Strangers in a strange land.

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

Justin Bond: Rites

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!!!

Where the wild things are.

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.

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

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.

To forgive is divine.

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."

Long Time Gone

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!

MALicious.

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.

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.

Ch-ch-ch-changin'

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.

Blow by blow.

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.

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.

Car Wash!

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!

Relief.

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.

Brooklyn, baby.

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.

Whipping post.

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

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!

Emmel.

Well, another IML has come and gone.

Some quick stats: this was my sixth IML. Since "coming out" to leather in 2001 I have only missed the event once. In 2001 I attended after having my first leathersex only two weeks before and I saw my first puppy party. In 2002 the man who would later become my Daddy took me to my first puppy party. In 2003 I was wearing Dad's collar on a full-time basis and at the end of the weekend he asked me to figure out how to move to NYC. In 2004 I was one Summer class away from finishing my college degree and on the verge of moving to NYC. In 2005 I judged the IML contest as a New Yorker.

By 2006 things were very much on the rocks with Dad & Moose and none of us went to IML. I don't even remember anyone bringing up the possibility.

Thus, IML 2007 was a transitional year for me. For the first time I went as a single boy with a full understanding of leathersex, the leather community, and the possibilities around me. For the first time I was obligated to no one but myself.

In some ways it was a quiet year. I did not have sex. I did not play. I flirted and licked some boots in the 16th floor cigar lounge, but that's as far as anything went.

In some ways it was a boisterous year. I reconnected with friends from Kansas City, friends from around the country, and many of the beautiful men in the IML class I judged. I passed out trick cards shamelessly and gregariously introduced myself to anyone who seemed interested or merely came too close to me. I was "on" in every sense of the word. For the first time since learning the meaning of leather community I was free to socialize at my own breakneck pace, unfettered by the need to let someone else take the lead in all things.

In some ways it was a new year. I shared a room with my club brothers Rare and Jink. They're the absolute bee's knees, and that's really all I can say about them without getting mushy, which I did more than enough of in the last post. It was the first IML each of them had attended. Rare found a new appreciation for his own hotness. Jink found new success in his work at the Leatherman and Fort Troff booths. I discovered new friendships with Matt, Christophe, and Max. Densemore is full of new life experiences and a new appreciation for NYC. And there was new leather everywhere, plus lots of other new stuff that I've forgotten due to a new appreciation for Jack & Coke.

And now, more than a week late with my IML blog post, I have new custom-made leather pants which are payment for my work at the Leatherman booth that weekend. They're the low-waist jean cut, in all black, modified with shallow L-pockets in front, inside pockets in back, light grey stitching all around, and a dozen other little changes to make them fit me just right. I love them and my butt looks fantastic in them!

And while it may sound shallow, my friends, if your butt looks good, then all is going well in the world.

Out and about.

A very wise friend of mine says, "The secret to living in New York is getting out of New York as often as possible."

This weekend I went to Philadelphia to visit my friend John and to hear the Organ Recital Marathon at the Kimmel Center. It's only $35 round trip on NJ Transit/SEPTA---I'd cost me more to stay in NYC!

Above you'll find Jason, John, me, Alvaro, and Price. John is a very good friend who I've known for years now and who I visit often. Alvaro is his very groovy roommate who is a clarinet player and who went to church with me today. Jason is a friend I met through John a few years back, and Price is a friend of all theirs who lives in Tampa and who I just met this weekend as he was also visiting. We're sitting in Rittenhouse Square and below you'll find some more photos of that very beautiful park on this perfect Spring day.

Later this week I'll write up reviews of the Kimmel Center organ and the recitals, as well as a review of Sunday morning Mass at St. Mark's Church.

If I knew you were comin'...

Once again I failed to take any photos last night at our monthly bar party, so above is a photo of Spiky at the December party. It was the club's anniversary, and thus the cake. Spiky's looking a bit fey, right? It's the smile. He's new to the whole upturning of his mouth. Plus he usually only shows his teeth when he's about to bite, spike, or otherwise spill your blood. He'll get better at it.

Last night we had a great turnout for the leather-themed party. We raised $565 for the Leather Archives & Museum (located in Chicago, and serving the world). Coincidentally, this week (or was it last?) is National Library Week. Special thanks go out to International Mister Leather, The Leatherman, Greco Gear, Invincible Latex, Boy Butter, and LA&M itself for providing prizes.

Naturally, I have denim burns on my lips and nose today. Balls-to-boots for $10 is definitely the best deal for raffle tickets, especially if I'm the one measuring your inseam! Though I may consider only being thorough with the guys wearing leather next time, that way I can go to town without drying out my delicate complexion!

I know, right? Yes, I'm a big fag.

I smoked another cigar when I had a break from the party and I received good smoking advice from Thor and Badfaggot. I may actually get good at this! I enjoyed it very much, but this morning in church I found my voice to be strained. I hope it was all the talking last night and not the cigar, or it was the cigar, perhaps I can train myself to inhale less smoke.

It's a beautiful Sunday out there, so I'm going out into it! Cheers, queers.