Ob La Di, Ob La Da

2009-10-11T16:20:00.002-04:00

If anybody stumbles across this blog -- which, obviously, I'm not updating much anymore -- and you like it, add me as a friend on facebook! Just search for jammmick -- that's 3 m's ;) -- chris

Yum 8: Potato Salad

2009-06-25T01:02:00.002-04:00

OK, my no-mayo, French/Bavarian-ish potato salad:

1) Boil red or yukon gold potatoes
2) Slice them into a mushy mess
3) Add some minced vidalia onion
4) Add some minced fresh herbs (I used basil and cilantro)
5) Add some thinly sliced cucumber
6) Drizzle with olive oil
7) Sprinkle with red wine vinegar
8) Add a dollop of dijon mustard
9) Add a slurp of maple syrup
10) Add some salt and pepper.

That's it.

Joking The Queer

2009-04-14T03:20:00.003-04:00

One of my young gay friends -- a sensitive, sexy Latino college student -- is in love with a straight guy. Typical, no? Nature's biggest practical joke: let the queer fall for the breeder. It defines hopelessness. Here's why: Not long ago, G was walking to the straight guy's apartment -- they're best friends -- and, along the way, he picked one daffodil out of every yard he passed. By the time he got to S's apartment, he had a sweet bouquet, which he placed in a vase. Flowers, since the sun first shined on a field in spring, have represented one person's love for another person. S's reaction to the bouquet? "Nice job." He then turned. And walked away.

The Low-Down On Low-Rise

2009-03-23T04:36:00.008-04:00

OK, I'll say it: I hate low-rise jeans.

I hate them on guys. I hate them on girls. I even hate them on mannequins.

They're just so in-your-face. On girls, they look slutty. On guys, they look exhibitionist.

Now, let me stress: I'm not making value judgments on the wearers. I might be making a value judgment on the butt beneath the denim, but I'm not making a value judgment on the person. Some of my best friends wear low-rise jeans.

I just think they're totally un-sexy. First off, a woman's butt wasn't made to be contained in such a scant amount of fabric. They kind of spread and flop when so packaged. As for guys, their butts just look better when wrapped in slightly baggy denim. A little aura of mystery, as I've suggested before, is good.

Of course, people wear low-rise jeans in an effort to expose more skin. Girls show a few more inches of belly beneath the navel; guys show a lot more of their boxers and sometimes a hint of flesh here and there. But it just ain't worth the aesthetic cost.

On a related matter, I also sneer at girls who wear sweat pants or shorts with words emblazoned across their butts. The lack of subtlety is a total turn-off. (Well, I'm gay, so not a sexual turn-off because I was never turned on, but you know what I mean.) Needless to say, by putting words on their asses, they're trying to draw your eyes to their butts. Again, it's just too in-your-face. It's like the difference between bottled lemonade and freshly squeezed lemonade -- one slams your taste buds with sugar and citrus, the other tickles them with a hint of natural lemon. (Is that a bit strained?)

I guess the bottom line (heehee) is that I prefer a more natural sexuality. For instance, a lot of gay guys dress to show skin and then go out of their way to display it in front of cute guys. To me, it's far more enticing to see a guy who dresses less overtly sexy -- showing off his physique, showing a little skin inadvertently -- than one who activates Strip Mode when he sees a prospective mate.

Now, let me stress: There is a fine line here. For instance, guys who always wear their shirts tucked deep in their pants are just as much a turn-off. With them, there's no hope of seeing a bit of skin when they stretch or lean over or walk into a stiff wind. And I insist on guys unbuttoning the bottom button on their untucked shirts. Again, it's a matter of subtlety.

My Cool? Va-po-rized.

2009-03-23T04:26:00.002-04:00

OK, get me a razor blade. I'm listening to Barbra Streisand's "People." I might as well tie a noose around my neck and kick a chair out from under my legs. Funny how music can squeeze the heart till it breaks.

