in person.

The upcoming party has a "best of" theme and you can bet Michelangelo has an exciting and outrageous lineup of fun. I'm on board for another rope creation and some other surprises.

Nekked are crazy talented, hot, and great to hear live.

Come out and enjoy NYC's freshest concept in fetish art and entertainment.

Blow by blow.

2007-09-24T11:32:00.001-04:00

Above: ganked from Hypofixx.

I don't generally write blog posts which are simple recountings of events or my day-to-day life, because I prefer to focus on the smaller, more interesting stories buried in the rough. The only time I really regret this is when I travel. So this is a brief account of my birthday and trip to DC last weekend.

The whole thing actually got off to a very bad start. The Eagle for Code on Thursday night was a complete disaster. I became very upset and I didn't even stay until midnight to toast in my new year.

Which meant that I got plenty of sleep Thursday night and had no trouble getting up for the bus on Friday morning. Matt was fairly amazed that I answered my phone the first time he called. I was upset about the previous night when I woke up, having that tight anxious anger in my chest feeling, so I took half a Xanax before we left the house. Even had I not been upset, this would have been a wise choice, as it made the 4.5 hour trip down very tolerable. In fact I slept through most of it, which was only a problem when I'd wake with a crick in my neck from my head lolling to the side. Hopefully I didn't snore too much, though it's not like it ever bothers me.

Matt and I disembarked on time and hopped into a cab for Scott's apartment. Scott was finishing up a job, so we stopped in at Dakota Cowgirl for lunch. I'm not generally crazy about the restaurant, as I've only been there during MAL when it's swamped and the service and food are sub-par. Fortunately our lunch was tasty and our server was attentive, friendly, and flirty.

We soon joined Scott and dropped our bags at his apartment. The tone of the weekend was clear from the beginning; we relaxed, chatted, and caught up on our lives, and none of us seemed to feel any pressure to move quickly. It's always so nice to see Scott, because we seem to pick up our friendship vibe as if we hadn't gone months without seeing each other.

After a change of clothes we headed down to Titan/Ramrod for bear happy hour. Scott said attendance was low, but I thought there were plenty of guys there, and I was quickly reminded of how much like a pinball I feel in a room full of bears. This did not dampen my mood, however, and we had a cheerful couple of drinks while meeting several of Scott's friends. At some point I saw a guy with a shirt that read "TOPEKA," so naturally I grabbed him and said hello. I think we ran into the same guy three or four times over the course of the weekend, and every time he'd point and yell "Topeka!" Some people are so easily entertained.

As happy hour was winding down we slipped across the street to Thaitanic for dinner. I had a very tasty and spicy chicken dish with peanut sauce on a bed of broccoli. It's always nice to have Thai outside of Hell's Kitchen, because while our Thai restaurants are very good, they tend to have remarkably similar menus. After dinner we walked back to Scott's place and did some more hanging out, watching videos, and enjoying each other's company. (Are you sensing a theme yet?)

Saturday we woke to a beautiful day. Scott had some work to do, so we took our leisure getting showered and dressed. We set out into the day, first stopping for coffee and scones, and then wandering up to a couple of cute shops. The first had nothing interesting, but the second had a jacket which was perfect for me. Gray, long, fitted, with lots of wonderful details. It looked great on. Everything about it was just right, except the price. I left it there, but there's a chance I may yet give in and have it shipped up. It was that good.

The remainder of the afternoon was spent at the National Gallery, which was fantastic. For all the times I've been to DC, I'd never visited any of the museums. I noticed a distinct preference for sculpture. They had three Brancusi birds which I found to be just as affecting as they were during the exhibit where I first saw them at the Guggenheim.

We did some more serious relaxing at Scott's place, which was helped along by some tasty pizza, before we showered and outfitted ourselves for the DC Eagle. The Eagle was busy and seemed to be filled with all sorts of hunky men. It's so fun being fresh meat! Matt was immediately groped, and I'm happy to report that I felt more than one unidentified hand on my ass over the course of the evening. Gene came in from wherever he lives in the boonies and we also met one of DCboL's pledges. We ran into a few other notables and fuckables, but most importantly, I met a man into full leather who is also an organist. There is no hotter species! To ice the cake, he was perfectly willing to dish about pipe organs with me. Cream.

We headed home fairly early, as we had all drank a few drinks rather quickly, and we were feeling them. Walking through the convention center area of DC in full leather is an adventure! I'm happy to say all the comments yelled from cars were very positive. It's simply ridiculous how much the girls like to flirt with boys in leather...loudly.

