February 2004 Archives

This afternoon, I climbed the massive steps of City Hall to demonstrate my support for gay marriage ... well, I didn't show my support by climbing the steps ... I showed my support by being there ... standing there ... occasionally shouting ... and clapping a lot. I'm actually very proud that people are organizing, planning, and being smart about it. In my mind, it was quite a successful showing for such short notice.


Now, I need to figure out how I can swing getting to work late on Thursday so I can go to the massive demonstration at 8 in the morning. This is important ... and I am reminded just how important this fight is on a daily basis. Today, the realization came when I read Rev. Gregory Daniels's comment:

If the K.K.K. opposes gay marriage, I would ride with them.

If anyone out there has any doubt that this battle for civil rights is not about the incredible hatred of homosexuals in this country, they have only to read the words of this black conservative minister one more time. Wow, isn't religion a great thing?

Every couple of months, I suffer from a complete communication break down. There is no warning. There is no cure. When it rains, it pours.

This week, it started with my mobile. Even though my phone was showing a full strength signal, it wouldn't allow me to call out or receive calls. No dial tone, no static, no nothing. From here, the sickness spread to my IM ... apparently, I no longer had any buddies or co-workers. I've never felt so alone. That night, two of my web pages (hosted with different companies) went down along with the email accounts attached to each of them. When I tried to call technical support, the battery on my cordless land-line mysteriously died. Total System Failure.

Sadly, experience has taught me that I can not remedy the situation. I just need to sit back, enjoy solitude, and wait for the universe to put me back on-line ... in the cosmic sense.

Oh. They'll probably want to change those first few words too. Via BoiFromTroy

Made the dangerous mistake of heading out for 'just one' drink with D. to a local watering hole. It just so happened to be two for one night at the Phoenix - and the bartender was particularly nice in helping me find a new drink to try - so my 'just one' didn't really pertain to the evening any longer. (If any of your folks know of any good rum drinks, by the way ... please let me know).

As I drank my first rum and OJ (not as bad as I thought it would be), I palmed my poker chip (that would allow me to get drink two for free) and looked around. Nothing much interesting was happening, but it was kind of a nice break from packed bars/clubs on the weekends. It felt so good just to be able to relax and talk. The most exciting part of the evening, however, was when the bartender walked around from behind the bar, pulled a cigarette from a (particularly annoying) patron's mouth before he could light it, threw it to the ground, and crushed it beneath his foot -- all without saying one word. It was priceless.

I'm learning that sometimes words can ruin a situation ... and that sometimes words can be beautiful beautiful things. Knowing when (not)to use them is truly an art form.

While making my way into the Pussy Cat Lounge for Gay Pimp's Stripclub, I managed to slam my fingers in the club's surprisingly heavy door. I should have known that the rest of the evening would just go downhill from there.

Heading upstairs to the crowded bar area, I ordered a very expensive and very weak drink that didn't even fill the plastic cup it came in. Not such a good combo ... especially for a place with a cover charge. The crowd was pretty friendly and decent looking ... but I just wasn't feeling the place. It didn't have quite the same allure as the old parties on Pearl Street.

After heading back downstairs to get some ice for my fingers, we saddled up next to the bar to down our drinks and watch some of the dancers work their ... uh ... well, their skateboards to be exact. Gotta love go-go dancers with props. With one hand in a cup of ice and the other wrapped around a quickly disappearing drink, I watched as some hot stud popped bubbles with his gum while holding the skateboard in front of him as a modesty screen of sorts. Luckily, he was dancing in front of a mirror ... so the skateboard didn't hide everything. So, as I'm chugging the last of my drink, I glance over to the other dancer at other the end of the bar. There I am, watching this boy shake his ass for dollars, when he suddenly turns around and I realize that ... gasp ... I went on a few dates with him a couple of months back. This is shocking only because it brings my running total of boys-i've-dated-that-i-didn't-know-were-go-go-boys to a whopping 2. I'm worried that if the number ever goes up to 3 that I'll officially become Dirty.

