September 1, 2009
Man on the street
This roofer was working on the house next door this morning. Click on him for larger pics!
I’m listening to “Strike Me Pink” from Debravation by Deborah Harry.
July 25, 2009
You can barely see her but Martha Stewart’s head is completely recognizable in this picture I snapped while Derek and I were driving through Ogunquit Maine last week. According to another customer at the gas station where we had stopped, she had just bought a sweater at Blacksmith’s Mall. Much as I hate to admit it, it was very exciting!
I’m listening to “Wi' Nae Wee Bairn Ye'll Me Beget” from 69 Love Songs by The Magnetic Fields.
Technorati Tags: marth stewart
April 22, 2009
The Exquisite Queer
A few months ago I had my picture taken as part of a project by Dave Kube, a student at Temple’s Tyler School of Art. He explained the project as a sort of “Exquisite Corpse” flip book of gay folks. As usual, I was incredibly uncomfortable getting my picture taken but I got through it. As a kind of payment for being part of the project, he gave his subjects a bunch of photos to take home. Mine were great! I don’t think I’ve ever looked so good. (I say this even though the pictures actually look like me!) Anyways, Dave decided to use this as his thesis project and it's on display for a few days at Temple Gallery. That’s my weird head in the upper right in the postcard above. If you want to see more of Dave’s work, the details are below.
April 22-25, 11:00 - 6:00
Reception: April 24, 6:00 - 8:00
Temple Gallery, Tyler School of Art
Norris and 12th St., Philadelphia, PA 19122
In the meantime Dave received the well-deserved First Prize in the 4th Annual Juried Art Show in March at William Way GLBT Community Center, where he showed two stunning photographs from another project. My old friend, the great Jimi Mooney (aka Helen Back) got 2nd prize for his equally beautiful collages. Look for them both in future gallery shows at Willian Way.
I’m listening to “Le Feel Internacionale” from A Wizard, A True Star by Todd Rundgren.
First block on Grindr
I took an entire month, which might be a record, but I finally got some abuse on Grindr. All I did was turn down sex with an 18 year-old. They almost never take that very well. (His messages are on the left, mine on the right.) I wish I had thought to grab his picture before I blocked him.
I’m listening to “Carioca”by Esquivel and His Orchestra from The History of Space Age Pop, Vol.3: The Stereo Action Dimension.
March 29, 2009
Man on the street
This sexy man was having breakfast at the next table at West Egg in Atlanta the other day. He has beautifully hairy arms.
I’m listening to “Melt the Guns” from English Settlement by XTC.
March 9, 2009
Philly Beer Week
At first I thought the Russian brew Rejection Ale had my name written all over it. Then I saw this stuff at Doobie’s, the best bar in the world with the best jukebox ever. A Doobie’s employee called it “the best beer ever put in a can.” I’m honored.
I’m listening to “Jump (DJ Rob West End Girls Mix)” from Remixes On A Dancefloor by Madonna.
March 8, 2009
This is funnier than most of you will ever know.
I’m listening to “I Can’t Believe You Would Fall For All The Crap In This Song” from Exotic Creatures of the Deep by Sparks.
January 23, 2009
Starbucks, 12th & Walnut.
I’m listening to “25 Avril - Orchestral Marstall” from A Year With Swollen Appendices: The Diary of Brian Eno by Brian Eno.
January 14, 2009
I have no idea what these posters mean but they’re all over the place in University City and West Philly.
I’m listening to “Golden Age” from Dear Science by TV On The Radio.
January 11, 2009
I went to 8static last night. It’s a local series of chiptuning or 8-bit/Game Boy music concerts. It was at a yoga studio, of all places, a few blocks away which turned out to be a really good venue. I really like this stuff! The sounds these musicians start with are familiar and strangely comforting which is not surprising given their origins. After being fed through layers of distortion and amplified to near-deafening levels, though, they become hair-raising and abrasive, just the kind of sound that I love. (They dispensed free earplugs at the door!) Its coarseness and really fast tempos make it almost compulsively danceable. The fast-moving video projections at these shows are kind of disorienting, too. There is also the weird sight of musicians hunched over, intently playing these tiny plastic objects in their hands who are being observed by an audience hunched over their phones, texting and taking pictures.
There were four acts: three solo performers and a trio (two guitars and a bass with preset tracks, I think). They were all very good but the headliner, 8GB, from Argentina, was so good that I nearly forgot the others had even played. (There are pictures above and a 30 second sample below, both thanks to my iPhone.) He seemed mostly to manipulate beats and had less melody that the others but more variety overall.The sound was utterly compelling and he was obviously having a great time making it. The otherwise weirdly passive crowd was a swirl of motion during his set but thinned considerably by the end of his generous 75 minutes. It’s not surprising. As much as I like this music, it’s assaultive, and exhausting to listen to. Unfortunately, a small technical problem, causing him to turn the volume down for a few seconds, removed some of the drama from first noticing that his final song was a cover of Kraftwerk’s classic ”The Robots” (Note to promoters: The sound man should be at the board while the band is playing.)
Anamanaguchi who preceded 8GB were really good and entertaining but their songs had a sameness that was ultimately tiresome. Also, they are the only 8-bit band I’ve heard who seem to need a singer. None of them have singing, at least none of the eight “bands” I’ve seen, but Anamanaguchi’s pop stylings (and appearance) seemed to be screaming for a front man. Call me old-fashioned.
Anyway, Check them all out And come to next month’s show. Their sites are all reachable though the 8static web site. The second performer, Animal Style, urged the audience to download his music for FREE here.
Se you at the next show on February 7th!
January 8, 2009
Thanks to Karen for taking such a nice picture!
I’m listening to “Go Square Go” from Glasvegas by Glasvegas.
October 26, 2008
It looks like Comcast customer support was a little busy last night when THE SCREEN FROZE DURING GAME THREE OF THE WORLD SERIES!!!!!! They weren’t even taking phone calls! People were furious!
I’m listening to “Redukt” from Silence Is Sexy by Einstürzende Neubauten.
October 16, 2008
I can’t believe I’ve sunk this low.
I’m listening to “Water Curses” from Water Curses by Animal Collective.
September 17, 2008
After The Crusher pointed it out to me, I couldn’t resist buying this insane new “The Birds” Barbie for my new apartment. I’m not a “collector” so I expected to take it out and set it up somewhere on a shelf. The packaging is so perfectly-done, though, beautifully printed clear plastic, surrounding Melanie Daniels with swirling birds, that I left her in the box.
I’m listening to “Jocko Homo” from Greatest Hits by DEVO.
July 16, 2008
Word on the Street
My friend Gabe sent me this photo he took on the street in San Francisco. I can only say I agree!
I’m listening to “Search” from Post Mersh Vol 1: The Punch Line by The Minutemen.
Technorati Tags: san francisco
July 12, 2008
Catching up on the news
I’m listening to “Macbeth II” from The Whitey Album by Ciccone Youth.
June 5, 2008
Seen at the Philadelphia Gay Pride Parade in 2004.
I’m listening to “World In My Eyes (Daniel Miller Mix)” from Remixes (81-04) by Depeche Mode.
June 3, 2008
Man on the street
This sexy man was laying pipe outside the Starbucks at 12th & Walnut this afternoon. Ain’t he beautiful? Click on the thumbnails for larger pics!
I’m listening to “Imnxtc” by Denise Motto from The History of the House Sound of Chicago.
June 2, 2008
I’m listening to “Jin Go Lo Ba (Jon Carter Remix)” from The Greatest Hits Remixed by Fatboy Slim.
The big lie
If anyone is still paying attention to this blog, they might remember this post about HamletWasBipolar/SAGandEquityDude/Jason Klemm, the drunk who accused me of murder. (Illegal in 29 states!) What I then referred to as “the occasional insane rampage” has become, nearly two months later, almost daily abuse, verging on obsession. It’s more or less the same nonsense that I posted before, repeated endlessly, no matter how many other chatters—even those who supposedly like him—ask him to please, change the subject. He then accuses those people of “worshipping me.” I wish! It happens even when I’m not signed on. Luckily, some good friends, one of whom I’ve known for 15 years, sometimes inform me of the worst incidents if I’m not around. It’s completely destroying whatever good feelings remain in the chat room.
At first I didn’t see the point in writing about it again and, in fact, I thought it would be counterproductive since he’d just be getting the attention he so clearly craves—not to mention how completely pathetic and juvenile the whole thing is. Also, I don’t think I have to justify my sexual behavior to anyone, especially someone with as little depth and self-awareness as this guy. He just wouldn’t get it.
Then he said something that made everything fall neatly into place:
He stated very clearly that he gets drunk, goes to the baths and to bookstores, and has unsafe sex.
Well, well, well. That’s pretty much exactly the behavior he’s been “accusing” me of for the past few months. A friend remarked, “Now we know why he’s so happy every time his HIV test comes back negative.” Yes, now we know. Apparently he doesn’t want to take any responsibility for his own behavior. It’s up to all of the HIV-positive gay men in Philadelphia to do that for him. What a load of undiluted crap.
I think it’s about time to stop taking your guilt out on me and to look inside yourself, Clarice. If you think what I do is murder, isn’t what you do suicide? The only person responsible for keeping you HIV-negative is YOU, Miss Undeclared eBay Income. If you want to get schnockered and offer your ass to strangers, feel free but don’t blame them when something happens. Really.
I know I said I don’t justify my sexual behavior but this really bears repeating. As I’ve posted before, with an undetectable viral load it’s virtually impossible for me to transmit HIV to anyone sexually. The “supervirus” myth has been debunked and there’s a relatively short window during which reinfection is possible, if it even is possible. There’s nothing else to say.
Oh, wait…yes there is: I didn’t write this because I’m jealous of his B+ on a Remedial English mid-term or because I’m afraid of his “gay cop friend.” Yes, he actually said those things; no, we’re not in eight-grade; and yes, I feel like Gossip Girl.
I’m listening to “Scraper” from Culture by Liquid Liquid.
April 29, 2008
Man on the street
I’m listening to “Ghost Rider” from Suicide by Suicide.
April 25, 2008
Brilliant! Cloverfield is a huge middle finger to the new yuppies and hipsters who have ruined New York City in the wake of 9/11. The sight of all those disappointed twenty-somethings trudging across the Brooklyn Bridge after Lower Manhattan has been destroyed is priceless. The vapid, self-absorbed characters are just about perfect. I simply don’t understand why 99% of film critics just didn’t get this movie. Oh, it’s really scary, too.
I’m listening to “South Rampart Street Parade” from South Rampart Street Parade by Bob Crosby & His Orchestra.
April 23, 2008
Man of the week
There are posters of this character all over New York City, some of them several stories high. I love him.
April 10, 2008
I found the wonderful book cover of Agricola and Germany while obsessively doing Google image searches to see if my Barack Obama poster makeovers (here and here) have any traction. It’s a detail from Helvetii Sending the Defeated Army of Cassius Longinus Under the Yoke in 107 BC, 1854/8, Charles Gleyre, Musee Cantonal des Beaux-Arts, Lausanne. The link was to Mystic Bourgeoisie: blogged books, a strange collection of book and movie reviews including Self-Help crap like The Clitoral Truth: The Secret World at Your Fingertips, New Age crap like Create Your Own Reality: A Seth Workbook, and utter crap like Snakes on a Plane.
I’m listening to “Pedro Bound!” from Contemplating the Engine Room by Mike Watt.
Technorati Tags: books
April 8, 2008
Jason Klemm (Hamletwasbipolar and SAGandEquityDude on gay.com) is a former actor and perpetual drunk who goes on the occasional insane rampage in the Philadelphia Citywide chat room on gay.com. I (TheCreepingTerror) was the target of his rage last night because I’m honest about my HIV status! Everyone knows I’m sero-positve and that I have an active sex life which includes bathhouses and back rooms. Jason believes that makes me a murderer. One can only wonder what this says about him since, when he’s not acting like an ass publicly, he’s privately begging people to let him suck their dicks, regardless of their HIV-status. (Someone sent me an example which follows the rant and Jason repeatedly asked me for sex until I finally told him to stop.) Admittedly, I’m posting this because it’s me he’s talking about and I’m pissed off but, really, does anyone deserve this kind of shit for being honest?
Hamletwasbipolar: im a little tippsy
Matt-of-Mayfair: git out!
Hamletwasbipolar: i went and got tested tonight]
Matt-of-Mayfair: and they said you’re insane?
Hamletwasbipolar: i am SO neg
TheCreepingTerror: you're telling me
Matt-of-Mayfair: truer words were never spoken
Hamletwasbipolar: and your not neg.you just kill people
Hamletwasbipolar: yea, ill put my hiv infected dick into strangers
Hamletwasbipolar: your a piece of shit
Hamletwasbipolar: oh, into the Adonis
TheCreepingTerror: i remember not very long ago when little hammy was begging me to let him suck this aids-infected dick
Hamletwasbipolar: uh, yeah i was BEYOND drunk.......and you do it sober
Hamletwasbipolar: 'sober is the key word
Matt-of-Mayfair plugs in the corn popper..
Hamletwasbipolar: no, hes an HIV infected asshole.......and Im not
TheCreepingTerror: no, you’re simply an asshole
Hamletwasbipolar: oh, yeah, im drunk...lve been in movies youve seen....NOT PORNO
Hamletwasbipolar: you are a toothless OLD drunk,,, ive seen you
Hamletwasbipolar: you are UGLY
Hamletwasbipolar: say no more'
Hamletwasbipolar: you have NO teeth.no face...and you ARE UGLY
MathMan821: oh lord what did I come back to?
TheCreepingTerror: hammy’s drunk, MathMan and accusing me of murder again
Hamletwasbipolar: you are beyond ugly.....we all know it
inkedguy25: wow man whats uo with the hatin’ in here
Hamletwasbipolar: but well be nice
Hamletwasbipolar: you are dilapidated, youre sexual depravity would scare anybiody away from the bar
Hamletwasbipolar: you INFECT people......say no more
Hamletwasbipolar: you and your HIV infected , bathhouse going dick
Hamletwasbipolar: you are , what we call, a piece of SHIT
MathMan821: hmmmm - I’ve always thought of TCT as quite the gentleman
Hamletwasbipolar: depends how you define genlem,an
Hamletwasbipolar: does porno?
Hamletwasbipolar: puts his dick up peoples ass?
Hamletwasbipolar: god, thats why ive ben silent in this room.........hes a piece of crap
woof60: silence of the hams
TheCreepingTerror: if only
MathMan821: I am always amazed at how people who are the consumers of porn look down upon the producers of porn
TheCreepingTerror: no kidding, math
Hamletwasbipolar: if only, you WERENT a piece of crap
Hamletwasbipolar: he is a piece of SHIT
Hamletwasbipolar: im done
TheCreepingTerror: no kidding you're done
Hamletwasbipolar: hes quiet
TheCreepingTerror: i’m just letting you dig your own hole, hammy. keep it coming.
Hamletwasbipolar: what could you possibly say? your HIV positive? you kill people in bathouses?
inkedguy25: wow, can we change the topic
Hamletwasbipolar: you and your HIV infected dick........your a PIECE OF SHIT
inkedguy25: you have been going on about this for quiet sometime now, and honetsly, its tiresome
Hamletwasbipolar: you kill people
inkedguy25: (has he been hitting the sauce?)
Hamletwasbipolar: you KILL PEOPLE
Hamletwasbipolar: oh, its ok, you dont infect them.
Hamletwasbipolar: you are the worst
Hamletwasbipolar: yes, your neg, you DONT INFECT THEM
Hamletwasbipolar: uh huh
Hamletwasbipolar: YOUR FUCKING PATHETIC
Mattyy77: actually, it'd be “you’re” in that instance
Hamletwasbipolar: oh, i know his face..youd be scared
Hamletwasbipolar: im going to bed.....
sPoconoGuy makes a CUCKOO sound.
Mattyy77: people get fired up in this hizzie
TheCreepingTerror: that was bracing
Mattyy77: u pissed him off somethin fierce
Hamletwasbipolar: yea, we are all braced.........you HIV infected dick
TheCreepingTerror: i didn’t do nuthin, Mattyy
Hamletwasbipolar: you did nothing in your life.....uh huh
Hamletwasbipolar: you are a pice of shit.....we all know that............if they dont know that...well then
Hamletwasbipolar: YOU ARE A PIECE OF GARBAGE
inkedguy25: Hamlet, go to bed
Hamletwasbipolar: if you think that? YOU go to bed
inkedguy25: fucking boderlines
Hamletwasbipolar: ?me says no more
Hamletwasbipolar: waits as hell try to be pleasant
Hamletwasbipolar: ill take off your peels, like you wouldnt even know, you piece of garbage
TheCreepingTerror: any translations on the peels thing??
inkedguy25: he's off his rocker
TheCreepingTerror: well, that goes without saying
Hamletwasbipolar: yes, i am
Hamletwasbipolar: you stupid murderer
Hamletwasbipolar: go ink
inkedguy25: at least be more specific, and less redundant
Hamletwasbipolar: stupid shit
inkedguy25: your knowledge about me is little.
Hamletwasbipolar: but a lot
Hamletwasbipolar: if you pick him over me....lol
TheCreepingTerror: “How To Win Friends and Influence People” by Hamletwasbipolar
inkedguy25: i’m not on any side, you’re rambling like a fucking idiot
Hamletwasbipolar: you have "your man"
Hamletwasbipolar: \you still KILL PEOPLE with your HIV infected dick, and you DONT care
Matt-of-Mayfair looks though inky’s bag for some morphine syringes
sPoconoGuy: anyone going to bathhouse tonight?
Matt-of-Mayfair: ooh!.... are they having a sale?
TheCreepingTerror: half price wed & sun
Matt-of-Mayfair: i need some new towels and stuff
sPoconoGuy: free towels and lube
Matt-of-Mayfair: i don't need lube spoc... you can use your SPIT
MathMan821: if it ain’t spit ... it ain’t love
Matt-of-Mayfair: hammy left eh?
Matt-of-Mayfair: ....one less.... bell to answer.
heres_mikey: looks like he left
Matt-of-Mayfair: he tried to pvt me ya know.. but i had to take him off my ”allow” list... god forbid he'd hit me up for sex again. i hate those drunken attempts
sPoconoGuy: he just pulled up in front of your house
Matt-of-Mayfair: i’ll get my gun!
Matt-of-Mayfair: “momma, take the kids to the basement!..... i'll handle this!”
sPoconoGuy: that means he’ll put on his red dress and answer the door
Matt-of-Mayfair: aims loaded Colt .38 though mailbox slot in front door.
And still people try to protect him from himself.
Hamletwasbipolar: how are ya?
Matt-of-Mayfair: i’m fine
Hamletwasbipolar: uh huh fine
Hamletwasbipolar: your quiet
Matt-of-Mayfair: i’m busy downloading tunes
Hamletwasbipolar: well, being your neg, you can fuck me BB!
Hamletwasbipolar: so, you dont say hi? your not talking?
Matt-of-Mayfair: you KNOW us old guys, we’re slow to act, and cautious..lol
Hamletwasbipolar: come over. im serious. come over
Matt-of-Mayfair: get real jason... please gurl you sound drunk again
Hamletwasbipolar: lol so, come over
Matt-of-Mayfair: yeah, right.... like i’m gonna go out in the cold... and wait for 3 buses and a train at 4am.... LOL... you crack me up
Hamletwasbipolar: i thought you drove.......lol
Matt-of-Mayfair: traipse WAY across town at this hour....no way!
Matt-of-Mayfair: i DO drive... i told you the car’s parked out back for sale. :-) i haven’t even started it since Christmas.
This didn’t really come out of nowhere, so some history is in order. Jason lived in Center City Philadelphia a few years ago. I pretty much thought he was a pompous ass. Then he got a boyfriend and moved to Bristol PA which, unless things have really changed in a couple of years, is just a step above a trailer park. Since he had a boyfriend, he felt free to act like a dick to everyone and not just me. (“You have nothing in your life but I have a solid, loving relationship,” that kind of thing.) Then he “got sober” whatever that means in his case. Just before he moved to NYC with his partner to pursue his acting career, he apologized to me for treating me so horribly. I told him that I accepted the apology but said that I would never trust him. While he was in The City he was hit by a car and was in a coma for several months. When he woke up his boyfriend dumped him. So he moved back here, to West Philadelphia this time, and started acting like a decent guy. I knew it wouldn’t last. He got a job as an usher at the Merriam Theater and quit because he didn’t want to seat black people. There was a short (less than two-week) affair with a much-loved chatter during which he changed his gay.com profile to reflect his then-current opinion that anyone who was online looking for sex was a “slut.” This was before they had actually had a date. Seriously. Now he’s enrolled in school to be trained as a paralegal which he refers to as “Law School” and “a different kind of acting.” Please.
Does anyone else see a pattern here?? Honestly, it isn’t necessary to get validation for the good things in your life by looking down your nose at others. And begging online “friends” for drinks at Knock isn’t good for anyone’s self-esteem. Get a grip.
I’m listening to “The Wrong Man” by Bernard Herrmann.
April 2, 2008
I’ve been in several bands in my life. My favorite, The Heathens, were together off and on for ten years. I always had incredible, almost paralyzing stage fright when I played onstage but never with The Heathens because I knew we were great. I joined the band on bass guitar after their singer and bass player left, fairly early in the band’s history. We played a set at WXPN studios during Michel Polizzi’s jazz show, of all places, in 1983. We did 13 songs in ten and a half minutes! Three of them are posted here:
We still sound pretty hair-raising but don’t worry, it’s only about a minute and a half total. I have no idea what the titles are. They had lyrics but we never did find anyone to sing them.
The Heathens also had two tracks on “GET OFF MY BACK” the Philly hardcore compilation from 1982. We also played a loft party that included the much-anticipated debut of Ruin who were never less than spectacular live.
So, it was me on Fender Mustang bass, the extremely glamorous B.A.L. Stack on guitar and Sky Kishlo on drums. B.A.L. was also in The Stick Men at the time, maybe the best band ever from Philly, and the amazing Wild Women of Wongo. (As you can see from the poster above, she had a busy night! That’s her in the center.) Sky is one of the best drummers I’ve ever heard. He’s currently playing with long-time Philly band King of Siam (They’re great! Check their myspace page for dates.) and was in Strapping Fieldhands. We also played together for a short time in Size Queen.
I’m so glad Sky gave me a copy of this stuff. I thought it was lost forever.
The picture in the poster above is from Wild Women of Wongo’s debut performance at a Performing Arts Festival in, get this, the Broad Street Subway concourse! (It smelled better then.) That’s the Spruce Street terminus of the concourse behind them. Wild Women of Wongo consisted of guys in loincloths drumming on whatever was available and women in Wilma Flintstone-like costumes doing fake “Jazz Dance.” They were incredible! The crowd loved them. SEPTA did not. They were the last to play and, had there been a plug to pull, SEPTA would have pulled it. Luckily for everyone they were unamplified—but still deafeningly loud—so the powers that be had no choice but to let them continue until they were done.
March 22, 2008
This was sent to me by someone I’ve never met on gay.com. I’ve said “Hello” to HeyMary and he was cordial enough, and said he liked The High-Strung Loner, while being clear that he wasn’t interested in hooking up. That’s fine. Luckily I haven’t had to interact with hondafvr (below), though I’ve already chatted with with too many just like him.
hondavfr800: youre a butch guy...why the fem nickname?
HeyMary: How do you know I’m butch?
hondavfr800: lol ah but i can read- unless u checked the masculine/ butch box accidentally
HeyMary: Alright. I did it to make people type the name.
hondavfr800: as good a reason as any so you are butch then...
HeyMary: I’m not into chatting, I know that.
hondavfr800: k-then why would u be in a chatroom?
HeyMary: I’m here for sex.
hondavfr800: hmmm ok. well that cuts to the chase. all good brotha
HeyMary: Have a good night. Brotha.
hondavfr800: should double the dose on your meds
HeyMary: Those kind of comments from bitchy queens like you are the main reason I don’t engage in the main chat room. Goodnight.
hondavfr800: brings us back to step 1 how do you know i’m butch wouldnt imagine u get too much sex- place 4 u is a bathhouse with low lighting and no convo
HeyMary: You keep typing catty remarks if you want. I have things to do. Have a good night.
hondavfr800: it says youre intelligent- if u were really intelligent yod just hit the ignore button- then u wouldnt have to read my truths
hondavfr800: jewish right?
Actually, HeyMary is Portuguese/American.
Several nights later:
hondavfr800: hey psycho
Nice guy, huh?
I’m listening to “Nightingale” from Exotic Moods of Les Baxter by Les Baxter.