Sunday morning was a bit slower getting started than Saturday, owing to the previous evening's festivities. None of us was hurting too badly, however, so after some hydration and showers we were ready to go. We stopped in for donuts and coffee in the gayest of the gayborhoods, and because we had rock star parking, we were able to take a few extra minutes to stroll through Universal Gear. Scott found a couple pair of pants which fit him well and Matt and I cruised the underwear sale. Then we drove over to Georgetown, which is a gorgeous neighborhood, and we did our best impression of uppity New Yorkers slumming it in the design stores. A tour of Barney's Co-Op left me a bit sticker shocked and in wonder that anyone shops at the real Barney's. A cute fag in Zara said he loved my pants and made my day. Finally, we stuffed ourselves with Five Guys burgers (YUM) to round out the day.

The trip home was uneventful. Another xanax helped me ignore the hour delay in departure time and the guy next to me who needed to sleep curled up in a ball, with his elbow perfectly placed to hit me any time he moved. (Not Matt--there were no two seats together.) I arrived home tired but happy.

I wish I could claim some revelation, inspiration, or epiphany during the trip. I have claimed such in the past, but I think I was giving in to hyperbole at those times. It's true that distance from NYC provides perspective and respite. It's also true that the problems I leave here are always waiting for me when I return. Thankfully, this weekend has helped put me in a better state of mind to face them with resolve and calm.

Shades.

2007-09-24T00:15:00.001-04:00

Above: Scooter, Matticakes, and moi in our shades.

The weather was gorgeous this weekend. Just warm enough to work up a good sweat while vigorously shaking down every shop in DC for cute, cute Autumn clothes. It's here, you know.

Autumn has never felt like a season of decline for me. It begins one of my new years. It brings new school, new shows, new events, new church, new routines, new direction. It's like the Summer was just time spent in the charger, storing up energy to run the game of life in the Fall.

Start.

Hanging in DC.

2007-09-22T20:27:00.000-04:00

Above: Jesus in bondage. Need I say more?

Probably not. But I will, just a little. I took this today at the National Gallery in Washington, D.C. What a fun museum. I never thought I'd say this, but I may like modern art more than the classic stuff. The paintings by Vermeer were outstanding, but the modern East Wing by architect I. M. Pei was astounding. Not so much for the exhibits, though they were good, but for the building, which is an awesome space. I always felt I was in a building of mass enough to weather generations, but there was also a whimsical air of a school kid's geometric doodle.

Jesus, of course, was in the classical West Wing building, hanging out in a secluded corner of the sculpture exhibit.

He says howdy.

32.

2007-09-20T19:46:00.000-04:00

Above: boys & friends, car washing.

I write to you in my last few hours as a 31 year old. This year was marked not so much with new experiences, but rather more extremes. The highs were very high and the lows were very low. I am more independent now than I have ever been, more singularly responsible for the direction of my life. I am perhaps less sane.

If I had a wish for this year, it would be for serenity. But I don't believe in such things, so I haven't just lost my wish by telling you about it.

If I had a fear for this year, it would be pride. Being my own worst critic does not elevate me above my mistakes.

If I have another year, that will be enough.

32, here I come.

Enough already, Universe.

2007-09-18T13:57:00.000-04:00

Now listen, Universe. I've had quite enough. This needs to stop.

Robert Jordan died before finishing his Wheel of Time series.

From my childhood through my early 20s I was a voracious reader. Those who know me now might not believe it, but as a child I was incredibly shy and introverted. I spent far more time with my nose in a book than I ever did speaking with people, even my family. I was especially drawn to fantasy and sci-fi novels, though really any fiction would do. Books were my escape from the real world to a place where I was confident and happy.

Late in my high school career I worked at Claire's Boutique in the Mission Center Mall. (Yes, it's nearly the gayest job in the world, and yes, I looked the part.) On the opposite end of the mall was a Brentano's book store (remember those?) where I would spend the bulk of my paycheck.

One day on my break I was buying a book or two instead of the stack of a dozen I would have liked to have bought. I knew the couple books I could afford would never last until my next paycheck, so in despair I asked the cashier whether they had anything I could have for free. To my shock he handed me Robert Jordan's Eye of the World, a small paperback. Of course nothing is really free. When I reached the end of the book I discovered that they had only printed the first dozen or so chapters of the entire novel. Naturally, I bought the full book with my next paycheck.

Yeah, I fell for it hook, line, and sinker. But for once I didn't mind--Jordan's Wheel of Time series is really, really good. It's not so much the writing, which is average at best. What draws you in to the story are Jordan's characters and the detail with which he paints his fantasy world. There aren't just two, three, or four factions vying for control of the world--there are dozens. The main characters are complex yet bold. It is fascinating to watch them grow and change over the course of the story. Secondary characters range the gamut from peons to demi-gods, and none of them are "stock." The antagonist role shifts constantly, and though there is a clear "evil" persona who ultimately must be defeated, during any given book the conflict might come from any of a dozen different factions, most of which fall squarely in the gray area between right and wrong. The protagonists themselves often make choices which result in death and loss, and they ally themselves with people and groups who are completely unsavory, yet necessary. The system of magic is distinct from any other fantasy world and broad enough to be used in tens of thousands of ways.