This encounter, however, was not nearly as shocking as time I found the guy I was dating dancing naked on a bar 'earning' 20 dollar bills (which came as a total surprise to me). When he saw me, he tried to play it cool and came over to say 'hi' and meet my friend. Let me tell you, it's quite odd to introduce two people when one of the two is entirely naked but for glitter and when you are trying to recover from the shock of seeing someone you are dating naked for the first time when he's on top of a bar with some patron's hand working up his thigh. After jumping back up on the bar, he lasted for about 45 seconds before jumping down again, grabbing his clothes from the back, and literally running out of the club as he pulled his pants on. Apparently it made him uncomfortable to have me find out about his job like that. Needless to say, we didn't even have to have a break-up talk. Gotta love it when things end as smoothly as that.

Talk about separation of Church and State! The AP reports:

This weekend, I went to my nephew's christening at my old church. Quite an odd group of individuals had gathered for the event - mostly family. Even my grandmother and her three sisters were in attendance. Shocking. You see, two of them were baptized and two were not (we'll refer to these last two as the sisters-H ... the H, of course, stands for 'Going to Hell'). This odd inconsistency within their family occurred when the youngest of the sisters was an infant and almost died in a freak accident involving a slippery table, the hard kitchen floor, and her head. While she walked the fine line between life and death in the hospital, it was explained to my great-grandmother by her doctor that "if she dies, she won't go to heaven because she's not baptized." As a precautionary measure, my great grandmother had her baptized her along with her sister (who just happened to be at the hospital that day). The infant eventually recovered, and nothing extraordinary happened to either of the two baptized sisters ... ever again.


The sisters-H, however, suffered a worse fate. Around the same time as the accident, they both discovered an allergy of sorts to ... well ... to churches. They could walk up to the church ... they could touch the church ... but the minute they stepped into the church ... any church ... they became violently ill.

Psychosomatic or not, this was a very real phenomena. I have a clear memory of my graduation from kindergarten which took place in the church. As I received my diploma, I looked out towards my family (photo op!) and spotted my grandmother running for the door, handkerchief over her mouth, barely making it outside before she lost it. Fast forward a few years later to a funeral. She gave a repeat performance ... except she didn't quite make it outside. Fast forward to my brother's wedding. This time it was my great-aunt's turn. By the time the bride showed up for the ceremony (her car broke down on the way) my great-aunt was already sweating. By the time the words 'you may kiss the bride' were uttered, she had the handkerchief over her mouth. In some magnificent show of strength, she managed to hold it all in until the bride and the groom had hopped in their limo and been zoomed away. We assumed, naturally, of course, that this was just part of the Curse of the Sisters-H. In actuality, the 'forces' in the church had ruptured her stomach and she had to be rushed away by ambulance ... but not before spewing on the flower bed in front of the church. (She ended up being fine, btw, after a little surgery).

So, naturally, it was quite a shock to see them both at the christening. I surveyed them quickly. They appeared to be fine. There was no garlic around their necks ... no talisman to protect them from the evils of the church. They were just standing there ... looking healthy ... smiling in fact ... flanked by their two baptized sisters. Flanked by their two baptized sisters? "Ah," I thought, "they've finally figured out a way to sidestep the curse of the sisters-H. Sneaky."

“ “ “

While in the church, I also had some time to think about gay marriage. For the life of me, I couldn't understand why the Church would be resistant to gay marriage ... after all, they've been doing it for years. Granted, they've been matching up gays with lesbians ... but that counts for something ... right???

I originally purchased my alarm clock because it had two different alarms (with separate buttons) and boasted some uber-loud beeping to wake up even the deepest of sleepers. Uber-loud ... yes, that's actually what the package said - and it was NOT an understatement. Each alarm is a different pitch: one is low, the other high. I usually opt for the low and set the high a half hour later as a backup of sorts. Although they are equally annoying, they get the job done - sounding like a mix of an air-raid horn and the warning sirens at nuclear power plants. This alarm clock has cost me relationships ... annoyed my neighbors ... and driven at least one neighborhood dog to the point of insanity ... but I've never overslept. And isn't that the important thing?

