Prop 8 and the Marriage Conundrum

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

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!

The video speaks for itself:

Mr. Philadelphia Leather -- November 2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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Montréal Fierté -- July 2007

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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.