Totally Joe

Earthquake!

2011-08-23T16:00:00.003-04:00

I've experience earthquakes twice before here in Philly. Both quite some time ago. One woke me in the middle of the night. I thought someone had rammed a truck into the side of my house. I noted the time because I felt it had to have been a quake. The next morning, I listened to the news and sure enough it had been.

This afternoon, as I sat on the sofa reading, my building began to bounce and sway. That's right bounce! I was bounced off the sofa. Twice. I saw things in the apartment swaying back and forth, dishes rattled. And the whole building felt as if it were moving.

For some reason, the idea of an earthquake didn't occur to me this time. I thought maybe the building was shuddering prior to collapse. So, I put on some shoes, grabbed my flash drives, took my bag with notebooks and glasses, and left as fast as I could.

I live on a very high floor in one of the taller buildings in the city. I wasn't about to take chances.

WHen I got to the ground floor, everything was chaos. People all over the lace. The building manager told me there'd been an earthquake. A big one in Virginia.

I left the building and the streets were packed with people. All the surrounding buildings had evacuated. People stood all about trying to get through to others on their cell phones. I did the same things and at first got no signal. But finally got through but only to some of those I wanted to contact.

I headed for a nearby cafe to sit and write and think and as I walked couldn't help but look up at the tall buildings all around. I wondered what would happen when the aftershocks came.

For the first time, I think I experienced what people in earthquake zones must feel. My sense of security in the safety of things was shaken. Just as the quake had rumbled through my building, it had also temporarily rattled my sense of security.

It's taking time for it to return.

A BODY ON PINE

2011-05-01T22:07:00.005-04:00

The next installment in the Marco Fontana series is launched and available in paper and e-book formats.

Here's a little teaser:

When Marco Fontana enters his friend's spa on Pine, he doesn't find the peaceful retreat he expected. Brad, the masseur, is missing. The spa is splattered with blood and a dead client lies sprawled on the floor. After a thorough search turns up more questions than answers, Marco calls the police. They find Brad's body a short distance from the spa and before long Marco understands that what appears to be a simple case of murder is anything but. The police want Marco off the case. However, when the body of a popular journalist is added to the death toll, Brad's case gets sidelined. Marco refuses to allow his friend's death to be ignored and convinces an overwhelmed young police detective to bring Marco into the hunt for the killer. He finds plenty to keep him busy. Abusive ex-boyfriends, stalker clients, politicians, scheming businessmen, and Eastern European mobsters swirl together in a dangerous mix which finds Marco in some of the most serious trouble he's encountered so far. Life at home doesn't stop for Marco, either. While he searches for Brad's killer, Marco's stripper troupe, StripGuyz, brings him face to face with a stripper's abusive boyfriend and, with Jean-Claude, a new member of the troupe who innocently comes between Marco and Anton, upsetting the fragile balance existing between them.

Murder on Camac is here!

2009-08-20T21:09:00.008-04:00

My new book: Murder on Camac, published by Lethe Press is available now.

Buy it at Amazon.com

In Philly visit Giovanni's Room where they will have copies on hand.

Murder on Camac

Gunned down in the street, author Helmut Brandt’s life ebbs away and puts a chain of events in motion placing P.I. Marco Fontana on a collision course with Church and community.

Brandt’s research into the decades old death of Pope John Paul the First made him serious enemies within the Catholic Church. As Fontana digs into the case, he finds Brandt also had rivals in his work and in his love life. Rivals with motives for murder.

Dueling with the Catholic hierarchy and combing through seedy gay hangouts, Fontana encounters dangerous characters and powerful forces intent on stopping him.

When Fontana himself is attacked, he knows he must find answers before any more lives are lost. The web of intrigue and deceit is intricate, tangled, and deadly.

Will the solution uncover a decades old plot to kill a pope or will Fontana find that jealous rage or academic rivalry caused Brandt’s death? The only thing Fontana can be certain of is that Brandt's enemies have killed once and won't hesitate to murder a private eye who gets too close to the truth.

Fontana deftly balances his work as a P.I. with his position as owner of StripGuyz, a troupe of male strippers; he must also negotiate the intricacies of love and relationships which he has been avoiding all too long.

Along with Anton and Luke, Olga his secretary, a host of male strippers, and other denizens of his world, Fontana manages to navigate his way to a surprising conclusion.

FOXX is a Bigot

2009-04-30T14:55:00.003-04:00

See, Rep. Virginia Foxx from North Carolina is a perfect example of why the Republican Party finds itself in the declining position it's in.

During the debate on the bill to extend coverage of the US Hate Crimes statutes, Ms. Foxx said that the idea that Matthew Shepherd was murdered because he was gay was a hoax. A hoax!

And now she's in hiding, ducking the press and voters, refusing to explain her idiotic statement. And she certainly doesn't want to apologize for it -- although she issued one of the more lame apologies; said her office in a statement:

“The term ‘hoax’ was a poor choice of words used in the discussion of the hate-crimes bill. Mr. Shepard’s death was nothing less than a tragedy, and those responsible for his death certainly deserved the punishment they received.”

Is that some apology or what?

And why does this otherwise tough-talking, filled-with-bravado woman refuse to deliver her statement in person? She certainly wasn't ashamed to make her original statement in person on the floor of the House.

This is why Republicans have garnered the hateful reputation they have -- if they'd stick to their financial issues, their less spending, smaller government talk, they might have a bigger following.

But they also embrace the Hate -- and do they hate. Anything that comes down the pike that might get them a few votes from haters such as themselves. But that isn't any longer a large group of people.

And neither are Republicans.

Battlestar Galactica

2009-03-22T13:28:00.001-04:00

Watched the series finale of Battlestar Galactica Friday night and it was mostly wonderful. I say mostly because there were some flaws but not serious ones. With one exception.

Why didn't Gaius Baltar, that sleazy, traitorous, slimeball get what was coming to him? Why wasn't he shattered like the rotten-to-the-core creep that he was? On the other hand, I've come to think that maybe Baltar is the personification of evil -- oily, destructive, and without a good intention in his being. And there he is at the end, ready to destroy all that humans have built, again. ANd just like evil, he's there and never leaves. Stilll, I'd like to have seen him get his.

Jennifer Godwin of E! Online says of Baltar and Caprica Six: "There was a sense that they worked in service of something else—you could say a higher power or you could say another power—that was guiding and helping, sometimes obstructing, sometimes tempting the mortal people in the show. The idea at the very end was whatever they are in service of continues and is eternal and is always around. And they too are still around, and they too are still here with us, with all of us who are the children of Hera, and in one way, shape or form they continue to walk among us and watch, and at some point they may or may not intercede at a key moment."

I have to agree that there was this sense that they are the good and evil that Baltar spoke of as coming from within us. I have always felt that evil, not necessarily good, is a human creation. The Devil is the self we fear, the self that does the unthinkable, the self we want to expunge but can never seem to get rid of entirely.

Maybe that's why they allowed the slimy Baltar to go on -- he's not him, he's just the personification of a concept. A concept that lives in each one of us and that we'd rather not think about.

But, on the whole, I enjoyed it. It was a triumphal, joyous ending -- upbeat in many ways, sad in others, philosophically complicated and simple at the same time -- as was the show during all of its run.

I liked the musical touch near the end of the echo of the theme from the original BSG as the fleet finds earth and settles in.

I didn't like the phoney hooey about Hera being the mitochondrial Eve (and didn't they find other mitochondrial ancestors -- there wasn't just one Eve. How could there be? Or, maybe that explains the monumental stupidity endemic in the human race.)

BSG ranks up there with Babylon 5 as one of the very best science fiction television shows ever. The writing, the story arc, the characters -- both BSG and B5 have all of that and all done well.

Favorite Quote of the Moment

2009-03-21T22:20:00.002-04:00

Oh, I don't know why, maybe it's the AIG in the air, and all the official protestations. This quote is particularly appealing right about now:

Rick : How can you close me up? On what grounds?
Captain Renault: I'm shocked, shocked to find that gambling is going on in here!
[a croupier hands Renault a pile of money]
Croupier: Your winnings, sir.
Captain Renault: [sotto voce] Oh, thank you very much.
[aloud] Everybody out at once!

Florida Again

2009-01-12T15:31:00.004-05:00

I miss the sunny warmth of Ft. Lauderdale.

When Jason and I left, the temps were high, the sun was blazing, and the pool was invitingly blue. It was difficult to tear ourselves away from the company and the surroundings but it was, alas, just a vacation. Reality was beckoning. In fact it was kind of standing on the sidelines wildly waving its hands and shouting that it was time we got back on track.

So, we placed our bags in the rental car, turned in our keys, and got on the road.

We noticed a difference in the road as we accelerated toward A1A but after a while, I suspected something was wrong. Like a flat tire.

We pulled over after a while, got out and saw that one of the front tires was indeed flat.

This could have been disastrous -- we had to catch a flight and we left enough time but not a huge block of time to return the car and get shuttled to the airport.

Visions of all the careful planning crumbling like a sandcastle floated by.

Jason saved the day. He changed the tire using the emergency tire in the trunk. He did it so quickly and efficiently that we made it to the flight with time to spare.

And Philly's weather tuned out to be cold but not the snow-filled, wintry mess that had been predicted.

Gay Marriage -- The Educational Film

2009-01-12T11:18:00.001-05:00

This is hilarious and so very true:

Florida

2009-01-08T20:31:00.004-05:00

I probably should have blogged every day while here in Florida but it's too easy to enjoy the sun and the pool. And the other guests at the Worthington/Alcazar guest house in Ft. Lauderdale make it even more appealing to laze by the pool and chat.

This town is getting to be the gayest city in the states -- from hot young men to busy retirees, Ft. Lauderdale has them all and in huge numbers. It's gratifying and makes it more appealing as a possible place to live.

Of course, the cost of living has to cooperate. But who couldn't get used to the tropical breezes and the warm caress of the sun. And the men...

Soon, it's back to reality and the cold of the North.

Prop 8 and the Marriage Conundrum

2008-12-07T16:05:00.002-05:00

Having been in a long relationship and being single now after the death of my partner, I find myself feeling lots of different things on the subject of same sex marriage.

Of course, I'm for it for equality's sake. I want us to have the same, the very same, rights as everyone else in this society. We shouldn't have to live in this state of second class citizenship that we've been forced to accept.

So, as far as that goes, I'm in favor of having the ability to marry if we want to do so. Particularly for all the rights and benefits that marriage (on BOTH a state and Federal level) afford anyone who is able to avail themselves of that legal status. And let’s face it, if we don’t have a Federal right to marry, we don’t get much out of the states that do give us that right.

When my partner died a few years ago:
I was hit with taxes up the wazoo. If we’d been a married couple, this would not have happened.

I was not able to collect his Social Security benefits, nor was I even able to collect the pittance they give as a Social Security death benefit. Because we were not allowed to marry.

I did not have access to the more than one thousand rights that married folks have – the first class citizens, that is, the straight people.

I could not collect the death benefit from his job at a University – nice liberal-thinking institution. Liberal except on this issue.

There was a lot I could not get because we were not allowed to marry.

Am I angry about that? You bet your ass. But anger undirected is worthless. So I try to channel it into better things.

Would we have opted for marriage if we'd had the chance? Who wouldn't want the legal benefits and protections?

However there’s a lot about marriage in general that gives me an awful icky feeling. There’s something there that smacks of assimilation. And if there’s one thing I’ve never been, it’s an assimilationist.

I’ve always believed that gays and lesbians are unique – and created to be unique. We have a part to play in the wider world. And we shouldn’t dilute our power by aping heterosexuals in every way. There's a unique gay sensibility but that's a topic for another time.

Equal rights, full equality, sure. Assimilation on every front, no.

Gay History Month

2008-10-03T01:15:00.004-04:00

October is GLBT History month. I've always found that a little curious. I kinda thought it should be June. But, hey, this gives us two months -- and good weather ones at that. June is Pride Month and October is Gay History Month.

This site: http://www.glbthistorymonth.com/glbthistorymonth/2008/icon.cfm?id=2 has lots of information.

It's an effort that was started in 2006 and dedicates each day to a different GLBT icon.

Here in Philly we'll celebrate with Out Fest on Sunday October 12 and I'll bring my trusty camera again for some of the more titillating sights.

Mad As Hell! Sexism & Outrage!

2008-04-07T17:41:00.006-04:00

The video speaks for itself:

Mr. Philadelphia Leather -- November 2007

2008-02-22T21:55:00.008-05:00

Philadelphia Leather Weekend celebrated the 25th Anniversary of the Mr. Philadelphia Leather competition as well as the 15th Anniversary of the Ms. Philadelphia Leather contest. Four men competed for the Mr. Leather title but there wer no female contestants for the other title this year.