This alarm clock was supposed to allow me to sleep deeply without worrying about oversleeping. In actuality, the simple device has trained me to fear its piercing scream. A fraction of a second before the alarm rings/buzzes/beeps, a tiny 'pop' emanates from the speaker. It is this sound that I have learned to recognize from dream-land. Before the ring/buzz/beep even gets a chance to reach my ears, the 'pop' signals what is about to come and I have just enough time to launch across the bed, find the appropriate button combo through my stupor, and de-activate the bomb .. i mean ... alarm clock. It's a pretty impressive physical feat for someone just waking up. It's really all a lesson in the power of fear ... And if you don't trust me, you'll just have to spend the night and find out for yourself.

Wow. What a successful Valentine's Day!

This day was unlike some of my previous Valentine's Days ... such as my first year living in NYC when my parents surprised me with a big box wrapped with a big red ribbon. I thought, 'Candy! Chocolate! Fun things Galore!' Really. I should know better by now. I popped the bow, tossed the box top behind me, reached inside through the tissue paper clouds floating above the submerged gift, and pulled out ... hmmm ... a tea pot. 'Great,' I said to myself, 'now I can sit at home alone tonight and make tea.' I shouldn't complain though ... it's kind of a kick ass tea pot.

It came in quite handy the following year - when I forced the guy I was dating into going out for dinner on Valentine's Day (God I hate it when people don't want to celebrate something as stupid as Valentine's Day). All was going well until desert ... when the food poisoning really kicked in. Luckily, we had different dishes and I was fine. I'm still trying to figure out if it is technically still a 'date' if one of you ends up passed out on the bathroom floor after vomiting for hours. Sigh. I slept on the couch that night and spent the entire next day making pot upon pot of hot tea to soothe the guy's poor tummy.

Yesterday turned out to be quite a day as well. I was kind of worried for a bit in the middle that the day wasn't going to live up to expectations ... but it proved (once again) to be my lucky day in more ways than one.

Thirteen has always been my lucky number ... and Friday the 13th has always been my lucky day. I even went to a college where this day was special. I recently learned that this day is my father's lucky day ... and was my grandfather's lucky day as well. Apparently - it was also the number of my grandfather's race car. Isn't tradition something?

I wonder what the day will bring!

Congrats to Del Martin and Phyllis Lyon on their recent wedding in San Francisco. I pity the fool that the State of California sends to pry the wedding certificate out of their hands. Put up a good fight girls!

I wouldn't quite say it was the worst sex ever ... cause it was actually quite enjoyable. Just the electricity in the room was worth the five stinking bucks they wrestled from me at the door.

And I'm sorry folks ... but I've got to say that if tonight was any sort of accurate litmus test, the LGBT folks just have more fun in bed than the straight ones.

The evening was off to a rocking start as our friend from uffish took command of the mic and had the audience in complete hysterics the entire performance. She set the bar high.

The good Doctor Grosz ... well, at least I could distract myself from his sloppy storytelling by looking at his muscular arms.

Paul Ford took the concept of bad sex ... ran with it ... kept running with it ... and then sprinted towards an absolutely hilarious ending. I was almost out of breath from trying to keep up (and laughing so hard). His honesty was refreshing - as was his ability to craft a tight story.

The very-datable (although sadly off the market) Faustus gave a jaw-dropping musical rendition of a m4m4sex.com encounter that has permanently scared me away from ever even thinking about hooking up with someone from the internet. This guy is Talented with a capital T. I expect to see good things from him in the very near future.

I could say wonderful things about many of the other individuals reading ... but I'll end with the guy that ended the evening ... fulfilling my wildest fantasies. Yes, as you may have guessed, it was Chorie Sicha ... and not because of his story ... but because he read it off of his powerbook. It is the twenty-first century and this was a blogging event. I mean ... he was so right on. I learned three things about Chorie.