February 23, 2008
I had made arrangements to meet up with a guy at his apartment in the Flatiron District after shooting one of the nights I was in New York. We had chatted (kind of) online off and on for a few months. He seemed like exactly the kind of pig I like to play with. I called when I was on my way out of the shoot in Chelsea and he said he had a man’s hand in his ass at the moment and I was welcome to join them. He was only a few blocks away. I grabbed something to drink and a couple of snacks and headed over.
It was a weird building. The lobby was beautiful, all oak and marble. I had to pass through a metal detector and give my ID to the person at the desk. Waiting at the elevator with me were a couple of guys who seemed homeless and/or insane. Upstairs seemed like a whole different place. The hallways were more industrial than I expected considering the ornate richness of the lobby. This guy’s apartment door had a collage of things on the door, one of which said “GOMORRAH.”
As advertised. It was a smallish, old-fashioned, New York studio apartment. Everything about it — at least while I was there — seemed to be about having sex. There was a sling and a futon, a floor mattress and what can best be described as a central lube station. This guy and his friend, both of whom I felt instantly comfortable with, were intelligent, funny, old-school gay sex hounds, close in age to myself and with similar interests. The friend even appears in the DVD extras in my fisting movie! This was especially weird considering the guy who fists him in my movie was also in the movie I had finished shooting less than an hour before. Weird.
We chatted and got to know each other while I warmed up and removed my clothes. They took turns on their knees sucking my dick which I really needed after a long day watching other people have sex on a tiny screen.
My host got in the sling and I fucked him for a while. He had been punch-fucked over a hundred times just before I got there (and he had a clicker in his had to prove it!) but he was still tight enough to gimme some friction. I got my hand in his hole but it didn’t really feel comfortable to me so we didn’t continue for very long.
We sat around, stroked and talked for a bit. Then his friend got on his hands and knees on the floor. My host put on these big, black, rubber industrial gloves, coated them with Crisco and started fisting the guy. He went in and out really quickly, first one hand, then the other. Weirdly, I found it very hot. He passed me one of the gloves and we took turns. Then he quickly put the other glove on me and I didn’t miss a beat. He was moaning with pleasure. I was tired, though. so I didn’t last very long.
I said I had worked all day and hadn’t really eaten and that I should go. I had planned on taking the train from his corner right back to Brooklyn and eating in the diner down the street from the hotel. They suggested we go together to a nearby place. That was fine with me; I enjoyed their company. The diner was really far away, a good half hour walk and it was very cold. The food was mediocre and I had to walk all the way back to where we started from. Ugh.
I had a fun time with them and I’ll do it again for sure next time I’m in the city for any length of time. I’d even just go hang out. Thanks guys.
I’m listening to “Run From Love (Remix)” from The Age Of Consent by Bronski Beat.
February 14, 2008
Happy Valentine’s Day
I found these lovely Valentine candies waiting for me at the Gay and Lesbian Archives of Philadelphia when I arrived to volunteer this afternoon. Thanks, Bob! You were right, they tasted like Hai Karate.
I’m listening to “Snagglepuss” from Naked City by John Zorn/Naked City.
February 9, 2008
Porn Day 3: On the set again
Friday January 25, 2008
The second feature we shot was a bukkake orgy movie. Most of the cast were the same guys from the film we shot two days previously and we used the same space. In this film two bottoms were supposed to end up covered with cum. Unfortunately, neither of them was really feeling up to it (I guess two days off in Brooklyn can really wear a guy out.) so another guy was nominated for the job. He didn’t seem pleased. In addition to the professionals, amateurs could apply online to be in this film. They could choose to wear a small mask if they wished but, if they did, they wouldn’t be paid. The only requirement was that they shoot a load on the bottom’s face. Sounds easy enough, no?
The atmosphere on the set was much less chaotic than it had been on Wednesday. When I got there at 6:30 only the director was there. A guy who was making his porn debut had missed his plane and had arrived just a few minutes before. He was out getting something to eat with the company’s business manager. When he returned He showered and put on his “work clothes.” These consisted of black shoes, black flares, a wide white belt and a black, form-fitting, pin-stripe, button-down shirt. I’m not kidding. He looked like a dance instructor or a hustler from 1980. He did have a beautiful face, though, if a bit rough for an 18 year-old. No matter what, the camera loved him, as they say.
The director assured us we’d be done by 11:00 at the latest, hopefully even by 10:00. Things went fairly smoothly for a while. Our first delay was caused by someone not being “clean.” Maybe it’s just me but I try to be prepared when I go to work. Since i’d be using my eyes I made sure my contacts were clean before I left the hotel. Anyway, while he was “touching up” another cast member suggested that maybe he doesn’t know how to do it correctly but you didn’t hear that from me. Admittedly, he wasn’t origianlly the day’s designated bottom either.
The number of men in the room dwindled as each guy shot his load and left for the day. One of the guys who didn’t feel well enough to be the bottom did a great job of being vocal and being the onscreen guy in charge, sort of. He’d order the bottom to suck this guy or get fucked by that guy. It worked well, better than It sounds for sure.
Around 8:30 it was time for the dance instructor to shoot. We sat, cameras in hand, while he masturbated. For an hour.
One of the amateurs showed up. I thought he was kind of hot, beefier and hairier than the other guys in the movie. He wore a mask but, as far as I’m concerned, anyone who knew him would recognize him immediately. He also had a unique tattoo. I just didn’t see the point in wearing a mask. As he was finishing up another guy arrived and he fucked the bottom too. They both left at the same time.
Then we went back to waiting for that last guy to shoot. It was grueling. My back hurt, I was hungry and I was especially impatient because I was going to get laid back at the hotel when we were done. The director tried to find out how we could help him along but he was being sullen and uncommunicative. Those two qualities probably serve him very well when he’s out and about cruising the bars and bathhouses wherever it is that he comes from. (He tried to be mysterious about his origins, also.) He has a look that just works well with sullen and he’s obviously learned how to use it but on that night in that place it was simply annoying. To everyone. We just wanted to go home.
The director asked him what he did or thinks about or watches when he masturbates (daily, no doubt) at home. “I dunno. Nothing.” was his answer again and again. I wish I thought he wasn’t telling the truth.
As time went on the substitute cum began to crust on the bottom’s face and chest. (The real stuff dries up and disappears so we had to keep rewetting him so that in the final edit it will look like all of these guys shot their loads on him in quick succession.) I don’t think the stuff looked particularly like ejaculate to begin with. After all this time it started to look like the (trade secret) that it really is.
At 11:00 we took another break and the boy in question retired to the bathroom for a bit. At this point I just knew it was never going to happen and even joked about putting money on it. The director was adamant, though. I could see his point. He flew the kid to New York from heaven knows where and he was fucking 18 years-old so he should be able to come at least once. Yes, he should. So we tried again.
We sat around for another hour. Nothing happened. He couldn’t stay hard even with Viagra. What really bothered me, though, was that he didn’t seem to care. There was no apology for making everyone sit around for hours, nothing, not even to the director.
Just past midnight we gave up. We packed up and everyone got paid. I said my goodbyes and I left, starving to death. I grabbed some food from an overpriced Chelsea deli and took the subway back to Brooklyn which took about a century and a half. I don’t recall the subways in NYC being so s-l-o-w and so long in coming. I feel like I could have walked faster but no one else on the crowded train seemed to notice. Could I be spoiled by SEPTA??
Anyway, this kid had a photo shoot the next day with a photographer unconnected with our movie. He didn’t have an orgasm for him either. And he didn’t get paid. Also, he had the nerve to invite one of the other cast members to stay after we all left to continue fucking him! Kids.
I’m listening to “Un Poco de Sangre” from El Circo by Maldita Vecindad y los Hijos del 5th Patio.
January 24, 2008
Now available on Amtrak.
I’m listening to “I’ll Be Your Baby Tonight” from “John Wesley Harding” by Bob Dylan.
Porn, Day 2: On the set
I was asked to arrive the set at 1PM, an hour before the cast in order to set up the lights and coordinate with the other cameraman. I hadn’t met him. The producer said he was an interesting guy and had worked on Project Runway. He was quite a character, a combination of John Lovitz and the comic book store guy on The Simpsons, very stagehand-y and straight, to boot.
We shot in a room in a Chelsea B&B. The lovely garden area in the back reminded me of Rear Window. The room had bright yellow walls with white trim and an equally bright yellow and white bureau. The decor was incredibly Brady Bunch. I loved it. There was a granny-type quilt on the bed, too, which was even less hot than the decor so we flipped it over a bit. This revealed some mysterious white crusty bits on the tan blanket. Ew.
There were nine guys in the cast and five production people so it got kind of tight with everyone’s clothes, coats and bags on the floor and various cords, cables and lights everywhere.
Weirdly, there were two large gift baskets from “friends,” one with mostly chocolates and the other with Starbucks products. We learned on the last shoot which was nicely catered that porn actors live, at least while performing, on protein bars, bananas and Gatorade, so there was no big spread this time, dammit. Any crew, as I learned long ago when I was a stagehand, will eat anything. I hadn’t had breakfast and this gluten thing makes it difficult to just grab something to eat, even in New York, so I was grateful for the candy. So was Jon Lovitz. He took some home—“for the wife,” of course.
Once the action started we realized that the bed was going to be a problem. The mattresses were very lightweight and the frame was on wheels. As soon as the first guys started fucking on it, it started rolling around. We had to remove the frame completely. The script, which contained the hilarious typo telling someone to “moan loadly,” was all about “double penetration.” Unfortunately, with the wheels and frame gone, the bed was down so low that double penetration was more or less impossible in the way the director wanted it. Three guys in a row tried and they had to contort themselves so much they they couldn’t stay hard. The script called for two bottoms to be doubly penetrated simultaneously and that obviously wasn’t gonna happen. We took a short break after each guy made his attempt at DP and after one of the bottoms literally vomited from gagging on a dick. Now we took a much longer break.
The director threw out the script and decided that this would have to be a free-form orgy. He insisted that DP would happen, though, and instructed the actors to make sure the cameramen were aware of it when it occurred. With the cast left to their own devices and without the gymnastics involved in the original scenario, we got lots of DP. I could tell that some of the actors obviously needed direction since they didn’t involve themselves as much as some of the others. Maybe they figured that now they had permission to only have sex with the guys they were attracted to and they weren’t attracted to anyone. Who knows?
The guys kept having to be reminded to be vocal since this film isn’t going to have any music. I’m not a big fan of “porno-mouth” either in movies or when I’m actually fucking so I’m not the best judge of dirty talk. The guy who seemed most into it had a limited inventory of phrases and an NPR-type voice. I just couldn’t get used to it.
We filmed each cum shot twice, first with the cameras on the actual cum and again filming the actor’s face while he faked it. Now that’s acting! After watching this five or six times, I’m sure it will seem obvious to me now whenever I watch porn.
We had nine guys in the cast and I think all of them got a cum shot in. The weird thing was, though, that when it was time to do them, four of the guys had to stand in the kitchen watching porn before they could shoot. I know at least one of them was watching himself! Hey guys!! You’re in a room with eight other porn stars. Isn’t that enough?
This is the most grueling part of the shoot for me. Everyone sits around waiting and waiting and as soon as someone’s ready to shoot their load everyone runs back into position. It’s pretty wacky and it surprises me that it’s at all convincing to watch but it is.
At one point during the day we had to quickly consolidate all of the extraneous crap that people had brought in with them just to get it out of the shot. There was a backpack in the corner and I threw a heavy pair of boots on top of it along with several other things. Later in the day one of the actors brought the backpack onto the bed and unzipped it. Two tiny dogs in grey hoodies ran out of it! I felt awful that I had thrown a pair of boots at them. They ran around completely quietly for a couple of minutes and went willingly back into their case. They came out again when we were done and their owner added sherpa jackets and harnesses that looked to me like bullet-proof vests. I have to agree with the guy who said the dogs were really adorable and very gay.
Seven hours and we were done. I headed over to meet a guy in the flatiron district but more about that another time.
I’m listening to “Heart Shaped Bruise” from “The Delivery Man” by Elvis Costello & The Imposters.
January 22, 2008
Porn, Day 1: Hotel
I am in NYC this week because I was hired to run a video camera for a couple of porn shoots. We’ll be filming in Chelsea on Wednesday and Friday but the cast and crew are staying at a Days Inn in the Sunset Park area of Brooklyn. Sounds pretty, no? I was a little concerned when I saw these pictures. The one on the left is from Google Maps Street View and was a little disturbing. What really threw me, though, was the one on the left, from the hotel’s own web site, showing the “lobby” with the staff behind bullet-proof glass like you’d see at a pawn shop or a chinese take-out restaurant!! Not to mention the fact that I just knew I’d never get laid in such a godforsaken wilderness. I mean, what good is being in New York if you can’t maximize your online cruising time, huh??
It took me almost an hour to get there from Penn Station and the walk from the subway is pretty steeply uphill but the hotel itself was actually acceptable—after the elevator decided to work, that is. When I first got there it refused to go past the third floor and the desk clerk was hemming and hawing about giving me something on a lower floor. (I have emphysema and stairs are not my friends.) After ten minutes of futzing and the maintenance guy running up and down, repeatedly proclaiming that it was now operational when it clearly wasn’t, it made the complete trip a few times and I decided I could safely ascend to the sixth floor without worry. The room was just fine, if a little small—even smaller than the room I had at the New York (formerly Ian Schrager) Hudson which until today was the tiniest room I’d ever paid for outside of a bathhouse. (I’ve had bigger rooms at some bathhouses.)
The neighborhood is really pretty cool and literally colorful. There is a warehouse-sized laundromat across the street, a decent 24-hour diner on the corner and a branch of my bank on another corner. There are also a slew of wonderful bodegas on 5th Avenue, unfortunately another steep climb. They have great stuff, including tons of bananas that are actually large, ripe and delicious. The guys who work behind the counters are unfailingly polite and friendly and hot. Try finding any of those qualities in a Center City Philly food store! Other than the below freezing temperatures and the uphill climb for food, this ain’t gonna be so bad. I have a couple of “dates” already lined up, too.
I'm not sure what’s happened to the NYC subway system but it seems hellishly slow to me, not just the wait but the actual speed of the trains. It really seemed to me that I could have walked faster than the train was running today. Maybe it was a fluke. I sure hope so. What a nightmare.
I’m listening to “Editions of You” from For You Pleasure by Roxy Music.
January 6, 2008
I’m still in Atlanta. Keith is doing so well that I felt I could go out on Friday night without feeling like I was abandoning him. He agreed and handed me the keys to his car.
Earlier in the day I chatted online with Anthony, a Latin guy. That’s his beautiful ass there on the left. We’ve been wanting to get together for a couple of months and luckily we were both available Friday night. He called around 6:45. (I don’t know why but, even after all the time I’ve spent in Atlanta, I’m still surprised when guys have southern accents!) He said he was going out for drinks at Blake’s with a couple of friends and asked if we could get together at 9:00. I didn’t have a problem with that but after I hung up I said to Keith, “How much you want to bet this guy doesn’t call anytime near nine o’clock?” He pooh-poohed my cynicism.
I was right. At 11:30 I got in the car intending to go to the Atlanta Eagle for a bit and then to Flex baths. The phone rang when I was only a block from the apartment. Anthony asked if it was too late and I said no but I could tell he was pretty drunk, just as I expected. He said he’d call back when he got home which he must have been standing right outside of because less than two minutes later the phone rang again. I told him I could tell he was drunk, sloppy even, which he denied and I said that I would rather not play. I got off the phone quickly. He called back immediately. I told him that I didn’t really want to talk while I was driving, especially in a city I don’t know very well. I said, “I’m hanging up now,” and I did even though he was still talking. He called right back again! I didn’t answer. Of course he had to leave a message. Here it is:
After finally remembering to listen to it a few hours later I was really glad I didn’t get together with him and would have been even if he didn’t say that he was late because he stayed to see the drag show!
I’m listening to “Alive and Kicking” from Themes by Simple Minds.
January 4, 2008
I’m listening to “Staring At the Sun” from Joy: 1967-1990 by Ultra Vivid Scene.
January 2, 2008
Breakfast of Champions
Thank god for Kroger’s supermarket in Atlanta. I’m here again for a week staying with my friend Keith. (left) He’s still doing that awful chemo thang and we’re doing some work together. I’m designing a web site promoting a series of films he’s currently editing. The good news—make that GREAT news— is, after a PET scan the other day and with only one treatment left, his Dr. said his cancer is officially in remission! Can I hear an “AMEN?” He’s so tired of being sick and I can’t blame him. It’ll be over soon, though. It’ll sure be great to not have to be so nice to him all the time anymore, either. It’s so exhausting.
Anyways, back to Kroger’s despite Keith’s relative weakness today, we took the short drive to Kroger’s because he wanted me to get some food that fit into my god-damned gluten-free fucking diet. Keith’s wonderful mother has cooked enormous amounts of food, frozem them and brought them to Atlanta for him but, as incredibly delicious as that food is, there is quite a bit of it that I can’t eat. (I swear, I’d kill for a biscuit and gravy right now. KILL!!)
The one thing I miss most is pizza. Amy's has an acceptable frozen one with a rice flour crust. It's pretty delicious. I'm not sure it’s pizza-like in any way other than it’s form but it’ll do. In their overzealous desire to be “healthy” they somehow figured their product should also be non-dairy. I’m not sure what the cheese is made of but it barely melts, even under the broiler as suggested. For chrissake, at least give me some real cheese!! To my surprise, Kroger’s had this particular pizza in their frozen food case! I bought two.
After that I found the Holy Grail of gluten-free products: Redbrige gluten-free beer!! I couldn’t believe my luck.I bought a six-pack. Unfortunately, it’s made by Anheuser-Busch, but it’s pretty fucking tasty even though it’s made from sorghum. I was thrilled.
So I got to start the new year with pizza and beer. What could be better??
I’m listening to “Wilhelmina” from Hollywood Dream by Thunderclap Newman.
December 27, 2007
Belated Holiday Greetings
I’m listening to “Stravinsky-Blasting Off” from Blind Idiot God by Blind Idiot God.
December 15, 2007
Sharon Jones & the Dap-Kings
I haven’t been to the TLA since 1991 when I saw then newly-reformed Television there so I wasn’t quite sure what to expect, especially since it’s now apparently part of a chain of Fillmores. (“The Fillmore at the TLA.” Gag me.) Well, not much has changed except for a couple of cheesy chandeliers and the addition of a bar. The tiny bathrooms are still in the lobby but the graffiti isn’t as interesting as it was when they showed movies. I’m embarrassed to say I don’t remember if the balcony is new or not. Also there were seats at the Television show and tonight there were no seats anywhere.
Before it was sold to Electric Factory Concerts, the TLA was a great repertory movie theater and there’s nothing like it in Philly anymore. I really miss it. Just about everything they showed is now available on DVD but it’s just not the same as seeing movies on a big screen with an audience. Nothing can replace that. Just as importantly, the TLA programmers were curators of sorts. Their film choices and program notes helped guide people and teach them about film history. It’s a lost art. Check out the wallpaper made out of old TLA programs just inside the Locust St. TLA Video store to see what I’m talking about. They still have the best video stores in the country, sponsor a film festival and distribute independent films and I completely understand why they’ve moved on. (Oh, thanks for all the porn, too!)
Anyway, I had a great time. The opening act was The Budos Band, another Daptone Records act. I was able to saunter all the way to the front during their first song and secure a good spot for the evening with no trouble at all. I’m really short, so people pretty much let me stand in front of them because they can see over me. I took lots of pictures which I’ll post of flickr sometime in the next day or so.
The Budos Band were terrific. They’re an eleven-piece who, like everyone on Daptone, sound like they just dropped in from 1968. Their specialty is instrumental Afro-Soul and if you don’t know what that sounds like you can find out here. I liked them a lot and realized by the second song that I was swaying in exactly the same way the band were. One of the great things about Daptone artists, in my opinion, is that they're not exaggerated or ironic. they just play great original music in styles from another era. These guys didn’t wear silly wigs or wear costumes. In fact, their visual ordinariness is remarkable.
As much as I liked them, I have to say they were a little lifeless. The compositions didn’t have enough to distinguish them from one another and the playing was kind of rote. They all had good moments but there was too much soloing for me. Despite that, they were still fun and I’d see them again.
At 10:30 The Dap-Kings took the stage. They were wearing suits. It would have been pretentious but they looked really cool. Even the bass player with the fu-manchu and shades looked great. They did a few songs on their own and they were fucking phenomenal. I swear these guys could have played with James Brown. Their love for what they do was really obvious. They were grinning through the entire show. So was I. The horn section had steps!
After two songs without a singer Sharon Jones came onstage. She was instantly compelling. She’s really tiny—like five feet maybe—but what an incredibly commanding presence. I really wanted to pay more attention to the musicians but I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. She never stopped moving either. She had almost constant eye-contact with the audience, sometimes singing directly to a specific person. Sharon Jones, I’ll say again, is the real thing. There is no beehive hairdo or drug addiction needed. There’s nothing ironic or insincere about this woman. She’s simply great. The crowd loved her. As great as she is, she’s a completely friendly and welcoming presence. She brought audience members onstage to dance and sing with her and they were instantly at ease. The woman is amazing. And she sang wonderfully all night. I can’t imagine how this show could have been any better. I was sad to see the show end. I would still be there if I could and I’m sure most of the audience would be there with me.
This was their third time playing in Philly and the first time they’ve had more than 30 people in the audience. I’m sure the situation is no different in other places they’ve played. I don’t know what they did to finally get the word out but it worked. They must feel very gratified. If these guys are playing anywhere near you anytime soon, do not miss them.
I’m listening to “Kidney Bingos (Original Mix)” from Coatings by Wire.
December 11, 2007
Someone has complained to me—and endlessly to many others so I’m told—about how he has been portrayed here. He “formally requested” that my entry about him and his picture be deleted. I won’t delete anything but this incident has made me think about sensible “Fair Use” policies and in the tension between Art and the online profile. It, in fact, inspired me to create the first in a potential series of “reimaginings” of online profile pictures.
I’m listening to “Kiss Me Black” from Junkyard by The Birthday Party.
November 30, 2007
After leaving my pharmacy this afternoon I had to waste some time until SEPTA’s disabled fares started again at 5:30. I was at 12th & Chestnut Sts., wandered into the PA Convention Center and took the escalator up into what used to be the train shed. I forgot how huge it was. I walked towards the Arch St. side and saw that there was a buffet of come kind. You can see it in the bottom center of the picture. It was dinner for attendees at the American Epilepsy Society and it sure looked delicious. Sadly it was mostly pasta so I had to settle for asparagus, cheese cubes, some slices of fresh mozzarella, a little sausage and a Diet Coke. There was a photographer on a ladder who gave me the hairy eyeball but otherwise no one batted an eyelash.
After I finished my food I went to the men’s room to take a piss and put everything I was carrying into my backpack, mostly because I didn’t want to risk losing my prescriptions or having them stolen on the trolley. When I left I thought I looked a little more “legitimate” than when I had entered. I walked back across the long space, turned around and took out my camera to take a picture of the hall.
“Excuse me sir. You can’t take pictures in here.” I asked why as I adjusted my camera’s white balance. The woman at the security desk actually said, “Because you’re not allowed,” like she was my mom or something. Again I asked why and again she couldn’t give me a reason. It was really ridiculous. I said “You can arrest me if you want to but I’m taking this picture.” She made a sweeping motion to indicate that I should move along. I said “Arrest me,” raised the camera to my eyes and snapped the picture. She kept making that motion as I turned back towards the escalators and left.
This is the second time this month I’ve been asked to not take a photo in what is basically a public place—third if I count the Dollar Store incident. It’s insane as far as I’m concerned. What the fuck are they thinking? At least the adorable cops in the subway had a reason: “We’re preventing another terrorist catastrophe.” It was absurd but it was a reason. This woman today couldn’t do anything but tell me “them’s the rules.”
Well, here’s the forbidden picture. I’m ready for my arrest.
I’m listening to “No One Needs My Love Today” by Samantha Juste. from Dream Babes Vol.3: Backcomb ’n’ Beat
November 28, 2007
Yet another arrogant, entitled twenty-something thinks demeaning people online is harmless Tuesday afternoon entertainment on gay.com. Some people simply can’t see beyond their own lives: Just because they never meet anyone from a chat room then no one does. The fact that they don’t says more that I ever could.
WCHII: hey...have u seen RAMMER??
TheCreepingTerror: i talked to him yesterday.