ScottDaddy, a long time member of GMSMA, won the title and Andy Liu, a member of the NJ Eagles MC and a super hot guy was the First Runner up.

The evening was filled with a lot of fun and hot fantasy sketches which contestants are required to produce as part of the competition. All the guys came up with inventive (fucking Smokey the bear?!) ideas and carried them out with élan.

There were speeches, jock strap competitions (one of my favorite parts of the evening) and more.

This year, between parts of the contest, a magician entertained the crowd and the fact that he was a hunk didn’t hurt.

The judges included John Loesch, last year’s title winner, Chuck Nankivell – Mr. New Jersey Leather 2007, boy robi – Ms. New Jersey Leather 2007, Mr. NYC Eagle 2007 Rick Weber, and Mr. Eagle DC 2007 Joe Hurchick. One mystery judge chosen by lot from the audience was CJ, Mr. Woods Leather 2005.

The contest was hosted for the fifth year in a row by Ryan Goldner and Carlota Ttendant. Once Mr. Philadelphia Leather 2008 was announced, the producers had a surprise for the audience: Carlota Ttendant was named the honorary Ms. Philadelphia Leather 2008, as recognition for her tireless support of the leather community. This was a popular choice for the crowd which gave her resounding applause and a standing ovation. Co-producer Jim Kiley-Zufelt said that although Philadelphia had had a number of amazing women who’ve won titles, since there were no competitors this year, they thought the award could be used to honor someone who works all through the year to raise money and spirits in the gay and particularly the leather communities.

See it here: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i21JFMRI3OQ

Indigo Ball & Way Gay U -- October 2007

2008-02-22T21:55:00.006-05:00

Once again this year, I went to the Indigo Ball. Jason came with me and looked beautiful in his tux. I decided on a red vest and quite liked the difference it presented at the ball. There were few mavericks from the black and white standard. Jason’s vest and tie were a tasteful gray, which was also different. After last year, when I wore a white vest, shirt, and tie, I swore I’d never do that again (unless there were some kind of rule imposed). And I was happy with the choice I made.

I always feel a little bit of awe walking into these affairs – not because I don’t feel I belong. Au Contraire, I belong. I was one of the Founders. No sense of hauteur there – just a fact. I was there in the days we were scrabbling around for a space, for respect, for a place in the larger community. I was there. I helped make history.

So, my awe comes from the fact that history was made. We, so long ago, did something that hadn’t been done before and here we are now – celebrating in tuxes and gowns, in a glittering setting, with music, and the respect of the larger society.

Don’t get me wrong, there’s still a long, long way to go. The heart of the human is a labyrinth that seems truly unknowable. We’ve made our way in, now all we need do is find our way to the center. Maybe with a little tinkering…

This year’s Ball was held in Liberty Place, which is an interesting setting however not made for easy food service. But we won’t go further on that topic right now.

Saw lots of old friends, the music was good, and the atmosphere was modern, elegant, and different.

Teaching at WayGayU

I taught a course on short story writing at the community center’s cleverly named Way Gay U – a place where courses on a variety of topics are offered.

I had a small class but that’s what you want when teaching a writing course – otherwise not all the students get heard. This was just right.

We had a great time and the class gave me an opportunity to think about writing from a different perspective.

OutFest – October 2007

2008-02-22T21:54:00.001-05:00

To celebrate National Coming Out Day (October 11), Philly holds a great street festival called OutFest – a big, big block party in the middle of the gayborhood.

This year’s festival was reportedly the largest ever. And having been there I can atrtest to that.

There were a lot of hotties – and I was lucky I didn’t get whiplash as I looked from one to another.

I spent some time at 12th and Spruce where the Country Dance stage was set by June the Woody’s DJ who rocks the house every Friday and Sunday while men, and a few women, two-step and take part in line dances. I can two-step now, thanks to frined Jason, but line dancing. What planet did these guys grow up on? My feet just won’t follow the rules. And how many damned steps are there anyway. And even worse, how can so many of these guys remember all the intricate footwork that is necessary for a hundred different songs? Michael and Scott, two of the teachers (you get free lessons on Firdays and Sundays before the real dancing starts) have tried their best to teach me. All I remember is that my feet end up tying themselves in knots and bringing me perilously close to landing on my ass.

Whatever. It’s beautiful to watch. All that gorgeousness dancing in synch to different tunes, doing the Texas Cha-Cha, and Backtstreet attitude, and more. I love watching. And secretly, I’m envious that I just don’t have the courage to try. But we won’t go there. Not in this entry.

Outfest was infested with Christians. This time there were more of them than I can remember. They had little outposts everywhere throughout the festival ara and some of them even decided to parade through the grounds. Now, I believe in Freedom of Speech and Assembly – but these fuckers are treading on shaky ground here. No matter what the Pennsylvania Supreme Court said.

Of course, these should-have-been lion food, idiots never really get anywhere. They preach and most people don’t listen. Many argue with them, though as I said to someone it’s useless. It’s like arguing with a brick. And this year some of the festival people had wonderful noise-makers which I intend to try and find before the next festival. These little devices effectively drowned out the message these hate mongers were spewing.

Now, why would I want to go and do that? Because, if even one newly-out person hears their message of hate and is hurt, I am offended. These festivals are meant to be places where we gather and celebrate ourselves and our lives. And I’m certain that more than a few people come to these festivals as one of their first acts as a newly out person or as a questioning person, or a person who is exploring and testing the waters. If they hit the wall these so-called Christians set up, what hard does that do to their development? How much of a layer of guilt does that add to their lives?

So, yes, I will interfere with their message. They have plenty of other avenues, plenty of other venues. Let them spread their poison elsewhere. As for me, I stand against them and will fight until they go away once and for all.

As my late partner used to say, “This is their last gasp. They’ve lost.” And they just don’t know it.

Author Talks and Men of Mystery in NY – September 2007

2008-02-22T21:53:00.000-05:00

I was the featured writer at the gay community center Library’s Author Talks series.

That was fun – got to read from a number of the books I’m in. Lots of nice people.

The next day I hopped a bus to New York and their gay community center where I attended a panel of gay mystery authors: Neil Plakcy, Anthony Bidulka, Mark Zubrow, and Chuck Zito. I’ve corresponded with some of them and have become online friends. But hearing them read from their works was a special treat.

Verizon: Do It Yourself! or FiOS Fizzles – August 2007

2008-02-22T21:52:00.000-05:00

Thinking of getting Verizon’s FiOS service? Think again. I called in because I was angry woth Comcast and set a time to have Verizon come out and install their FiOS service.

The guy took all day – literally an eight hour work day – to do something which even he said should only take a few minutes.

Admittedly he was sort of a hunk is a funky, ham-handed way – but I loved watching his big fingers playing with my keyboard. His swarthy face and beautiful eyes and lips were also easy to watch.

However, it quickly became apparent that he was having some kind of trouble and it took hours and hours to resolve. The only good thing was that he staye a long time, left, and returned. All the while I was thinking how I coluld turn this into a scene from one of those service men porn flicks.

Didn’t happen.

And, as it turns out, neither did the FiOS service. Oh, I had it set up but the service was intermittent and I couldn’t get anything done.

OK, I thought, they can send someone to fix this.

Wrong!

They refused to send anyone. They kept telling me that they could bnot “justify” sending anyone out.

Here, I found was the Verizon trap – they will not service the service! They expect you to take direction over the phone OR give up control of your computer through the Verizon lines. (Like that’s gonna happen. Let them romp through my hard drive? Hardly! Well, OK, if they sent a hunky service man and he wanted to do some other romping first, maybe I’d entertain the idea. But first things first.)

It turns out, then, that Verizon has a “do it yourself” policy when it comes to service. And they don’t pay you at the same rate they pay their workers. In fact, they take your money and let you have the pleasure of dealing with problems.

So, not even three days after I ordered service. I had it pulled out.

Of course, it took five months for them to figure out that I had indeed canceled within the prescribed time and that they should not be charging me for service.

GNI -- August 2007

2008-02-22T21:49:00.002-05:00

Went to GNI again this year – it was fun. Though I have to admit, it has lost some of its luster. We scheduled ourselves for the second half of the week – lucky thing. It rained for the entire pre-week and first half. From morning till night, from night till morning. And, as nice as the guys in my cabin were – I’d have gone stark raving mad if I’d been shut up with them for all that time. Not to mention soggy, mildew-ridden, and ill tempered. I don't think there's anyone I could be confined with especially due to rain. Which is not one of my favorite things.

They had a great fireworks show to close the week out – but I got hit in the eye with a piece of detritus from one of the displays. That hurt!

The talent show was particularly good this year and I was pleasantly surprised.

I’ll keep attending, I suppose. But somehow, my enthusiasm is not as high as it once was.

USnightmAIR -- July 2007

2008-01-23T23:42:00.000-05:00

Returning from Montréal was not an easy matter, when using USAirways – it seems that nothing is an easy matter when using that so-called airline. The executives andmiddle management folks at that company need to graduate from using crayons and poster paper to learning how to read and write, understand what a business is, get to know a little about capitalism and how that works, and then they need major courses in learning decency, how to treat people and their plans with courtesy and respect, and lots more.

Will they? Will Hell freeze over?

We were scheduled to leave on an early evening flight. Enough time to get us back to Jason could teach his class the next day. We took a taxi to the airport and that cost $40 (with the exchange rate being what it was, it might as well have been US dollars).

Got to the airport all smiles. (Well my stomach wasn’t smiling, it never does before flying.)

Smiled all the way up to the check-in counter. At this counter the woman told us that the flight had been canceled. In fact, it had been canceled hours before.

NO ONE had called us to tell us the flight had been canceled. They had the numbers to call. They just… didn’t.

I stood there looking at her in disbelief. But she wasn’t joking.

Even sweeter, they could not get us on a flight until 6:55 the next morning. That would have given Jason enough time to get to his class but he’d be tired as we’d have to be at the airport at about four in the morning. But we settled for that and went back home.

Another $40 taxi ride.

Back to the city. We had no choice but to wait. Had a nice dinner and then tried to get to sleep early, since we’d have to get up early.

In the wee hours of the morning, we got a call. The 6:55 AM flight had been canceled! What a record USAir was racking up.

I then got on the phone and for two hours tried making an alternate reservation so that Jason would not miss more than one class. Two hours later we had a reservation for a flight later that evening.

Of course, when we arrived, we got to the gate and I was told that Jason had a seat but that I did not!

Panic mode. The assured me that I would get on the flight but with their record, I didn’t believe them. They said they had “volunteers” enough to get me on the flight. I took that to mean they had people who volunteered to be bumped (because the rewards are so great) and that I’d get on the flight.

That did not inspire confidence. So, when they announced boarding, I went to the front of the counter where the airline rep was taking tickets and checking ID and I stood right nest to her so she wouldn’t forget I was there. I didn’t budge, instead I just stared into her eyes whenever she forgot and glanced up at me.

Eventually, a supervisor must’ve taken pity on me. He ordered her to give me a seat. I have to say that he was one of the most devastatingly attractive men I’d seen. And I’d have gladly rewarded him for his good deed.

Of course, the trouble didn’t stop there.

When we arrived in Philadelphia, the baggage for fifteen or twenty passengers seemed to be lost. A number of bags had been thrown up onto the conveyor belt and began their almost endless rounds. When one fat and unattractive bag was chucked out like a piece of bad meat, the bag slammed onto the conveyor belt and everything stopped.

No more bags were being sent out. Fifteen or twenty of us stood there looking, as though if we stared hard enough the damned belt would get moving again. It didn’t.

We kept staring. The belt did not respond. Eventually we became restless. But no one seemed to know what to do. We stood there dumbly for forty-five minutes.

Then I spied a large long counter with a huge sign overhead: USAir Baggage Information.

Foolishly I thought this would be a good place to start.

I went to the USAir Baggage Information counter where 3 “workers” were sitting, talking, and laughing. When I asked a question, they seemed bothered that I interrupted them (they were there obviously not to answer questions but to chit chat. I realized that they were kind of a USO act but not for beleagured passengers). But I wanted information.

I asked one of the clerks if he could check to see if the plane was still being unloaded or whether it had finished. We’d been there forty-five minutes and it was a reasonable question. He frowned and didn’t really care what I’d asked. He said, “Go fill out a baggage claim.” And refused to look up any information or make any calls though he had a computer and a phone at his disposal. I suppose having them and knowing how to use them are two different things.