The story is epic and compelling. With 11 books ranging in length from 700 to 1200 pages each, I've made a big investment in this world, perhaps more than any other author I've read. The thought that I'll never get to know how it all ends in Jordan's own words really saddens me.

So what's up, Universe? Is this one last blow at the end of my long, painful Summer? Or do I have more months of disappointment, sadness, confusion, and anger on the horizon? Because honestly, it's getting harder to deal with these losses while remaining sane and not self-destructive.

I need a break.

Enough already, people.

2007-09-14T12:50:00.000-04:00

This is one of those posts where I don't say much more than AMEN to those who have said it better than I could. Joe writes today about Kenneth Hill's article on sissies.

I would take the idea one step further and suggest that the word "masculine," as it is seen often in profiles and descriptions of what guys are seeking online, is simply an euphemism for "straight-acting," a term which was popular five years ago but which most gay men now deride. My problem is not with masculinity, which is a quality I admire and sometimes possess. I see a problem when masculinity is held up as superior to any other way of behaving, and yes, that is exactly what most guys who use the word are doing.

It irritates me even more to see this phenomenon in Leather circles. How many times have we heard, "he was really hot until he opened his mouth and a purse fell out." How many times have the topics of musicals, flowers, decorating, or pipe organs been derided as not acceptable for leathermen? As if there is only one way to be a proper leatherman! We are complex, multi-faceted, interesting people, and there is absolutely no reason to limit the areas of interest we can discuss or explore.

If you hear someone knocking sissies, tell them to stop. If you see someone being a faggot like me, smile and be glad we're creating a country where that can happen. Fight for it. It's important.

A meme I like.

2007-09-13T16:23:00.000-04:00

You scored as Experimental,Experimentation is a great place to be. Open-mindedness when it comes to sexuality can open doors and allow you to discover things that you didn't think you would find engaging. Having such a curious attitude can help you learn more about your own sexual nature as well as the nature of others.

Do you have an inclination for BDSM?
created with QuizFarm.com

Experimental

93%

Submission

89%

Bondage

79%

Exhibitionism and Voyeurism

61%

Switch

50%

Masochism

46%

Sadism

29%

Degradation

14%

Domination

14%

Vanilla Sex

Do you have an inclination for BDSM?
created with QuizFarm.com

Saturday's neologism; Sunday's calendar girls.

2007-09-12T00:35:00.000-04:00

heatherbears (noun, pl.) attractive bears with bad attitude, heatherbears have only their looks and their insecurities and their haughty bad behavior

Also, there were cars to wash, and Matticakes was enthusiastic. Also, he was half naked. He can't help it, really. Also, I did manual labor. I couldn't help it, though I tried.

Car Wash!

2007-08-31T10:59:00.001-04:00

What: New York boys of Leather Car Wash
When: Sunday, September 9th at 2:00 PM
Where: Eagle NYC
Who: The NYboLs and their pals, and all the hot men of summer beer blast.
Also, cabbies and firemen.
Why: For charity and fun!

A warning to those who wear goggles.

2007-08-30T12:04:00.000-04:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Relief.

2007-08-28T13:34:00.000-04:00

It seems like all I've been hearing for the past month or two is that my feelings are wrong, created by unusual situations or medications. This seemed entirely possible, as this Summer has thrown some very intense problems my way. I've been plagued with doubt about my perceptions and analyses, as over and over again I've reached conclusions about the behavior of those around me, only to be told I was mistaken, it was coincidence, it was simple forgetfulness, or some other lame excuse. I feel like I've been painted as a small-time conspiracy theorist, capable of seeing only the worst possible explanation. I've been called paranoid.

But yesterday I received hard proof that one of my suspicions is true. I am not paranoid. I am correct. I am vindicated. One of my worst fears is realized. The rest of my "crazy theories" now seem a lot less like the dark musings of someone trying to find reason in ordinary disappointment and misfortune, and instead a lot more like real insight. I'm feeling both incredibly hurt and incredibly relieved, which is a very odd combination.

And you know what? I'm okay with it. I can deal. I had my day for crying at the outset and now it's done. Only the across-the-board insistence that I had lost my faculties was causing me to doubt, delay, and cling to the hope that things might not be as bad as they appear. Finally a crack has appeared in that facade and instead of trying to deduce what's behind it, I can see for myself. My expectations will change to fit the circumstances and life will go on.

How not.