WCHII: k...havent seen em in here and was just checkin to see if hes ok
TheCreepingTerror: he’s good
WCHII: oohh...tell em i said hello
thezooguy: maybe ram died and he’s been rotting in his home for days. that is the fate of lonely old gay men i’m afraid
WCHII: thats not even close to funny. hes a gr8 guy
thezooguy: i can’t stand him
TheCreepingTerror: ram is lonley? do you know him?
twomen pa: why zoo
thezooguy: oh i don’t want to talk shit
WCHII: u just did...too late
thezooguy: no i didn’t. i made a terrible joke
twomen pa: tsk tsk
TheCreepingTerror: THAT was a joke?
twomen pa: time for your flogging
thezooguy: yeah. he hates it when i call him old
WCHII: i dont think he cares. don’t flatter urself
thezooguy: yes...i flatter myself at his expense. don’t flatter him but...just in case someone oughta go check him out. make sure he’s still breathin cause the longer you wait the messier the clean up
TheCreepingTerror: notice no one’s laffing
howardn: but also notice that half of his “good friends” in here have no way of contacting him but in here. so just how "good a friend" are they really. just how sincere is their concern
WCHII: i have his number
TheCreepingTerror: i had dinner with him on thursday, talked to him on friday and again yesterday.
thezooguy: everything is laughable two. everything
howardn: then why ask day after day if he is alrighth. why not call him to find out
TheCreepingTerror: i haven’t asked
TheCreepingTerror: ONE person asked. ONE. and he never claimed to be a good friend
thezooguy: when answers tell him i said he’s an old fart. waaaaaaaaaay past his prime if he ever had one
WCHII: why do u bust on people when they’re not here to defend themselves?
TheCreepingTerror: really. i was just gonna say they sure keep their traps shut when he’s here.
twomen pa: zoo you going down points
thezooguy: he couldn’t defend himself anyway. i’ve got him blocked
howardn: good lord, it is just an online chatroom. why do you care if they “bust” on them
thezooguy: my point exactly how
TheCreepingTerror: really? i thought it was pretty clear that we’re friends outside of the chatroom
thezooguy: he’s representin
howardn: I dont know the guy, but like you said he really wouldnt care if he was here. yet you all get your panties in a bunch over it
WCHII: why does this even bother ya howard?
howardn: get the poles out of your respective asses and lighten up. this is online, why in god’s name do you take it so seriously
WCHII: i get my pants in a bunch anytime some one slams some one who not here
thezooguy: no you don’t lol
WCHII: yes...i do
TheCreepingTerror: speaking of getting your panties in a bunch, howard, all YOU ever type in here is catty, queeny remarks
philaguy111: creeping terror is absolutely right (it kinda scares me to see myself saying that, but it’s true)
thezooguy: i can’t see what he says. i got him blocked too. creepy old men freak me out
TheCreepingTerror: if you had me blocked you wouldn’t have responded to me OR had to announce it to everyone
howardn: my remarks are directed at the amazing stupidity of the current chatters. I do not, nor have I ever taken a thing said in here to heart
TheCreepingTerror: well, it’s time you started. YOU’RE An ASS
thezooguy: you do argue a lot howard
howardn: as I already stated, half the people in here dont know the other half but to be in here. so why in the world would I really care what a complete stranger thought about me. that is the problem with most of you. you think you have to have the entire world adore you
TheCreepingTerror: i don’t care at all if people in here like me or not. i think my behavior proves that. defending a friend is something else
twomen pa: well zoo ram is younger than my bf
thezooguy: yeah but does your bf act like a creepy old man?
twomen pa: meet him and you tell me
thezooguy: i have met one of you. i didn’t get the creepy old man impression. TCT and ram definitely fit the creepy old man category
TheCreepingTerror: and you have you met me, zoo?
twomen pa: creep is howard on a rant again?
TheCreepingTerror: yes, 2. he is.
philaguy111: on the other hand, it’s even weirder to come to a chat room for the express purpose of insulting total strangers
thezooguy: that’s entertainment phil
TheCreepingTerror: that’s the lamest excuse in the online book “i’m just here to stir the shit and be entertained.” bullshit
twomen pa: entertainment is done with some wit
thezooguy: that’s not true. entertainment can take on any form. anything you can imagine and more
TheCreepingTerror: REALLY?!?!?! i DARE you to show me something i haven’t already seen.
philaguy111: makes a lot more sense to chat decently than sit there sniping at every word
howardn: yet you all constantly snipe at mine
TheCreepingTerror: howard, some of us actually chat. it’s YOU who only chimes in to snipe at people
twomen pa: oh like using the N word was entertainment
thezooguy: i just come in...strike a few chords...then sit back and laugh and pity you at the same time
TheCreepingTerror: that’s even more pathetic and more clichéd.
twomen pa: well this is too ugly
thezooguy: and it all started cause i made a dumb joke lol that’s what makes me laugh the most
TheCreepingTerror: right. a joke.
thezooguy: i don’t actually want to meet any of these people
twomen pa: zoo is getting on my nerves tonight
TheCreepingTerror: i wonder why?
lefty31: i thought we were having coffee?
thezooguy: i’ll meet you :) and i’ll grab coffee but i don’t do the gay scene*
TheCreepingTerror: wtf is the gay scene? 2 blocks square in cc?
lefty31: i never have. they are trying to make me lose my gay bar virginity
thezooguy: don’t bother. it’s not worth it. stay pure
TheCreepingTerror rolls eyes
TheCreepingTerror: and a homophobe to boot
twomen pa: hmmm
lefty31: nah. it’ll be fun. or interesting at least
thezooguy: i avoid the gay scene. i just do other things. you know... like 99% of philadelphia
TheCreepingTerror: why bother avoiding it? why not just integrate it? it doesn’t have to be all or nothing.
twomen pa: if he don’t like it he should not go. but to talk others out of going...
TheCreepingTerror: and it’s not just avoiding it anyway. he has to ANNOUNCE it to everyone. THAT’S the point.
lefty31: well tct, it is a chat room, everyone kind of announces everything to everyone. that’s the point in a way
TheCreepingTerror: there’s saying something and then there’s making a point of announcing it. he’s all about demeaning everyone
howardn: yes, he should just write a blog about, dont demean in the main chatroom
TheCreepingTerror: at least i do SOMETHING and i say nothing in my blog that i don’t say here
thezooguy: i’m not whiney or a queen
TheCreepingTerror: umm..yes you are
thezooguy: i guess i bitch a lot but i’m not bitchy
twomen pa: well tonight it doesn’t look that way
thezooguy: those are all very feminine terms
howardn: it is alright for some in here to demean, bemoan and complain about others but not alright for others kind of like an updated gay Animal Farm
lefty31: did i miss something?
TheCreepingTerror: yes, lefty, you missed zoo’s rant about rammer supposedly being a lonely old man among other things
lefty31: aw. ram’s a good guy.
TheCreepingTerror: i know he is
twomen pa: apparently zoo thinks differently
thezooguy: i just said he could be dead
TheCreepingTerror: he said “maybe ram died. that is the fate of lonely old gay men i’m afraid”
mtairyguy40: it’s funny how some young men don’t think they’ll get older. lol
TheCreepingTerror: no shit, mtairy
thezooguy: i don’t think anyone believes they won’t get older
mtairyguy40: you act it.
thezooguy: because of my lack of grace when it comes to the aged?
TheCreepingTerror: because of your lack of grace in general
twomen pa: I hope someone treats you as badly as your treating ram when your our age
thezooguy: i’m not treating ram like anything
mtairyguy40: well the funny thing is, he’ll be arrogant no matter how old he is.
TheCreepingTerror: and that makes for a GREAT old age!
thezooguy: i’ll probably have the right to be no matter how old i am
mtairyguy40: no. you don’t have the “right” to be.
thezooguy: sure i have the right to do, say, and feel as i want
TheCreepingTerror: oh god
mtairyguy40: evidently you don’t.
philaguy111: maybe not, mtairy, reality has a way of deflating some people’s arrogance when they realize no one shares their high opinion of themselves
mtairyguy40: and the funny thing is he looks like an elf. that’s not exactly “hot.”
TheCreepingTerror: well, he IS from the zoo
mtairyguy40: should be under a tree wrapping gifts for kids.
thezooguy: mtairy you show spite more than anything
mtairyguy40: no. i just don’t like you picking on people in here.
thezooguy: so put me in my place daddy
mtairyguy40: live and let live. and leave people alone.
thezooguy: you’re setting a great example
mtairyguy40: you’re like 28? LOL you’re not exactly a “kid.”
mtairyguy40: i don’t have to set an example for idiots. not my job. god i can’t wait for the recession to sweep away guys like you. you’ll be unemployed immediately. thank god.
thezooguy: i don’t need a job my husband makes the money
mtairyguy40: that’s why you’re online so often trolling the rooms?
thezooguy: trolling ehhh not so much
TheCreepingTerror: husbands get tired of making all the money eventually
thezooguy: you speak like you know a lot about me
TheCreepingTerror: and you speak as if you know about everyone else. what’s the difference?
mtairyguy40: he’ll get tired of supporting your ass the moment it sags. any minute now Mr. Almost 30. i like your ear cuff. you look very mature.
thezooguy: is that when your ass sagged? cause i’m not built as average as you
mtairyguy40: no. but your brain seems sub-standard retro-fit...and your heart if you have one.
mtairyguy40: plus you look like a gooddamned elf dude.
thezooguy: how you talk
mtairyguy40: be a man. don’t you care that almost everyone hates you?
lefty31: zoo. that’s not cool. rise above it. personal attacks won’t make anyone feel better in the end
thezooguy: i’m not making personal attacks
mtairyguy40: how’s that zoo job going?
thezooguy: i’m just laughing at him and feelig pity
mtairyguy40: have you serviced your ape today?
thezooguy: see i just laughed
mtairyguy40: what’s your pay up to now? $1.99 an hour?
thezooguy: then i felt a little pity
mtairyguy40: i actually know your boss.
thezooguy: oop more pity
mtairyguy40: lol no comment there.
thezooguy: you helped me prove my point mt. pull the sticks out of your asses. it’s just chat
mtairyguy40: no. i helped you in no way whatsoever and you’re just an ass. guys like you end up in the dustbin all by themselves. you really don’t need any help.
thezooguy signs off...
TheCreepingTerror: aww...he’s gone
mtairyguy40: sorry i jumped into it. i felt compelled.
TheCreepingTerror: he probably had to shut off the computer because his meal ticket came home
ufillme: what the f was that all about??
TheCreepingTerror: it’s sickening how many people just like him come in here
mtairyguy40: well wait til we hit this long-awaitd recession. the grants will dry up and they’ll be laying his ass off over at the zoo.
mtairyguy40: have a good night gents.
*I could be wrong but isn’t gay.com part of the “gay scene?”
I’m listening to “Voices” from The Sickness by Disturbed.
November 23, 2007
A couple of weeks ago Keith asked me to meet with one of the guys he wanted to hire for the film because he hadn’t had the chance to see him in the flesh. Turns out he was exactly what Keith was looking for. He’s 21 and looks 15, certainly not someone I would have cast but it wasn’t up to me.
About a week before the shoot, Keith shipped to me the Canon HV20 HD camera I’d be using so I could test it out. It was fucking tiny! Every little hand movement was magnified visually and the on-board mic picked up the sound of any camera control I used. The image quality was amazing, though, and the 24P image was even better, so we decided to use it. The size of the camera would be a real advantage since we were shooting a gloryhole video and it would be a tight squeeze.
I arrived in Atlanta on Tuesday afternoon. I really like visiting Atlanta and especially visiting Keith and it was really good to see how well he was doing with his chemo. It was nice that my visit, aside from the work involved, was “normal” and I didn’t have to worry about Keith’s health. I even went out alone one night but that’s another story.
We spent Thursday and Friday testing and setting up the lighting that he bought; doing a little carpentry work and preparing the space for the movie. (Keith should thank the good lord that unions aren’t involved in porn, if you get my drift.) We shot the movie using Keith’s own home gloryhole. It’s in his office which conveniently has it’s own street entrance from the rest of his apartment.
It was ambitious to shoot all four scenes in one day but we managed to do it—and on schedule, too! It was a really exhausting day, though. I was assigned to shoot the “guest” side of the gloryhole and the other cameraman Robbie shot the “home” side. My side of the partition was smaller so the tiny camera was an advantage. Robbie had a really sexy professional Sony HD camera which I coveted.
Robbie was also performing in one of the scenes, getting sucked and fucking the bottom through the gloryhole. According to him—and I have no reason to doubt him—he’s heterosexual and this was his very first time fucking a man. This guy could make a fortune in gay porn. He’s fucking adorable, really nice and not a narcissistic asshole, either. He’s not usually what I go for, only hairy below the waist (those muscular legs!) and he’s clean-shaven and not even gay but, hey, you can’t have everything.
Keith had an amazing amount of delicious food from My Girlfriend’s Kitchen available all day long for the cast and crew: corn spoon bread, sweet potatoes with brown sugar crust, Mexican lasagna, chicken satay and more but most of the actors brought their own protein bars and stuck to those. Crazy.
Things went really well most of the day. One guy couldn’t get hard (Yes, that’s like a bank teller with no cash.) and spent, I thought, an unusually long time in the bathroom but (but who am I to talk?) The scene was “re-written” and by the end of it he was hard anyway and pounding ass like a champ.
We had a long break before the last scene we shot which featured a guy who I’d seen in some other films and didn’t have a very good impression of. I thought he was hot enough and he certainly has a big dick but I figured he’d be a kind of pretentious overly macho-acting ass. I couldn’t have been more wrong. What a nice, friendly, naturally masculine guy! We had to wait a while for him to shoot his load but I didn’t mind sitting around watching him stoke. Not at all. The bottom brought down what looked like a Fisher-Price My First DVD Player for him to watch and he insisted on bareback videos, poo-pooing the musclebound Titan Men title that was already in the machine. When he was ready to shoot we all had to jump quickly back into our positions at the gloryhole. And we were done. Thank god he didn’t take much longer, too, because I was starting to doze off.
Everyone left, Keith and I went to sleep almost immediately. I made a half-hearted attempt to look for dick online but I knew my body wouldn’t do whatever I would be asking to do, so I gave up pretty quickly.
Sunday afternoon the cast and crew who hadn’t yet left town went out to breakfast in the Little Five Points section of Atlanta. It’s charming in a Haight-Ashbury kind of way with not a chain store in sight. It was really refreshing.
Earlier in the day the bottom referred to me as “elderly” and said University City was “the suburbs” in two incredibly condescending and lame attempts at humor. (FYI he lives in the “Art Museum Area,” the neighborhood that doesn’t even have a name, which is actually farther from the 2 blocks-square “gayborhood” than I am in UCity.) I don’t have an issue with my age but I do have a problem with cliched, catty gay humor. If I had been in my own home I would have reacted differently. Since my options were limited, I was a guest in someone else’s home and I am certainly more expendable as a crew member than he is as a cash cow, I went out onto the balcony and made a phone call, trying to remember that he is only 21 years-old. Maybe he was intimidated by the fact that the next youngest person was 15 years older than he was. Maybe.
My flight back to Philly consisted of a gate change, a half-hour delay after boarding, another half-hour delay when a passenger had a seizure before take-off and an hour wait for a gate after we arrived in Philly. The woman who had the seizure and was removed from the flight was at baggage claim before we were!! Thankfully, cast member Larry was on the same flight and gave me a ride home in his luxurious Jaguar. Nice!
I’m listening to “Mira Et Ten” from La Planete Sauvage by Alain Goraguer.
November 21, 2007
Persona non grata
While I was taking this photo of some amusing Engrish at a dollar store at 8th and Chestnuts Sts. today, the owner got really annoyed. He asked me to leave after I refused to erase the photo, or “leave it here” as he put it. I guess I can’t sink much lower than being thrown out of a dollar store. I’d be humiliated if it weren’t so funny.
I’m listening to “Easter Everywhere” from My Nation Underground by Julian Cope.
November 12, 2007
A friend of mine from New Orleans wrote to me last night. He saw my name on a hook-up web site and we had been out of touch for a while. I was really glad to hear from him and I mentioned that we had another friend in common. This was his reply:
WARNING! That “upstairs tenant,” (“Rayne,” Mark Smith, whatever) is one thieving junkie. Do not let him in your home! D and I took pity on him when he was “breaking up” with his BF here and was kicked out into the street. Fun fuck and seemingly had his shit together. Introduced him to friends who he’d trick with but became especially attached to the owner (since hurricane) of the Phoenix [great NOLA bar w/back room -hsl], Bobby. Things started disappearing from the start - toys, leather, DVD/CDs, and little baggies of Miss T and shots of caverject. Initially blamed tricks who attended play parties but then Bobby and I talked and same shit at his house. When Rayne/Mark was gone out we inspected his space upstairs. JACKPOT! D’s, Bobby’s, mine and who knows who else’s stuff. Subsequently have met others who also had their own stories. Immediate eviction upon his return - excuse? “I was only borrowing the stuff. I should've asked permission I guess” Within days he disappeared from N.O. and I noted his profile lists Philly as his new home/crime scene…so be warned! Sorry to discuss the unpleasantries, but your message necessitated a prompt warning. Pass along to any who may become his next prey. The whole episode left me quite bitter; (DUH!) open one's home to help someone and they shit in one’s helping hand. At least he didn’t make off with some favorite toys, leather, DVD/CDs, but a small fortune of recreational materials have fallen down a deep hole of a junkie.
I really don’t think I need to add anything here except that this explains why “rayne” never bothered to say hello to his landlord/fuck buddy from me during the course of his several months in New Orleans. Luckily, I guess, we’ve never met in person.
I’m listening to “That's What You Always Say” from Days Of Wine And Roses by The Dream Syndicate.
November 9, 2007
My good and blindingly glamourous friend THE CRUSHER has started making these great UFC-themed plates. I think they’re beautiful. This one is of his favorite fighter, Tito Ortiz. Send him an email and tell him how much you like them. Better do it quickly, too, because he’s sure to take the art world by storm.
I’m listening to “The Land of Plenty” from Ten New Songs by the great Leonard Cohen.
November 6, 2007
I’m going to talk about my health again. Hopefully, this will be the last time for a while.
I’ve said before that I’ve been feeling really terrible for a really long, long time, especially bad since my trip to Atlanta in August. I’ve been going to the doctor once or twice a week for the past couple of months. Other than PCP and a COPD exacerbation we couldn’t figure out what the fuck was wrong with me. Both of those things would explain my symptoms but not why they weren’t going away. It was maddening.
I figured my lung disease had gotten worse with the PCP and that was that. This was pretty much the best I was going to feel for the rest of my life. I lived through the last few years of my mom’s COPD and I know it’s not something I would want to go through myself. I started thinking about making preparations for the big dirt nap, not right now but I wanted to be ready when the time came. If I felt this terrible and was this miserable now I couldn’t imagine what was in store for me in the future. I decided to sell my bike instead of having it repaired since it was pretty obvious I wouldn’t be riding it anymore.
When this episode of poor health began I knew I needed to stop smoking again and was finding it impossible. My doctor prescribed Chantix pills. What a miracle drug! Before the first week was up I had absolutely no desire for a cigarette. Chantix does two things: It releases some dopamine into the brain (just like nicotine does) but it prevents nicotine from releasing it. So smoking a cigarette does nothing except taste bad. There’s no pleasure left in smoking at all. It’s incredible how fast the habit just fell away. All that stuff about people being addicted to “the ritual” is horse shit. Really.
Crystal meth releases dopamine, too, and lots of it, which explains why I never wanted a cigarette when I’ve done it. That lead me to my next decision. I’ve suspected for a while that my depression is more dopamine-related than serotonin-related. I’ve done lots of crystal meth in my life, almost daily in the late 70s/early 80s punk era when I played in bands and I still like it sometimes. (Before you start, I don’t want to hear any hypocritical shit from people who get schnockered at the Bike Stop every weekend or did lots of “crank” when it was acceptable but now toe the “meth is death” line. Get it? We’re all still here.) It never made me “tweaked” as much as it made me kind of calm but with lots of energy. (My doctor didn’t disagree and even suggested that my previous heavy use might have led to a dopamine deficiency but was hesitant to prescribe Adderal because of it’s potential for abuse, the bastard. He called it “Atta Girl!”) The Chantix seemed to be having a similar effect but certainly not as intensely. Because of that, I decided to go off of my anti-depressants, Wellbutrin and Cymbalta. That went as well as can be expected. The electric shocks and incredible—and I do mean incredible—constipation that come with SSRI withdrawal are really unpleasant but ultimately worth it, at least in this case. I started having spontaneous erections! Seriously, I had no idea how much damage these pills were doing to my dick until I went off of them. (Bye-bye Viagra!!) Never again.
I’ve written about being sober from alcohol for nearly 20 years. Last month I really wanted a beer so I bought a few. They were incredibly satisfying. I didn’t like the drunk feeling as much as I used to but it was taking the edge off being sick a bit. I wasn’t completely comfortable with the whole idea but I did it and I made sure to only buy two at a time. I figured I didn’t drink for 20 years so I proved that I could do it. Yes, yes, I was justifying it to death but, what the hell, I already made the plunge. (BTW, I settled on Fat Angel Ale by Magic Hat Brewery. It’s incredibly tasty but, boy, two of them had me plastered!)
I noticed that every time I drank beer I got really short-of-breath, really quickly. Since I have COPD my lungs don’t do a very good job anyway, so this was pretty alarming. My albuterol inhaler was next to useless, too. The worst episode was at the Westbury bar. The folks who volunteer together at The Gay and Lesbian Archives of Philadelphia© usually go out for a beer and a bite there on Wednesday nights (if we can find anything edible on the menu besides the fries) and I was kind of excited to finally enjoy a beer with them. That pint of lager made me feel like I was drowning! I ended up just staring quietly into the table while my companions had a conversation. I remember when drinking was fun! What the fuck happened?
That night I looked up beer allergy online and was pretty much convinced I had one. Shortness of breath is one of the major symptoms. DAMMIT! The people whose accounts I read online were pretty pissed about it, too. I went a week without a beer and still felt like shit. I bought two Fat Angels and drank them. Again, I felt immediately worse, very short of breath. The beer didn’t really cause my symptoms, though, it just made them much worse. I got really drunk, though, and almost called an ex-boyfriend in the middle of the night! Ah, the good old days.
I did more research. (A good friend of mine says he suggested this next thing to me before I discovered it myself but I don’t remember it.) I finally came to the conclusion that I am allergic to wheat/gluten. What put the lid on it was that I was waking up feeling relatively good every day and deteriorating quickly after my daily breakfast of shredded wheat! Also, I'd gotten into the habit of eating a Wawa pretzel and sour cream donut every night.
Last Thursday morning I had shredded wheat for breakfast and avoided wheat for the rest of the day. I felt profoundly better by that night. I continued the gluten-free diet. By Saturday night I felt better than I have in years. Literally. No more congestion and coughing. No problems concentrating. No more itchiness. No more constant shortness of breath. I’m not constantly hungry and tired. I don’t need a pill to fall asleep even though I’m more awake and alert. I am really horny. On the minus side, I’m kind of cranky and have worse sidewalk-rage. Hopefully, those will subside but I know for sure that I’m not going to take a pill for them. (Just get out of my way!)
I am a classic case. Gluten allergy can be triggered by all sorts of things like stress or infections or an increase in gluten intake. I had all of those. Supposedly, I’ll be able to slowly add things back into my diet after a couple of months. I sure hope so because there is a HUGE list of things I love that I’m now unable to eat. Cake, pasta, cake, bread, cake, pizza, cake, you name it. The substitutes at Hole Foods are execrable. If not, I’ve had a great 54 years of being able to eat anything I wanted.
Anyways, that’s the scoop. Ironically, if I hadn’t decided to drink again, I don’t think I would have ever figured this out. Weird, huh?
I’m listening to “Take Off Your Cool (Feat. Norah Jones)” from Speakerboxxx/The Love Below by Outkast.
Technorati Tags: health
October 30, 2007
Where’ve you been?
Well first they thought I had lymphoma but it turns out I didn’t. I did, on the other hand, have PCP, which lingered a while. Since I have chronic lung problems to begin with, it lingered a l-o-n-g time. I was really weak mostly and coughing a lot. In fact, I’m still more shot-of-breath than I should be.
I was in Atlanta for a week, too, staying with a friend of mine who is having chemotherapy because he does have lymphoma. I mean, I felt lousy but he has cancer for god’s sake so I offered to go down for a while. Believe it or not, I had fun and he’s doing really well after two rounds.
Anyway, I’ve been sick and busy and not in the mood to write. The good news is that I’m feeling better and I’ve weaned myself off my anti-depressants so my dick is working without chemical help. It really has a mind of its own lately too which is lots of fun.
I’m listening to “Shitscheissemerde (Part 1)” from Louden Up Now by !!!.
October 8, 2007
The body and blood of Christ, now in convenient Take-Out packs! They should just put a vending machine in the lobby.