I looked over at the claims room – yes a WHOLE room – and there were hundreds of bags, hundreds, all around the floor flowing over everything, with a tiny walkway so one could enter the large glass enclosed claims room and fill out a paper which they probably would shred later.

I decided not to do that just yet and went back to the carousel – not a happy, pretty-horse carousel, but the one that wasn’t getting our luggage to us.

One woman said that she’d been on the flight with her granddaughters and they’d gotten their bags and she hadn’t. We all shared similar stories. It seemed that maybe one whole cart of luggage was left behind and we would indeed have to fill out claims forms.

After another half hour, I went to the clerk again and asked if he had any further information. He said that he did not and that I should fill out a baggage claim. I refused again and returned to the carousel.

About 15 minutes later someone from USAir made an announcement about baggage but it was impossible to hear clearly. So I went to that same clerk, who had been sitting there the whole time (I know because I watched him), and I asked him if he could tell me what the USAir announcer had said. He said, “No. I wasn’t here.”

When I went back to the clerk a fourth time, along with quite a number of people from the flight, he just told all of us to go fill out baggage claims. He refused to look up information or give any assistance whatsoever. Just flung out his arm, index finger pointed in the direction of the sea of bags.

We all trooped over there and stood in line. Now we were trading outraged remarks. Composing letters we would send and just generally venting. We stood in line for twenty minutes at the claims office (which had a line of more than 50 people) when the granddaughters of the woman came running up to say that there had been a jam on the conveyor belt and that the bags were now coming out.

Why did that clerk not know this? More importantly, why did he refuse to try and find out anything? What was he being paid for? Why were there two other workers there also being paid?

I found out later that USAir has the worst lost luggage record: 9.62 reports per 1000 passengers and an 81% increase in complaints each year

It is considered by Forbes to be one of the Top Five worst airlines - On-time performance: 68.3% (third worst), Baggage mishandling: 9.2 per 1,000 passengers

Philadelphia is one of their hubs – they operate something like two thirds of all the flights out of the city. There are more than twelve-hundred flights daily. This means they lose approximately three to four THOUSAND bags a day!

Take a look at these:

www.youtube.com/findtheyeti

http://www.usairwayslostmycostume.com/

Montréal – Le Village – August 2007

2008-01-22T23:10:00.000-05:00

When I first encountered Le Village, it was jaw-droppingly magnificent. It still is.
Le Village is a sprawling area and the center of gay life in Montréal and has been for some time. Stretching from Ste. Catherine est nearly from St. Hubert and running down, west to east, now past rue Papineau – this area has been expanding with businesses and housing every year and there’s no end in sight. The gay neighborhood also runs on a north-south axis off the many streets between the two mentioned above. Gay flags fly proudly everywhere, so you’ll know you’ve arrived.
There’s an abundance of gorgeous men all over the place – in Le Village and other neighborhoods. There’s something about French Canadians that is special. And meeting some of them, at least the gay ones, can happen anywhere. But especially in one of the many gay bars and clubs in Le Village. Parking is large, when you enter you have a choice – the Nightclub, like a neverending circuit party complete with exotic lighting, fog machines, and more; that’s all upstairs and it costs. Downstairs in the same building is the Garage, a themed bar with lots of nooks and crannies, and men enough to fill a small stadium it’s entrance free. I went once some years ago and remember an especially appealing “show your dick” contest in which participants stood behind a wall and stuck their prized possession through a glory hole. Of course, the critique by the drag-queen-in-charge and the reaction of the crowd often led to wet noodle status for some contestants. This time when we went, I met a cute guy who followed me around the whole night.
We also went to L’Aigle Noir, a large leather bar with several floors and more men in leather than you can imagine. It’s lit theatrically and the men are friendly.
Just ambling down Ste. Catherine you find one bar after another and there’s no trouble finding one that caters to almost any taste.
My taste runs to the stripper bars, of course. Montréal has some of the finest on the planet. Some of the finest male strippers anywhere grace the stages in these bars. Campus, Stock Bar, L’Adonis, and Taboo. Each has a set of dancers that is different and caters to different tastes. My taste covers them all!
Stock is an elegant world of red curtains, tables, and multiple stages. Dancers do their thing, which means going all the way down to nothing-left-to-the-imagination, and then they move among the guests. At Campus there are two shifts of dancers and it’s impossible to say which is the more beautiful group of men. L’Adonis and Taboo are much the same with the differences being mainly in the types of dancers they hire.
At all the places the dancers offer private lapdances in secluded parts of the bar. And it’s well worth the price of admission. I have to constantly remind myself how hypnotic it all is – and if ou don’t remind yourself, you’ll end up with a large bill. Which is what happened to me the very first time I did this. I just couldn’t believe it and when I decided to go back to my friends, I couldn’t believe the tab I’d run up! It was worth it.

Montréal Fierté -- July 2007

2008-01-20T11:48:00.000-05:00

I went up to Montréal with Jason to celebrate Pride and just to relax. Their Pride celebrations are not to be missed. Fierté is usually the first weekend in August but this year the people who run DiverCité which is the overarching Pride organization, decided that they couldn’t handle all the activities they were sponsoring and a parade as well. So they were about to cancel the parade when a group of people stated that there could never be Fierté without a parade.

So they organized, got permits, and held a parade the weekend before the actual DiverCité activities. And instead of one Pride day there were two, one following hot on the heels of the other.

And it was wonderful. From the guy in the Roman soldier costume, to the drag queens, to the strippers on floats – it was an ecstatic parade. Our friend Brian marched under the banner of his title: Mr. Rubber Montréal and it was fun to see him strut down the street.

It’s impossible to covey the exuberance and the sheer joy that the crowd displayed as well as those in the parade. And Montréal is the type of city where people of all stripes and orientations come to celebrate the lives of others. So far, the gay pride parades I’ve see in that city have been attended by homosexuals and heterosexuals alike. And, many of the heterosexual couples bring their children along. Can you spell enlightened?

As the parade continued its march down Boulevard Rene Levesque, the crowd joined in and marched along to Ste. Catherine where the bars lining the street would hold celebrations late into the night.

The day before was a huge street festival – Ste. Catherine was lined with booth after booth representing all of the many groups Montréal has to offer. From a gay aerobics group to ethnic groups to much more than most other places I’ve visited.

We had dinner at some great places, saw some prime strippers who were as friendly as ever I remember them to be.

Gay Night at Six Flags Hurricane Harbor Water Park -- July 2007

2008-01-16T18:45:00.000-05:00

While in New York at the Eagle, Jason picked up a brochure about a gay night at Six Flags Hurricane Harbor and decided he wanted to go and see what it might be like. Jason has enlivened my life and gotten me into things I’d never imagined doing. And I’m glad and grateful. Not that I’m a stick-in-the-mud, but we all have issues with ourselves, don’t we? Jason has begun to force me to face some of those issues and attempt to grow. He’s got a long way to go with me but I’m a willing student.

Trusty old friend that I am, and curiosity/adventure seeker that I also am, I agreed to go along. I had my doubts about what it might be like and also wondered just what kind of demi-gods attend such events. I’d seen circuit boys and party boys, go-go boys, and just plain old bar patrons at some other events and occasions I’d attended. But this, I thought, might attract a different crowd.

We arrived after a longer than expected drive and pulled into the nearest (which was a long drive in itself) parking lot to the Hurricane Harbor section of Six Flags where the gay night would take place. Both of us were taken aback by the price they charged to park. But what choice did we have? We’d already paid for the tickets. We saw other gay guys parking and unpacking themselves from their cars. And it didn’t look like an intimidating crowd in the least.

Next came the “crossing the entry” phase. Entry from one part to another is restricted because you can’t do the whole park on one ticket. They are huge megaplexes – different areas, different themes, different entrance fees. These theme parks are a strange breed of entertainment, though I’d been to versions of these parks (their less muscular and far less capacious ancestors) and this had a similar feeling. But there was some indefinable difference also. It was kind of haunting.

The strangest thing I noticed and felt on a visceral level occurred as we passed the turnstiles and began to cross what looked like a bridge between the mundane world and the land of Six Flags. The voice of authority came over the hidden PA system and wafted through the air telling the day patrons that it was time to leave because a special, pre-ticketed event was about to take place. As we walked across this bridge/road, there was a steady stream of straight families going the other way, back into the mundane world. Strange looks were exchanged, they undoubtedly knowing that gays and lesbians would be filling up the park, and we all wondering what these people could be thinking.

There wasn’t any tension, at least not on the surface, but there was an inexplicable weirdness about the moment. As if one group of passengers had been asked to leave their nice quarters to make room for a different class of voyagers. And, in some way, that’s true.
We made it across the bridge. Went to the booth to claim our tickets and there I was confronted with the gaily gorgeous and the gorgeously gay. Hunks, of the outdoorsy type, picking up tickets so they could ride the rides and stroll the grounds. They wore their knee-length shorts as casually as if they’d been born to the aristocratic beach life. I looked around wondering if there were a magic bathing suit salesman who could gave me a suit that would hide my extra pounds and fill in the few wrinkles that had crept up on me. No luck. I tried wishing my way into a new look. No luck. So I decided to just accept myself and my twenty extra pounds and those few flaws that I’d gotten over the years.

We went into the park and watched the guys enjoy some of the rides and attractions. There was the Cannonball, Wahini, and the Jurahnimo Falls seemed like the most frightening – though it probably wasn’t all that bad. It’s a kind of water slide, actually a body slide, three separate ones as part of the same “ride” – that deliver your body over and under and around until you come flashing out the other end at bullet speed and plunge into the waiting water. It was interesting to watch gay guys of all stripes from twinks to hunks submitting themselves to this. They’d enter one end and then when released you could hear them screaming all the way through to the other end, where, eyes bulging, throats raw from screams, they would be pumped out into the waiting water. Oh, yeah, I was gonna try that. Not!

Or, Hurricane mountain which features two or three person toboggans which were hurtled through waterways with heart thumping speed, all passengers screaming, as the toboggan came shooting out and into the water.

Maybe you’d like the Big Bamboo Reef Runner or other rides – all a little tamer, all equally wet. My choice was the Blue Lagoon – a gentle wave ride where you could sit in an inner tube and float peacefully through. But it was not open at first and by the time I did see some cuties floating around, we’d decided to leave.

We walked around – the grounds were nice, the clear night punctuated by screams of fun, and the moon was big and silvery bright. We sat and watched a number of small groupings attempt the various rides, or some little hotties, wet and sometimes scrawny but still attractive, running delicately through the park in search of towels or something else.

Elsewhere in the park, the disco was getting going – loud and raucous – and, at least when I looked, not well attended. But I was sure that, like moths to a flame, the boys would cluster in the dance area. And sooner rather than later, the energy high, they would whirl and gyrate, jump and jangle, until everyone glistened with sweat.

At some point we decided to leave. I don’t know if the “party” was that well attended. I just remember seeing the same guys over and over as we traversed the park. But it was fun, the air was refreshing, and the men were cute.

Fire Island Legends -- July 2007

2007-12-22T19:52:00.000-05:00

We were invited to a private house party on Fire Island in July. This is the only way to experience the gay reality of Fire Island. Sure you can board the ferry and enjoy the beach, the bars, the atmosphere. But can you walk the byways and paths and enter into the private gay world that is what Fire Island is all about?

This party just happened to be a nudist event and was held in a typical Fire Island summer home. Attended by some familiar… uh… faces, yeah, that’s it, faces… this party also had some new, to us, faces.

The long ride up to Long Island was pleasant enough. Parking was easy and not very expensive and the ferry ride was exhilarating – the sea breeze, hot men all around, a few friends on the same ride. And an adventure beginning.

I’d never been to Fire Island. Legendary though it was and is, I’d never had the opportunity. Desire, yes, but no one I knew before this had ever gone or had a place there. So, it was kind of a hazy gaydream. Yes, I’d heard about the wonders of the place. Yes, I’d heard about sex in the dunes (and anywhere else you could get away with it) and yes, I’d wanted to take part (even though sand up my ass is not something I look forward to).

But I never took the initiative and organized a trip, either with people or solo. It’s no one’s fault but my own. So, this time, I thought, why not? Let’s do it and see what all the hoopla is about.

We were greeted on the Fire Island dock by Tom, who’d extended the invitation. He was sweating (it was a hot day) and his runny while sunscreen gave him a ghostly appearance. So I wasn’t sure if this was a kind of Scrooge tale or some bizarre intro to Fire Island. But I went along since I heard no clanking chains.

Tom was excited to have us there and to show us to the party site and even offered to give us a tour of the island. He was and is a frequent visitor, himself living in the Bronx (I won’t share the name he give his chosen home).