One: he is cute (even though I didn't believe jvg).
Two: he bakes a mean cookie.
Three: he ... um ... takes his job very very seriously

Ah, the joy of live performance.

(Success! I have suppressed every urge in my body to be cynical and talk smack about people that just need to take a public speaking class before they stand in front of another mic - or at least learn to picture the very attractive audience naked. Granted, there weren't very many of them...but it's damn uncomfortable to watch someone that looks like they are in pain standing in front of you!

For reasons I cannot share, I found myself at the main branch of the NYC Post Office this afternoon ... you know, the one right next to Madison Square Garden. Well, as you can see below, the grand steps of this building are truly spectacular. One of the most awesome sites in this big city occurs but once a year the night before taxes are due. Lines extend up to the doors from the street for the people waiting to pay by credit card ... and lines extend down the steps to the Mobile Post Offices parked at the curb for people willing to ... gasp ... pay cash. Over time, if you can sink into the rhythm of alternating lines moving in opposite directions, it's quite a trip.



When I was done with my very official business, I exited through the center doors and surveyed the view from the top. Realizing that these steps were the very things dreams were made of ... no, wait ... strike that ... the very things court houses were made of, I pretended that I was Martha Stewart and began my descent. It was quite a thrilling little game to play: my hair was blowing in the wind, I averted my glance from people walking by, and ... ok, so I didn't have a purse worth $7,000. Everything was going well ... until that fateful last granite step that was not quite the same height as the others. Plummeting into slow-motion-world, the only thought that continued to cycle through my head as I flew through the air was, 'Oh, why won't anyone save Martha?'. While lying on my back upon the sidewalk, I realized just how far there is to fall in this world.

I finally got tickets to see the Nederlands Dans Theater at BAM. Quite excited to see the 'ultra-modernist' choreography of Jiri Kylian, I can hardly keep from wetting myself. I'll have to hold it a little longer, however, because the show isn't until March.



After looking over the tickets which arrived in the post today, I just had to run around my apartment hitting things in excitement and yelling 'BAM ... BAM ... BAM' every time I whacked something. I felt just like Bam-Bam from the Flintstones ...

It was at this point that I remembered the last line to the show's theme song: "You'll have a gay old time!" Ah, the prophesy of children's television. (How do you think they knew?).

N. surprised me with a most excellent present: The Little Black Book of Cocktails: The Essential Guide to New & Old Classics. Now, I won't have as much trouble as I normally do choosing what my Drink-For-The-Night will be. N. always gives the perfect gift.

I am special.

I'm amazed that I can still go near playground equipment. My first accident happened on a slide in my backyard. The accidents always seemed to happen at sundown. There must have been some magic in that in-between-hour that didn't agree with me. I found myself at the top of this very tall slide ... and when I say very tall ... I mean tall - for a backyard slide anyway. When I sat at the top, my eyes were level with the gutter. Normally, I would yell, 'Yippie!' and push my weight forward - rushing down the narrow sheet-metal, flying off the bottom into the air, and landing on my feet in an already-started-run that would lead me around the yard and back to the ladder to the slide. On this occasion, I climbed to the top - foot after foot - after a successful few runs, got to the top, plopped down on my bum, and ... well ... felt a 'POP'.

This was not the kind of 'POP' that the human body makes under any normal circumstance - and it was a bit too far away to actually be from inside my body anyway. No, this was the sound of rusted nuts popping off the legs that held the slide up. After two more tiny 'POP's far away beneath me, the horizon began to tilt. Very slowly at first, and then faster and faster until my head made contact with the dry ground. My eyes closed upon contact - and when I opened them, I remember seeing the rusty nut that had just popped off rolling towards my eye. Before I had time to shut it ... 3-2-1 Contact!

I spent the evening at the hospital while they cleaned rust out of my eye. Unfortunately, I did not learn my lesson. This was not the last of the my backyard injuries...