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!

Never forget you.

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!

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.

Dinghy, dong.

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.

I aim to misbehave.

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.

32.

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.

Saturday's neologism; Sunday's calendar girls.

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!

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!

Fried trip.

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!

So therefore.

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

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.

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.

Smoke it.

On my way home from work this evening I picked up cigars for Rare and me. There's a great little cigar shop around the corner from where I live, which I've often found full of cops and older Latino men, all puffing away. It's nifty.

Rare agreed to teach me how to smoke a cigar. Being Thursday, we were of course headed out to the Eagle for Code. I took to the whole procedure with gusto, and I'm told I did a fairly good job. I don't yet have a good appreciation for what I'm supposed to be tasting when I smoke them, but I think that will come in time.

As I was saying my goodbyes, a handsome gentleman with whom I had been flirting admitted that he could not often come from his home in Massachusetts (Edit: it was actually Rhode Island. I only had two beers, I swear!) to the city on Saturday evenings (when we have the NYboL bar party) because he is a church organist. He was a bit taken aback when I flung my arms around him and began humping his leg with an enthusiasm that belied my professed fatigue. Even more amazing, he may just be a top, as he took this proximity as an excuse to grab my butt. Fortune smiles upon me!

We flirted and made out and exchanged little bits of pipe organ gossip. I sternly admonished that he must email me so that we could continue. I think he just might do it.

So put that in your pipe an smoke it!

P.S. The above photo is the pipe organ in the new Walt Disney Concert Hall in Los Angeles. The facade, like the crazy stainless steel building which houses it, was also designed by Gehry. The instrument is by Rosales. I've yet to hear it, but I'm very impressed by its radical good looks, and I very much hope it will have the same effect on my ears as it does my eyes.

Pride, distilled and not paraded.

Okay, admittedly, the above photo is not from this evening. It is from LLC X, and it's NYboL posing with some Congressman. It's a pretty cool moment.

Unfortunately, I didn't take my camera this evening, so I don't have a pic of five of the boys attending the NGLTF annual awards and fundraising dinner at the Grand Hyatt. But boy did we attend! Rare, Bonfire, Spiky, Amber Waves, and I turned out our formal leather as if we had some idea what we were doing.

We were completely fabulous, five leatherboys in a room full of suits and power dykes. You should have seen the faces as they arrived at registration and saw all of us in our colors. Naturally we made quick friends with the Imperial Court of New York.

I'm very proud of my boys tonight.

And more than just a little proud that my boys, in the midst of a room full of individuals standing up to give thousands of dollars, led by Amber Waves (a candidate for Cruise Director status if ever I saw one), managed to pull our table together to give another $100. Empress XVIII Gefel Tefish, whom we had charmed at our table, took the mic and announced that the "New York Lords of Leather" had come together to make our gift. We, of course, shouted "boys!" in unison. It was flawless.

The A-list fags had no idea what was hitting them, but I think they enjoyed it.

Somebody pop me.

Transfixing!

Here I am on March 19th with Buck Angel and Bonfire, hamming it up at the Black Party movie premier, of which Buck is the star. I noticed Peter snapping photos of Buck all by his lonesome, so I grabbed the flamer, dragged him across the room (kicking and screaming--can't you see how he hated it?) and we plopped ourselves down in the middle of that photo shoot. Seriously, Buck is hot and all, but our fabulousness brought everything up a notch. *grins*

Later that evening I must have said something smart as Buck was walking past, because suddenly he reached out and grabbed me firmly by the throat! Arf. When he felt I'd been adequately chastised he let me go with a little push and wandered off, shooting "nice Adam's apple" back over his shoulder. Hot.

I want to be raped!

Last night NYboL held the first event planned by its newly-formed social committee: a movie night out to see the film 300. Attendance was good; I won't name them all because I'm not feeling creative enough to make up blog names for those who don't have them yet. I was very glad that several associate members of NYboL were able to attend. While full members of the club must be leatherboys who can attend a majority of club functions, the intent is not to exclude those who have time restrictions or different orientations, and it's nice to see that inclusive philosophy really work.

The movie, however, was horrid. Yes, yes, yes, the men are all hot muffins. However, I can't even throw out the "visually spectacular" praise which can often be given to bad films (I'm looking at you, Lucas). Of course it's a matter of taste, and I must admit that mine is perhaps a bit more delicate than the general public, but there is simply too much blood and gore. The stunning Greek interior spaces and landscapes of golden wheat and mountains are far outnumbered by the amputations, gougings, beheadings, corpses, deformities, monsters, and a plethora of other exotic horrors. The plot was silly and senseless. The writing was unremarkable. The acting was overblown to the point of hilarity. It's possible for a film to redeem some of these deficiencies and gross visuals (Pan's Labyrinth) but 300 doesn't come anywhere close to doing so.

After the movie most of the group hopped the train down to Pieces for karaoke, where we witnessed Rare and Huge singing the song about doing it like they do on the Discovery Channel. I'll be selling rights to the photos on eBay soon. Apparently we all got a good huff of Bonfire's coat while we were on the train; spray painting outerwear is all the new rage for kids these days.

Thought I had a witness to this crime.

Last Christmas Eve in Topeka, Kansas, I patiently explained to my aunt that walking the sidewalks of New York City is just like driving the highways of Kansas. You are aware of the other people on the road only to the extent necessary to make sure they aren't about to wreck into you. The comparison is perhaps inadequate to describe how pointedly you must work to ignore the others on the sidewalks in the city as you walk them alone.

When walking the streets in a group, however, people gain certain advantages. Invisible bonds of gait, stride, and purpose join together two or more people walking as a group. The solo dancer on the pavement may choose to work with or go around the bonds between walkers, but only those who have created the ties may truly break them.

When I shared the metaphor with my aunt, she looked very sad. At the time I thought she really didn't understand what I was saying, that in fact it was as okay to ignore other walkers as it is to ignore other drivers, but now I'm not so sure. Walking alone lately, I have wondered whether I don't envy the Midwestern drivers their thick skins of metal and glass, which prevent the traveler from forming those idle, inconvenient bonds which hurt so much when they are inevitably broken. Maybe it is a little sad.

Pick It

Monday night I hosted the Colors Committee of New York boys of Leather at my apartment. (www.newyorkboysofleather.com) It had been a long time since we met and there was much to discuss.

Conversation quickly devolved into my unfortunate condition. Apparently I have a chronic resemblance to a muppet. I am not quite sure when I acquired this strange ailment, nor exactly how it is to be treated.

I suppose not yelling "I am a hot toe picker!" randomly on the street in the screechiest voice I can manage might beat down the dastardly little microbes evidently controlling my brain.

But really, what fun would that be?