The trek to the party was short and gave us a nice walk over wooden planked paths, down leafy avenues, and through quiet byways. Occasionally I’d see a cute twink (and I do not use that derogatorily since I like twinks) ambling by, his small bathing suit barely covering his flesh. Or they’d come in twos, either couples of friends, walking and laughing. So happy. It seemed as if they were permanent residents of this pleasure planet that I’d just landed on. And I felt envious of their carefree life, their obvious sense of belonging in and maybe even to this place. They discovered it while they were young and it would have a lifetime of visits yet to come.

That made me think of a man I met while in Ft. Lauderdale. We got into a conversation round one of the pools at my hotel. He was a New Yorker, I’d have known from his accent even if he hadn’t told me. A very nice man, educated, well traveled. He’d had a place on Fire Island in its heyday. When the ground was littered with men and sex was free and easy. When the whole island was one big party for as long as you could take it. But then, he remembered, AIDS happened, and he found himself more and more alone on the island as friend after friend died. One day, he told me, he remembers sitting outside of his Fire Island home, alone by the pool and crying his eyes out. He couldn’t figure out why he chose to stay there any longer. He couldn’t stand all the ghosts. He couldn’t take the pain. And so he, like many others, chose to leave.

Now, perhaps some of the old guard have returned (and others may never have left), but there is a new generation of islanders. And the parties, though more subdued, are beginning again.

The party was quite nice – a number of delicious men and some interesting food. Guys came and went – mostly to visit the beach and then return to the party. The owner was an extremely convivial gentleman who was gracious enough to let us all trample his yard and play in his pool. Of course, have a group of naked men cavort in your home isn’t exactly a bad thing.

After a while, Tom offered to take us on a tour of the island before we boarded the ferry for home. And what a tour it was – historical and informative. And we walked around a huge part of the island taking in not only the Pines but also Cherry Grove. Moving through the dunes and little forest that separates the two parts was an education in itself. Everything was in full swing – lots of parties and laughter and fun. I felt a little like an outsider now – after having felt like a real insider at the party. But it was fun anyway. Tom pointed out lots of places where all sorts of things go on and gave an historical accounting of each place we passed. The Blue Whale, The Meat Rack, the Harbor – oh so many places and names. Tom knows names and the faces that go with them. Sailor’s Haven/Sunken Forest was among my favorites because of the name. He’s knowledgeable and unflappable.

After a long while it was time to make our way back to the dock and the ferry. When we arrived people were already crowding on. It was like a scene from a movie. There were people having dramatic good-byes, others just pushing past as if it were the last ferry for the year.

We got a great seat up top. Jason floated off into his own thoughts and I into mine. The guys in front of us were talking food and cooking and it was kind of comforting to hear them talk about their approach to recipes and kitchen work.

Before long we docked, got back in the car and headed home. But not before we stopped somewhere in Jersey for a great Chinese meal.

Birthday in New York and Philadelphia -- June 2007

2007-12-22T01:59:00.002-05:00

Went to New York for my birthday in June this year. Indulged myself in good food, some nice shopping, and relaxing. And best of all the company of wonderful friends such as Jason who is one of the best people on the planet.

Jason wanted to explore the Eagle – a reborn leather legend. Just so happens that we arrived the night before my birthday and that was the Folsom Street East festival – except we got there after the street festival was over. Didn’t know it was FSE. But The Eagle was still crowded when we got there. And when I say crowded I don’t mean your average, gay bar crowded. I mean men wall to wall – with nary so much as a millimeter of space to squeeze through. Still Jason wanted to explore and it was a pleasant, if stifling, journey through the various floors. Jamming myself between hot and hairy men, hot and smooth men, and just hot and hotter men was, most of the time, a delight. Men in all states of undress and inebriation were there. Jason melted into the crowd and I did my best to follow; it was like being in a very sexy crowd in Times Square on NYE. At some point I left it up to him to find me and I tried to stay as visible as one could under the circumstances. I was enjoying the sights that I encountered and I could see that he was also. Occasionally we’d meet up and try our best to show each other what we’d discovered: Particularly good-looking men, men with great leather, men with other hot men. There were men making out in corners and some who had gone way beyond making out. It was a sensual delight treating the eyes, ear, and olfactory glands.
It was also blazing hot and stuffy. Even breaking out onto the roof area – where there were more men out under the night sky, wasn’t enough to catch one’s breath.

We left after a little while and walked (an extremely long walk) to Rawhide, a cozy leather bar in Chelsea. Small and friendly, they have a stripper – this one was hot and hung – and the place makes you feel at home. Jason liked the looks of the place and at some point disappeared into the men’s room to change into his leather harness. I’d forgotten that he’d brought it with him. Eventually he emerged and there was an audible gasp from some of the bar’s clientele. Jason’s harness leaves little to the imagination. He made his way around the bar once or twice then announced that he wanted to go back to the Eagle. I was OK with it except that my foot hurt and it was a long walk. But what the hell? I agreed and we were off. Out into the Spring night which was just the right temperature.

Eventually we reached the Eagle and this time, the first few floors were deserted. In less than an hour, 95% of the hunks had disappeared. It was as if some bell had tolled and they all ran home before they turned into little leather pumpkins or worse. But, not to worry, the uppermost floor and the roof deck were still filled with that last 5% and considering the size of the earlier crowd that 5% meant plenty of men. There was no lack of flesh to be bared and loads of hot, steamy men. We had drinks, we each went our own way to roam the place and scope out the men; then, exhausted, we went back to our hotel.

The rest of the weekend we went to museums – the Met is always a place that boggles the mind. I like to revisit some favorites and see whatever’s new. We walked the streets and imagined what it might be like to be rich enough to own one of the mansions on the upper East side. We had a wonderful time. There was even enough time to fit in a visit to the Sex Museum. The place was both interesting and disappointing. There was a great exhibit on sex in film – and they covered just about every variation, every sexual proclivity, and many of the films that featured these things. The rest of the museum had exhibits which seemed, if not amateurish, then just plain boring and not enough. The whole place had a temporary feeling about it. As if they are waiting to move into better quarters. Or, maybe it’s meant to feel kind of like an orgasm: Heady, pleasurable, dizzying, and fleeting. And leaving you wanting more and another and another and another and...

Later that night we traipsed around the Village –a visit to The LeatherMan – a great and very accommodating leather store. I do most of my leather shopping there. And both of us have bought some great pieces. It’s an expensive kind of interest to have but it all feels so good once you’re decked out and harnessed up. Then we found a very nice restaurant where birthday dinner was a blast. I can’t remember the name but I know where it is. And I’ll be back.

Then it was back to Philly and a gathering of friends.

We all congregated at Mixto – a fine restaurant in the gayborhood. And, I don’t know if it was birthday luck or something else, but we had the most delicious waiter. The food at this place is great, the drinks (especially one of my favorites, the mojito/mohito) are pretty good if done right. A couple of people had giant martini-like drinks in colorful glasses. When my stomach caught a look at those drinks it turned over and threatened me with trouble. So I stuck to tamer things. But the waiter was a dream. If only someone had thought to buy him as a birthday present for me.

Naked in Darlington -- Memorial Day Weekend

2007-12-22T01:51:00.000-05:00

Memorial Day Weekend 2007 brought the East Coast Gathering an all male nudist weekend sponsored by PANG.

After having attended GNI last year and then going to a PANG meeting/tea dance here, it was only natural to go to the PANG-sponsored gathering. Held at a spacious camp, Ramblewoods, in a place called Darlington in MD – this gathering has a lot of charm and plenty of great guys.

Once again, Carol Channing entertained the troops and wowed them. (Now, you know it isn’t the real Carol I’m talking about, right? Not that she’d be shy about entertaining an auditorium filled with naked men.) There were contests – best buns, best this, best that, etc. An underwear fashion show, and a naked version of Family Feud.

And there was the Mr. Leather East Coast Gathering. This was a much anticipated event for me and Jason because we’d decided beforehand that he should try his hand…? His… well, that he should try. And his competition was stiff (sometimes literally). Like other beauty pageants, there was the requisite parade of contestants, the questions and answer round, and more. Each contestant was good. But Jason was better. And not just in my mind. When it came time to judge, Jason was the choice hands down. He was draped with the sash, and cheered and applauded – wildly. And, like any other celebrity, he was photographed and photographed and photographed.

During the ensuing celebration and cocktail party, an older gentleman, clad in his leather gear approached me and asked if I’d take him for a walk. He handed me his leash and I dutifully took him on his rounds. I have to say that I cam close to disciplining the little bugger as he tried to lift hi leg on several people. Can you even imagine what piss will do to leather? I don’t even want to think about it. But, wearing his jaunty leather cap, he was happy with the walk and satisfied enough to retrieve his leash and walk himself to I-don’t-know-where.

The food was great. But the kitchen staff was better – all Eastern European young men who came to the US for summer work. I’m sure these boys had no idea what they’d be in for when they signed on to be kitchen staff at a summer camp. They probably had visions of families cavorting on green fields. And I’m sure they got some of that. But at least two of their weeks were taken up by nude men frolicking over hill and dale. Buns to the wind, cocks swinging like pendulums. But did these guys show any discomfort? Not one whit. They are cool as cucumbers and let me tell you there were a few whose cucumbers I would love to have seen. Well, more than seen actually but that wasn’t going to be happening in any case.

Dwarf Hamster Madness

2007-11-29T22:47:00.000-05:00

I don’t know what possessed me. For some reason I thought I should have a pet. Something that I could relate to, something cute, something that I could derive some pleasure from. Something cuddly and cute. A cute guy would be best, or maybe a pack of cute guys. Even better. They’re cuddly. But that would take some doing as there isn’t a Cute Guy Pet Shop in this region.

So I had to figure out exactly what kind of pet I could handle. The furry and the scaly and the feathered ran through my mind, like profiles on a rapid flash menu. Dogs were out – the building doesn’t allow them (though it seems we’ve elected more than a few dogs to the Board managing the building). I don’t like cats (I actually toyed with the idea of one of those hairless cats, but, oh man, when you really look at them, they are the face of ugly.) Birds, well I had a bird once and for fourteen years I was tied down by the lovely and wonderful creature. She was a joy but I worried about her and always needed someone to house sit whenever I was away. Fish were what I wanted – I had a beautiful tank prior to moving. But I wasn’t ready to do that again just yet. The next time I get fish I want to consider it all more carefully, have something that I’d enjoy watching, and that would not take up half the room (as did my other nearly 100 gallon tank).That didn’t leave too much else in the way of pet choices.

So I thought I might get a lizard. I’m not sure what my reasons were. I just like the look and the idea. In Florida I met a guy who brought his lizard (and no, I don’t mean his trouser lizard) with him to the resort we were staying in. It was a bearded dragon and while not the most responsive of pets, it did sit there and seem comfortable being held.

Jason suggested hamsters or at least something more cuddly than a lizard. There is a host of other furry creatures: ferrets, chinchillas, rodents of every sort, and other things. And then there are hamsters. We’d been to the pet store a few times before and had seen the cutest, tiny hamsters. Dwarf hamsters. And, truthfully, I did like the look of the little creatures. So, when I finally decided to get some, we went down to Monster Pets (ah, how apt that name can seem at times). There we saw the cutest little tribe of Rubinowski hamsters – a brownish gray, black-eyed set of little guys. The normal, large hamsters are ugly by comparison and don’t bring out any warm feelings in me. Besides they are known to bite.

I didn’t want to get just one hamster. I thought he should have company. And the tank I bought wouldn’t fit the six that were in the store’s cage. So I settled for four. We took them home and Jason helped me to set up their living quarters. Nice pine shavings as bedding, gourmet hamster food, a silent wheel, water dish, plenty of places to run and hide. Toilet paper rolls and paper towel rolls for them to frolic in. And for a time it was kind of fun watching them. However, you don’t get to see them all that often as they do a lot of sleeping. They’re nocturnal – sort of. They appear to violate the rules of nature whenever they please.

That was the end of April or early May 2007

Then things started going horribly wrong. Horribly wrong.

First, they became fiercely competitive about the wheel. Knocking each other out, crowding three and four at a time, running over one another. Flying out of the wheel as it reached high speeds.

Then one of the bigger hamsters continually fought with another of the hamsters. She, I called her she but I had no idea of the sex/gender of the things. But she was tough and mean and attacked the poor fellow (again my assumption) without cessation. As the books predicted, the attacker went for the balls of the victim – which is how I realized the attacker was female. She did this over and over, pinning the other down so she could get a better avenue of attack. She eventually drew blood, serious blood; and I had to isolate the poor thing. I had him in a large, very large, tin with all the goodies he needed including the wheel (I figured that since he had to be isolated he should have the pleasure of the wheel all to himself).