I’m listening to “Dream Kitchen (7" Mix)” by Frazier Chorus.
Why do you think they call it “dope?”
From gay.com chat:
The_Myth: damn stoners
seek9: whats wrong with stoners??
HighStrungLoner: this is wrong with them, seek9 (read your own bio line): “anyone in the CC cuty area, near browd or front stm”
seek9: I’M NEAR FRONT. I live at 5th and passyunk
seek9: that bio line is like 2 years old, sorry i don’t update regularly
HighStrungLoner: you haven’t corrected the spelling in two years??? STONER!!
seek9: so sue me, i don’t update my gay.com profile
HighStrungLoner: seek, you are so proving my point
seek9: well, i just wish i knew what that point was’
seek9: i guess thats why my husbands don’t stick around
I’m listening to “Breathing In Fumes” from Remixes (81-04) by Depeche Mode.
October 7, 2007
At the baths
I went to the Sansom St. Gym two Saturdays ago. I was only half thinking about going and then I chatted with a very hot guy from North Jersey online who said he was going to meet a friend there around 8 pm, so that sort of made up my mind for me. He said he was going to slam some crystal meth first so I didn't take his timeline very seriously.
I got there much earlier than I normally do, around 8:30-9:00, and the first floor was already sold out. I don't like the upper floors of this place much and the room they gave me was the last one in a dead-end hallway. Thanks, guys.
Anyway, I got undressed and wandered around a bit but there was nothing much going on, really. Where was everyone? Usually I get some action right away at bathhouses and then nothing, nothing, nothing for a while and then a long stretch of fun before I leave. Tonight we went directly to Step Two.
I went back to my room and lay on the bed trying to look alluring, not that anyone was going to be passing by.
Eventually a guy came in and started sucking my dick. He wasn’t my ideal of beauty but he was a good cocksucker. We re-arraged ourselves so that he was on his knees and I was sitting on the edge of the bed. That was better. He really liked getting my PA as deep into his throat as he could and holding it there. He could keep it in for longer than anyone I’d ever seen. I was even holding his head and fucking his throat really hard. He didn't even flinch. Amazing. Again we changed positions to more of a 69-ish thing but I knew he didn’t want me to suck his dick. I stuck one, two, three, then four fingers in his hole. He was wet with J-Lube. He got on his hands and knees and I knelt behind him. Getting my entire hand in was easy and I fucked him hard with my forearm for a long time. My hand began to cramp and I told him I needed to take a breather. He said he was in the sling room and I told him I’d stop by later. I slept for a few minutes.
Downstairs, things weren't much better than when I had arrived. I said hello to a guy who might have been the man I was supposed to meet but i wasn’t sure. He didn’t seem that interested so it didn’t really matter if it was him or not, I guess.
I made myself comfortable on a bench along the back wall of one of the group rooms and stroked myself. The guy from the sling room came in, got on his knees and began blowing me again. A really hot Latin guy laid down on the platform in front of me. His hairy ass was beautiful. I leaned forward and started to finger it. He rose up to meet it. I stood up and the sling guy said "You want to fist me now? Right here?" I told him I wanted to get some of this Latin ass first. And I did.
Luckily my dick was already hard and he was already lubed. As I mounted him and began entering his hole he again rose to meet my cock. The hair around his hole felt great and I paused there for a bit but he wasn’t having any of that. He said “Fuck me” and pushed his ass into my groin. I got on one knee, grabbed his hips and pounded him hard. He was loose and lubed enough for me to be able to pull my dick out completely on each stroke but not so loose that it didn't feel good. He was a really active bottom and made it easy for me. Men started to gather around us, stroking. There were two older guys in a dark corner who caught my eye. One of them might have been the slammer but I still wasn’t sure. They were watching me, stroking each other and playing with each other’s nipples. Being watched makes me even harder. The Latin guy was now flat on his stomach, holding onto the edges of the platform, moaning with each thrust as I continued plowing his hole. I was close to busting but I couldn’t decide if I wanted to shoot. Then a hand reached in to tweak my nipple and I couldn’t help myself. I let it rip. After I shot, he wouldn’t let my cock go, squeezing it with his ass and grinding into me. Finally I pushed away and went upstairs.
I cleaned up, threw my clothes on, grabbed a coffee and went outside for a smoke. Then I went back to my room and closed the door. I needed to recharge for a bit.
To be continued…
October 6, 2007
Sharon Jones is the real thing. She and the Dap-Kings make authentic, non-ironic 60’s R&B that literally makes me think I’m listening to an old 45—a great old 45, too. Their latest recording comes with an extra disc of songs from other artists on Daptone Records, a label that specializes in reviving this sound—and they release actual 45s!! Each and every one of them is good. Check her out on iTunes.
By the way, Amy Winehouse used the Dap-Kings on her album. Amy’s stuff is good but this Daptone shit is the real thing.
I’m listening to “Nobody's Baby” from 100 Days, 100 Nights by Sharon Jones & The Dap-Kings.
Technorati Tags: music
September 21, 2007
A set of four from Science + Sons, each depicting a different urban park scene. $150 CAD.
I’m listening to “I Think We’re Alone Now” from The Rubinoos by The Rubinoos.
September 19, 2007
Didn’t Charles Manson hang out there?
I got an interesting message tonight from this adorable guy in Palm Springs:
fuck i wish i could look into those eyes as you breed me and say thank you daddy satan for your load!
Anytime! (Isn’t that Spahn Ranch in the background?)
I’m listening to “Little by Little” from The Silver Collection by Dusty Springfield.
September 9, 2007
I love this poster for a tranny site in the UK.
I’m listening to “Because He's New” from Jupiter by my long-time friends King of Siam.
September 7, 2007
I saw this today in West Philly. The smoke and flames were coming out of a pipe attached to a telephone pole on the southwest corner of 41st & Walnut. It was REALLY loud.
August 28, 2007
I ♥ Kaysar
That’s supposed to be a heart in the title. If you’re on Firefox on a Mac it doesn’t render correctly. Fuckers.
I’m listening to “Let's Go” from The Good Earth by The Feelies.
August 27, 2007
I went to the ear, nose and neck doctor today for a biopsy of the lump in my neck. He decided not to do the biopsy after all! I saw the MRI images and the size of the thing was shocking, 3 cm, which seems huge to me. (That's me in the picture, zonked out on Xanax, in the MRI tube.) It has gotten a lot smaller, though, and is even hard for me to find by touch. We’re going to wait a few weeks. If it goes away, it was probably just a consequence of my sinus infection. If it stays the same or gets bigger, we’ll do the biopsy. So, good news!!
Thanks to everyone who wrote to me.
I’m listening to “Towers Of London” from Black Sea by XTC.
A (very long) Christmas Story
I’ve known Peggy for nearly 20 years now. We met because we worked at the same place for a year or so. Then when I had the chance to recommend her at another place I worked, we got to work together for another couple of years. We are very close friends.
Her best friends are some women she knows from Bennington College in Vermont, a few of whom are pretty rich. One of them, Debbie, is a lot of fun. (Not that the others aren’t!) We have a similar sensibility and we both love True Crime. She’s really great.
As long as I’d known Debbie she’d been with the same man, Rafe. He’s a great guy, an infectious disease specialist who’s been very helpful to me. Four years ago she suddenly left him for a woman named Rae. (Yes, that’s Rafe without the “f.”) Rae has a personality disorder or two which I don’t have the knowledge—or the interest at this point—to diagnose and of which Debbie was apparently unaware when they moved in together. They live in a great house in Connecticut with two dogs and two cats, surrounded by woods. The neighbor’s houses aren’t visible and you can’t see the road during the day, only at night when car headlights pass. One wall of the living room is all glass doors and the other side of the room has a balcony/hallway that leads to the bedrooms and bathroom. The place is great. Fucking Mia Farrow lives up the road, for god’s sake.
They’ve had some bad luck with dogsitters, housesittters and kennels. They visit their respective families in Maine and Cambridge MA a couple of times a year and can’t really travel with the animals. Peggy suggested me for the job and I was thrilled to accept. I would stay there for about a week over Thanksgiving and three weeks at Christmas when they’d be going to Cambridge and then to Eluthera for a vacation. They’d pay for all my food, let me use the car, and pay me $50 a day. What a deal! For Thanksgiving I’d drive up and back with Peggy because she always goes with Debbie to hang out with her family over the holidays. It sounded perfect.
Peggy and I arrived in Bridgewater latish on the Monday before Thanksgiving. Debbie was in the living room watching TV and Rae was asleep but she came down to say hello because we had never met. She was really brash and smart and funny and I liked her a lot. I met the dogs and the cats and we all went to our respective bedrooms.
The next day we all got up early because the animals get fed at 7am and 4pm. The dogs get a mixture of dry and canned food twice a day with vitamins and the cats get canned food twice a day with vitamins only once. The dogs could pretty much come and go from the house as they please since they had an electric fence and perimeter collars. I'd go out a couple of times a day and play with them. It was pretty simple except that one of the dogs has allergies and needs to be watched pretty closely. If he shows symptoms I would have to give him some medication. I remembered everything well enough to do feed them in the afternoon without even taking notes.
Rae has a huge problem preparing to leave the house and got progressively more anxious as the day went on. She and I went to the supermarket to get me some food for the weekend and that was relatively calm but still had some frantic moments. Peggy and I tried to stay out of her way but it was nearly impossible. I was given insanely over-written instructions—laser printed with hand-written notes—later that evening and Debbie (apologetically) or Rae (neurotically) went over the protocol with me three times that night. Rae would turn every little thing into a crisis and took every opportunity to berate Debbie, reducing her to tears several times. I felt terrible for Debbie as well as being really uncomfortable myself. I’ve never witnessed such abnormal behavior in someone I knew before. My ex-lover Cecilio was a nut case but this was clearly much worse. Peggy and I finally went to sleep. I’m not sure what Debbie and Rae did. I suspect they didn’t get much rest.
In the morning things were still the same. The atmosphere in the house was thick with tension which got worse until it was time for them to leave, and worse still in the four hours until they actually did leave. I fed the dogs and cats and we all took a long nap.
Needless to say, things went swimmingly while they were gone. It was sure fun having that great house to myself in the middle of nowhere, real perfection for me.
I forget whether they returned on Saturday or Sunday but the return trip so bad that Peggy insisted that we leave immediately for Philly. Fine with me. Debbie paid me and we were on our way.
Then Christmas. I knew things were going to be bad even before we left Philly on the 23rd because we got the word to do my three weeks worth of food shopping before we got there. It was sure fun having an unlimited budget at Trader Joe’s!! Also, since I was going to be gone for nearly a month, I put my entire desktop computer set-up in the car. I didn’t think at the time that Peggy would be returning a few weeks before me and I made no provisions for getting it back home.
Anyway, we got there and the chaos was already in progress. (I swear, the dogs come running to the door when visitors arrive because they want to be rescued, not because they’re being friendly or just want to go out for a while.) My animal-feeding instructions were already printed. They were at least twice as long as the original draft and they still had hand-written notes. In addition, Rae had gone label maker happy. As an example, there was an unopened can of dog food labeled “SAMPLE CAN - DO NOT OPEN” which was utterly pointless since they only had one kind of dog food! The shelves of the pet supply closet were labeled very specifically as if there could have been any kind of confusion. It was ridiculous. Again, I was instructed in person three times with the written directions in hand and I was encouraged to take notes. Debbie cried a lot.
They left for Cambridge on the 24th. Peace. I set up my computer on the dining room table. I spent Christmas exactly the way I like to: alone. By the way, they left me presents to open which were GREAT! (Mmmmm! Bridgewater Chocolates!) Also I had the keys to the car and $300 cash for whatever I needed. Life was good. For three days. I took the computer set-up down and put it in the basement before they returned, even though they’d only be there for 12 hours. I knew it would upset Rae.
They came back late on the afternoon of the 27th. Rae immediately stomped upstairs and slammed the bedroom door. Uh-oh. In the craziness, Rae let the dogs out and one of them came back without her collar. Peggy apologized to me and left within an hour.
Debbie and Rae were to be picked up by a car at 6am and taken to JFK airport for their flight to Eluthera. That left them about 12 hours to pack one bag each and get some rest. Of course, Rae said it was impossible for her to do that because there wasn’t enough time. She hounded Debbie to change their flight to a day later. It would cost them $1000 each. EACH!! She spent over an hour on the phone with the airline and finally was able to shave a bit off by canceling the original tickets to use at another time and buying brand new tickets for a day later. There was a lot of screaming back and forth. Before she left, Peggy had encouraged me to go to the movies or something just to get out of there. Stupidly, I stayed. I went to bed early.
The next day Rae went completely off the chain. She obsessively unpacked and repacked the refrigerator and the kitchen cabinets. She managed to fit all of my food into them but the cabinets were packed like Chinese puzzle boxes. Besides needing x-ray vision to see what was in them and I had to be careful that everything didn’t come tumbling out if I removed an item. Supposedly this was because the cleaning lady gets cranky if there's anything on the surfaces she has to clean. She left me five huge bags of clothes and a couple of fake fur blankets to take to the dry cleaners in town. (Bringing them was a seriously weird scene. I tried laughing along with the woman behind the counter but I was incredibly embarrassed at the amount of stuff I was dragging in from the car which , by the way, was parked behind the building.)
She did every scrap of laundry, seriously, every one. She put the downstairs shower head back together and cleaned up the shower and bathroom so it could be used. She scrubbed the kitchen and ran the dishwasher several times with nearly nothing in it. At one point I had to go into their room and saw that she was sitting on the floor chattering away with all of her shoes, about 30 pairs, arranged in a perfect grid around her. She wrote some more feeding instructions. Whenever we’d be alone together she’d say things like “You think I have a little OCD problem?” You think??
Worst of all, Rae endlessly berated and demeaned Debbie, blaming her for things that she herself had caused or things that were totally meaningless. There were lots of tears. Debbie and I tried to get away from her lunacy and catch up since we hadn’t really had a chance to talk, even at Thanksgiving. Rae would not let that happen. Paranoid that we were talking about her, she constantly interrupted us.
Rae also said “No sexual hijinks” while they were gone. Damn, but OK. I could travel since I had the car.
Later that night Debbie came downstairs to give me my final instructions about the animals. She tried not to cry as she said she thought it was best that we go through them again, knowing that Rae was listening. Eventually she started sobbing and said that this would be the worst vacation she’d ever have. I told her it wasn’t too late to back out and that I would help her in any way that I could. I knew that wasn’t going to happen but I had to say something. She just kept apologizing and apologizing that I had to experience this insanity and she promised me a huge bonus. As uncomfortable as I was—and I can’t remember ever being more uncomfortable—I said she should worry about herself, that I’d be fine. (I didn’t say it but I was going to be fine as soon as they left. Debbie was the one who’d be spending three weeks in a beach house with a lunatic, not me.) I hope it made her feel a little better but I doubt it.
I went to bed. They got no sleep. In all, it took Rae 36 hours to pack one bag. One bag. Finally they were gone.
I had a great time for a couple of weeks. I cruised the internet and met a couple of very hot men nearby. I went to a fisting party in New London, shopped at Trader Joe’s, bought a Razr, went to the movies, drove around investigating the town but mostly did nothing. It was heaven.
I made sure everything was in order and my computer equipment was taken apart and packed up before they arrived.
When they got back, things weirdly seemed fine. We spoke on the phone while they were away and agreed that I would drive one of their cars home because I had so much stuff and return it the next day, then take the train home. The original car I was using, though, developed brake problems so they arranged for their limo driver to take me back to Philly in the morning instead. Nice!
Debbie paid me before I left and, since things were going so well between them, forgot the “huge bonus” she had promised me. Maybe she thought the comfortable ride home was good enough. If so, that’s great. If not, I don’t know what to say. I would have done the housesitting for free because Debbie’s a friend but still.
It was after I got home that things got really strange.
A few days later I get a call from Peggy. She said, “We have to talk and it’s not something that can be done over the phone.” Naturally, we couldn’t meet for a couple of days so I was completely on edge the entire time because she sounded so serious. I didn't think it had anything to do with Connecticut so I was totally in the dark.
As it turns out, the day I left Bridgewater, Rae was cleaning the dining room table and she found an black, oily substance that was difficult to remove, even after numerous scrubbings. They went out to dinner that night with some friends, a gay male couple. The guys told them that the stuff on the table was probably a special black fisting grease that they’d heard of. What?!?!?! THERE IS NO SUCH THING! And I would know. They are now convinced that I was fisting on their dining room table! Oh great.
The next day, Debbie found a dog collar tied to a tree with a rope. At first I thought they were accusing me of some sexual game involving animal role-playing or of being a “furry” but they weren’t. (I'm terrible at role-play, too; I always snicker. I’m not an actor.) No, they assumed I tied up at least one of the dogs. Why would I? they have perimeter collars and they come back home faithfully. Maybe they think I tied them up outside so they wouldn’t disturb my non-stop fist-a-thon in their dining room with the floor-to-ceiling glass windows. Perhaps I was trying to entice Mia Farrow to come over for some sexagenarian hole play. Please.
Later that night a pizza delivery guy arrived with two pies in my name! Yes, two pizzas for Frank Carroll. Sure, I ordered pizza while they were gone but I never gave Dominos my last name, nor did I give it to anyone I had sex with while I was in Connecticut. In fact, I used their phone to order. I have no idea what happened here except probably several kinds of miscommunication but they seemed to think I was up to something dastardly. I don’t fucking know what it could have been.
I assured Peggy that none of this had anything to do with me and that I had not had sex in the house. A fuck-buddy from Provincetown who lives close by came to visit but we didn’t have sex. I promised them I wouldn’t so I didn’t. The dog collar incident is a complete mystery. The pizzas must have been some kind of mix up and whoever answered the door misheard my name and that is that.
Peggy believed me, thank god, but Debbie and Rae had told her they knew I’d deny everything. They’re convinced I somehow took advantage and fucked them over. Wonderful. She said it would be better if I didn’t talk to them directly and it seems to me they didn’t even want her to speak to me about it in the first place. Needless to say, I was floored by the whole thing. I laughed even though I was kind of furious and I still am. What else could I do? That’s the way it stands. They think I’m a selfish prick.
A couple of weeks later, it came to me what the black stuff on the dining room table was. My Virgin de Guadeloupe mouse pad is really old and is kind of melting where my wrist hits it. It leaves black goo on the surface of the desk or table or whatever’s under it. There’s a picture of it on the left. It’s old and crappy but I love it. I want to send the pic to Debbie but Peggy thinks it’s not a good idea. I don’t see what difference it could possibly make. I mean, she’s already not speaking to me because she thinks I’m a complete asshole. How could it be any worse?
I’m listening to “Release the Stars” from Release the Stars by Rufus Wainwright.
August 23, 2007
At the beginning of last week in Atlanta I noticed that the right side of my neck was warm and swollen and there seemed to be a soft lump in it. It was a little sore when I pressed on it. The next two days I woke up with crud in my ears, fever, chills and a terrible sinus headache. The lump was solidifying, too. I couldn’t tell what the ambient temperature was but I was sweating a lot with very little exertion. I called my Doctor in Philly, the wonderful Mark Watkins, and asked him what I should do. He advised me to go to an emergency room and get it looked at immediately.
The folks in the management office of the apartment building said we should go to a “good” hospital a bit of a drive away but still in “the perimeter.” There was no hurry so we took their advice. The emergency room clerk was very cute and the department was HUGE. It must have had 50 rooms. I didn’t have to wait very long to be seen and Keith stayed in the waiting room with his computer.
I sat in a comfortable dentist-type chair and nodded off. A few doctors came in, examined me and asked me a few questions. They were cute too! they told me that, given my other symptoms, the lump was just a swollen lymph node, gave me a week to live a prescription for Keflex and sent me on my way, telling me to make sure I saw my Dr. as soon as I got home. They assured me that, since it was painful to the touch and came on suddenly that it wasn’t cancer. Whew. We filled the prescription at Wal*Mart (sorry) and had a terrible meal at an awful chain restaurant with lousy service (Izzy & Irma’s??).
Over the next few days my fever and chills went away but the lump seemed to get worse. Now I could actually see it when before I couldn't tell it was even there without feeling for it. I’m sure no one else could see it but to me it looked like I had grown a second head. I was developing Lump Dismorphic Disorder.
I got back to Philly Monday afternoon and saw my Dr. on Tuesday afternoon. I gave him my aftercare papers and the blood work they had done in Atlanta. He looked at them and just shook his head and brought in his PA, John, to look at me also. They both agreed, nodding their heads sagely and saying nothing. I finally had to scream "WHAT THE HELL IS IT???"
He said I’d have to get an MRI on Wednesday (today) and a needle biopsy on Monday. “To be blunt, I think it’s lymphoma.” Oh great. Poverty, broken computer and now cancer. Thanks! I remained calm, as I always do in situations like this. (When I got my HIV diagnosis I took care of the stuff I had to do at the medical office and then bicycled home in the rain screaming "I DON’T WANT TO DIE!!!" with tears streaming sown my face. At least I keep the drama to myself!) I started freaking out a little later in the day while I was doing errands that weren’t going particularly well. For instance, Bank of America wouldn’t cash a check that they had written to me because I didn’t have more than one form of ID. (Fuckers.)
Before I left the office Mark and John assured me that this type of cancer was quite common and wasn’t going to kill me. (Sorry, folks!) One chemotherapy treatment should do the trick. Christ, I hope so. If not, this is going to turn into a “Plucky Cancer Guy” blog (“I‘m gonna beat this thing!”) and no one wants that to happen. Really. I know I’m not the only person who can’t stand that annoying Lance Armstrong.
I’m listening to “My Old Man’s a Fatso” from Back From Samoa by the brilliant Angry Samoans.
August 22, 2007
I returned to Philly yesterday.
I have a seven year-old PowerBook G3 that is fine for hooking up and chat but I can’t do any real work on it. When I am going to be away for any length of time I actually pack my desktop machine and monitor in a couple of suitcases, padded by clothes. They’re heavy and a pain in the ass to lug around but, until I get a new laptop, it’s what I have to do. My bags are always inspected by TSA because, between the two pieces of equipment and the mass of cables and stuff, they must look like god-knows-what to baggage screeners. Also, the airlines have lowered their weight limits and it now costs an extra $50-$100. This might have been the last trip these guys make, though.
When I got to the ticket counter in Atlanta, the Delta clerk asked me where I was going. She said they have no direct flights to Philadelphia and that I must be flying United. OK. I walked over to United with my smaller carry-on and my backpack. Of course, it was in the opposite corner of the terminal. I looked at their scheduled departures and they had no non-stop flights to Philly until later that afternoon. I took out my laptop and checked my confirmation email. It said Delta. When I returned to the Delta line I saw a small sign saying my flight was operated by USAir so I got in line there, only half way back through the terminal. When I got to check-in the attendant said my bags were $100 overweight and that I had a reservation but no indication that the ticket was actually paid for! I pulled out the PowerBook again and showed him the confirmation and he tried again. Nothing. We walked over to the Delta counter and they confirmed that there was actually a purchase. Back at his station he had to cancel my ticket and make a new one. It took three people to get this done. For the trouble he said he’d waive the overweight charge. That was good since I had exactly $100 in my pocket. I would have been walking home from the Philly airport.
Security was chaos. Everyone is ushered into a holding area. It’s just a huge crowd of people that somehow snakes into about a dozen lines for screening. It moved more quickly than I thought it would. I had to take off my shoes. I forgot to take my phone out of my pocket and the alarm went off. I put the phone in a basket and the alarm sounded again. They asked me to removed my belt. That did the trick. Since I set the alarm off twice, TSA flagged me and I had to wait in a weird free-standing box made of bullet-proof glass with a locked door. I felt like I was in the sound-proof booth on a game show. We mimed back and forth, them asking and me answering questions about which items belonged to me. It was absurd. I got really claustrophobic. They finally let me out and patted me down by hand and with a wand and did their bomb-detecting thing on my carry-ons. Naturally, they didn’t find anything interesting and they let me go. Then I stood at a metal table, repacked my stuff and put my shoes and belt back on.
Believe it or not, I had some time to spare. I bought Scott Smith’s The Ruins (great so far) and maybe the worst sandwich I’ve ever eaten at Chili’s2Go. I went to a news stand to get a Coke zero. The woman in front of me was foreign and she was buying three phone cards for $12.84 each. She kept asking the Jamaican clerk what the total was and the clerk kept replying “Three at $12.84.” Yes, even with a modern digital cash register she had no idea how to find the total! She didn’t even seem to know the meaning of total. It was maddening. Oddly, I didn’t lose my temper. I calmly told the clerk what her customer wanted. She finally understood but she still acted like we were asking her to explain the theory of relativity to an infant.