2007-08-28T09:58:00.001-04:00

How not to have me cuss you out and hit your vehicle when you pull into the crosswalk while I have the green light on my way to work in the morning:

Be a hulking daddy of a construction worker in coveralls over a plaid shirt, smoking a fat cigar, and when I attempt to give you the glare of death through the windows of your beast of a pickup truck, blow smoke at me and sneer a little half smile when I can't help but continue to stare in lust.

Otherwise, screw you, and maybe the ding I'm going to put in the side of your car as I detour around it will teach you not to pull into the intersection when it's already packed with vehicles and you know full well you're not going to make it through "the box" before the light changes. This city is ruled by pedestrians. Cars are a barely-tolerated necessary evil. I bet half of the cars on the street on a weekday morning contain a single passenger who could just as easily get to work via public transportation. Be a diva and drive your pollution-spewing, resource-wasting hunk of metal into one of the most crowded cities in the country if you must, but at least follow the rules of the road, or suffer my wrath as it is rained down on your metallic finish!

Have you ever seen that ride at the amusement park for which you're strapped into a full body harness, attached to wires hanging from a giant metal structure, dragged back and up about five stories in the air, and then unhooked so you freefall and fly out over half of the park, with everyone on the ground laughing and pointing as you scream like a little girl who's just witnessed Barney being doused with gasoline and set on fire by a rabid band of unemployed Christmas elves?

My mood swings are exactly like that.

It's me! It's me!

2007-08-24T10:46:00.000-04:00

Cyanide & Happiness @ Explosm.net

Brooklyn, baby.

2007-08-23T13:23:00.000-04:00

Last night I trekked to Brooklyn to meet JP and the gang who made the short film "HEY GiRL" last Saturday. (See YouTube link below.) All of the entries for the Film Racing event were being screened.

First things first, the Film Racing guys really got it right to include free popcorn and soda with the $8 ticket. Brooklyn scores a point for being frugal.

Second, JP's roommates and friends are pretty fun. I enjoyed hanging out with them while they were making the movie and that feeling continued last night. The movies ranged from very good to very bad, and all very hetero. HEY GiRL was shown as the very last of a couple dozen, and I just don't think the straight people got the humor. But that's okay, we had fun.

Third, Brooklyn is all right. Of course, I always have a good time when I go there, other than the one near-death experience with the vampire--but that can count as an exception to the rule. It's generally low, so I can actually see the sky, if not the stars. It has some very fine parks, restaurants, bars, and all the good things that come with urban living. I could definitely live there.

I am proficient at Manhattan snobbery. I learned it early in my career as a New Yorker. When you live in Manhattan below Central Park, it's almost too easy to be superior to everyone from anywhere else. I live at the center of the Universe. Some would try to throw out London, Paris, Berlin, etc., and to be sure those cities all have some areas in which they can beat NYC. But this city is far more than the sum of its many, many parts. Manhattan is magic and anyone who tries to convince you otherwise is being dishonest.

With all that said, I really and truly feel no need to gloat over my superior location. I mean, so a guy lives in Jersey City, so what? I'm sure it's a nice place and he has good reasons to be there. The fact that I have a different answer to the question of where in the NYC area I want to live than any other guy merely means we have different priorities. No further judgment can be made.

I throw out my Manhattan snobbery as a verbal game, with a wink. It's fun. It makes non-Manhattanites all jittery and defensive. That's all.

The real reasons I visit Brooklyn so rarely are all practical. It's a long subway ride away. I'm generally going in the evenings, when the trains are few and far between, especially for the return ride. It really is a completely different city and I don't know my way around. Look at the map and you'll see a dozen different street grids, each tilted a different way and overlapping the others. It's like navigating the West Village, which I'm only now figuring out after three years, only 20 times the size. I can't tell which direction is North! I have to print a map and look at it on the street!

I've adapted very well to this crazy city. And in time I'm sure I'll learn plenty about its boroughs and suburbs. But for now, dear friends, I'm going to mostly stay in Manhattan. Because I'm still just a boy from Kansas, after all, and though my back yard may be paved, it's my turf now and I like being here.

A sink full of crabs.

2007-08-20T15:21:00.000-04:00

Part of this weekend's festivities included a Saturday afternoon trip to JP's outrageously oversized SoHo loft, where he and his roommates were participating in Film Race. I managed to help out in a couple very, very small ways. I held the microphone and acted as a human boom mic during a couple of scenes. I also clapped while the music was being recorded for the opening sequence. All in all, it was a fun afternoon, and exciting to do yet another new and crazy thing in NYC.

Smaller.

2007-08-20T12:45:00.000-04:00

Above are a couple of photos of my apartment. And yes, what you see is most of my apartment. To the right out of the frame are a small kitchen and a small bathroom. There's also an entry hallway with enough room for a couch and a good size closet.