The smallest hamster, of the three that were left, liked to dominate the food dish – plopping herself into it and scattering all the food out of the dish. She also was quite aggressive about grabbing her favorite treats right out of the mouths of the other hamsters – like a large peanut or some other tasty morsel.

Jason agreed to take the bloodied but now good-as-new hamster. We bought him all the necessities and brought the hamster, which he named Scar (after the scar the female had made on his nose) to his apartment.

With Scar gone, I thought we’d reached a period of détente. Nope. The other two began ganging up on the tiniest one (the food snatcher). They chased her around and dominated her. I thought she was about to be killed, so I asked Jason if he’d take one more. He said yes and it seemed that Scar was happy with his old cage mate back.

We had already paid for our trip to the East Coast Gathering (see the Darlington post next) so we had to find someone who’d take care of the creatures while we were away. My friend Jesse, a gentle soul and an animal lover, agreed to feed and water them. But the ugly head of a former friend thrust itself into the picture. And that is too long a story to tell right here. But it resulted in Jesse agreeing to take the hamsters to his own home and care for them there (actually making it easier on him since he would not have to drive into the middle of the city from his location in one of the outer (but still in the city ) zones.

Fine. All set. I thought.

One morning while at camp I get a call from Jesse. “You won’t believe what happened.” I'm wary of conversations that start that way.

What happened was that the totally aggressive hamster which had scarred Scar, had given birth to a littler of hamster pups. Great. Now I’d have more. I was not looking forward to that but it’d be interesting to see the whole phenomenon as it unfolded.

I asked Jesse if he’d hold onto the hamsters a little longer after we returned since the books say that any undue stress could cause the mother to eat her young. Apparently the males don’t do this – it’s only the savage mothers, who have already de-balled the males in fights, who are bloodthirsty enough to eat their own young. Jesse agreed to hold onto them. But said the squealing of the young ones was kind of pitiful.

When we got back I was anxious to see the new situation but waited patiently. However, Jesse called in a panic soon after I returned. The mother hamster seemed to be acting insane. She would put the mewling babies, whose eyes were not yet opened and who had no fur, into the wheel and try to run with them in it! They’d go flying out around the cage. Then, in a murderous act, the mother dropped one squealing baby into the water dish where it promptly drowned.

In the other cage, Scar had apparently murdered his tiny companion. Jesse found her with her head bloody lying dead inside the little house where they both slept.

He couldn’t take the carnage and the squealing and asked if it would be OK for me to take them back sooner. I agreed.

Back here, they calmed down. Jason took Scar to school and dealt with him there. The mother hamster became a model of motherhood, caring for the little ones well (even if she did try to spin them in the wheel occasionally). But the squealing and mewling never stopped and that did get sort of annoying.

Soon the newborns opened their eyes, grew some fuzz and began to walk around. The squealing, however, still never stopped. And that was driving me nuts. I also had to help the mother keep track of them because they were beginning to get into everything. One of them even climbed into the water dish and drowned. (After that I placed it on a sort of platform which made it impossible for that to happen again but the dish was still accessible for drinking.)

Soon they were self sufficient. And I began to notice the mother attacking another hamster. But this one was attacking back and attacking others. So I had to isolate him. Which I didn’t like. I made attempts to return him to the cage but he went on the rampage again and again.

Then, in what seemed an incredible turn of events, a second litter was delivered. To the same mother. She popped them out before my eyes and sat in the wheel afterward cleaning herself. (I found out that hamsters can be impregnated more than once at the same time and that the second litter will wait its turn, so to speak, until the first litter is self sufficient. So, now I had another squealing bunch of just-a-little-better-than-rats in the cage. There were already about eight of them. This new batch made it sixteen or more. I was not a happy camper.

I fretted just about every day about what to do with this group – I didn’t want to drown them, though that was tempting. And I felt obligated to care for them. So there I was watching as the mother, more experienced this time, cared for her new brood. The first bunch, still trying to get her attention but no longer trying to suckle, was making progress every day. The newborns seemed to grow even faster than the first litter. I guess all those weeks of waiting in darkness made them a little impatient.

Inevitably the mother insisted on spinning them in the wheel. She also moved them about the cage from one impromptu nest to another. She ended up drowning one of them – and I began to think this was some sort of survival thing. Either she couldn’t handle feeding all of them and knew one would die, so she chose the weakest. Or, knowing it was the weakest and had a small chance of survival, she killed it. Probably both theories are full of hot air – maybe being a hamster is no different than being human, and this hamster was an abusive parent. Or a serial killer. Though she seemed to limit her kills to one per litter.

Now I was beginning to envision this tank filled to overflowing with hamsters as more and more litters were delivered. I could see more of the new generation becoming pregnant and then having all these little Rubinowskis multiplying like tribbles. I couldn’t stand it.

Jason found a person to adopt one. OK, one out of sixteen or seventeen – not good. I tried an ad on Craig’s List – no takers. And I kind of felt that was not a bad thing because I wasn’t sure what a stranger would do with one of them. But it didn’t help the problem.

In the mean time I was still caring for them – changing bedding – more often because more hamsters made that necessary. And I’d become used to leaving the top open. However, one night as I was gong to bed I spotted something crawling on the floor – one of the hamsters! It had plotted and executed an escape. I managed to trap it – they aren’t all that bright. They can escape but what then? They have no clue. I trapped it and plunked it back into the crowded cage.

A few nights later, when I forgot to close the cage as I was changing the food and water, another escaped. Didn’t know that until I saw the little thing among my books on the floor. Trapped him easily and that was that.

The new ones were growing exponentially and I feared another pregnancy was imminent. So, I called Monster Pets and asked if they would buy them – no, but they would take them for free. OK, I thought. That’ll have to do.

Jason decided to take two and I kept two and the rest were going to the pet store, including Scar, whom Jason had grown tired of because he had become aggressive and awful. But when I took them out for transport I realized (after counting them) that during one of the earlier escapes, two others must have made a break for it and I hadn’t found those. They either squeezed out the front door or out onto the balcony. Either way it meant certain doom. Or, maybe they just wandered the house without my being able to see them and eventually starved. We’ll never know for sure, unless skeletal remains turn up.

Took them to the store where they were accepted with glee (sure, fifteen fucking dollars apiece when they got sold, the store made out royally).

Now I have two and they seem to get along. Neither seems pregnant but I wonder what I’ll do should that happen again.

BOMBASTIC Comcastic Comcast

2007-08-13T11:07:00.000-04:00

After a running battle with Comcast over Internet services, the final skirmish was fought and though Comcrass-t may feel they have won, they’ve actually lost.

Internet service to this apartment has been abysmally slow for nearly two years (or, since I moved into this place). I have had a succession of tech guys out here to try and correct the situation. (I don’t seem to get the cute ones, by the way. Or, maybe there aren’t any cute ones.) They all take out the Comcast version of the Star Trek Tricorder and hook it up to the system. And, lo and behold, all of them say, “You’re connection is way slow. It shouldn’t be this bad.”

Okay, good first step. Then I ask can they fix it. No one has an answer. The problem is always “outside” the building. But getting the independent contractors to fix the outside problem seems to be a hurdle over which they can never make it. Consequently I’ve been paying HIGH SPEED prices and getting less than dial-up service.

Service seemed to marginally improve for a few weeks – “let’s throw the guy a bone” – I imagined them saying. Just to shut me up. Well, the improved speed and the fact that I had a lot to do, did keep me quiet for a little while. But then last week, the connection was back to the Speed of Sludge.

I made the obligatory call. The usual tech came out. Took a look, said he’d have to look in the utility closet where all the cable connections are for this floor. Went to get a key.

Turns out the building can’t give him a key because a tech who had been servicing another call by someone else the day before, took the key and never returned it.

And no one can find the guy or do anything about it! Nor, I suspect, do they really care.

I was screwed again. Or, was I?

It turns out that a few weeks ago a new ally in the battle against Comcast monopoly has joined the fray. Verizon FiOS!

So, Comcast loses another customer – as soon as I can arrange an installation, I’m getting Verizon to come to the rescue. After a nearly two year battle, my troops are depleted and badly in need of rescue – I’m hoping this will help.

Competition. It’s swell. And – ain’t that what capitalism is all about? The way companies like Comcast act, you’d think that competition was a communist plot to undermine the glories of capitalist money grabbing. The hogs at the trough are none too happy when another, leaner, meaner piglet comes to feed. Oh well, they are pigs after all, aren’t they?

LOVE IS MURDER

2007-06-20T17:46:00.000-04:00

Then it was back home for three weeks in January while I contemplated having to fly to Chicago. In February. Was I nuts? I'm no fan of cold weather and I questioned my sanity daily for deciding to accept the gracious invitation of Todd Stone (author of Novelist's Boot Camp) and the Love Is Murder folk to appear on several panels at the Midwest confab. But as much as I hate cold weather, I like getting together with other writers, publisher, and fans a lot more.

Jason drove me to the airport one chilly Philly morning and I went through the check-in and remove-your-shoes routine. Hey, I'm all for it. Security is best. If they want us to fly nude, I'm right there! Once all that was taken care of, I flew off to the Windy City.

It was gray, COLD, and snowy when I stepped out onto a drab walkway to wait for the hotel shuttle to pick me up. The February air was like ice and the wind was strong. I looked into the sky and saw a bird fighting against the draft in the gray-white sky. Not an easy task -- I wondered what the hell it was doing out on a day like that. But then it was a bird. As for me, I wasn't feeling bad at all -- I needed to be out in an open space. After being cramped in a coach-class seat for hours and breathing the stuffy air of the airline cabin, I stood out in the cold, gulping in the frozen air, not caring about the temperature. Just glad to be on solid ground and not sandwiched between other passengers and sucking in recycled air laden with who-knows-what. I thought the sub-zero temperature might kill off whatever germs the other passengers had managed to put into the air filtration system.

Eventually the hotel shuttle arrived – only my left ear was frostbitten and the doctor said the right ear was almost there. Just kidding. The nice Italian shuttle driver and I were the only two on the mini-bus. And he regaled me with tales of his family's coming to America . He's about the age of some of my aunts and uncles so it was familiar territory.

The day after I arrived, Love is Murder began in earnest and I was treated to a most wonderful conference. The people were warm and welcoming, the panels were interesting and informative, and the program overall was super.

I met a lot of fabulous people from here and there and made some new friends. More about some of them later on.

Morgan Mandel, author of Two Wrongs, took lots of video at LIM and here's one of them:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=bR2S7l05HtU

FT. LAUDERDALE

2007-06-20T17:41:00.001-04:00

After the train ride from Hell, it was a pleasure more than a pleasure to spend time in Ft. Lauderdale.

Beautiful. Gay Gay Gay and with lots of choice.

We stayed one of the many gay resorts – this time it was the Worthington-Alcazar, which is a combo of two resorts, has quite a few rooms, two pools, and men. Lots of men. Most everyone is friendly and at the often-held cocktail parties, guys get even friendlier. Oh, and did I mention, it’s a clothing optional place – where most people opt for no clothing.

Best friend Jason and I spent the days lolling by the pool and doing the three Rs – reading, relaxing, resting. The water was delicious, the Jacuzzi was hot (in more ways than one), and the nights were filled with a mystery that made them special.

Jason is always on the lookout for the perfect guy. Well, so am I but he seems to find them a lot quicker. Maybe I’m too picky. The good thing is our tastes diverge here and there and we usually don’t squabble over anyone. There was this one exception but… Jason and I are still best friends.

Ft. Lauderdale is one of the best places a gay guy can vacation – it has everything. And lots of it all.

Amtrak Nightmare Part II

2007-04-11T17:57:00.000-04:00

In Part II – The Nightmare Continues

When last we left the nightmare train, the Loudmouth from Grocery Row had gone to get something to eat. The silence was unbelievable, spoiled only by the thought that he would return. Unless, by some stroke of luck, he took a wrong turn and walked out the door as the train sped through the South.

No such luck. Before long, he returned. I glanced to the side and saw that the woman who was sitting next to him had fallen into a coma. Her head lolled like that of a doll abandoned by a thoughtless child. The Grocer stopped to look at her before he sat down and noticed that she was unresponsive.

“Oh, goin’ to sleep on me, huh?” His voice cut the silence like a dum-dum bullet through plate glass.

She, of course, could not or would not respond. Instead she continued dead possum routine.