I sat and ate the disgusting sandwich in the boarding area. When I tried to board the plane, the attendant said that TSA had neglected to stamp my ticket and I couldn’t board. She looked at me as if I was supposed to solve this problem. I actually had to ask her what to do next. I think she would have been perfectly willing to have me just stand there and miss my flight. With a dramatic sigh she called a TSA person and I continued waiting. And waiting. And waiting. They began giving stand-by people their seats and said they were ready to close the door when TSA finally arrived.
Again my bags were emptied and swabbed, shoes and belt removed. I actually had to undo my pants to show them nothing was inside the closure. All of this again in front of a large gawking crowd. It was humiliating. I finally lost my temper when the TSA officer began positioning me with his hands and not saying anything. I told him to stop pushing me around and tell me how he wanted me to stand. He actually apologized. (He said he doesn’t bother apologizing anymore because it usually doesn’t matter! Great.) Finally I was cleared to board and they said to take any seat since they might have given mine away! I was the last one to board the plane and my seat, which hadn’t been given away, was in the last row. I had to walk past every person on the plane, all of them glaring at me and blaming me for the delay. I was in the window seat next to two really large people.
We departed a half hour late because the plane was overweight and out of balance and we arrived one and a half hours late because we were in a holding pattern in Philly for over an hour. Luckily, the guy next to me was watching the extras on the 300 DVD so at least I was entertained by some beefcake. His child was crying in the seat in front of me almost the entire way. This is possibly my least favorite sound in the world, worse than Patti LaBelle. (Why couldn’t I have sat next to the woman who bought a seat for her cat????) When we landed the kid stood up and kept smiling and waving at me. Maybe he thought I was Santa. I have to admit he was adorable, especially considering his parents.
The walk to baggage claim was so long I felt like I walked all the way back to Atlanta. My bags were the last on the belt. One of my them arrived severely damaged. It looks like some of it melted and other parts are ripped or broken off and the broken pieces put back inside the bag.
Outside it was raining but luckily I only had to wait a few minutes for the Lady Liberty van and I was the first stop. What luck!
As I was unpacking I saw that my $30 Canon battery charger was literally smashed to bits. Also, my desktop computer won’t start up if the monitor is connected. It will sometimes start up without the monitor but shuts off as soon as I connect it. I’m now using it as a very large external FireWire drive! The monitor was in the broken bag so I don’t know if there was any damage to it since I can’t connect it to anything. It looks OK but who knows.
I will deal with fixing broken stuff and seeing what I can mange to get out of USAir for them tomorrow. I would have don’t it today but I was too busy with other stuff--like finding out that I probably have cancer. (I’m not kidding. Details tomorrow, I can’t think about it now.)
I’m listening to “All This Paradise” from Fraser & Debolt with Ian Guenther by Fraser & Debolt.
August 11, 2007
They found it!
I’m listening to “Dylan Rhymes feat. Katherine E” from Community service II by The Crystal Method.
August 8, 2007
Hard, long, joyous and super
A sample of today’s spam.
I’m listening to “A Beautiful Song” from Nazz Nazz by The Nazz.
August 7, 2007
I’ve been visiting Atlanta for over a week and, as I said before, have been concentrating on posting many years’ worth of my photos on flickr. I’ve also been having lots of sex. Between the fact that I’m still considered “new meat” here and that there are more gay men here per capita than in San Francisco, my head is spinning. I’ve been taking full advantage, believe me. Last night was one of the best, not just of the week, but ever.
As everyone probably knows by now, I really like guys with hairy chests and faces. I’ll do without the body hair in a pinch as long as it’s not shaved, though. Consequently I’m rarely attracted to Asian or black guys. (Before anyone starts name-calling, I said “rarely” not “never.” I’ve had lots of fun with all kinds of men. In fact, just before I left Philly I got together with a nicely hairy, fun and very cute guy of mixed-asian descent. I’m hesitant to write about it for a couple of reasons and certainly not because we didn’t enjoy ourselves.) Anyway, there’s an “Ethnicity: Mixed,” sort of Asian-looking guy on Manhunt who was being very persistent. His pictures are OK, a little hair on the chin of a nice face and very smooth. He isn’t what I normally go for so I kept putting him off because, being new in town, something more like my “type” would eventually show up. (Wow. Did that sound arrogant or what? Trust me, I know that if I lived here, the honeymoon would be over pretty quickly but it’s sure fun being popular while it lasts!) Late last night/early this morning I found myself sitting at the computer with an unusually persuasive erection and he messaged me again. “I want to serve you with both of my holes.” Sure thing! He was parking his car outside and dialing my number within ten minutes!
I went out to meet him. First of all, his face was stunning. I could tell that from 20 feet away as he walked toward me from the parking lot. As soon as we got inside his mouth was on mine and his fingers were playing with my nipples. I don’t know how but I think he took his shirt off without removing his tongue from my mouth or his hands from my chest. Holy Mother of God! What a body. His upper body (He hadn’t taken his pants off yet) was just about perfect and his dark skin showed it off so very nicely. Broad shoulders, sexy traps, punchable pecs, all in a perfect v-shape. I recovered my thought processes enough to stutter “Let’s go upstairs.” On our way to the bedroom I made sure he noticed the sling in the living room.
I removed my shirt but I didn't have time to take off my pants or adjust the light in the bedroom before he was naked, kissing me and grabbing my crotch. I didn't even have time to see what the rest of him looked like, not that it mattered. With no help from me my pants were unzipped and my dick was in his hand, then in his mouth. He held the head in his throat, even with the PA in, without missing a beat. All I could do was moan.
I managed to get my pants and shoes off as he moved to lie on the bed, hanging his head over the edge. He grabbed my hips and pulled me to him and I bent my knees a little so my dick would go right into his mouth. I fucked his throat while he ran his hands over my already sweaty chest and belly. Then he’d reach around the small of my back and pull me towards him, keeping the head of my dick in his throat for a long time. The PA didn’t seem to bother him at all.
He flipped over onto his stomach with my dick still in his mouth! That’s when I saw the ass. The picture in his profile was nice but it could easily have been someone else. His butt was beautiful, not very big but perfect for its size with the slightest bit of dark hair. I almost forgot he was sucking my dick! Almost.
He changed position again, on his back with his head on a pillow, and he motioned for me to lie on top of him. Umm…no problem! We kissed in a way I can only describe as violent as he ran his hands over every part of my torso. I spit into his mouth. My hard dick was pressing against his hole. Then he used his knuckles to press deep into the muscles of my back, moving his hands slowly up and down with each press. He was massaging me! It felt so good I collapsed on top of him. He continued. We could have stopped here and it still would have been worth writing about. But we didn’t.
He suggested we move to the living room. Actually, he said, “Let me get in the sling and you can put that cock in my hole.” There was nothing I wanted to do more ever in my life. We got up and I finally got to see the whole package, naked and in motion, from the front and the back. He was sheer beauty. I’m not exaggerating. He hopped into the sling and was, of course, perfectly positioned without having to adjust himself. (Maybe he’s a former member of some Pacific Rim gymnastics team or something. Or a robot.)
I wanted to make sure I felt everything so I didn’t use much lube. He was tight so I entered him really slowly with the PA on the side of the head so he’d feel the bumps. (Usually I try to put it in first.) He felt them and moaned—just the reaction I was hoping for. I slid all the way in and held it there for a minute. Then I started slowly pulling all the way out and pushing all the way in. I did my usual thing of pausing to feel the hair on his hole to scratch the head of my cock and then plunging in hard. He looked me straight in the eyes the entire time. He adjusted himself and used his legs to pull me close and pushing his ass into my groin. I was about ready to shoot but I didn't want to let go yet. This felt too good.
When he let go I pulled out for a second. He was dripping. I put my dick back into his hole and started pounding hard, making sure I pulled out enough for his hole to stimulate the head of my cock. I slammed his hole hard until I was ready to shoot. It took a while and it was really torturing me but i finally shot what felt like a giant load. He squeezed the last drops out of me and pulled me close again with his legs. As he ground his ass against me I bent over to kiss him and he began massaging me again! His knuckles felt amazing in my knotted muscle.
I pulled out and began some serious ass play. I managed four fingers of both hands at once but he resisted one whole hand. I wasn’t sure how far to push him and he didn't ask me to stop but I did. We kept at it for a long time and I got him nice and stretched, though. When I was massaging his prostate with four fingers he moaned and said “Daddy, I have to piss.” I told him to let it go and I aimed the stream from his uncut dick to cover his muscular stomach and chest. I scooped some up to refresh the lube, too.
Then he stood up from the sling and pushed me back towards the sofa. I sat, he kneeled. I was already half hard and he got me almost painfully stiff in a couple of strokes. He looked straight into my eyes while he licked my balls and I stroked the hair on his chin. He worked hard on my dick, again, getting me really stiff and really wet. Once more he held the head with the PA in his throat with no effort.
He hopped up on the sofa, facing me, and sat on my cock, again grinding into me, getting me as far inside him as we could. I grabbed him by his lats and started thrusting as we kissed some more. I shot again into his ass and he squeezed his hole really tight as he lifted himself from me. He licked me clean and we were done.
I’m listening to “A Little Less Sixteen Candles, A Little More Touch Me” from From Under the Cork Tree by Fall Out Boy.
July 18, 2007
Is that a gun in your pocket…
David Fincher’s Zodiac is a long, complex and gripping detective story. It deserves better treatment than it got at the box office or than I’m going to give it here. Just rent the DVD; you won’t regret it.
As much as I loved it—and I really did—I am compelled to reduce this great movie to a shot in which Elias Koteas’* dick is visible through his pants. There’s no need to write to tell me how pathetic this is, I already know. Believe me. I am unashamed.
*the poor man’s (Canadian) Christopher Meloni.
I’m listening to “Turn My Way” from Get Ready by New Order.
Another hot murderer
Police: Sharpshooter husband wanted in singer's shooting kills self.
I’m listening to “Oink, Oink Mambo” by Chuy Reyes & His Orchestra from Ultra-Lounge - Mambo Fever.
July 16, 2007
This is my Simpsons avatar. If you go the the Simpsons Movie site, you can make one that looks just like you, too!
Sorry I haven’t been writing lately. I’ve been kind of caught up in obsessed with flickr, now that my ancient camera has been fixed. Also I’ve been dealing with some complex health and benefit issues and depression. I’ve been having lots of sex but haven’t felt like writing about it. That will change right now.
Last Thursday and Friday I went to BlogPhiladelphia, a free conference at the Radisson Warwick Hotel. It was really fun and completely FREE! There were about 250 people there and I got to meet the writers from some of the most popular blogs in Philly. There was an amazing amount of free food, much of which I brought home with me. I still feel stuffed. I posted pics of the cutest guys there on flickr, too.
I leave Thursday to spend a month at my friend Keith’s place in Atlanta. He’ll be gone for the first couple of weeks and I’ll have the condo/porn set to myself. I was really popular when I went there last year. Here’s hoping that’s still true!
I’m listening to “Rent” from Actually by Pet Shop Boys.
July 5, 2007
It must be my lucky week!
Lurid Digs hilariously critiques interiors of online profile picures. Their “Panel of Experts” are a real scream and totally ruthless. They posted three of my ickiest Profile Pic of the Week photos and called them a “Cavalcade of Chaos.” Thanks guys!
I’m listening to “On To Akaba/The Beach At Night” from Lawrence Of Arabia by Maurice Jarre.
July 4, 2007
Rainy Day’s and Monday’s…
Buy 1 entree,
get 1 free
(of equal or lesser
value, from 5pm - 10pm)
I suggest reading Eats, Shoots and Leaves to learn punctuation and the difference between plural and possessive. Someone might want to look into kerning, as well, if their “designer” even knows what that means.
I’m listening to “Silver” from Ocean Rain by Echo and The Bunnymen.
July 2, 2007
The World Strong Man Competition in Philly last weekend was, as you can see, exactly the kind of entertainment I like. I took lots of pictures. You can see them here.
I’m listening to “Moonlight in Vermont” from Trout Mask Replica by Captain Beefheat and the Magic Band.
June 26, 2007
Thanks to THE CRUSHER for forwarding this atrocity to me. He received it from the author Carter Burnette himself during an hilarious online chat which included these gems:
“I'm not the guy to ask....really....I am sooo NON mainstream anything right now”
“I’m also a creative type which fucks with a lot of folks”
“AND, I come from one of the older Philadelphia African American families that have lived Upper middle class for over 3 centruries.... (sic)”
“These girls are just not ready for me”
“that coupled with my 137 IQ....trust me....they are NOT ready for me.”
“Your (sic) fast enough You get the drift”
“and the ones that want me...only want me for my 9" dick....which I tell them is my smallest sex organ, but they don’t get it”
“When I grew up, it was all about breeding....”
“and the thing that bothers me is that there are things I can't EVEN think about that they can get away with.”
“so I guess I'm jaded.”
I’m listening to “Another Galaxy” from Surprise by Paul Simon.
June 25, 2007
And they taste like ass!
This is right up there with “What can brown do for you.”
I’m listening to “Fuck The Facts” from Naked City by John Zorn/Naked City.
Never Mind the Nikes
This display in Ubiq’s window made me sad. At this point I shouldn’t be surprised, but I was.
I’m listening to “Bonus” from Take Them On, On Your Own by Black Rebel Motorcycle Club.
Technorati Tags: Philadelphia
June 24, 2007
People talk in movies. It's annoying, sure, but it's a fact. And, unless people are having extended conversations at louder-than-a-whisper volumes, it's actually not rude. There's an expectation, in today's attention-deprived world, that nobody can sit still for that long and be perfectly silent.Oh, really? Her commenters think she’s dead wrong and so do I. Not only is it rude, it’s selfish. Tell her what you think.
June 16, 2007
I shot a Hot Desert Knights video in New Orleans about two and a half years ago. I wrote about it here and here. It’s finally been released as “Pig Holes #1: Incredible Fuk’n Holes.” (Hey, don’t blame me!) At best I have mixed feelings about it but I am kinda proud. I remember thinking I looked really fat in the stills I saw and I’ve never seen any of the actual footage or the final movie. Anyway, of the nine shots they use in the promo, three of them feature My Million-Dollar Hands doing what they do best. That’s the side of my head in the second shot. I know, big fucking deal.
Now where did I put that Lloyd’s of London insurance policy??
I’m listening to “Orangutango” from Dr. Heckle and Mr. Jive by Pigbag.
June 10, 2007
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Spotted at Art for the Cash Poor 8.
I’m listening to “Peter Gunn Mambo” by Jack Constanzo & His Orchestra from an unofficial “Peter Gunn Theme” compilation.
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May 28, 2007
Those of you who actually read this thing may have noticed a flurry of insulting comments recently. They are from a friend from S. Orleans MA, who was affectionately known as THE CRUSHER. (And I know this, Mike, because your IP address is logged along with your comments, you boob.) We were really close for a couple of years when I lived in Provincetown and we created the brilliant and notorious ptownwithoutpity.com together. (He did the writing, I did the graphics, if anyone is still wondering how that site worked.)
I’m tempted to return his missives in kind but I won’t. After all, how can I match the distinctive voice and wit of “go spin the bean, you lez?” You know what I mean? Instead I’ll just point my readers to the story of our last face-to-face meeting. Just click here and read the next five entries forward in time. Enjoy!
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May 16, 2007
This is from my ex Cecilio Silva who, after seven years, still can’t seem to let it go. (I guess I’m just unforgettable!) Judging by the language, spelling and punctuation, this was ghostwritten by someone more familiar with written English as well as the gay lexicon than Cecilio but it’s definitely him. Lost-In-A-Maze’s profile is disabled, as usual, so no response is possible. I never reply anyway. The messages normally come in batches of two or three and this is the second one this spring. The obscene, abusive phone calls stopped a few years ago after I spoke to the police.
And people wonder why I don’t go out to the bars.
I’m listening to “Wandering Star” from Dummy by Portishead.
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May 15, 2007
I think we have a new housemate who kindly left these on the side of the tub tonight.
I’m listening to “Song For Chesh” from Palookaville by Fatboy Slim.
May 5, 2007
My new profession
From The Multi-Orgasmic Man: Sexual Secrets Every Man Should Know by Master Mantak Chia and Doug Arava. ebooks.com recommends these books on “the same subject:” He's Just Not That Into You and Why Men Marry Bitches! Oh, really?
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April 30, 2007
I wrote a couple of weeks ago about Tom. The last time we spoke on the phone we said we were both interested in “dating” or seeing each other outside of a purely sexual context. What I didn’t mention in that entry is that we had both contracted Chlamydia. I’m not sure who gave it to who but that’s completely unimportant, really. We’ve been communicating through email since then. It didn’t occur to me but Tom thought it was best that we didn’t get together again until our respective infections were cleared up and we both said we were really looking forward to that.
I called on Friday afternoon and we chit-chatted about some stuff, including the fact that our infections were clear. Good enough. I asked when we would be able to get together. Tom responded by saying he felt that there were two of him, one was a real pig and the other one wanted to settle down and have a monogamous, romantic relationship. (We had touched on this subject in some previous conversations when I expressed similar feelings. I told him that, except for 20 years ago when I was drinking, I have been monogamous in all of my relationships but I wasn’t sure what I wanted now.)
This seemed to be leading up to us making some kind of decision about monogamy while we were dating. Nope. He’d been seeing someone else and was telling me that we wouldn’t be having sex or dating! Apparently he had two dinner dates with this other fellow during the time that we’d both been sick. That’s right, he went out with the other guy despite the same Chlamydia that somehow prevented us from going to dinner or to a movie. Is it me or does this just not make any sense?
“We can still be friends and do stuff, though, can’t we?” What? Like going to dinner with you and your boyfriend? Doesn’t that sound like fun?
He also said he thought I told him that I was uninterested in monogamy. I absolutely did not say that and told him so. I finally ended the conversation, completely stunned.
Later that day I got an email from Tom apologizing for being so “callous.” I responded politely that no apology was necessary, that it had just been a product of poor communication. Then I took a Xanap.
When I woke up I read the email again and this time I was angry. I wrote again saying that I should have waited to process the conversation more fully before I responded the first time. I wrote that I felt manipulated and that I had been treated as "Plan B," kept on the hook with a lie of omission. It was humiliating. We hadn’t been very emotionally intimate and he didn’t “owe” me anything but I felt I had been treated badly. He wrote back the he felt he’d been completely honest with me and that he thought at first that my email was supposed to be a joke. He wants to speak again on the phone or in person. I said I’d call him later this week.
Everyone I’ve told this story to has asked, before I even finished, “So he couldn’t go to dinner with you because you both had Chlamydia?? That’s ridiculous.” Yes, yes, it is.
I’m going to call tomorrow but I can’t imagine that he’ll see why I’m hurt.
I’m listening to “My Kind of Town” from The Very Good Years by Frank Sinatra.
Technorati Tags: gay
April 26, 2007
I’ve been trying to figure out how to write this without it seeming too confusing and without anyone besides myself being identifiable to the reader. Those two things just might be mutually exclusive. Of course, there’s the even more likely possibility that people will read it and say, “Big fucking deal. Who cares?”
A couple of years ago, pre-blog, I arranged to meet a guy at Club Body Center on a weekday afternoon (Man A). We had a great time after nearly missing each other even though our rooms were adjacent! About a year later I ended up moving back to Philly permanently and we got together a few more times. On our two most recent encounters, in my 41st St. apartment and again at the baths, a buddy of his joined us (Man B). This guy is really impressively handsome, the kind of guy you remember. I have liked Man B since first meeting him about 15 years before and I was really glad to finally play with him. He said he felt likewise. I was surprised he even remembered me. On both occasions Man A said we were his two favorite tops. I was really complimented by what each man said.
In the meantime, I got together with a guy from Bear411 (Man C). He was a big, solid, sexy guy who was wearing dress khakis and an oxford shirt that were completely fresh-looking and wrinkle-free when he arrived at my place after work. I was amazed. I have never been able to do that. I don’t remember much about the sex except that I fucked him and it was over quickly. I bet I was uncomfortable because he was so much larger than I was but I must have enjoyed myself because I messaged him another time saying I’d like to play again. I don’t remember his exact response but it seemed friendly enough. (Wow. I sound like a White House official at a Senate investigation: “I don’t remember.” “I don’t remember.”) Anyway, I think I got the impression that he was interested in playing again but not that interested. No big deal. I felt the same, kind of.
I have occasion to receive services from a local agency. My contact person there quit and I was assigned an interim person to call if I needed anything. I had to be re-approved for one of their services last month. I called and we had a pleasant conversation about my needs, which are few. I went in the next day and was talking to the guy who dispenses this particular service and he had to call my contact person. I heard his voice coming from down the hall as they spoke on the phone. A few minutes later I turned around and saw Man C come out of an office and walk directly through a doorway out of the area. I laughed to myself. Coincidences like this happen in Philly all the time. It’s one of the things that makes it seem like such a small town. The incident exited my brain immediately.
The other day I was there again for the same thing. Man C passed me in the hall. I said “Hi” and he nodded. Again, I forgot about it as soon as I left the building. Later in the day I saw Man C online and noticed that he had new pictures. They were nicer than his previous ones and more accurate. The picture of Man C and his partner was particularly interesting. His partner is Man B!! Incredible. If I went out to the bars once in a while maybe this wouldn’t have surprised me so much. I’m sure both of them thought I already knew—if they even discuss such things—but I was once again surprised that everyone in Philadelphia knows everyone else. Looking back I clearly remember A and B talking about C and mentioning his name repeatedly. Doh. On the other hand, why would I make the connection?
Between this and the fact that I’ve been getting very little local response online, I’m starting to think I’ve run out of men here. It might be time to retire or move on, whatever that means.
I’m listening to “Original Love” from Crazy Rhythms by The Feelies.
April 22, 2007
Photo massaged by Karen Schmidt.
I’m listening to “The Killing Moon” from Ocean Rain by Echo and The Bunnymen.
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Patti Smith did a short set outside the Central Branch of The Free Library of Philadelphia on Saturday as part of a Book Fair. She played for about 45 minutes, accompanied by her son Jackson and local guitarist Jeffrey Gaines on acoustic guitars. Apparently she met Jeffrey backstage before they went on and asked him to join them. She wandered onstage to no introduction but a lot of audience cheering and said she originally planned to read poetry but was afraid she’d be distracted by the traffic noise, so she decided to sing instead. A lot of people cheered at that and no one one appeared to complain.
She was GREAT! I’m not a huge fan of hers, either. I think Horses is one of the very best records ever made. (That and Television’s Marquee Moon were the first CDs I bought even though I still had the LPs.) I haven't liked any of her recordings since then nearly as much, certainly not enough to buy, even back when people still paid for music. I saw her with and without her full band quite a few times in the Horses days and earlier and always walked away happy. I remember a show at The Tower Theater around the time of Easter, I think. She sang an awesome (in the real sense of the word) accapella version of “You Light Up My Life,” of all things. I still remember the stunned silence in the audience. It completely worked. A few weeks later, though, she lived down to my expectations when she got all “tranced out” during a performance and stepped right off the stage. Oops. She sang wearing a neck brace for a while after that incident.
She did a new song, two songs from her upcoming album of covers 12, “Because the Night” and another song of hers that I don’t know well enough to remember the title. Her voice sounded wonderful, as good as ever. She was really friendly, positive and self-effacing which I didn’t expect. Her cover of Neil Young’s “Helpless” was really beautiful, the Allman Brothers song was not. The small crowd, literally infants to octogenarians, all seemed to love her. Good for her.
I was close enough to the stage to suit me, being short, and had a great view, except when the large pear-shaped man in the photo above would lurch to his feet. You know the type: carrying around too many rolled up newspapers in too many tattered plastic bags and a fanny pack in the front, cinched tightly to accentuate his already strange figure. Yeah, him. There were some hot men there, too, but I couldn’t get close enough to snap any pics of them without being noticed and possibly…well, I’m not exactly sure what they might do.
I had just come from Volunteer Recognition Day at the Wilma Way Center. The entertainment was really terrible belly dancer Habiba. She was really embarrassing to sit through. She evoked stunned silence of a completely different kind. Afterward, I got to the Book Fair early enough to catch the act preceding Patti Smith and, coincidentally, it was Joe Tayoun’s Middle Eastern Ensemble with Roger Mgrdichiana on oud and Meesha, a belly dancer! She was great, though, as were the musicians, and she had her picture taken many times by a few of the older gentlemen in the audience.
I’m listening to “Gypsy Solitaire” from Fraser & Debolt with Ian Guenther by Fraser & Debolt, who I know Patti would just love.
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April 21, 2007
My Living Doll
My friend Karen found this guy on the Crunch Gym web site and thought he looked like me. Actually, he does and the figures below look like each of us. By the way, she’s the redhead.