I'll have to dig up some of my photos of my houses in Kansas. The last I owned with my ex had five bedrooms, an eat-in kitchen, full living and dining rooms, a full basement, a two car garage, and was on a corner lot in the nicest old neighborhood in Topeka. The amount for which we sold that house would barely be a downpayment on a one bedroom apartment in Manhattan, and I'm talking before paying off the mortgage!

I'm unlikely to be a homeowner again in NYC. I look forward with wonder to answering the question of whether I'll ever want to move away from NYC, because I cannot now imagine the circumstances that could prompt such a move, at least voluntarily. Thus I may from now on always be able to fit my worldly possessions into a small van. And frankly, that's okay with me. Lean and mean, I can be three blocks or three thousand miles away without too much inconvenience.

I fight change. I worry and fret over how it may negatively impact my life. And yet it happens, over and over again, whether I worry or not.

Last weekend I painted my apartment. Not all of it, just some select areas. The darker caramel brown and the lilac gray/blue are both new. For once I'm really happy with my color selections.

If I must live with change, I suppose making some of those changes myself, rather than waiting for what the world throws at me, is probably a good idea.

Perspectives.

2007-08-16T14:08:00.000-04:00

Above: Yeah, my nephew really is the cutest baby in the entire world. Totally ready for his close-up.

I started this post last Friday, when I thought I'd write about how I'd been feeling really sad and angry, and then I had an epiphany on Thursday night which made me feel all better.

Well, that was Friday.

I guess I just have to get used to the idea that I'm on an emotional roller coaster right now. I used to say that all the time, but only now do I really think I know what it means.

In many ways, I had a good weekend. My sister just arrived from Kansas and is settling in to NYC life. Made a movie. Had fun and relaxed.

And yet...and yet...still so upset. Can't even put my finger on it. GRRRR.

Make up your mind, already.

2007-08-15T13:01:00.000-04:00

Above: The high altar ready for Easter Sunday at St. Mary the Virgin, Times Square. For a bit of perspective, the altar is 13.5 feet wide. The tallest candles at the back are more than 6 feet tall.

I get it all the time. Those strange looks when I tell people I have to go to church on Sunday morning. New York is a very, very secular city. For all that it is filled with churches, they're rarely filled with people on Sunday morning, at least not relative to the number of people who live here. Religion is the domain of the Midwest, the Bible Belt, the Red States--at least that's what we hear; most New Yorkers haven't been there.

Add in that I'm gay and then add on top that I'm a kinky pervert, and you start to get an idea of how strange the looks are. Yes, there are quite a few leathermen who are associated with church, often as organists, but most of those don't talk about it much. Whereas I have a tendency to invite everyone to come with me.

But I'm not an evangelical! The word "evangelism" originally meant preaching or proselytizing and did not have the conservative Christian connotations it holds now. But in either case, the word does not describe me, because I'm certainly not conservative and I could care less whether you believe in Jesus.

I'm not so sure I believe, after all. When it comes to religion, spirituality, or belief in anything that science can't measure, I have only questions and no answers.

So why in the world do I go to church? That's the question behind every strange look.

I don't have a good answer. I often cite the ritual and the beauty of the space. The music I hear there, be it pipe organ, choir, or otherwise, is also a big factor. It's the kind of art into which I can really sink my teeth. And viewed in that way, it's not so strange--many people are moved by the collections at The Met, MOMA, Lincoln Center, Radio City Music Hall, or any of the other bastions of art, I just happen to find my favorite works in a French Gothic church. Tastes vary.

There's more to it, of course. Some of it hearkens back to my childhood and the time I spent growing up in sacred spaces. You can take the boy out of church but you can't take the church out of the boy. Also, I'm sure some of it is fear of death--isn't religion the opiate of the masses?

The ethics of Christianity are also a quality I admire. Remove the supernatural motivation from the equation and the ten commandments are still worthwhile guidelines. Do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Don't kill or steal. Sure, many fanatics have wrongfully twisted the Bible into a club which they use to beat others over the head, but when it is stripped to its most basic elements, Christianity is built on a solid foundation of morality.

When all of those things are added up, however, I still don't hold the total sum of my motivation to spend time in church. I can't explain why I leave feeling so good after Mass.

Maybe I do it just so I'll have some time set aside to contemplate these questions.

Some people would say that it's God causing these things, prompting me to go to church, and soothing my soul when I'm there. Well, okay, maybe it is. But then maybe it's like my father would say--the aliens who terraformed our planet are beaming happy rays into my brain. The point is, any number of explanations are just as likely in my book. Invoking the divine does not by itself raise a theory above raw conjecture.

In the end, I again give in to the contradiction. My life is full of them. This just happens to be one of the more obvious.