The Grocer sat and tried for about a millisecond to contemplate the back of the seat in front of him. Nope, being alone with himself wasn’t an option. Instead he pulled out his cell phone, in a train car filled with people trying to get as much sleep as they could squeezed and squashed in their egg-carton seats. And he begins a series of calls to what must have been his wife and then co-workers. There were worries about aisles with carrots and cabbages. Concern over milk cartons and orange juice. Who was taking a vacation and how would they work out the schedule. Did that delivery of green peppers really get dumped all over Main Street? Was the supermarket owner really banging the check-out girls? And, yes, honey, the train arrives at 9 AM!

That was a piece of news I almost didn’t believe. He was actually going to leave the train. In just a few hours. There would be silence for the rest of the eight or nine hours to Ft. Lauderdale. I would only believe it when I saw him leave.

At some point, he began to get no answer to calls he was placing. At least some of his friends were smart.

Then he fell asleep. His head rolled back and forth, his mouth open as if inviting whatever flying creatures there were buzzing about the train.

And then it began.

The Grocer snored. Not a gentle, low buzzing that signified contented sleep. No, this man snored like a pig in shit. Happily, loudly, as if gulping and grinding the air to get every last bit of sustenance from it. As if the air were a dishrag to be wrung out and shredded.

Reading became impossible. I turned out the lights and tried to sleep – using earplugs and lots of fortitude. Sleep did not come, at least not full, rejuvenating, reinvigorating sleep. Fits and starts was more like it.

But the good thing was that as we stopped here and there in little Southern towns and dots on the map, I was able to see some Christmas sights. Like the one town that had a huge Christmas tree and light display around a building next to the station. The tree was brilliant with white lights, everything was silent and still. The red brick building seemed clean and neat and almost like a movie set. I stared at it a long time and realized that snoring or no, it was a sight that made me feel good. And, to my surprise, even the snoring ceased.

But the best part of the Nightmare Train was yet to come.

The Grocer left the train. All was silence and discomfort. The seats were still small, the train car still suffocating, but at leas there was peace.

The hours dragged by. There was no sign of the conductor or anyone else from Amtrak officialdom. The train made its stops. The public address system was not functional except for occasional muffled static. But no words, no announcements.

We all had to guess at the stations and use clocks and schedules to figure out where we were and when our stops would come.

Finally the man we’d encountered at the beginning of the trip showed up in the car. This was the harried looking guy with hollow eyes and the hair which had gone through electro-shock therapy and looked it. The self-same man who seemed never to know what was going on or what he was supposed to do.

But he was all there was. So I got his attention and asked exactly what time we’d be arriving in Ft. Lauderdale.

“Train will arrive at 6:35 PM,” he said with exactitude.

I glanced at my cell phone clock and saw that we had an hour or so. Jason and I decided that we’d get our bags down about half an hour before arrival.

So Six o’clock came and we the train made a stop. No one announced it, the PA system didn’t even crackle into it’s half-life state. There was no clear sign what station it was but a few people got on and a few people got off.

We were getting our bags down when at 6:11 PM, the train stopped again. This time it appeared that we were ion the middle of a highway. One older woman, sitting farther up the aisle said so everyone could hear her, “Why are we stopped in the middle of a highway? What is this?”

Jason looked out the window and sad, “This must be a stop.” I said it couldn’t be. He said, “There are people getting on with a lot of baggage.”

Somehow that sparked something in my mind. Some tiny distant claxon began to sound. I got up from my seat and began to look around. I wanted to ask someone what stop this was but there was no one. Then, I felt the tug of the train as it began to pull out of the station.

I saw the station sign: Ft. Lauderdale!

I was panicked and furious. No one had come to remind us. No one had said that the station was too small for the train. The PA system never made a sound. We’d been left high and dry.

In an instant my anger overtook me and I ran through the cars in search of Mr. Electroshock Hair. I found him two cars back in an empty car – one which he’d conveniently not seated anyone. But he was busy checking out the seats.
“We just pulled out of Ft. Lauderdale. You didn’t tell us it was coming up. You said 6:35,” I snapped. I was loud, stern and angry. “What do we do now?”

“You can get off at Hollywood. The next stop?”

“But why didn’t you tell us the stop was coming up?”

“I did. I came into the car and told everyone. I told you, you were gonna hafta walk up two cars to get out.”
“No you didn’t.”
He shrugged. As if to say ‘I don’t give a good goddamn.”

I ran back to our car. Jason and I got the bags down and then I questioned several other passengers. I asked them if anyone had been in the car to announce the Ft. Lauderdale station. All of them said no.

When Mr. Electroshock Hair ambled into our car, I brought him face to face with the other passengers and asked them to tell him that he had not alerted us to the station stop. At first no one would repeat what they’d told me, as if this guy was some authority figure they had to fear. And that only served to increase my anger.

“Tell him!” I snarled. “Tell him what you told me. Tell him he didn’t come into this car.”

Momentary silence. Then I snapped again, “Tell him!”

And they did.

He just shrugged again, not giving a rat’s ass for his dereliction of duty.

At that point, exhausted and disgusted, I just wanted to get out of the train. Jason and I took our bags and hurried up two cars to get out at the Hollywood station.

Fifty dollars, a constantly whining cab driver, and a short ride later we were in glorious Ft. Lauderdale.

I wanted to kiss the ground. But I figured, germs I didn’t need.

Amtrak Nightmare Part I

2007-04-11T17:52:00.000-04:00

AMTRAK Nightmare! Part I

Ever think of taking the train for a leisurely trip to a distant location?

Think again! And Don’t Do It!

This year, best friend Jason (who grows more muscular and hot every day as he spends his time exercising away at the gym) and I decided to take the train to Florida. We had first entertained the idea because we thought we’d take Jason’s car to FL and save the cost of renting a car while there.

Nope. That wouldn’t work. It cost nearly a thousand dollars – depending on when you go – it could be more it could be less. Amtrak is worse than the airlines when it comes to screwing around with fares, raising them arbitrarily, lowering them when you’re not looking.

Even worse: if you live in Philly or anywhere north of Virginia, you have to drive your car down to Virginia to board it and yourself onto the Auto Train. That’s several hours right there. And then, it won’t leave you at your desired location. No, it leaves you somewhere north of Orlando. So, should you want to go anywhere else, you take your car and (after an tiring train trip) drive to that location.

But I went into “take the train” mode and, since flying isn’t one of my favorite things, I thought why not? Priced it out and made reservations. Jason misheard me when I said that it would take 24 (actually more) hours to get there. He thought I meant overnight and thought that wouldn’t be so bad.

I was looking forward to the trip but not relishing the long train ride. I’d taken a similar route before. Once, when researching material for a novel, I was invited to a WWII infantry reunion. In the South. I went by train and remembered somewhat more comfortable seats than they have in reality. But on that trip the other passengers included some little children whose parents were not familiar with the concepts of discipline, sleep-time, courtesy, concern for others, awareness that they are not the only people in the train, or awareness that not everyone likes screaming, dirty kids running up and down the aisles throughout the night.

Well, when vacation time arrived, we boarded the train in Philadelphia. I should have known right then that things were not right.

First: they could not get the down escalator to work. So all of us had to lug our bags down a very long staircase.

Then: the train eventually arrived in the station and there was little indication about where to board. When an attendant did emerge from the car, he looked as if he’d been subjected to a barrage of static electricity for hours before being allowed out. He was disoriented, gruff, and mush-mouthed.

Passengers crowded around him looking at him with hope for direction. He stared back, zombie-eyed, and looked at us as if we were supposed to tell him something. So people started boarding, ignoring him. When I got near enough I asked which car we should take and he pointed to one and said “Seat 12 and 13.” I lugged my bags (three heavy ones) into the car, made my way to seats 12 and 13 and lo and behold, they were taken. No surprise really. The attendant was an idiot.

So I lugged my stuff back and said that the seats were taken. He shrugged and pointed to the other car, saying nothing more. I figured zombies don’t talk much anyway.

We took our bags and found two unoccupied seats. After piling things where we could, we sat down and tried to get settled for the 25 hour trip.

It was then I noticed that the seats were nowhere near as comfortable as I remembered them to be. The space was small and cramped. There was a baseboard that was supposed to lift out and up to give your legs and feet a place to rest. Most of them were broken. And mine was one of the broken ones. But that wasn’t the worst thing about the trip out.

No, there was worse coming on that train. Amtrak Hell was just beginning.

Once we were seated and the train got underway, the guy across the aisle started talking. Not low and he didn’t have a nice voice. I glanced over at him and noticed that he was kind of like an uncooked ham hock. Large, pasty faced, with short cropped hair that was of a nondescript color. But his voice, now that was distinctive. Something between falsetto and baritone, with a Southern twang, and a whiney, grating, unappealing quality. And he rattled on to the woman next to him. I glanced over and noticed that she was an elderly black woman who was half interested in what he was saying, a quarter being polite, and a quarter in need of entertainment for the long train trip.

He was only too glad to provide thrilling tales of his work as a grocery store clerk. He threw in his marital life for kicks, his home renovation adventures, and odds and ends when tales of too many carrots, or too much cabbage weren’t enough.

Problem is that he enjoyed talking at the top of his lungs and never, I mean never, came up for a breath of air.

For FIVE hours straight, he talked and talked. The woman next to him would occasionally laugh or ask a brief question (which he talked over). And he’d barrel on.

I went for some food and tried to find the attendant so we could chage our seats (they were apparently nutsy about people changing seats). He was nowhere to be found. A second attendant laughed about the problem and said I should find the attendant assigned to that car. Which didn’t happen because he apparently perfectred the art of being invisible.

I returned to my seat and, after casting many a scowl toward the loudmouth green grocer, tried my best to ignore him. Jason gave me earplugs. Even they didn’t keep out the guy’s buzzsaw of a voice.

We tried getting something to eat. Since Jason didn’t want to go to the dining car we each went to the snack bar for something. Jason came back with some kind of sandwich which he found satisfactlry and gave me hope that maybe the snack bar would be cheaper, quicker, and just as good.

I went to the café car and looked over the menu. There was little that a normal human would want but I managed to find a bratwurst sandwich listed. I ordered that and waited while the guy popped it into the microwave and heated it up. Things didn’t look good and I wondered why I didn’t just go to the dining car – I didn’t want to sit at a table with strangers, that was one reason. The other reasons are more complicated.

When I and the bratwurst got back to my seat, I squeezed myself into the oddly shaped space (the space was cramped because the leg rest was stuck in a half-way position, one of my bags had to be wedged under my seat(since all the overhead racks were taken) causing less space to stretch my legs, and various other little inconveniences.

Once seated I tore open the wrapping and bit hungrily into the sandwich. To my surprise, I came up with a mouthful of rubber! The microwave had rubberized the sandwich bun making it damp, far too chewy, and inedible. The bratwurst was marginally better but I figured I needed some protein and ate it without the bread. Didn’t need the carbs but wouldn’t have minded not paying for them.

I choked that sausage down with bottled water for a chaser and went back to trying to read a novel while the Grocer rambled on. Occasionally I’d hear him say, “Are you still with me? You awake? I’m putting you to sleep, ain’t? Just tell me when you want me to shut up.”

Well, no person in their right mind is going to tell someone to shut up who just told them to do just that. Because they never mean it and to tell them to shut up would mean disaster. So, the poor woman just mumbled something which allowed Grocer Man to keep talking (not that he ever really shut up to hear what she had to say).

I’d have battered him with the bratwurst well before he got the chance to as me anything.

Jason was trying to stay busy with books and other things. His earplugs kept him buffered from most of the Grocer’s monologue.

The lights of whatever burg we were passing through created a yellow-red blur in the window and I wished that there was an eject button on the Grocer’s seat. The darkness and gloom were thickening and my mood grew ever more dark. It was getting late and I should have been tired. Just the tension of travel sometimes lets me sleep while on a trip. But the Grocer’s voice was so annoying it kept sleep at bay.

Then, he announced to the woman, dazed in the seat next to him, that he was going to the café car before it closed to get something to eat.

Next: The Nightmare Continues Down the Track

PAWS and REFLECT

2007-01-27T11:25:00.000-05:00

I had to travel to New York again (in December) for a reading from a new book in which I have an essay. Paws and Reflect explores the bond between gay men and their dogs. And before you yell at me because I don’t currently have a dog, I did have a dog. Several in fact. And the one I chose to write about is the one that lasted the longest and grew up along with me. Caesar. A noble name for a noble dog.

My essay, “The Little Emperor” details life with Caesar and the lessons he taught me.

The reading was an experience I won’t soon forget. I’ve done readings before – in NY even – but this one was star-studded! Sharon Sakson, one of the co-creators of this book, was in attendance and did a great job of coordinating the reading. In attendance also was Ron Nyswaner (wrote the screenplay for the movie Philadelphia) who told a very affecting story, and David Mizejewski (of Animal Planet fame) whose story was a lot of fun, and a number of others.