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April 11, 2007
OK. Two Fridays ago I got together with a guy from Bear411. His name was Tom, he had nice pictures, even though he had a pet in them, and he looked like a hot man. We had a lot in common sexually. We spoke on the phone a few times and really seemed to click. So far, so good.
He picked me up at the train station in Exton in a bright red Mitsubishi Spider. Nice! His pictures don’t really do him justice as he’s much sexier in person. The house was in a development that I forget the name of and has the cleanest kitchen I’ve ever seen. Really. The stove looks like an iPod with burners.
I apologize in advance to those of you who want this to be hot masturbation material but the details of what we did that night are a bit of a blur right now. If I’d written it sooner it might have been more arousing. Sorry.
Believe me, this was the best sex I’ve had in a really long time. We started making out as soon as we were inside the door. Then we went upstairs and continued without our clothes, moving on to pit-licking, cocksucking and ass-eating. We were instantly comfortable with each other. He’s in great shape and hairy all over. I loved it! I think we stayed in the bedroom for an hour or so. I wasn’t really paying attention to time.
We went down to his half-finished play room and continued for several more hours. Fucking, sucking, kissing, fisting, toys, piss, spit…you name it, we did it. When Tom wasn’t in the sling we were on a PVC covered mattress on the floor, making out and watching porn projected on a huge screen. We had a blast. The entire time we took no real breaks. It was pretty much non-stop fun. I think we finished when he started to piss on me and I knelt down to drink it. There was way too much for me to swallow and I ended up soaked with it.
We laid down on the floor and talked a bit. That’s when he told me that we already knew each other. He was my doctor 20 years ago!! I couldn’t fucking believe it! He looked so different. I wanted to have sex with him back then but he is much hotter now. As it turns out, the feeling was mutual. I was shocked. He said he had some inkling when I called him and my name showed up on his phone but he was certain when I got off the train. I wasn’t even pissed that he didn’t tell me until we were done. I was just happy all around. Damn.
I was even comfortable sleeping with him which is really unusual. He took me to the train the next morning.
We spoke on the phone a few times during the week and got together again the following Saturday night and things were just as good. We spent Sunday lying on the sofa watching movies on TV and then we went to dinner. (I know. “Who the hell is writing this and what have you done with Frank?!?!?!”)
On the phone again this week we tentatively talked about “dating.” He said earlier in the week that there was something he wanted to talk to me about. I mentioned wanting to see him outside of a purely sexual context and he said that’s what he had wanted to talk about. We both agreed that it’s something we should discuss in person. We won't be able to get together again for about a week which gives us both some time to think about it.
Well, that’s that. Shocking, I know.
I’m listening to “Driving Wheel” from Truth Decay by T-Bone Burnett.
March 28, 2007
Icons in decline
Today at Broad and Locust Sts. and 21st and Chestnut Sts., respectively.
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March 26, 2007
Ray’s memorial was kind of uncomfortable for me. I think it’s still too soon after his suicide for some of us, including myself, to really come to grips with it.
Still, funerals and the like are the best places to run into people I haven’t seen in years. (There’s a great Lyle Lovett Song about just that.) Here are three of my oldest and best friends. (l-r) Sky, who I see fairly often, looking at me like I’m a Martian; Joe, who I saw maybe two years ago after about ten years and not since; (with Ray we were the four members of Size Queen) and Jimi (Helen Back), one of the best performers ever and a good and loyal friend who served me my last drink ever when he tended bar at Doobies. If you ever get the chance to see Helen Back & the Str8 Razors or Sky’s band King of Siam, DO NOT miss them.
I know the other two guys but god only knows from where. And Hi Zoe! I certainly didn’t forget seeing you either. And I’m considering your offer.
I’m listening to “Love Island” from You've Come A Long Way, Baby by Fatboy Slim.
March 22, 2007
Dollar Store Living
Thanks to my good friend RAMMER009 for this thoughtful gift!
I’m listening to “Undertow” from Only Life by The Feelies.
Technorati Tags: Philadelphia
March 20, 2007
Ray Doskus (1962 - 2007)
Friday March 23rd, 2007, 10:00AM
Morning Glory Diner
735 S. 10th St.
I barely know what to say. Sky called this afternoon to tell me about the memorial. I had no idea Ray was dead. Sky said he shot himself last Wednesday.
Ray, Joe and I were very close friends 19-20 years ago when we all got sober in AA at around the same time. Eventually we started a band with Sky called Size Queen. I quit the band and lost touch with all of them. Still, after 12 years, I loved them all as if I had been seeing them everyday.
I saw Ray in January at Michael McGowan’s memorial at the Ethical Society. I was so genuinely happy to see him that I actually cried. We talked a while about nothing at all. And that was that.
Photo by Zoe Strauss.
March 3, 2007
Cheap, selfish and cowardly
I’m listening to “Juggernauts (Live)” from Notekillers (1977-1981) by Notekillers.
…unless you get to see this guy!
He looks kinda homeless in the picture but, trust me, he was adorable. I’m not usually fond of the youngsters but, since facial hair is making a comeback, I’ve been making more exceptions than usual lately.
I’m listening to “Breakdown” from Spiral Scratch by Buzzcocks.
No, it’s a punishment!
I saw this poster in the window of a disability advocate’s office at 7th and Market Sts. If I wasn’t so often personally inconvenienced by SEPTA’s incredible lack of elevators and escalators, I would have told these two jokers to shut up and count their blessing. Still, if they wheeled themselves down the middle of the Schuylkill Expressway in the rain at rush hour They'd get where they're going faster than any SEPTA vehicle will get them there.
I’m listening to “Vibrate” from Want One by Rufus Wainwright.
Technorati Tags: Philadelphia
February 27, 2007
The Secret Undergroup Party Club
A private chat with yet another greedy (and paranoid) bottom:
Eagle66bud: hey... evening Daddie... all looks good.. nice profile
Eagle66bud: sure thing wondering... just my type... u a hung Daddie ?
HighStrungLoner: a little bigger than average, not huge
HighStrungLoner: you have a picture to send?
Eagle66bud: sending pic
Eagle66bud: sent... what are u seeking and into ?
HighStrungLoner: NATURALLY MASCULINE MEN/BOYS w/facial & chest HAIR. PITS, NIPS, KISSING, FUCKING, sucking, GROUPS, public sex, UNSHAVED balls & ass, SWEAT, MANSCENTS, BB, ff, ws, verbal/aggressive bottoms, dipping, cigars.
Eagle66bud: wow.... nice open and into mosly all
HighStrungLoner: didn't get pic yet
Eagle66bud: check spam
HighStrungLoner: ok. nice. handsome!
Eagle66bud: thanks... into pleasing tops... can be piggie too
HighStrungLoner: both work for me. where are you?
Eagle66bud: ne here... what kind of public sex ? like to know more about groups ? be to to feast on 3-4 cocks... hangin in my face to suck while you are fucking me
HighStrungLoner: like baths, bookstores, etc
Eagle66bud: sounds hot... pref at least 6-7 or over cock... love to swallow cum :-P oink
HighStrungLoner: that would be me. about 7 probably
Eagle66bud: cool... u into pigging out a bottom ? like to know more about the groups u done
HighStrungLoner: i'm not into getting a group of tops together for a bottom if that's what you're asking
Eagle66bud: not lookin for a big group... tell me more about what you like and have in mind
HighStrungLoner: i like all kinds of things, i don't have a scenario i have to follow. guys online ask me all the time to "bring top buddies." i always say no [NOTE TO READERS: unless they want to bring some other bottoms along, too, so we’re all occupied!]
Eagle66bud: how do the groups come about then ?
HighStrungLoner: i get invited usually
Eagle66bud: gess now hows that any different ? u are just being invited you are less in control of whoes there etc
HighStrungLoner: the hosts usually try to make sure there is a kind of equal number of tops and bottoms. that's different from getting a bunch of tops and one bottom
Eagle66bud: is this a hotel ?
HighStrungLoner: baths, house, apt, hotel.
Eagle66bud: so the word goes out... its so hush hush and controlled beh the whoes who.... ? os the who's supposed to be who...
HighStrungLoner: some guys just have parties regularly, invite guys they get along with
Eagle66bud: its the secret undergroup party club ?
HighStrungLoner: no secret but like any other kind of party they don't put up posters or anything
Eagle66bud: sounds like its riddle with drama ? no. not into the drama and folks making my decisions on who I am to be wirh
HighStrungLoner: this is stupid. you have a good night
I’m listening to “Alcoholiday” from Bandwagonesque by Teenage Fanclub.
February 25, 2007
My street, looking very Goreyesque in this afternoon’s beautiful snow.
I’m listening to “How Can You Live In The Northeast” from Surprise by Paul Simon.
Technorati Tags: Philadelphia
I’m listening to “With a Hip” from Heaven Up Here by Echo and The Bunnymen.
February 24, 2007
Sprint knows who what I like.
I’m listening to Overture To A Holiday In Berlin from “Burnt Weeny Sandwich” by The Mothers of Invention.
Technorati Tags: Gay
I have Chronic Obstructive Pumlonary Disease because I smoked Marlboros for 30-some years. (I promise this will not be a lecture, just some background about how I got here. I still love cigars and kissing smokers!) Here’s how it works: When your lungs reach their full size they have lots more capacity than you need. As you age they slowly deteriorate and, hopefully, by the time you die you’ve still got more than you need. Smoking damages your lungs in ways that accelerate this process and lungs don’t repair themselves, so, by the time you notice a problem, it’s too late. You already have less capacity than you need and, even if you stop smoking, your lungs continue their natural decline and things get progressively worse. Then you die. Slowly. It’s a pretty fucked up way to die. I watched my mom do it.
I stopped smoking a long, long time after I started having problems, even severe problems. I quit about 4 years ago, then started again a year ago and quit again a month ago.
So. I take a bunch of medicines every day in order for me to be able to breathe: one pill, one inhaler, one inhaled powder, and two liquids in a nebulizer that take about 20 minutes twice a day. It turns out the meds are more of a precarious balance than I thought.
I didn’t know this but the State of Louisiana has been paying my Medicare premiums for the last two years even though I’ve been living in Pennsylvania. They stopped paying at the end of December and PA took two months worth out of my SSDI this month without informing me in advance. Ouch. Between that and my yearly Medicare Part D (Thanks, George!!) deductible, I was screwed. I couldn’t afford two of my meds.
I chose carefully. I decided not to buy the Singulair pill because I figured it’s specifically for Asthma and thats not really my problem, although some of the treatments are the same. I also nixed the Albuterol inhaler, since I use it several times a day and my Doctor said I should really only use it a few times a week. I figured I’d feel relatively normal—or, at least, how I’m supposed to feel. Wrong.
I was in agony. It was pretty cold this week and that’s a real problem for people with COPD. Whenever I was outside I had to keep a scarf over my mouth and nose (I don't know why it works but it does), and even then I had to stop at least once every block and catch my breath, leaning on something, palms down to enlarge my chest cavity. I must have looked like I was in trouble because several people stopped to ask if they could help. (None of them were Penn students, by the way.)
I called my Dr. and asked if he would prescribe some prednisone which is cheap. (Prednisone is like a miracle drug. When I take it, I feel 20 years younger, no lie. I can breathe normally and have seemingly boundless energy. Of course, continued use has real nasty side effects so it can only be used very sparingly, dammit.) The Dr. Said NO! and told me to go to the Emergency Room. Fuck that. The last time I went to the Penn ER with a COPD exacerbation, they treated me for a heart attack. A Dr. finally came in the second morning and said, "This is stupid. This has nothing to do with your heart. What are they doing to you?" They still call like clockwork every three months to follow up on my heart attack. I tell them I'm doing fine, thanks for calling.
I decided to wait it out overnight because a friend of mine said she’d pay for the medications in the morning. I didn’t feel great but I made it though the night without any major incidents. She drove me to the Pharmacy in the morning, dropped me off and continued on her way to Connecticut. I took one puff of Albuterol and all of my symptoms disappeared within a minute. I swear, it was like smoking crystal meth or something. (More on this idea later.)
I spent the rest of the day running around Center City doing errands without having a single problem. Amazing. I can’t wait until I’m 60 and I feel this crappy every day!
I’m listening to Little Hitler from “Pure Pop For Now People” (US) or “Jesus of Cool” (UK) by The Basher, Nick Lowe.
February 23, 2007
Two retail giants close their Chestnut Street stores, leaving us with only VALU-PLUS. Sad.
I’m listening to 911 Is A Joke from “Fear Of A Black Planet” by Public Enemy.
Technorati Tags: Philadelphia
February 17, 2007
Caught in the act
I though I looked nice tonight so I tried to snap a picture of myself in the mirror of the men’s room at the William Way Center. Of course, someone walked in just as I was hitting the button. I was humiliated. And I looked like my head was spinning off into the stratosphere in the picture. I took this marginally more flattering shot after I got home.
I’m listening to All This Paradise from “Fraser & Debolt with Ian Guenther” by Fraser & Debolt. Fraser & Debolt do not have a Wikipedia page. I’m shocked.
Technorati Tags: gay
February 16, 2007
As regular readers know, I spend a stupidly large part of each day in chat rooms. OK, I take that back. I spend a large part of my day in chat rooms. It would be stupid if I chatted all the time which I don’t. I’m always signed on to chat. as well as Manhunt, DaddyHunt, etc., hoping someone from Titan Men or Hot House or something will send me a private message begging me to fuck them—or at least someone interesting from out-of-town will invite me to their hotel room. Actual chatting is secondary.
Anyway, I use my laptop for chat. It’s over to the side of the “big” computer and I glance at it every few minutes to see if I’ve gotten any messages or anyone has said anything worth paying attention to. Usually not. Still, I’ve gotten more involved in the day-to-day lives of local chatters than I wish I had. I like a few of them very much. Almost all of them have issues. Most of them are completely average/forgettable. Some I severely dislike. Some are pretty much objectively hateful. Just like people in the “real” world.
Last night my respect for someone I generally like, but who has some issues, took quite a beating. His efforts to impress an annoying geek at my expense were maddening. Why, you ask, even bother having an emotional reaction to the behavior of people I’ve never met? Good question. I wish I had a good answer.
I was going to fill this post with a play-by-play of the night’s drama but there’s no point. What’s relevant is that Chatter A, who I like, was trying to impress Chatter B, who I can’t stand. It was so important to him to make points with this guy that it was necessary for him to completely trash something that I was talking about and believed. Then he laughed about it. It was infuriating and insulting.
There are a couple of people in this particular chat room who I’ve met in person (not for sex, believe it or not). I’ve spent a good amount of time with them and I like them quite a bit. I’m going to the opera with one if them tonight! I generally respect their opinions even if we don’t always see eye-to-eye. Two of them were in the chat at the time but only one was paying attention. It was gratifying to find out that he agreed with my assessment of the situation as it was happening. He’s met Chatter B in person. He reinforced the impression I had from my online encounters with him, that he tries to appear “cerebral,” an act that gets tired pretty fast. I got tired of it within seconds of encountering him online a year and a half ago. He struck me as incredibly smug, possibly my least favorite attitude. It’s sad to me that someone I like—even in the cyber world—would fall for it. I guess I just don’t use enough dated science fiction references in my conversation. (Wow! After I typed that sentence he wrote “He’s dead, Jim” into the chat! I wasn’t going to use it because it was too cheap a shot, but…)
I am so tired of people who feel like they have something to prove.
I know, poor me. Get a life.
I’m listening to I Haven’t Heard a Word I’ve Said from “Aw C’mon” by Lambchop.
February 14, 2007
Happy Valentine’s Day!
I’m listening to Ever Fallen In Love (With Someone You Shouldn't've)? from “Love Bites” by Buzzcocks.
February 8, 2007
Bitter and retarted
Thanks, HX, for proving Jay’s point.
Grammar and Punctuation:
You misspell his name, McCarroll.
You misspell “retarded.”
You use “calling” instead of the correctly tensed “called.”
You use “he’s” instead of the correct “he.”
You resort to the most overused and clichéd gay epithet ever, “bitter,” showing a complete lack of imagination. (It’s as meaningless as “awesome” at this point.)
You engage in exactly the behavior you accuse him of exhibiting.
Fat jokes? Please.
All this in one paragraph! Turn on your spelling checker! “Retarted” isn’t the only non-word in this week’s issue. It’s embarrassing.
I’m listening to You Look Great When I’m High from “And This Is Our Music” by The Brian Jonestown Massacre.
February 6, 2007
I’m a bitch
For some reason I got USPS mail today asking me to advertise in EXP magazine, a local gay rag out of Rehoboth DE. (Advertise what?) They got my first name and my former address right,* but the website, while appropriate, is just plain wrong. Is it some elaborate insult? If so, it’s pretty funny. (Thanks!) Or is it just some miscommunication? Who knows.
*No, this is not the actual address. Yes, I Photoshopped it.
I’m listening to Grumpus from “Nixon” by Lambchop.
February 4, 2007
More skin from the Tattoo Convention.
I’m listening to Justify My Thug from “The Grey Album” by Jay-Z + DJ Danger Mouse.
From the Tattoo Convention, one of hundreds of hot men. (I lost the AC adaptor for my regular camera, so the phone cam will have to do for a while.)
I am listening to Where's My Snake? from “The Best of Bow Wow Wow” by Bow Wow Wow.
January 18, 2007
I lost about six months worth of postings, the last ones before my hiatus and name change. Sorry about that but, hey, now I get to use them again if I can remember them!
February 14, 2006
Happy Valentines Day!
February 13, 2006
Agri-chem goes gay.
Technorati Tags: Gay
January 22, 2006
Redbook with a beard
Call me old-fashioned but what the FUCK is masculine about a smirking queen in a red terry-cloth bathrobe, holding a heart-shaped box of chocolates? Or re-decorating his “Bear Cave?” Or Chef Mike’s “Chocolate Fantasy?” A Bear’s Life is, very unfortunately, not a joke. This belongs in the supermarket check-out line between Woman’s Day and Soap Opera Digest, which I’m sure would absolutely thrill the publishers.
I have nothing to say about what they refer to as “the rapidly expanding bear waistline phenomenon.” Too easy. But I do applaud them on the honest lack of diversity on the cover. Bears are nothing if not almost completely white.
January 21, 2006
¡Viva piernas melenudas!
January 20, 2006
I saw this cavalcade of PETA-defying Barbies in the window of a fur store on Houston St. in NYC today. (Obviously I’m feeling a lot better.)
January 13, 2006
The Scarlet Letter
That would be the letter F, for fever. I’ve been sick for a couple of weeks. I was so incredibly tired that I couldn’t really accomplish much but not sick enough to go to the doctor. ( Yes, I KNOW!) The other day my entire body turned pink, my skin felt warm and i was having trouble walking so I finally paid my dear physician a visit. It turns out I have scarlet fever of all things. I had no idea people even got it any more. I guess I was misinformed. Anyway, I started antibiotics two days ago and I’m already feeling better most of the time. My feet itch like a motherfucker, though.
December 25, 2005
Happy __________, Comrade!
December 22, 2005
Just in case anyone was wondering what kind of places I hang out at …
December 20, 2005
Why the LOGO Channel sucks
More from The Provincetown Banner:
LOGO founder Matt Farber (left) and his husband Ed Connolly, with their Chihuahuas Tamale (left) and Fajita.
What’s that on your head?
From The Provincetown Banner, 9/1/2005:
… mysterious package brings in bomb squad but turns out to be a wig…
Technorati Tags: Provincetown MA
December 16, 2005
Spam of the day
Subject: With our Soft Cialis Tabs you will be able to chop the wood with your dick.(Warning: don’t try it)
Don’t worry, I won’t!
December 12, 2005
I went to the Club Body Center about two weeks before Thanksgiving on a Sunday. It was a cold night and there wasn’t much going on. I considered leaving but decided to do one last cruise through the place. I saw a guy leaving his room two doors down from mine who I thought was kind of interesting and I followed him into the TV lounge. I sat in an empty space on the bench and he didn’t see me there at first. He tried to get another guy interested but he was rebuffed. Then he turned around and I caught his eye. He stood in front of me and I began to play with his nipples. He leaned down and stroked my cock while we kissed. I asked him if he wanted to go to my room and he followed me downstairs.
We sucked each other and did the usual stuff. He said he didn’t get fucked. When I felt the prolapsed condition of his hole I realized that couldn’t have been true. Then he said he was usually a top but he'd bottom for me anytime—except tonight, of course. Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard that before. We played and talked and played and talked and things got even more interesting. He asked me if I knew what “seeding a hole” meant. Well, doh! For those of you who don’t know, he is HIV negative and is looking to be pozzed (converted) by “the right man.” That wasn’t very surprising to me either. (I get asked for that all the time online. I always say I'll do it. In the five years or so that I’ve indulged their fantasies not a single one of them has shown up for the actual act so I figure it’s harmless.)
He finally got to the point: he’s been a top all his life and he’s recently felt an uncontrollable urge to not only bottom but to be owned 24/7 as a slave by a sadistic master. He meant me. (Stop laughing! NOW!!) And he was obviously offering his ass as the reward for my accepting the position.
I never seriously considered the idea but I told him it wasn’t something I could decide on that night. Besides, I live in a studio apartment that’s barely big enough for me. Having another person there, slave or not, just wouldn’t work for me. Sorry, dude. On the other hand, he said he’d cook, clean and hand over his pay check. Not a bad deal except that he wanted me to respect him as well. Not a fucking chance.
I didn’t ask for it but he was quite a talker so I got an earful of his recent exploits. And what a tale it was! It seems the slave formerly lived in the Philly burbs, somewhere near Norristown. Some time ago he met a man from Vegas at The Lark, a typical VFW Hall-like gay bar in nearby Bridgeport PA. Apparently this fellow sparked something in the slave and his formerly latent need to serve started to bloom. After a lengthy period of online correspondence he quit his job, left his apartment and moved to Lost Wages to be with his shiny new Master. Two weeks later he was told to leave. He said the whole scene was really ugly with law enforcement getting involved and his boss at a leather store having to mediate and still storing his crap. The Master even bought him a plane ticket home! For some reason I forget he had no ID to get on the plane and ended up taking a bus. He insisted he was dumbfounded when his Master shoved him out onto the street so suddenly. Uh-huh.
When he got back to Philly none of his friends would take him in. He managed to snag a job with a gay housecleaning service in West Philly. I asked him where he was staying and he said, “Here for now.” I thought he meant in Philly but I realized he was actually being much more specific: he was living two cubicles away at the baths! He said he’d worked out some kind of deal with them and gave them a load of cash up front but he wasn’t sure how long it would last. I bet he didn’t.
Anyone who’s been around for any length of time has heard stories like this one. The internets only make it easier for lonely people to make these huge mistakes. It’s even more pathetic when the guy is 57 years old like this loser. Yes, that’s right, he’s 57!
We exchanged phone numbers and email addresses before he left my room. (He was going to therapy on Fridays at the William Way Center and using their computers to check his email.) And that was that—for a few days.
The sex we had was really fun and I wanted to do it again so I sent him an email later that week. He called on Sunday afternoon before Thanksgiving and came over. He left the same message three times, saying he wasn’t sure if I got the previous ones or not. This would happen nearly every time he called me. Multiple messages.
I got to fuck him that day but I didn’t unload inside him since he was saving that until I would commit to be his Master—or at least give him a place to live. I wasn’t about to do either of those things. I did tie his hands behind his back and beat his ass with a belt at his request. It made me rock hard. Hell, I could really get into this.
Before he left he said that his residency at the baths was hanging by a thread and he wasn’t sure if he’d even have a room when he returned. He didn’t say why and I didn’t ask. I don’t think he’s a liar but I’m sure he skillfully edits the truth to his advantage. He was very good at playing the victim. Too bad for him that I’m not a very sympathetic audience. I told him he could call me only as a last resort and, even then, I wouldn’t promise anything, not even one night. There was no call from him that night.
He called on Thursday and said they were finally kicking him out of the baths because he’d run up quite a bill. I was running late for a train to the boy’s place for Thanksgiving dinner so I said I’d call back later. I didn’t. I felt a little guilty but the boy said I shouldn’t. (I think I have a clue where he’s coming from these days, though.) The slave called again and I didn’t answer. I realize I had no obligation to answer the phone or do anything at all for this ridiculous sucker but I still felt like a coward. I was really expecting him to be waiting on my steps with his belongings when I got back home that night, Thankfully, he wasn’t.