Tonight I'll be at Solemn Mass for the Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary. The Rector will be preaching, the choir will be singing, the incense will be burning, the flowers will be verdant, and I will be content.

Fried trip.

2007-08-14T12:25:00.000-04:00

Above: myself, a couple boys, and some of the guys who went to NYboL's Second Annual Beach Day on Sunday. That's us at 8:00am, looking more chipper than we should given the hour, but perhaps that's because of the...er...special orange juice they had on the ferry. The Verrazano-Narrows bridge is in the left background.

And here's the Verrazano up close and personal. This was snapped in the afternoon, on the way back to the city.

And finally, the view just after passing under the Verrazano and into New York Harbor. From right to left there's Manhattan, then a gap which is the Hudson River, and then New Jersey to the left of the Hudson. Even farther left from the cluster of buildings that is downtown Jersey City, one can just make out the Statue of Liberty.

Half of the fun of Beach Day for me is the ferry ride. Being from Kansas, I'm very impressed by large bodies of water and the ships that sail them.

I'm also continually impressed by the huge pieces of structural engineering all around me in NYC. Just getting to the beach we passed under four suspension bridges. In outgoing order, they were the Williamsburg, Manhattan, Brooklyn, and Verrazano. I actually dread going over the bridges, just a little, but I love going under them!

It happens.

2007-08-11T22:56:00.000-04:00

Above: snapped in Asbury Park, New Jersey, at a leather block party three of my brothers and I attended this Summer. A scary drag queen taking a painful crap into a golden throne? You betcha. And she picked that bitch up over her shoulder and carried it off after her number.

This evening I put together a small group to see a play at the Fringe Festival. The show was called Top and Bottom and was billed as being about an extremely submissive bottom and a socially awkward top. I'm not sure where I first read about it, but it sounded like it would have all the elements of an interesting show. Plus I had the impression that the Fringe Festival was very edgy, interesting theater.

I was disappointed. There were certainly some funny lines and situations, as when the bottom was babbling on about a really hot bondage scene he had in the woods while the poor top was slaving away tying him up very intricately, but without any passion. But for the most part, as Densemore observed afterwards, it was pretty clear that the writer/director was not writing about what he knew. They hit pretty much every kink/leather cliche in the book, without putting any new spin on them.

Once we finally got to the sappy meat of the story, the bottom became very emotional while recounting a scene which had gone bad and ventured into non-consensual territory. But when ultimately he had not been seriously hurt, and clearly the experience was not keeping him from seeking out kinky sex, the story lost all of its bite.

Likewise, when the top proceeded to recount a lifetime of hiding his kink and then being rejected when finally revealing it to a date, thus sending him scurrying back to his shameful hermit hole, I was unconvinced. It's 2007, after all, and these guys were supposed to be from Los Angeles. The man had more gear and knowledge of technique than he was likely to acquire without encountering many guys comfortable enough with their kinky sexuality to set him at ease, at least a little.

I could have forgiven the naive writing, however, if the actors had simply sold their roles. I've seen many simplistic portrayals of the kink world that were nonetheless compelling because the characters were imbued with believable sincerity. Instead, during much of the show, I found myself daydreaming of my theater fag days back in high school and trying out my own delivery of the lines in my head.

Most disappointing, however, was not the sub-par production, but the fact that my first foray into the Fringe Festival couldn't even push an envelope across my desk. I wanted edgy, but I got safe. I wanted experimental, but I got by-the-book.

I wanted to go home thinking, "Wow, only in New York!" Instead I left wanting to pull the writer and actors aside to say, "Seriously guys, this is New York."

I'm nobody, least of all a creative type, but a week and a half ago I was in a friend's show at the leather bar, where he put me in a donkey mask and had me humping and bootsexing a punk tranny boy onstage. It was a Wednesday night, we did it for shits and giggles, and we still had a bigger and happier audience.

I'm just sayin'.

So therefore.

2007-08-10T20:39:00.000-04:00

NYC Gay Pride Parade, 2007

well hey do you do judo when they surround you
a little mental yoga will they disappear
it's grim but never dubious as motives go
no matter what it takes she promises a show

thunder wishes it could be the snow
wishes it could be as loved as she can be
these gifts are here for her, for you, for me

i watch me be this other thing, i never know
if i'm marooned or where the purple people go
then lily white matricide from vicious words
it doesn't leave a scratch so therefore no one's hurt

thunder wishes it could be the show
wishes it could be as loved as she can be
these gifts are here for her, for you, for me

and on and on the nurses make it clear
just when you escape you have yourself to fear
a restaurant that never has to close
breakfast every hour it could save the world

so hey do you do judo in your finery
an angel's face is tricky to wear constantly
thunder wishes it could be the snow
wishes it could be as loved as she can be
these gifts are here for her, for you for me

Purple People
-Tori

It was one of those.