Of course, there were lots of dogs in attendance. They were all cute and all well behaved. But one of my favorites -- probably my favorite -- was Miss Kitty. Cute, loveable, and perky, Miss Kitty won me over completely. She looks you in the eye and makes a quick connection that you feel lucky to have. Sharon is Miss Kitty's companion.

The reading went well. Everyone in turn told their stories, some spoke extemporaneously, some, like me, read their stories. Whatever way each person did his job, the audience was pleased. Then there was the signing -- lots of autographs and lots of fun.

The reading was held at the Chelsea Barnes & Noble and I’d wanted to stay overnight afterwards so as not to have to drag myself home late at night. But nooooo, New York hotels were not to be had for anything less than $395.

I don’t care what William Shatner says, not even Priceline was able to find me something in Manhattan for under $395 – no lie. Not the first week in December when apparently everybody in the universe flocks to New York to shop.

One small chain I called said they had rooms available at two properties – can’t remember the names of the places but I remember the prices. The first the room would have socked me for $600. So I asked her to tell me what the other property cost. “That will be $1975 per night.” There was no inflection in her voice. Didn’t seem to faze her that a room, any room, could cost that much.

When I was able to speak again, I told her that it was a little more than I was looking to spend.
For $1900 I hope they have the bellboys coming in and out doing blow jobs and whatever else you want because no hotel room is worth that kind of money unless there’s lots of sex involved and I mean lots!

Mr. Rubber Title, Oh My!

2007-01-23T22:10:00.000-05:00

Brian Wins Mr. Rubber Montreal Title

Good friend Brian who lives in Montréal won the Mr. Rubber title there recently. I couldn’t get there quickly so I missed all the fun. And it had to be fun.

Brian is a hot man. Piercing eyes, a salt and pepper goatee, and a body that calls attention to him wherever he goes – that’s Brian. He lives in the Gai Village in Montréal – right in the middle of things. This year he decided, almost at the last moment, to enter the Mr. Rubber competition. He ran around getting his outfit together and planning a presentation that would ultimately wow the judges.

All the contestants had to come up with a “fantasy” scene. Brian’s scene was well documented by a photographer. He enters as an unassuming, albeit hot, man dressed in long polyester running pants and a cotton tee. Captured by two hunky men in leather (and hunky doesn’t even begin to describe them – I nearly fainted when I saw their pics), Brian is hung by a chain in some contraption. As he dangles there, the two latex hunks place a rubber gas mask over Brian’s head as he writhes in agony. The next phase is wrapping Brian in a rubber cocoon and let him twist slowly like a leaf until the metamorphosis is complete and Brian emerges as a rubber hunk. Shiny black skin-tight latex, his gas-maks head, a stiff dick contraption which cannot be missed, and a tail. A little rubber doggie tail.

It doesn’t end there – for now Brian’s training has to take place. An sever older gent, with various implements to train the new pup, takes charge and Brian is made to submit.
It must have been a real crowd pleaser because Brian won hands down. And reigns as Montréal’s Mr Rubber 2007.

Mr. Philly Leather and a New York Visit

2006-12-10T13:02:00.000-05:00

Mr. Leather Competition

Went to the Mr. Philadelphia Leather competition this year and it was a blast.

The whole Nov 10-12 weekend was a Leather fantasy starting with the Kinky Carnival at the Bike Stop on Quince. And sandwiched between that and the Victory party on Sunday was the competition itself.

Best friend Jason and I dutifully donned some leather and made our way to the Mask & Wig club a venerable U of P institution that remains here in center city Philly while the rest of the U of P sprawls across West Philadelphia. The Mask & Wig is an old, old building that harkens back to a much earlier time in this city’s history. There aren’t many of these buildings left as the city is intently creating parking lots and condo buildings and smothering history. Soon, there’ll be lots of parking lots but no reason to park since everything else will have been razed to make parking lots. Can you spell short sighted?

This clubhouse has a wooden interior that makes you feel as if you’re at some ancient campsite’s clubhouse. The walls are filled with caricatures and objects (dare I say fetish totems) from past members. This is a good old boys club – but one with a twist. The good old boys, while they are cute young men, put on a show every year in this clubhouse. A drag show – and I’ve heard that some of them are quite something to see. Never yet been to one but I’m hankering to go.

The Mr. Leather competition was held on the stage upstairs with Ms Carlotta Tendant as the hostess. Speeches were made, contestants introduced, and the game was on.

The four male contestants had to go through their paces – leatherwear, sexy outfits, formal leatherwear, speeches on topics, answers to questions put to them by Carlotta, and not least, the fantasy scene. One involved a housepainter and his assistant – don’t we all have that fantasy? Don’t we all want to hold some sexy painter’s brush? Another was a businessman or maybe even a politician, who after stripping off his suit and tie made hot time with his visitor or constituent. There was an Odd Couple take-off in which sloppy Oscar finally gets his revenge on Felix – but what revenge! Felix gets fucked doggie style and both he and Oscar seem to be enjoying themselves. Revenge is sweet. The fourth fantasy rounding out the show was a seasonal one: Santa and his elvish helpers have a holiday romp that we can only dream about. That is if Santa is your fantasy man.

The big winner for the evening was John Loesch – Mr. Leather 2007 – a handsome, sexy guy who will do us proud. He lives in Collingswood, NJ a very gay town just outside Philly. He’s the captain of the Philadelphians MC and hopes to promote the Leather community and its activities.

New York

Went to New York for Jason’s birthday. The weekend after Thanksgiving is one of those mad hectic times but although the crowds were huge, it wasn’t bad at all. We met wp with friend Yurong who is a lovely person and had a great Korean dinner after seeing Mama Mia. The Korean restaurant was a midtown establishment in a very Korean centered area – lots of restaurants and though it was late when we finished, there were scads of young, very cute Koreans hanging about outside the restaurants, bars and clubs. Made me curious and hot.

Eralier that evening we went to The Leather Man shop in the Village – a great, great place to buy whatever strikes your fancy in leather. And the way they do business is unbeatable.

Next afternoon, Jason and I had a great lunch at a place called Papillion – we dined with his colleague Karen and her family. And, the place has a “free” something if it’s your birthday. In this case, Jason got his entire meal free.

Later we returned to the Leather Man where I bought Jason his birthday gift – a rather wonderful harness. One which I’ll eventually get for myself. It’s a great contraption which is easier to step into and out of than other harnesses. But, David, our salesperson, said that people do often get them tangled up and in most cases there’s no remedy except to bring it back to the shop and have them untangle and readjust. And that’s the great thing – they fit each item to you specifically – no charge! Of course, Jason did not waste the opportunity to shed his clothes and try on the harness before and after adjustment.

That night we had a birthday dinner with several friends, including Yurong, and went to The View atop the Marriott Marquis on Times Square. It’s a restaurant which revolves 360 degrees giving you some spectacular views of the city. It takes an hour for it to turn completely but you’d never know it. Everything is priced as high as the building – and you come away with a thinner wallet but richer for having seen the city the way it lets you see it.

The next day we had some time to go back to some shops and just enjoy the city and then it was back to Philadelphia and the workaday world.

Happy Days Are Here Again!

2006-11-12T00:28:00.000-05:00

I sat watching the returns roll in on Tuesday with great anticipation. After all, it wasn't the first time in the past several years that I felt we would take back the House.

But this time, several factors made me worry about the possibility of victory. One was the media hype. For weeks they'd been saying that the Democratic Party would win, that republicans were on the run, dispirited, disorganized. But they hyped it so much and so often that I imagined a horde of crazed gop'ers running to the polls just to show the media how wrong they were. Two, the nefarious voting machines. I mean, after you have the head of Diebold stating categorically that he'd do whatever it took to deliver a Bush victory (and apparently did so), how could we not worry about key congressional races being similarly stolen.
But, my fears were unfounded. And we even took the Senate!

Now, though the Democrats have several promises to deliver on -- and I have no doubt that they will, they also have the task of setting some past wrongs to right. And so subpoenas will fly out of the House, panels will be set up, investigations will be held, and maybe, just maybe, the American people will get a few answers to the many questions that have arisen in the past six years.

But right now it's time to sit back and bask in the glow of victory.

An Interview With Me

2006-10-24T00:34:00.000-04:00

I was honored recently to be interviewed for Dee Ann Palmer's mystery site. I'll see if I can get the text and place it here.

Here's De Ann's site: http://www.deeannpalmer.com

The Interview may or may not be archived.

The Indigo Ball

2006-10-13T00:56:00.000-04:00

I attended the Indigo Ball on Friday, the 6th. What an event! A fundraiser for the William Way GLBT center here in Philly, this black tie party is something I don’t think I’ll miss in the future. Of course, this was a special one for me, so it was even more meaningful and wonderful but that doesn’t change the fact that this event is something not to be missed. It was elegant and spectacular. The venue – the ballroom in the Hyatt Bellevue is dazzling.

I was one of the guests of honor this time around. The Center is celebrating thirty years – not just thirty years of existence (because it is actually a little longer than that) but thirty years of having some sort of physical facility. This is no mean achievement – we are one of the few major cities that has a bricks and mortar center. And it is ours (no mortgage) and it is large (26,000 square feet).

Why was I there as an honoree? I was one of the Founders. More than thirty years ago a small band of us got together, formulated a plan, and got a lawyer. We did our homework and in 1975 put together incorporation papers. I was one of the persons who signed that document. There were five of us and pretty much I’m the only one left. One other person may still be with us but no longer lives in Philly. Others came along in those early days and during this 30th Anniversary celebration (which is scheduled to last a year) the Center is honoring those who lit the fire and kept the flame burning. After helping to found the place, I became the first co-director and then the real work began.

So, as two of the earliest pioneers I and Arleen Olshan were invited to the Indigo Ball and duly recognized. There were representatives from the eras of the 80s and 90s who kept the center going through some interesting times.

I was a kid back then, in college and wanting to change the world. And that, as it turns out, is just what we did. I’ll be telling that story.

The celebration at the Indigo Ball and the recognition we received felt good – for a lot of reasons. Not just because we were remembered and our contribution acknowledged but because we could see that what we started so long ago was flourishing. The building, named the William Way Center (after an activist who was instrumental in getting the building and whom I knew) is magnificent and getting better each day. It houses programs – some of which stretch back to the early days, like peer counseling, and some that are new like Way Gay U (with lots of course offerings). It houses a library which was a dream of mine and of others and for which materials were collected even before we had our first physical location on Kater Street. And, it is in the heart of the gayborhood – this is so important. It rises as a symbol and remains as a home for all of us right where many of us live, where many gay businesses are located, and where GLBT events are held.

The 1970s were heady days and those of us who lived through them will tell you that they were also filled with fear and fun and frenetic activity. We were in the process of building a community – Stonewall galvanized us and then it was up to us to build on that. And so we did. From time to time I’ll tell more of this story. It’s something I’m working on in any event as part of a memoir.

Mysterical-E

2006-09-18T14:22:00.000-04:00

Organization has always been my own personal bugaboo. You’d think that for a librarian, I’d be organized. But that isn’t the case. And just so you know, when I was in Information Science school, none of the professors were what you’d call paragons of organizational ability. Not outwardly anyway. Stepping into one of their offices was much like stepping into mine – books and papers everywhere. Files piled on files. And worse. Yet, they always seemed to get lots done. Many of them were highly accomplished people, published in all sorts of places, speaking at any number of conferences. I know, it’s not good to point to bad examples and take that as the benchmark. I’m just pointing it out as a curiosity. Most people think, librarian = organized – but it ain’t necessarily the truth. We know how to organize not necessarily how to be organized.

And therein lies my problem – if I were organized, I could do anything. Well, at least I fantasize that I could do anything. At the very least I could have more control over my own life and that wouldn’t be half bad. I’m not a control freak (well, who isn’t a little?) but I would like to have more say over how my days goe and how I manage time. Organization is the key. I just know it.

Coming up with the solution is not so easy. But maybe, just maybe… a cute, personal secretary/administrative assistant who works cheap. And if they could throw in a little personal coaching – like “Stop procrastinating! And get busy!” That would be good. I’d pay extra for that.

One of the things on my plate these days is Mysterical-E – an online mystery magazine, which as our front page says is:
A Dangerously Good, Free ezine, packed with short stories, articles, reviews. Focusing on mystery, crime, suspense, fantasy, spec fic; and featuring neo noir pulp inspired art Thrilling, Exciting, Mysterious, and Smart - It's Mysterical E!