He called every day after that. I never answered. Every time my doorbell rang I thought it was him. When I went to The William Way Center to volunteer in the archives as I do every Wednesday, Cathleen handed me a note from our mail slot that had been addressed to me. “SIR: boy is still very much interested in being yours. Tom. We met at Clubs Baths Wed nite 11/15” It was just a piece of paper folded in half, not even sealed or in an envelope. Luckily, I had already told the story to the people I work with there. Imagine if it had been my real job or something. I know he was desperate but please. After two weeks I finally picked up the phone. “Tom. Don’t. Call. Me. Again.” And that was the end of it.
I would wonder why I attract freaks like this but I already know.
Spam of the day
Subject: You are not really sociable and have troubles with making out with women.
October 18, 2005
No dykes allowed
October 17, 2005
Barbie and Ken’s rim seats
At the Dollar Store, of course.
Technorati Tags: Gay
October 3, 2005
So I go to Gettysburg—a Civil War battlefield where 51,000 men died—with my friend, Keith, and what do I take a picture of?? A cute straight guy, of course.
Technorati Tags: Gay
September 29, 2005
The boy has been busy finding men for he and I to play with. (I think I like having a pimp.) One of them wants to ditch the usual SIR/boy thing and call me BOSS. I’ve been trying to figure out what I should call him. “boy” doesn’t seem quite right for the workplace. I asked my friend RAMMER009, since he’s more experienced in this kind of thing. He replied that if a guy calls me BOSS I should definitely call him Rochester! I thought I would die laughing.
September 16, 2005
I was asked to tell my “story” at an AA meeting tonight. I have been sober since 1987. For the very first time I wasn’t nervous. Beats me why. Of course, I forgot most of the really significant events of my life, so I’ll bore you with one of them here.
My mother had COPD from years of smoking. Her illness was long and difficult as I’m sure mine will be. The last time she was taken to the hospital, in 1999, my stepfather, Ed, allowed them to put her on a respirator even though she had a DNR. After she regained consciousness, was obviously pretty angry about it and blamed my stepfather for the fact that she was still alive and so uncomfortable. I will never forget the first time I saw her on that horrible machine. I literally couldn’t talk. Every time I tried to ask the nurse a question, I would hyperventilate and the tears would flow.
We came to realize that this episode left her with a very small bit of brain damage. It wasn’t bad but she was having trouble remembering times of day. Since my mother was never anything but cooly efficient, I’m sure this really bothered her. She was a great person, very warm, loving, smart and lots of fun, but she expressed her love with actions and wasn’t big on extravagant shows of emotion. Consequently, whatever she thought was happening at the time, she tried not to let on. It was obviously difficult for her to contain her anger at this point, though. I swear, she didn’t speak,or try to, at least,to Ed for weeks. Thankfully for him, the respirator made her unable to speak.
I went to the hospital every day. (I had a cool Miata and an even cooler boss at the time.) One Sunday, after she had been on the respirator for a couple of weeks, she wrote me a note. “Tell them to take me off this thing and let me go home to die.” Gosh, thanks for choosing me to take care of this, mom. My sister, Eileen, is a fucking nurse but I get to be the lucky go-between. Sigh. Suddenly I had to act like a grown-up and, amazingly, it took no effort at all. First I asked my boyfriend, Cecilio, to go home. I’m sure he was grateful.
I found the doctor and explained what my mother wanted as well as the DNR situation. I got lucky. The doctor did was nice and understanding. (At the beginning of this hospitalization a doctor said to my sister, “I know this must be difficult for you but…” Eileen interrupted him with an explosive “How DARE you talk down to me, you pompous ass! I’ve been a nurse in a cardiac ward for ten years!” It was fucking hilarious.) He explained to me that, if we left my mom on the respirator for another week or so, she could really improve and might buy herself a good amount of time. If we disconnected her that day, she probably wouldn't even make it home. Well, that certainly made everything a lot less abstract. I asked him if he would explain that to my mother and I told him that he should be direct and not try to protect her from the facts.
When he told mom the possible consequences of disconnection, her eyes widened. She couldn’t hide her shock and fear. It was obvious she hadn’t realized how close to death she'd been in the first place. I asked her if she wanted me to call my sister. Of course, she said to call her and, of course, we all finally decided to keep the machine running. Whew. Crisis averted. I thought Ed was going to faint in relief.
My mom was in the hospital for a couple more weeks and then in a pulmo rehab for a while. They released her when she had made as much progress as she was able and they sent her home. She lasted a few weeks and was actually able to walk around, cook and pay bills for a while. I was amazed at her energy. Eileen and I decided that we should spend as much time with my parents as possible to help out. Ed, sweet as he is, was too overwhelmed and panicked to do it by himself. My brother, perhaps the angriest person alive, decided he wanted no part of it, the fucking coward.
It was shockingly easy for me to help my mother with things that I thought would be impossible for me to do, like helping her get on and off the toilet or getting her dressed and undressed. She certainly had more embarrassment about it than I did and I can’t say I blame her. She never liked to appear weak. (Years before, when I told her I was HIV positive, she waited until I left the room to cry and I didn’t politely return until she was done.) This was actually one of her better qualities. She took the three of us and left my alcoholic father to raise us on her own in the early 60’s when this just wasn’t done. Afterwards she endured incredible, insane harassment from him without ever showing us that she was afraid as she surely must have been. She was incredibly brave.
Eventually, she just ran out of strength and asked us angrily to just leave her the hell alone. She was dead within a day. We were all grateful for the extra time we got with her. (My sister has some issues with the timing to this day but that’s another, weirder story altogether.)
So what was the point of bringing this up at an AA meeting? Well, as depressing and sad and horrible as this period of time was, I treasure it like nothing else. I was able to help and comfort my family in ways I never could have if I had been drinking. I was able to be an adult when I had to be without even thinking about it. My parents and I had long since resolved our issues and we were able to spend time with each other comfortably. My mother's death didn’t leave me with things I regret never having said. We could enjoy the things we had in common and respect our differences. We were friends. What more could I ask?
OK, was that sappy enough??
September 8, 2005
“The good news is—and it’s hard for some to see it now—that out of this chaos is going to come a fantastic Gulf Coast, like it was before. Out of the rubbles of Trent Lott’s house—he’s lost his entire house—there's going to be a fantastic house. And I’m looking forward to sitting on the porch.”
--George W. Bush
I wonder if he means Barney and Betty Rubble?
September 4, 2005
Help a refugee
August 31, 2005
The news of the past few days is so sad to me that I can’t even think of anything to say. I am really glad all of my friends got out safely. They are simply grateful to have gotten out even though they may have lost everything. Some have lived there all their lives.
My fear is that New Orleans as we know it will cease to exist. I’d like to believe that the culture of the city can survive this but I’m not hopeful. If they manage to rebuild it’s almost certain most of the people who make New Orleans so unique and fascinating will no longer be able to afford to live there. They priced all of the interesting people out of Provincetown, I hope New Orleans is strong enough to fight for its survival.
August 12, 2005
I was just a few steps away from the William Way Gay (lezbo, etc) Community Center where I volunteer in the archives every Wednesday night when I noticed a very cute short guy crossing the street towards me. He was almost exactly my height. He walked right up to me and and said, “Are you HIghStrungLoner online?” Somehow I knew that’s what he was going to ask. I said, “Yeah, that’s me.” He was smiling and obviously ignoring the person on his cell phone. “Well, I have to say that you look so much better than your picture!” I was floored! I thanked him and said that I had to go into the building and work. I almost forgot to ask him who he was! Turns out he was someone who politely rejected me on ManHUNT. His picture is really good but he looked a little different and better in person, as well. I walked away grinning.
I work there with two guys I met online and who I like a lot in “real life” too. I told them what happened and they both agreed! One of them said I looked 70 in my picture!! I felt like I was in The Picture of Dorian Grey. How could I possibly look younger than a four-year-old picture that people used to tell me i looked exactly like? Well, that explains the lack of response I’ve been getting online lately. Back to the drawing board, I guess.
I’ve replaced the offending picture with this one. Please, tell me I don’t look 70!!
August 10, 2005
At the Post Office:
Me: One first-class stamp, please.
Clerk: Thirty-seven cents.
Me: Thanks. By the way, your stamp machine isn’t working. It won’t accept money.
Clerk: We’re aware of that.
Me: You might want to put an “out of order” sign on it.
Clerk: We don’t have one.
Me: A piece of paper and some tape would do.
Clerk: We’re not allowed to do that. We’re waiting for the manager.
Me: You’d rather have frustrated customers come to the counter?
Clerk: Next in line!
August 5, 2005
Happy radioactive birthday!
The nuclear family.
The chicken truck
On the Chinatown bus to New York. His girlfriend spent the trip puking into a plastic bag. I didn’t notice until Karen pointed it out to me.
August 1, 2005
We were on our way out when two black tranny hookers who I occasionally see cruising 12th St. walked in. One of them was so tall her hair scraped the ceiling tiles, the other one was shorter and squatter but she also had some notable features. Her exposed breasts were so inflated that they completely covered her body from neck to waist. The sight of even one of these creatures at a time would be shocking even to me. Together they were dizzying.
I somehow managed to stop staring and turned to Karen. She was examining some crap priceless treasure on the wall. I whispered to her that she had to turn around right away and look at them. She did. Immediately. Oops.
“I saw that!” the tall one shouted. “You whispered to her to turn around and look. You’re making fun of my friend!” I stared, speechless. I imagined those huge tits coming to life, reaching across the room like two fat anacondas and crushing me. I started to move towards the door. Karen, bless her heart, tried to defuse the situation with humor. “Maybe he though she was pretty.” It didn’t work. As hard as it was, I didn’t dare laugh, either. Instead I did my best to make things worse. “ Well, If you don’t want people to look at them, put them away.” “WHAT!?!?” We kept moving towards the door. A barrage of comments about my height followed.
The tall tranny kept screaming at us as we made it to the front door. We were followed by a woman wearing a t-shirt that said “GIANT ARTICHOKE, CLARKESTON” with, of course, a picture of an artichoke on it. I said “Great t-shirt” and she replied, “You in trouble!” and laughed. She could laugh; she wasn’t the one in trouble! We gathered our belongings and ran out into the street.
Cecilio used to tell me someone was going to kill me someday because of my mouth and he would do nothing to save me. (No mystery why he’s my ex, eh?) He was probably right. I’m sure this would have been a freakish enough end to satisfy even him!
Technorati Tags: Gay
June 29, 2005
I’m breaking one of the rules of Joe. My. God.’s A THIS Blogger’s Manifesto with this post. I’m posting to say I have nothing to say! Well, almost nothing, anyway.
I haven’t been doing very much because I’m kind of broke and it’s been grotesquely hot. Why leave the house? I’ve been to my friend Margetty’s place in West Philly a couple of times to feed her cats while she’s on fucking Martha’s fucking Vineyard and it’s really worn me out. They used to be my cats and I love seeing them so I’m dealing. Also I’m out of one of my meds and can’t afford the refill until Friday, so I’m being extra careful.
Speaking of meds, the Effexor is no longer making me feel like ten pounds of shit in a five pound bag. In fact, I’m doing pretty good. I’m sure sleeping soundly and I got a bunch of work done over the weekend. It wasn’t easy to start but I did and I actually finished. It may not sound like much but my major complaint to my therapist and psychiatrist is that I sometimes find it nearly impossible to start a project. (I’ll pace around the apartment or stare into the computer or try to sleep, anything but actual work.) Maybe these pills are going to do something. I still don’t feel great but certainly not as bad as the first few days. In some ways I feel better than before I started and some worse, so we’ll see.
Oh, As an added bonus I have NO APPETITE!! What a fucking blessing.
June 24, 2005
Did I mention that I’m depressed? Well, I AM. (I wrote about it here a few months ago.) My therapist sent me to a psychiatrist to investigate medication. I liked her. The interview was interesting and I felt that she really “got” what I was saying and knew what she was talking about. I coveted her Palm Pilot with the directory of drug interactions on it. There was a test to make sure I knew I who and where I was and I had to remember three words: tree, apple, ball. She put the paperwork on the floor and asked me to pick it up and fold it in half. If I were in her place, those folded papers would bother me every time I opened my chart. I didn’t tell her that. I passed! I did tell her that I will be very unhappy if the medication affects my ability to achieve and maintain an erection. I think she understood since I said it three times.
She prescribed Effexor and this is Day One. I HATE it so far. I feel as if I’ve been up all night and drank too much coffee. I’m tired and wired at the same time. And nauseated. Oh, and it’s really expensive but not as pricey as the Seroquel she prescribed for sleep. I haven’t bought that yet but I’ve used it before. (I’ve been using Xanax to sleep for years but it has started robbing me of sleep. Oh well.) Seroquel really knocks me out, which is great, but it gives me terrible Restless Leg Syndrome. It’s so bad that I have to get out of bed and walk around. It’s maddening. So, I end up having to take some Xanax anyway to stop the RLS. But that’s all part of the miracle of modern psycho-pharmacology.
I’m done complaining now.
June 14, 2005
What I’m working on
Banners for cruisingforsex.com. It’s a living!
June 11, 2005
Dollar Store Living
Bubble gum note paper with edible ink!
Oh my god! Look at the growing number of non-blogging days in a row.
Actually, it’s been so hot I haven’t left the house except when I really need to. Also, no one’s felt the need to come over here and keep me company. Both things are just fine with me. Cranky? Not me!
In any case, I’m heading out to The Adonis tonight and I’m meeting Karen for lunch tomorrow. We’ve been meeting every Saturday after she leaves the gym and we’re liking it. We both know that soon it will become an obligation and we’ll end up completely resenting each other for it. I can’t wait!
June 6, 2005
I decided to buy a new TV this month and an air conditioner next month. I figured I’d regret not buying the air conditioner by the end of June. I regret it NOW. The day after I got the TV, the temperature soared to 90°. I am on my way to Best Buy to avoid another night of sweating, sleeplessness and mosquito bites (In Philadelphia! In June!!) I feel like shit now but by this afternoon I’ll be napping in cool comfort!
June 4, 2005
Some time ago, when I wrote about the Strawbridge’s mens room arrests, I referred to Mel Heifetz as a slum lord. I was out of line. I was—and still am—offended by his comments regarding the incident. My opinion was—and still is—colored by my experience during the short time I worked for him over twenty years ago, as well as the Kesmon Hotel debacle.
As much fun as they are, personal insults are often counter-productive, even when public figures are involved. I also strongly believe that my experience doesn't necessarily reflect everyone’s experience. (My experience watching American Idol, for instance, would suggest that American TV audiences are intensely masochistic.)
I received comments on The High Strung Loner, both from Mel himself as well as a heartfelt—and similarly worded—plea from a local gay politico who, by the way, was once accused of faking a positive HIV test to get a job with a city agency. These did not change my opinion but they did make me feel just a little guilty that I have held a grudge for such a long time. I also have to say that I am suspicious that any business-owner, or multiple business-owner in this case, who claims he has the best interests of the gay community at heart. I am willing to be proven wrong.
Anyway, sincere thanks to Mr. Heifetz for paying off the last ten years of the William Way Center mortgage! I like The Center, as unwelcome as I often feel when I go there. And hey, if Tim Gill, the QuarkXPress guy likes you, who am I to argue?
Oh, thanks for wearing that nice blue shirt that matches my hover color, too!
May 28, 2005
I went to Morris Animal Refuge this afternoon to look for a cat. I took a liking to one of them. She was really beautiful and seemed friendly through the cage. I asked the attendant if I could hold her She resisted, had her claws out and obviously wanted to go back into the cage. The whole time I was holding her, maybe 20-30 seconds, a black guy with dreads stood in the doorway and glared at me. This made me uncomfortable because I figured he thought I was going to hurt her or something. Anyway, I put her back and scratched her on the head a little before we closed the cage again.
I left. I was a half block away when I realized I had forgotten my backpack. I went back in to retrieve it and the guy was in the lobby. He smiled and nodded his head.
Later this afternoon he sent me a message on ManHUNT!! It turns out he was cruising me! I couldn’t believe it! I guess my antennae were retracted.
I’m going back tomorrow to interact with the cat again. My first impression of this guy was tainted, I’m sure, by the fact that I thought he was looking at me suspiciously. I’ll see what I think then.
May 13, 2005
I went to Robin’s Bookstore this afternoon to look at magazines. On my way back down the stairs, I passed a guy who I’ve previously only seen online. I recognized him immediately and thought he was just as hot in person. He didn’t seem to notice me at all, which was not surprising. He acknowledged my compliment politely online and it was clear he wasn’t interested. That’s fine.
Maybe 15 minutes later I saw someone in a gay.com chat-room who I’d previously only seen in person. I’ve never thought this guy was hot and he really doesn’t like me. Still, it was a strange coincidence.
May 11, 2005
I can tell when I’m beginning to get complacent or maybe even happy because I start to get annoyed at every little thing.
Things have been pretty good. I’m not sick anymore*; I finally have a sofa-bed; I’m comfortable, more or less. Now that I’m not s concerned with me health and physical surroundings, I can focus myself on things that are more external. It’s all really internal, of course, but I can rant and rave anyway.
I spend a good amount of time in internet chat rooms (yes, I know it’s pathetic!) but I haven’t been able to participate. I read the conversation and can’t find anything that grabs my attention enough for me to participate. I don’t see anything interesting or funny to me. I know it’s me who’s in a different place. Certainly, it isn’t everyone else in the chat who has suddenly started being shallow, although it sure seems that way. I suppose I should be grateful that I can’t join the meaningless repartee but I feel, probably appropriately, that I’m unfairly judging even the people in the chat who I actually like. I know that I’m in a lot of ways very different from the “average” person, especially the average gay person. Still, I can’t help wishing there was something there to engage me.
I feel the same thing at the AA meetings I’ve been going to. Even ignoring the endless talk about “God,” I can’t find much that moves me. What I hear is a lot of Hallmark sentiment, although I’m sure peoples’ sharing is as sincere as ever and, surely, not suddenly more shallow than usual. I sit at a meeting and what strikes me is it’s incredible similarity to television in general and reality television in particular. American Idol and its ilk have turned the smallest emotional or physical setback into an occasion for over-the-top sobbing and hand-wringing. (Oh no!! I’ve been eliminated from a game show!! How will I ever survive?) It’s not that I think what people are talking about isn’t real. What I see is a real lack of actual insight or self-knowledge. There are, of course, exceptions. some people have real problems and appear to understand them. They seem to be in the minority, though, in my mind.
Yes, yes, I know most of this is all about how I’m perceiving things. I’m allowing myself to feel superior to the plebes. On the other hand, there’s a real inability these days for people to look inside. They’d rather go on TV and blame someone else or sue someone than see what their own part in something might be. (True, Michael Jackson is a child-molester but these people let their children stay at his house! I mean, really. Get a grip.) the entire thing is sad to me and, at the same time, I’d like to be able to engage with people more often. I just don’t see it happening, though.
This recent feeling of “otherness” is most likely the main reason I haven’t been writing much lately. Who knows? I sure don’t and I’m one of the smart ones!
*I had a CT scan of my lungs yesterday. I’m not feeling sick but something might be wrong. I have a wheeze in my right lung which my doctor is concerned about. I’ll find out what’s up next week.
May 7, 2005
I do not have pneumonia. I was a little worried there. I went to see my doctor on Monday and he said he was concerned that I was wheezing. I always wheeze for a while after having bronchitis so, when he mentioned PCP, I was a little thrown. My numbers have been great for 14 years and PCP isn’t what anyone would have expected.
Anyways, I got a chest x-ray and everything is OK for the time being. We’ll be looking into other things. I still have wheezing but only in one lung so I’ll be getting a CT scan next week. Oh boy.
Sorry for the medical post but it is what’s happening with me this week. On the other hand, I don’t want to give you the impression that I’m lying around dying or anything. I’m just a little weaker than usual. I did manage to fuck this week! And it was a good one, too! I’ll get around to posting about it eventually. He was a great fuck but I think he was horrified by my apartment.
More when I get back from meeting Sky.
Technorati Tags: HIV
April 22, 2005
I’m having a terrible bout of bronchitis, so I may be MIA for a bit. I bought and watched DIG! this week and I’m writing up my thoughts about it. That might appear before I’m better but don’t count on it.
April 19, 2005
The kindness of strangers
I spent most of yesterday wasting time in Providence. Hotel check-out was 1PM and my bus to the airport was a few minutes after 6. So I left my bags at the hotel to pick up later. I thought it would be a good time to visit a Sprint Store and finally get the software on my cell phone upgraded so my Picture Mail would work. The closest store was in Cranston! They couldn't do it but It took up the entire afternoon anyway, which was fine. I sat on the bus with my iPod on shuffle (It seemed to have a thing for Leonard Cohen yesterday!!), either looking out the window or reading some Dreiser.
Anyways, I lugged three extremely heavy suitcases from the hotel to Kennedy Plaza. (The Crusher had some things in storage for me so I brought empty suicases up there so I could bring stuff back with me.) Why did I decide to walk?? It was a beautiful day and I am insane. It was tough but I made it.
I had a little while left to wait for the bus and it was rush hour. There were tons of skateboarders and children making lots of noise. Then an old black woman came by handing out candy to everyone from a CVS bag. Just what I needed, too! It was delicious.
The bus to the airport is a regular city bus with no place to stow bags, so it’s a bit of a stuggle. As we were boarding a young black man asked me if I wanted some help with my bags. Already feeling horribly conspicuous and pathetic, I said, ’No thanks, I'm OK. I’ve been dragging them around all day anyway.’ Then a woman standing next to him said, ’Well, that’s the time you should say Yes.’ She was right, of course, so I apologized and accepted the offer. Then, before I knew it, the young guy, the woman and her kid had my bags on the bus for me! I was so grateful I nearly cried. I think they were a little embarassed.
The ride was only twenty minutes and I sat across from a guy in a Guatemalan hoodie who was reading a Gothic Romance called ’The Harrowing of Gwynedd.’ I think to myself that maybe I’m not so pathetic after all. So doesn't the guy get up and hand me down my bags when I get off the bus? And he wasn’t even getting off there! Again, I was flabbergasted. These gestures were so genuine, and made me so much less miserable, that I don’t really know what to say except, ’Thanks folks!’ I’m sure they have no idea how much these kindnesses meant to me.
Check-in was ridiculous. Southwest has new weight restrictions and I had to repack my stuff at the counter. The woman at the ticket counter was really helpful but god only knows what I looked like pulling crap out and stuffing it back in and changing jackets in a frenzy. Of course, TSA chose me for bag screening. I’m sure they thought I had escaped from somewhere. The screener was baffled by my Todd Oldham floor lamp in a film cannister. He was afraid to open it! Finally, I was approved for flight. I was so tired.
The flight was full of people from the Boston Marathon, I think because Amtrak’s Acela service is down. (Come to think of it, that’s probably why I couldn’t get an earlier flight.) I don’t think I’ve ever been as happy to get to Philadelphia before.
PS. I realized that I have five Leonard Cohen albums on my iPod. I thought over the past few days how much I really like his stuff. His lyrics are finely wrought, never overwrought; the melodies are beautiful; the arrangements are still interesting and his delivery is deliciously, icy cold. I think he’s brilliant. And he’s still recording!
Also the iPod has taken a liking to the soundtrack from Psycho by Bernard Herrmann. This music is famously all strings. The CD is a lot of very short pieces, each one a gem. They’re tiny masterpieces. I’m not big on soundtrack albums. Almost every one I have is by him. He was the best.
I’m back home finally. It was a grueling couple of days. I’m going to bed. Good night.
April 17, 2005
Talk, Pt. 2
Now where was I??
Oh, yeah, I was “computing.”
Firstly, rather than go back and edit my previous entry, I will admit now that, during Comcast’s extended outages, I complained. Maybe a lot, but not very vehemently. (Actually, I was more concerned about repeated kernel panics in OS X.) I imagine that, to someone who was horrified by the fact that I even had a computer in the room, AT ALL it was unacceptable. Sorry.
Anyway, our discussion on Saturday boiled down to a couple of related things: I am unsanitary (we already went over this); having a computer in the room proved that his recovery was not my Number One Priority; my “unrelenting search for dick” will someday result in my death or severe injury; I threw retail fits in the mall on Friday (while he was in the car, mind you) which negatively affected his recovery and I am selfish.
Am I selfish? Sure I am. More than some, less than others. Are this blog or my “computing” a sign of my selfishness? No.
Did I throw fits? Yes. Did he witness them? No, I told him about them. I have
very little no patience for retail incompetence and I ran into a lot of it in a very short period of time. I threw a DVD down on the seat of his car and complained. Big deal.
Am I unsanitary? Not really. Not for everyday use, anyway.
Now, about my “unrelenting search for dick.” This seemed complicated to me at first but it really isn’t. The Crusher, like my ex-lover Cecilio, thinks the words “computer” and “internet” are synonyms. They aren’t. Cecilio also thought that the computer was only good for one thing: finding dick. Fortunately, The Crusher doesn’t believe this. On the other hand, he thinks that’s the only reason I’m on the computer at any time and, while he claims to not be morally judging me, he really is. I mean, judging is what he does. So do I and it has been a basic part of our friendship.