2007-08-06T15:14:00.000-04:00

Above: A happy photo at Folsom Street East, to cheer my mood.

This post was written Monday, but then I got distracted with painting and such, so I'm posting it a bit late.

--

I am wroth with the world.

It's actually a touch alarming. I had a decent night's sleep last night, but I woke up very groggy today, and I just can't stand anyone. My boss, who is a bit excitable but overall a good guy, is getting short shrift from me today. His well-known foibles have become intolerable.

I wonder if it's perhaps the muscle relaxer I took last night before bed. I have TMD issues in my jaw so the doc prescribed these to loosen things up, but I haven't been taking them lately until last night. I know they make me groggy when they're working, but it seems a stretch that they're causing me to be bitchy the next day.

Despite my cranky blog post yesterday, it's not like I spent the weekend at home doing nothing but being depressed. I was actually much more productive than usual--I cooked quite a bit of food which should last most of this week and I painted my bathroom. The latter I'd been threatening to do for a couple months and it felt really good to accomplish. I'm going to start in on painting my room this evening, while I'm on a roll. I also went to Mass in the morning and the Folsom Street East volunteer thank-you party in the evening. There was much shopping for the perfect quilted coverlet on Saturday, and though unrequited, the hunt was pleasant. I also treated myself to a cup of a fantastic single-origin brew at Grumpy Coffee, which was excellent, though at $7 for a small I'll probably stick to the usual but still-extraordinary varieties. I saw the Simpsons movie on Friday night with Fluffybutt after we got stoned out of our gourds; it was clever and entertaining, if not really side-splitting.

So I was really fairly busy being productive and social this weekend, which means I can't pin today's ire on yesterday's complaints. What, then, is causing these homicidal thoughts?

Perhaps it was the coverlet. I really don't like being denied what I want. They have the perfect answer at West Elm, but I don't want to pay the $120 they want. Can anyone direct me to a lightweight, solid color (prefer a light sage, blue, grey, or tan), quilted blanket or duvet which won't break my budget?

If I'm going to have to lay in the bed I make, I may as well make it stylish.

Whipping post.

2007-08-05T13:16:00.001-04:00

Above: Grace Cathedral, Topeka, Kansas.

I really try not to use my blog as a place to bitch. But this afternoon I'm going to fail.

Lately I've been feeling low and having difficulty connecting with people. I'm feeling like an outcast for a natural reason, though I know it's not logical. I went to church this morning and was feeling really good afterwards. Then I tried to have brunch.

I'm going to jump back a little bit. A couple weeks ago I decided to have some guys over for drinks. It was last minute, but I'd done it before successfully. Of two dozen invitations, one guy (bless him) showed up, half said no, and half didn't respond.

I've spent most of the intervening time by myself. Finally, last night, I started to feel really lonely. Great, I thought, that means it's time to get back into the world.

This morning I invited five of my closets friends to brunch. One has a date, one has to clean his apartment, one declined without explanation, and two did not respond.

Fine. Whatever. I'm sure it was nothing personal. I send out as many of these invitations on a regular basis as anyone I know, so it shouldn't be surprising that many are declined. This post is not a passive-aggressive attempt to get anyone to change their behavior. I'm working hard on attempting less to impose my will on the world and accepting the choices of others. A sudden deluge of invitations would not fix my problem and would of necessity have their sincerity doubted. There's nothing that can or should be done.

But when do I start wondering whether the universe is trying to tell me something? Because this is making me mad and sad. And when I feel strongly about something, it has to have some underlying import, right?

When do I start wondering whether all these people are trying to tell me something? An old friend in Topeka used to ask me, when we hadn't seen each other for a while, whether his deodorant wasn't working. Somehow, with this crowd, I don't think that's the issue.

I realize the answer to those questions is in this post. It's almost certainly me, not anyone else. But if it's all much ado about nothing, why must it piss me off so much?

Tori, Tori, Tori

2007-08-03T10:27:00.000-04:00

So I finally dug into my photos last night after the delay caused by the hospitalization of my Powerbook. Mostly I have new pics of IML and Pride. I'll be putting up some of the fun ones in the next few posts. Above is me on the Eagle NYC float, looking as sedate and butch as I managed to get that day. Most of the time I was waving that gold hanky around with my boots in the air like a mad faggot. Good times!

Matticakes and I just picked up tickets to Tori Amos's October show at Madison Square Garden. I'm not quite as much of a Toriphile as I once was, but I'm still very excited to see the show. Her latest album has a bit of an edge she's been lacking lately and it will be interesting to see how she translates it to the stage.