And if I do say so myself, it’s pretty good. The staff and the material are all top notch. Of course, we’re always looking for new staff and submissions.

There was a mad rush to get Mysterical-E out on time and almost exactly on the date we’d set for this issue. But we did it. I was away on those three adventures while awaiting the artwork and a couple of columns. When I got back, the dash to the finish line began. And I’m happy to say we made it. Jason and Ginny helped immeasurably and I couldn't have launched the issue without them. The Fall 2006 issue is up. This is the seventh issue since I took over the reigns at M-E and it’s been a lot of fun even though it’s a lot of work.

I’ve always loved mystery – maybe it ties in to my sense of wanting organization. The detectives bring organization and order to a very messy world. Most mysteries usually begin in either of two ways – you get a glimpse of a “world” in which things are running happily along, the world of the characters where everything has a place and things work the way they should. Then something happens to turn that world upside down – a murder, a theft, something. And it’s got to be set right or else. That’s where the detective comes in – whether she or he is an amateur, a professional, a trained P.I. or just an average shmoo who stumbles onto the crime – they get to set things right. The other type of mystery usually hits the ground running – meaning it opens with the crime or the aftermath of the crime. Then we get to see the effects of the crime but still the detective sets everything in place again.

That’s the beauty of mysteries – they bring order to an unordered, sometimes inexplicable world. They make sense out of baffling circumstances, and bring a miscreant to justice.

Is that why I love them? Maybe in part. Maybe I just love the tone and feeling of some of them. But most of all, in the ones I really love it’s the characters. After all, character is what makes all fiction memorable.

But that’s another story.

Naked Soap

2006-09-11T02:11:00.000-04:00

I guess the operative words at GNI were/are friendly, convivial, hospitable – and all the synonyms Roget can supply. Right from the very beginning, everyone was terrific.

We found our way to registration and the handsome guy in the office, the one with the cute smile and the slim waistline, was sweet. He handed us each a GNI bag (suitable for carrying all the little necessities for which you no longer have pockets), and a bar of Naked Soap. A nice touch.

He then told us to rush over to the dining hall where would could still get something to eat (dinner would be ending in 15 minutes). We pointed to our clothing and he told us to just go on and not to worry. People would understand. And they did.

There weren’t too many stragglers left in the larger dining hall but no one raised an eyebrow as we scooped up turkey, veggies, and the fixin’s and sat there in shirts and shorts. I felt more and more at home, more relaxed, more like ripping my clothing off and getting into the spirit. But I also felt hungry, not having eaten since breakfast.

Later that night, after meeting the cabin mates, sitting through the opening session, and lolling around the cabin getting to know the guys, we went to the disco.

Yes, a disco. The Tropicana, specially set up by GNI for this gathering. A totally naked disco. A large building on the grounds had been converted to a disco hall – one side with drinks and tables, the other a genuine, disco ball, disco lights, loud music disco. And it was wonderful.

Until you’ve seen hundreds of naked men dancing and enjoying the fact that they are free from any encumbrances, you will not understand it. The utter joy on the faces of some of the men was uplifting. They were ecstatic and jubilant as if they’d been freed from some prison.

It was also a little surreal – one remix, included the flower duet from the opera Lakme (I’m gay, we know these things), woven through with the inevitable disco thump-thump-thump. It was a beautiful mix infusing the air around us with a kind of magic. As this music cascaded eerily over the naked bodies, a jet of snow-like confetti spewed out over evryone and smoke rose up from jets around the base of the room. It was almost sensory overload. I felt transported. It was surreal but in a very, very good way and I allowed myself to luxuriate in it.

Jason, for his part, was dancing atop a pedestal and looked transfixed with happiness. So did the guys staring at him.

It’s just one of the moments I won’t ever forget.

At some point Jason decided he wanted some air. So, out we went into the quite cool night air. It can get a bit chilly in the mountains, even in August. We traipsed down darkened pathways until we came to the wooden bridge which crossed a narrow band of water and led to the other side of the lake. Other men walked ahead and some trailed us. Most of them met around what was to become a blazing campfire. Not as big as a bonfire yet bigger than a campfire – this served as a meeting point for a handful of men each evening.

Walking toward this group, on the darkened side of the retreat grounds, was eerie. I thought about times I’d had in the Boy Scouts, camping out in the open, taking walks at night, being surrounded by guys and filled with this unnameable longing. Now years later, I’d put a name on that feeling and here I was surrounded by guys again. And everything seemed new: the air was cold and fresh, the sound of the gravel crunching under my feet was crisp, the night sky blazed with stars. More stars than I’d seen in a long time. I could even see the Milky Way, or what the Chinese call the Silver River. It was magnificent. Dizzying. I wanted to stare into the sky for a long time, but there were other things at hand.

Each night, I couldn’t wait for the fire to get going so that at least one side of me would be warm. Once the flames rose up, licking the logs and sending showers of sparks into the air, I got a better look at the men standing with me. There was a warm camaraderie in the way they stood, in the way they stared. They spoke, sometimes in hushed tones, about their lives and loves. Then silence would sweep over the group and we enjoyed each other’s company. The company of like minds, of similar longings, of hopeful expectations.

It is something I don’t wish to forget. Like the bonfires of my Scouting days, the flames consumed the logs but forged new bonds between strangers.

Slowly, as the flames died back, men would leave the circle and tread back to their cabins. Often it was only then that some of us actually noticed the chill in the air. Before that the fire and the company served to warm us. Sinking back, one by one, into the darkness sapped the warmth.

But not for long.

Each day we woke to something new – whether it was a volleyball game, an erotic massage workshop, or… well… there are just some things you have to see for yourself.

And there were shows to fill an evening. They were all unforgettable – from Jolene and Stormy Weather entertaining an auditorium of naked men, to the naked talent show. And believe me, all some of these guys had to do was stand there and look pretty. But they weren’t just pretty… uh… faces, yeah that’s what I mean, faces. No, they all actually had talent. These boys could sing or play the piano or cello, or do whatever it is they said they could do. These guys had talent. Which is often the one thing missing in talent competitions.

And not just talent. It takes guts to get up in front of an audience and perform – and to do it naked? It takes more than guts.

If I had to sum it all up – GNI showed me how to free myself, that guys can be decent to one another, that we can love ourselves (and still find room for improvement), that one experience can make a difference in a life.

GNI -- I love you

2006-08-31T15:57:00.000-04:00

To continue the adventure theme: the third week was the best of all. That’s when my friend Jason and I attended the Gay Naturists International annual gathering. GNI is a longstanding organization promoting naturism and more.

As S. said to me as we stood in the dining hall, “I don’t know why you waited so long.” S. knows something about him and knew all along this would be something I love – but he never pushed. A characteristic of this movement – it’s all in your own good time.

Truly, after I got there, neither do I know why I waited so long. It was a fantastic experience and I’ll make some plans for next time.

We arrived at the Pocono retreat in the early evening. The place was idyllic. Beautiful rolling green fields, a lake, volleyball courts, two pools, and men, men, men – all nude and all friendly.
Being a first timer at this event, my first glimpse of the scene had the feeling of fantasy about it. I spied men walking in the distance, no clothing between them and the wind. Men sitting under trees having lively conversations. Men moving from cabin to cabin, strolling about the grounds, just standing about. None of them wearing a stitch. And the peaceful air of contentment which pervaded the place was hypnotic.

When Jose helped us with directions to our cabin, I was hooked. He was adorable and his deep brown eyes never strayed from mine as he spoke to me. The scarf around his neck and his name tag was all he wore – that and a pretty smile.

The temperature was perfect, the guys looked great and so I knew this was the place for me. If only it were a permanent settlement!

We made our way to the assigned cabin and, my heart fluttering just a little, climbed the steps to meet our cabin mates. We were greeted even before we reached the top of the steps. J. our cabin coordinator and the others welcomed us warmly and made us feel comfortable immediately.

After all of the preliminaries, including dragging our bags, choosing our bunks, and removing our clothes – we were ready for the first night. And what a night.

The opening parade of organizations, introductions of GNI staff, and Carol Channing to entertain – while all of us sat there, bare as babies and feeling good.

All the butterflies had left my stomach and flew somewhere else, all my tiny trepidations scattered to the wind. I have to say that I approached the GNI gathering with just a little nervousness. Not being one of the gym-sculpted elite (not yet anyway), I imagined fields of such men and wondered how I’d feel among them.

It will suffice to say that although I’d been bopping around various clothing optional venues over the years and seeing men whose bodies were less than the standard gym-bunny physique, I still had issues with myself. At clothing optional places you still have the comfort of knowing that you can cover up if you want. Was I ready to throw that safety-towel away? Would I be able to love myself the way I should?

Finally having the courage to attend a GNI gathering, due in no small part to my best friend Jason, proved to me that I am ready. Probably have been ready for longer than I even knew myself. It just took the gentle push that Jason gave. And there I was, cock to the wind, a smile and a badge.

I have to say that GNI ranks up there as one of the best things I’ve done for myself. Yeah, yeah, I know – going to a nudist camp one of the “best” things. But really. You have to learn to love yourself. You have to force yourself to know that you are worth as much as anyone else.
I listen to and read a lot of Louise Hay’s work – and as encouraging as she can be, it’s still tough implementing her lessons. But when you do, it’s worth all the effort.

GNI is like that – maybe there’s a bit of hesitation, maybe the butterflies are as big as tanks, but once you cross that line there’s no going back and you learn that it is easier to love yourself than not.

Well, there’s more to the GNI story and that’ll be in the next post.

Life Gets Interesting

2006-08-28T01:34:00.000-04:00

Life just keeps getting more interesting. And the past three weeks have been quite fun. I’d have to say that some of my experiences in that time have been enlightening and even empowering. Some of it was just beach-bumming and relaxing in cool summer breezes, but much of the time was an eye-opening jaunt.

Especially the gay nudist days. I mean, spending time with about a thousand other gay men, all of us nude, is an experience not to be missed. But more about that later.

The first week of this August adventure began in the Poconos at The Woods, a great, relatively new, gay campsite. I’d been camping in Plein Bois outside of Montréal and this was similar in organization and feel.

While Plein Bois is a clothing optional camp, it has a rather large section where nudity is required. You can pass through that sector but if you’re going to stay for any length of time, you’ve got to shed the outer trappings (and I mean that in a lot of ways). Besides, one of the two pools is located there and all these delicious nude gay men are hanging around. Why not lose the clothing?

Both camps are also mini gay villages. In addition to the campsites (both primitive and with electricity and water) there are cabins, and permanent sites with permanent residents. These perms go all out in most cases – big trailers, cable TV, elaborate front yard, even more intricate decorations.

And friendly?! All these guys are exceptionally nice, welcoming, and willing to help.

The Woods is purely clothing optional – your choice of attire. And the Woods is co-ed! But lots of guys choose to let it all hang out. While I was there, a lesbian couple staying in a nearby cabin, chose the hardly-any-clothing route. I kind of liked the spirit of those two – it couldn’t have been easy when everyone else there was male.

And, yes, I did say cabin. Though I have a tent and like using it, I was not in the mood for setting it up and worrying about cooking meals over a fire. There were a number of guys there who did just that but there were far more who opted for cabins or who had their own trailers. And many of them went off site to eat!

The weather was gorgeous most of the time and the nights clear. I remember staring through a stand of pine trees at the moon, full and bright, bathing the whole place in a silver light. The hum and echoing drone of insects created strange, almost otherworldly, background music.

I couldn’t help but wonder about what things would be like had some other line evolved into intelligent life forms instead of primates. Would we be the ones swinging in trees making night noises to lull the snake people to sleep?

Oh yes, the clothing optional part. Many of the campers chose to gad about sans clothing. Especially around the pool and clubhouse. But Occasionally I came across a totally nude guy out walking his dog (yep, pooches are allowed but they’ve gotta be leashed). There were trails that led into the woods and here, too, one could find a naked brother hiking.

Weekends are supposed to be more crowded and I’ll find out some time this Fall.

After this, it was home for a few days then off again for a bit of time at the beach in Rehoboth Beach, Delaware. A great town with a big gay presence. Staying at a clothing optional, gay hotel was just part of the fun. Again, two hot tubs graced the Shore Inn. It was a bit of a walk to get to the center of town, but then, I need the exercise.

Hitting the beach is one of my favorite things – it’s only recently that I’ve come to appreciate a vacation where one relaxes and rests. Though I still like sightseeing, the pleasures of lolling on a beach or lounging by a pool are more appealing than ever. And when that beach or pool has a clothing optional policy, even better.

After a few days of sun and sand, it was back home to do laundry and prepare to trek out to meet up with hundreds of nude gay guys.

More on that next time.