When my computer is connected to the internets, I am usually signed onto, at least, ManHUNT. I am 51 years old and I love having sex. As I’ve said before, it’s important to me for a number of reasons. Besides, at my age, if I want to get laid—and I do—I gotta have the net out all the time. I am not so obsessive that I constantly flip through profiles looking for likely candidates. I let them find me. One thing I refuse to become is a predatory old troll. (I hate that term, troll but that’s what I’d be called, unfortunately.) Certainly, I have sex more than the average man my age but I don’t plan my day around it, except occasionally when I’m traveling.
I guess, since The Crusher is “over” having sex and being online, I’m supposed to be over it also. Sorry, but I’M NOT.
The discussion devolved into near-total insincerity with him saying he was really sorry to see me sitting around searching for dick all the time and wasting my graphic talents which could be making me RICH. As I said to him, believe me, I was wasting them long before I was online or having sex regularly. Besides, he clearly said it’s perfectly fine for him to be wasting his enormous talents because he has decided to live in and maintain the family house on The Cape. Please. There are these things called the internets now. People can work from anywhere.
Here’s how I see it: If I had been doing nearly anything else—reading a book or a magazine, polishing my jewelry, doing a Word-Search puzzle, knitting a gay tea cozy—there would not have been a hint of this insanity. Not a whisper. It was all about him finding it morally reprehensible when someone other then him looks for sex on the internet. What a steaming pile of shit.
That being said, am I a sex addict? Maybe. My suspicion is that I’m depressed and that being online, not having sex really, helps me think I’m filling the empty spaces. I’m not, of course, but that’s a discussion for another day. Right now, I’m exhausted. And I should get out of this place before they sweep me into the trash can.
Well, here I sit in The Hot Chocolate Sparrow in Orleans MA, waiting seven hours for the next bus to Hyannis. My friend, who can now be identified as THE CRUSHER, read my unfinished blog entry of last night and was really infuriated.
After we loaded my stuff into his car for the half-hour drive to the bus station in Hyannis, I was informed that he had read my the blog, that I was being dropped at the bus stop in Orleans instead and that I should be grateful I even got that much. The drama was un-fucking-unbearable, I swear.
The best part was, “You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” referring to his FORBIDDING ME in grand fashion to blog about this incident.
Anyway, before I start getting needlessly spiteful…
I was dumped at the Orleans bus stop at coincidentally exactly the time the bus to Hyannis was supposed to arrive there but, sadly, it was early, so here I am writing instead of soaking up the soothing atmosphere of the baths. Luckily, The Sparrow has free wireless internet access, though they oddly don’t advertise it. It’s certainly more comfortable than it was at The Crusher’s house.
Now, back to finishing last night’s entry.
We had it out today after a nearly silent ride to the drug store and The Sparrow coffee shop. First, of course, there was a ridiculous “I don’t want to talk about it and, if you continue to try to talk about it, you will have to leave immediately” fit. I don’t give in to that kind of crap so the talk continued.
Some of his complaints were valid but, in my opinion, could have been resolved instantly with a couple of words. For instance, I bit my nails on the way home from the bus station, two days before his surgery. Then, after he got back from the hospital, I tried to arrange a rubber band thing around his head that was holding a bandage on the bottom of his nose. The nail-biting aside, I didn’t wash my hands first. My mistake. I didn’t think. I’m not often in this situation. Without saying a word, he immediately decided that I couldn’t do anything for him. And that was that.
Before I came here he said, “No computing in my room.” I thought he was kidding. It’s pretty typical of stuff he says as a joke. In fact, I said, “Tough,” and got no reply. So, when I put my laptop on my lap while we were watching TV, he again said nothing. In fact, he suggested a table for me to put it on! Coincidentally, Comcast internet was basically down for two days anyway, so I was siting in the room with a laptop but doing nothing on it.
The truth is that my “computing” bothered him for another reason altogether. That will have to wait until tomorrow. I have to go to sleep now. Good night.
By the way, I LOVE Google satellite maps!
April 16, 2005
I volunteered to come to The Cape this week to care for a very good friend who was having
a sex change sinus surgery (with a nose job on the side I wasn’t told about). On Wednesday morning we drove to the hospital. After he got settled in, I took the car, saw Sin City, wasted a couple more hours and picked him up when he was done. He was very groggy and in quite a bit of pain. We filled a prescription for percoset and an antibiotic on the way home. So far, so good.
Then he started acting like a two year-old. I’m 51 and my small circle of friends has always been a little “eccentric” and I include myself in that. But I have NEVER seen anything like this. This guy is 42 and should know much better. His lack of impulse control is shocking. For instance, his discharge instructions said to do as little as possible and to keeep his head elevated. Sit still?? Not him! He insisted on walking the dogs, poaching some salmon and whatever else he felt like doing, insisting his discharge papers said something completely different than they actually did. I was relegated to getting him a glass of juice when he didn’t feel like getting up. The next day he drove himself on percocet to the doctor for a follow-up while I was asleep because he “didn't want to bother me!” Well, then WHY THE FUCK AM I HERE??
I asked that very question when he got back from the doctor and was accused of making his recovery “all about me.” Well, excuse me for wondering why I spent an entire day traveling to The Cape to end up merely driving him from the hopital and going into convenience stores and coffee shops for him. He would sit in the car with a hood and dark glasses on so no one who knows him on “The Cape” could see him with a cast on his nose! God fucking forbid. It might ruin his glamorous image.
Tonight he’s lying in his room with an ice pack on his eyes, continuously coughing, insisting that nothing’s wrong and he needs no help. I give up.
As a friend, I feel abused. If I could have gotten a flight out of Providence before Monday, I’d already have left. As it is, I leave first thing Sunday morning, spend a soothing afternoon at the Megaplex bath house in Providence and Sunday night in a hotel. I can’t wait to get the hell out of here.
April 12, 2005
Technorati Tags: Cape Cod
On The Cape
I’m on Cape Cod this week staying with a friend who’s having surgery. I’ll be blogging from here. We drove into Provincetown and saw this incredible sunset, before a delicious dinner at Clem and Ursies. Mmmm-mmmm. Pulled pork sandwiches and corn pudding.
Technorati Tags: Cape Cod
April 9, 2005
When I left Provincetown, I walked away from the incredibly good Massachusetts State health coverage. If you’re poz there and you have no medical coverage, you’re pretty much guaranteed whatever you need. Doctor visits, hospital stays, prescriptions drugs, the works. One of the main reasons I didn’t stay in New Orleans was that none of that was available to me. In fact, this week I got a pile of medical bills forwarded to me from down there. They are shockingly high. (I’ll never be able to pay them but, luckily, my credit report couldn’t be worse than it already is.)
So, as soon as I signed my lease and knew my permanent address in Philly, I signed up for HIV case management at AACO, a City agency. I chose ActionAIDS as my AIDS Service Organization (ASO). Then. I. Waited. For six weeks. Finally, I called them. Coincidentally. the case manager on duty was mine. She said he had mailed me some material and called. Anyway, we made an appointment for this past Monday.
OK, I will not dwell on the fact that she was really, really fat. In fact, that wouldn’t have mattered to me at all if she had the slightest clue what she was doing. When I asked about Medicaid, she said she’d ask her supervisor about it. I mentioned the nearly debilatating depression that I suffered in New Orleans. She told me she “reached for the chocolate” when she’s depressed! (No kidding!) My mention of high prescription drug costs brought a comparison with the price of gas. Discount prescription programs for people with HIV (called ADAP in most of the country)? She’d never heard of it.
I stopped, stunned in the middle of the intake and said, “I don’t want so seem rude but you’re a case manager; you’re supposed to know this stuff.” She sheepishly confessed that she was “new.” I pretended to understand but I wondered to myself if ActionAIDS provides any training for case management. Maybe I was spoiled by The Provincetown AIDS Support Group. No. This woman is an idiot. She is a fat, white do-gooder who should be driving disabled children around in a van. That, really, is her level of competence.
I make my needs as an informed HIV-care consumer pretty clear. I’m interested in practicalitites, not emotional support. Since I am on disability for COPD, I ask for help applying for Government services. I expect my case manager to not just know the procedures but to know how to navigate them efficiently. This woman had no idea the programs even existed! I want to know how to get affordable prescription drugs for depression. All she can offer is her ear when I am depressed. Gosh. Thanks.
Needless to say, after asking around, I called AACO again and changed my ASO to The Mazzoni Center. (My intake there this morning went very well.) Unfortunately, the news of my decision didn’t reach her before she called me to follow up on a few things and I had to tell her myself. I did it very nicely, of course. Yes, I’m a coward. Yes, I will send off a polite email to her supervisor voicing my concerns. No, I won’t mention that she’s fat.
(Oh, I never got the mail she claimed to have sent me, either.)
Technorati Tags: HIV
March 27, 2005
Lost a buddy
Dave Scarpati 1967-2005
March 6, 2005
Back in action
I’m all moved in, not that I have much here yet. Most of my stuff is in storage in Provincetown.
I went out with Karen and Greg last night to see some bands that friends of ours are in. They were all good in a way and it was lots of fun. It was in the basement of a coffe house type place called Latazza. The main floor was regular enough but the downstairs was like walking into a time machine. I swear, it was 1978 all over again. The sound system was really bad and the ’stage’ was all of six inches high just like the early Punk days. Pink Statue of Liberty mohawks, slacker college students and some old folks like myself, some of whom I haven’t seen in years. The crowd was full of rowdy drunks having a good time.
The bands were all good but Helen Back and the Str8 Razors, aside from being really cute, were GREAT! Hardcore punk with a very unusual gay edge. The singer is an old friend of mine and he is absolutely one of the best performers I’ve ever seen. If there was any justice in the world, he’d be famous already. He also plays as Helen Back with the Big Mess Theater, a conglomeration of local musicians and performers. They do a cabaret a couple of times a year and it’s always a stupendous, evening-long extravaganza. It’s a real shame people outside of Philly don’t get to see them. (My friend Karen is the accordion player in the Big Mess Orchestra and designs their beautiful graphics, too.
I stayed until the bitter end (so no report from The Adonis this week!) and I’m glad I did. The Str8 Razors last song was a cover of The Damned’s Neat, Neat, Neat and the crowd went wild. The punks in the front were partying like it’s 1978, even the middle-aged ones. I took cover behind a couple of tall people.
March 2, 2005
Finally!! I’ll be offline for a bit. See you later.
March 1, 2005
Methicillin-resistant Staphylococcus Aureus
I have a bunch of them. They hurt like hell. Apparently, there are a lot of people who have them lately. My doctor doesn’t know why. I can’t afford the prescriptions. So it’s off to register at my local ASO today and a boring trip to SSA to change my address and get yet another copy of my benefits letter. See you later.
UPDATE!! Success all around. I look and feeel better already!
February 26, 2005
Tonight: Dan Montgomery at The Fire with Karen, The Knife and Fork Band CD release party at The Parlor. a 12-step thing with Sky, then either the Bike Stop or The Adonis. If I’m still alive after all that, I’ll fill you in on the details.
February 22, 2005
Homeless no more!
I signed the lease today on the apartment at 16th and Pine in Center City Philadelphia. What a fucking relief! This time next week I’ll be sitting in a brand new, empty apartment. Now, I have to get my stuff back here from The Cape and New Orleans and I’ll be all set.
Feeling all better now
Thank god my cold is completely gone. Now maybe I can get back to doing what you people come here to read about. Trust me, I’m really sorry about the lack of sexual activity.
February 18, 2005
Yet another apartment
It’s small, but cheap (like me!) and in a more convenient neighborhood. (No more brain-frying Saturday nights at a hotel!) I helped the landlord out with his Mac while I was in his office. Maybe that will do the trick. Keep your fingers crossed for me. I’m getting just the slightest bit tired of being homeless after nine months of traveling. Enough is enough already.
February 14, 2005
Kiss or Kill guy gave me a cold. He did call to warn me that it might happen, though. It’s not too bad. Back tomorrow.
February 12, 2005
I went out to the Bike Stop tonight to play pinball with Sky. I haven’t been there in seven years! Nothing—and I really mean nothing—has changed. Michael Cavallone still DJs there and is still great. I was afraid I’d run into a lot of people I would rather never see again. I didn’t, not even one, so maybe I’ll start hanging out there again. Beats sitting here staring out into the air. Maybe.
February 5, 2005
What an incredible day,even though I didn’t get up until 4PM!
Beth, an old friend and band-mate e-mailed me the other day and said she would be at a restaurant for a birthday party and asked me to stop in and say hello, since I’m in town. When I got there everyone from my old band, The Heathens, were there and a bunch of other people I haven’t seen in years, too! I haven’t had such a good time with actual people in a long, long time.
When I got there Beth, the guitarist and Sky, the drummer, jumped immediately out of their chairs and there were the usual hugs and kisses all around. Beth and I sat at the bar a while and caught up. She looks exactly the same as when I met her and that was over 20 years ago! She is probably the most narcissistic person I’ve ever met, and I’ve met a lot of them. Still, I love her. We’ve chatted online and she is as exhausting to chat with as she is to be with. the last time we communicated she said she was exchanging pornographic stories with Richard Hell and I told her about my other web site. So tonight I told her about my recent film and she said at the top of her voice in the middle of the restaurant, ’You were in a FISTING movie?!’ Everyone in the room turned around and stared at me. I thought I was going to bust a gut laughing.
Sky is the very first man I actually fell in love with (vocalized but unrequited for which I eventually became grateful) and I still have a very soft spot for him. Playing in a band with him is one of the great pleasures of my life. The last time I saw him was before I moved to Provincetown and I was still with Cecilio. He was so high that it scared me. Turns out things got much worse. That’s not my story to tell so I won’t. Thank god he’s doing fine now and still playing music. If he wasn’t I’d be really sad. He had to leave early to go “tell his story” at a meeting but not before we posed for a Heathens reunion picture.
I hung out for about another hour and headed to the Tom Cat Bookstore.
February 1, 2005
Karen brought me some pizza on her way home from the movie. God bless her. She’s authentically nice. What a rarity. She understood why I missed the movie and said I would LOVE it. I can’t wait.
My backbreakingly heavy suitcase finally arrived at 12:45 AM! I had to unpack it in the hall to get it to the second floor! (Hint for over-packers: Use curbside check-in! They don’t check for extra weight!) It was completely disheveled by TSA but everything was there, at least. I've got the desktop set up—even the iSight—and I’m happy as a fucking clam. Now I can respond to insults from youngsters in the gay.com chats without the 10 minute delay I get on my elderly laptop.
I’m hungry again, though, and there are no places open, even in in this increasingly guppified neighborhood. (I was getting the hairy eyeball from some local home-owning fags when I was outside screaming into my cell phone, trying to get the USAirways robot to understand me this afternoon!) I think I’ll just go to sleep and leave getting blowed at The Adonis. for another night.
January 31, 2005
After being up all night from insomnia, I got to Philly at 11:15 this morning only to discover that USAirways has lost one of my bags, the one with MY COMPUTER IN IT!! My desktop computer, my backup and about 30 videotapes I have to work on in the next couple of weeks. Great.
I was kind of afraid that the TSA had confiscated it because there was also a bag with a rank jockstrap and a bottle of poppers, in it, so I wasn’t very hopeful about getting them back.
I’m staying at my friend Karen’s studio and I was supposed to meet her at 5:15 to see Bad Education. I took a much-needed nap.
A delivery company woke me up at 4:30 saying they found my bag and would deliver it between 6 and 10 tonight. I said I wouldn’t be home and asked if they could they deliver it somewhere else, I'd get right back to them with the other address. There was NO PEN in an ARTIST’S STUDIO to write their number down. Of course, I forgot it and spent 15 minutes on the phone with a USAirways voice-activated system that couldn’t understand a word I said! I called Karen at work to say I probably wouldn’t make the movie and she had already left work and her cell phone was not on. AARRGGGHHH!!!
Then I was on hold for 20 minutes with USAirways to find out what I could do. The agent refused to give me the number of the delivery people but assured me it was on it’s way. But to where??
Well, here I sit waiting for my bag. I cant leave and I’m fucking starving to death. Dammit!
January 30, 2005
Mardis Gras fans
Actually, the first two were driving tractors that pull the floats, two others are fathers of kids in marching bands. The rest of them are plain old drunk parade-watchers. The tractor-drivers have always been my favorites but I love them all.
January 29, 2005
I just got back from a couple of Mardis Gras parades. They were really fun. The floats were beautiful, the crowd was rowdy and lots of men in the crowd were very hot and very drunk, as usual. A huge load of beads landed right on my head! Ouch! Hopefully tomorrow, during the daytime parades, I can get some good shots of the guys and not get beat up doing it.
January 22, 2005
Tonight something hit me.
I was talking to The Crusher on the phone around 5PM and my host left the apartment. After I hung up the phone I took a nap and woke up around 7:30. I had a cup of coffee and wanted to go back to sleep right away. I couldn’t do anything. The urge to sleep was nearly impossible to fight off but I did it. It was incredibly hard to not just walk back into the bedroom and lie down.
I made myself take a shower which didn’t help much. Then I forced myself to sit at the computer and finish up some banners for Cruising for Sex. By this time it was about 10:30 and I still wanted to just be unconcious. I figured that I needed to get the hell out of the house and headed out to The Phoenix. I didn’t have the car so I had to take the streetcar and walk through The Quarter. I left the iPod home because I figured this wqould give me time to just be with myself without distractions and with no possibility of just lying down and ignoring everything.
I’m pretty familiar with depression, having struggled with it for years but it’s been a long, long time since I felt like this. Let me tell you, this was terrible. It’s as close to suicidal as I’ve ever been. The walk did the trick, though, and I think I have it figured out. (He said, hopefully!)
I’m leaving New Orleans in a week and, for at least a couple of weeks after that, will not really be living anywhere. Money is tight partly because of the ongoing iBill problem which I wrote about before. (I sent out some invoices this week, some of them nearly a year old, so that problem should resolve itself soon.)
Mostly, though. I think the problem is that I’m 51 years old and I’m absolutely not prepared to be an old person. It’s not that I feel old or look bad or anything like that. And my life had been lots of fun, for the most part. I just feel as if I’ve wasted a lot of time that could have been spent preparing for the time of my life when I won’t be able to run around and have a good time.
It’s not like I chose a responsible career or anything which would help me prepare for my future. No! I decided to be a pornographer and move to a different city every couple of years! My god!! What have I done?? as David Byrne once sang back when he seemed talented.
Anyways, I think being so sick for a couple of weeks and having to have “Same-Day Surgery” the other day and having to leave this place before I have another place and really not wanting to even be in this apartment anymore has finally just left me feeling really overwhelmed. I just want to sit and stare out into the air and I can’t, dammit! I will just have to get over it, I guess.
Well, The Phoenix was fun and, I think, just what I needed. More about that tomorrow. Also, I talked to The Crusher on the way home and he was a soothing balm—well, that’s what he would say.
January 19, 2005
Sorry I've been kind of quiet lately. A tiny piece of General Tsao’s Chicken took a liking to my esophagus the other night and refused to leave. It rendered me completely unable to eat or drink even a sip of liquid for about 18 hours. Needless to say, I was a bit cranky and not in the mood to write!
This has happened before but never for longer than a few minutes. I went to the local emergency room after a couple of hours. The attending physician, Dr. Camero, was really great. He was informative, answered all my questions thoroughly and asked if I had more, let me make my own decisions, did not talk down to me and was very, very cute. Unfortunately, he couldn’t really help and I had to wait until the next morning to contact my PC who found a GI specialist to treat me.
They had to do an endoscopy to remove it. They numbed me out (very nice!!) and gave me Merced, a drug which is supposed to make the patient forget the procedure even happened. I’ve been intrigued by that stuff for a long time and was kind of excited about taking it. Unfortunately, it didn’t work on me and I remember every hellish second. Luckily, the procedure itself worked and I can eat again. My fantasies about a future of eating strained peas through a feeding tube are fortunately going to remain unfulfilled for the time being.
Moral: Chew your food thoroughly.
January 8, 2005
The Crusher and I have resolved a few of our differences and things are back to normal’or as normal as things get for us. Personally, I’m thrilled. I don’t know what he thinks and if I asked he’d probably just say to stop being such a fag.
Beautiful tatts by the beautiful Khristian at Mooncusser in Provincetown.The Crusher has had the rest of the sleeve done since I took this pic. When I get some pics of the rest of it, I’ll pass them along.
January 7, 2005
Full frontal nudity
Here are some hilarious reader reviews of the timeless The Family Circus. You’d better read them now before Amazon discovers them.
December 30, 2004
The other me
I’m not always sitting at the computer typing, as if anyone cares about anything I have to say. Sometimes I sit at the computer maintaining an adult web site, unconnected with this one. (That’s a picture of me, hard at work, on the left.) Things were going along quite nicely for years with minimum effort, providing me with an adequate income. Then everything changed.
iBill, the company who processes the credit card payments for my site, started having some financial problems. Actually, they were huge financial problems. They continued taking my customers’ monthy subscription fees but stopped paying me. In fact, they haven’t made a pay-out since the 1st of October. iBill is the largest company in the world who provide this service, so I’m not alone in this, by the way. They didn’t bother telling anyone about this situation until two days before they stopped payments. As of January 1, 2005, they will be holding three months worth of what is, for all intents and purposes, my salary. After three months of excuses on their web site and many unreturned phone calls, I’m essentially broke.
I know, boo-hoo, poor, destitute pornographer. Who cares? Well, I ain’t asking for sympathy, I'm just ranting and getting this out there.
I can switch to another company and have actually started that process. Unfortunately, it involves paying a hefty yearly “registration fee” required by VISA for “high risk” (meaning adult) sites. Since I haven’t been payed in such a long time this will essentially clean me out. Also, this will only be for my new customers. My other customers, some of whom have been with me for years will continue to pay money to iBill which I, most likely, will never see. Word on the adult webmaster street is that iBill will declare bankruptcy and the thousands of people they owe money to will be up the proverbial creek.
The InterNext porn convention is in Las Vegas next week. If iBill has a presence there’and they normally do’they will be converged upon by angry customers. And they certainly should be. If they don’t show up, they’ll be sending a really depressing message to their customers. We’ll see, I guess. The guys I’m staying with will be attending the convention. I’ll keep you informed.
December 27, 2004
Between the non-excitement of “the holidays,” being sick and discovering my favorite album of the year, I nearly forgot that I went to The Phoenix last night. Even though it was a Sunday night, I figured, since it was the night after Christmas, it might be at least a little busy. Downstairs was dead, upstairs there were, maybe, two dozen men total, including the guys sitting at the bar.
Ric and Ken were upstairs getting into some ass play. When they were ready to head out they asked if I wanted to go home with them. I was there to get off and go home, so I declined. Luckily, Ken is in town through New Years so the three of us can get some play in during the week.
The bench area was kind of empty, so I headed to the bathroom. It was packed. I got rock hard instantly, not surprising considering it’s been a week since I’ve even thought about my dick. There were two guys there I liked a lot but they didn’t seem interested. A third guy, though, ended up being just what I was looking for. He was a big, beefy blonde, with a nice, scruffy beard and inch thick hair spread over his chest and belly. He had a fat dick, too, and was a great kisser, but when he saw that I had a PA he dropped his pants and bent over. I fucked his hairy hole while he urged me on and a bunch of guys in the room helped us out. He turned around before I shot, we made out for a while and I got to enjoy his beautiful chest hair. I took a little break. Man, it felt fucking great to be out again!
The blonde guy was out by the benches later and ready for more, so we went at it again. It was more comfortable because he could lean on the bench get his ass lower for me. I dropped my pants and fucked him really deep. Again, we stopped before I shot my load. Next to us an hot, bearded, hairy guy was getting comfortable, sitting on a man’s dick. He started kissing me and another guy got on his knees and finished me off. I never did see his face but he got a week’s worth of my cum in his throat. I pulled up my pants, zipped up and headed home.
“A Night At The Hip Hopera” is one of the best records ever made. It was never meant to be “officially” released but, still, it’s being supressed by Disney for some unknown reason. It’s a brilliant mix of Queen tracks with new and classic hip-hop vocals and some other ridiculous stuff. It’s a MASTERPIECE!! All the drama that Queen so pretentiously—and unsuccessfully—tried their entire career to create is brought to brilliant fruition on nearly every track on this incredible record. The last track, Question, is actually moving and has an emotional sample from Brad Pitt, of all people. Download it NOW from Klepshimi.
December 21, 2004
Taco Bell = Death
Believe it. I have food poisoning.