Recently I've been back in touch with a good friend from high school, we'll call her Blondie. She may have been my original fag hag--we caused all kinds of trouble back in those days. I remember skipping school with her to go get our ears pierced, because in the middle of the day the ladies at Claire's Boutique assumed we were over 18 and didn't card us before piercing us. We'd call in to school pretending to be each others' parent, and to the best of my knowledge, it always worked.

Anyhow, to tie this all together, I remember the first time I ever knew of Tori's existence was in Blondie's bedroom. She had a copy of the first album, Little Earthquakes, and I remember being fascinated with the art on the back. It took me a while to realize the giant mushrooms were arranged as phalluses. I don't think I listened to the album at the time, as my real introduction to Tori's music came with Under the Pink, but I'm quite sure this was my first exposure to the most influential artist during my late adolescence and early adulthood.

This fall will be the fourth time I've seen her live. Can't wait!

It's getting hot in here.

2007-08-02T11:20:00.000-04:00

The city is boiling over.

You know the feeling. You put the pasta on to boil in a smaller-than-recommended pot. You wander out of the kitchen for two minutes to send an email, change the music, or answer the phone. And then you hear it--that sizzling, popping sound of the frothy water overcoming the sides of the pot, splashing down and frying into a huge mess on your stovetop. You run to catch it, but by the time you've heard the sound, it's too late. Your quick pasta dinner has turned into a mess. You'll spend 20 minutes just cleaning up the stove.

It's not yet noon and New York City is 90 degrees. Back in Kansas, a 90 degree day in August was almost a blessing. But here, everything is paved. My walk to work takes about 20-25 minutes and is about 25 blocks, which is about 1.25 miles. By NYC standards, I have a very easy commute, because I don't have to use public transportation. In the course of that mile walk, I pass exactly zero blades of grass. There are no parks or grassy medians. I suppose there are trees, but trees along 9th Avenue are bedraggled stick figures which provide no shade.

Everything here is covered in concrete, asphalt, and buildings. Put a couple million people on top of that surface and the city literally begins to cook them. Being on the streets of Manhattan in August means getting sautéed with all the homeless, tourists, bridge and tunnel jackasses, and poor souls like me who can't afford to get out of town during the stinky season. It quickly becomes a vile stew full of vicious glances, sharp elbows, and angry growls. It's nothing short of a miracle that people aren't brawling in the street.

I'm heading out to get a salad for lunch. I'll do my best not to throw my cell phone at someone's head!

Blogging in the Dark

2007-08-01T12:13:00.000-04:00

I've been in a very dark place lately. I can't talk at all about what has happened, so it's difficult to blog about the issue.

I generally deal well with emergencies. In an acute situation, I'm your go-to guy. I can identify a problem, research possible courses of action, analyze the pros and cons of each, make a decision, and resolve the situation. I'm not always correct, of course, but for better or worse, I get things done.

Unfortunately, my skill in this area drops off markedly when the situation becomes chronic. I'm an excellent sprinter, but I'm useless in a marathon. Anything that requires long-term planning is beyond me. I just don't have the discipline. Eventually I'll get tired and distracted, and my attention will wander off to something else, leaving that problem which required a long-term solution to fester.

Moving to NYC was a huge effort. Packing, disposing of nearly everything, shipping, closing up life in Kansas, setting up accounts here, finding a job, finding an apartment, joining a gym, etc., etc. Check, check, check...I took care of it all, with very few bumps in the road. A few months later I found myself with nothing to do, no problems to solve, and feeling terribly alone in a strange city.

Building a social life in a new place, especially NYC, requires patience and persistence, and I found it much easier to stay in my apartment and have dinner delivered.

Fortunately, I eventually worked my way out of that quagmire and developed a life I love here. But as often as not I don't solve the long-term problems. My finances are a mess. My career is something I fell into, rather than planned. And so on.

Life has changed once again. The problem is solved, inasmuch as it can be. The course is charted and the ship has sailed. I am left to deal with my emotions, which won't return to "normal" for some time. I don't like it one bit and I'm not doing very well. It's dark in here.

A little indulgence can't hurt.

2007-06-27T10:38:00.000-04:00

Somewhere over the rainbow
Way up high
There's a land that I heard of
Once in a lullaby
Somewhere over the rainbow
Skies are blue
And the dreams that you dare to dream
Really do come true

One day I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me

Somewhere over the rainbow
Bluebirds fly
Birds fly over the rainbow
Why oh why can't I?

My baby is sick!

2007-06-08T15:28:00.000-04:00

I haven't been posting much lately, and this trend may continue, as my Powerbook decided to die yesterday. I'm still working on getting it in to the Apple Store to see a Genius who can make a diagnosis. Keep your nuts crossed that it won't be too expensive.