The strangest thing about being in love with an unattainable guy is how the notion of sex with anyone else becomes unappealing. Case in point: A cute 27-year-old Nicaraguan -- named Alpha -- left a message on my cell phone last night asking if I wanted to "hang out" with him Saturday. Although we've never actually met, I've seen the guy. Trust me: He's A1 material. "Hang out," of course, is code for "sex."

Sadly, I have no interest in him, simply because I can't get my mind off of this other guy. It might be different if Alpha and I had already dated and liked each other. For now, though, I'd rather jack off than have random sex.

OK, I wrote this (well actually it's parts of two posts) in 2006 on Livejournal. It took me until late 2008 to finally get back to normal. Tick-tock. Goodbye, life.

Love And A Bad Sports Metaphor

2009-03-23T04:24:00.000-04:00

How tough is unrequited love? This tough: It takes you from cool to pathetic in a broken heartbeat. We all like to see ourselves as aloof from emotional turmoil. Sadly, that's not life. I don't care if you're the epitome of finger-snapping cool, aka Frank Sinatra, or the epitome of hip-hopping cool, aka P Diddy, you've got tears running down your face now and then. Love is like open-heart surgery, without anesthesia. It'll cut a hole in your chest, shred your defense systems and leave you howling in pain.

Pain so complete it overrides all other emotional circuits. Pain that makes you hollow, desperate.

Ironic, isn't it, how hard love hurts? By definition, love is wonderful. But it's like a perfectly thrown pass. It might be the most beautiful thing in the world, but if there's nobody to receive it, it just crashes into the grass -- and the guy who threw it feels like shit.

There is, however, hope. Not so much that the object of your desire will suddenly embrace you, but that time will heal. And as you wait for that to happen, you can still daydream. Love, after all, is as irrational as it is painful, as capricious as it is essential.

Screwed ... Or Not?

2009-03-23T04:10:00.002-04:00

I love being gay. I'd hate to be straight.

Having said that, there is one thing about queerdom that bugs me -- namely, the expectation of sex whenever two guys date.

I don't mean anticipation. I mean expectation. If you don't go to bed with a guy on the first date, he's flabbergasted. And if you're still just cuddling by Date 2, he's ready to throw his fishing line into another stream. Not that there's anything wrong with having sex 15 minutes after you've polished off dessert, but -- for the zillionth time -- I really want to develop some affection for the guy before jumping under the covers with him.

Obviously, Insta-Sex isn't an exclusively gay concept. Maybe it isn't even more prevalent in our community. Perhaps the notion of -- to use an archaic term -- courtship is dead everywhere.

The Big Tease

2009-03-23T04:05:00.002-04:00

My fantasies have taken a disturbing turn.

I dreamed about chocolate cupcakes the other night. Chocolate on chocolate. With lots of rich, creamy frosting.

Rarely do I eat baked goods, opting instead for fresh fruit -- especially cherries, watermelon and bananas. I do love sweets. I just don't like what they do to human bodies, so I avoid them. Which may be why I found myself fantasizing about cupcakes.

Not only do I dream about cupcakes. I also turn dreams into reality -- though I don't quite consummate the love.

A few weeks ago, for instance, I bought a half-dozen chocolate cupcakes from a Harrisonburg baker and brought them back to the office. Fortunately, I came to my senses and gave them to my staff -- five 20-somethings who gobbled them up confident that their metabolisms would scrape off the mega-calories belly-flopping into their bodies.

In New York last month, after drinking three glasses of wine with dinner, I stopped at a Greenwich Village bakery and bought four cupcakes -- two chocolate on chocolate, two chocolate on white. Again, despite my slightly buzzed state, logic trumped desire. When I finally got back to my hotel in Chelsea -- after walking from the Village and stopping at an 8th Avenue bar to watch the end of an NBA Finals game -- I tempered my appetite, licking the frosting off all four cupcakes, but eating only about half an inch of cake on two of them.

Kinda like foreplay.

This is from my Livejournal account, which I have abandoned for Blogger.com

Love and iPods

2009-03-23T04:01:00.004-04:00

I was chatting with a young gay friend today who recently broke up with a longtime -- and quite insane -- boyfriend. Back in his near-native New York City after a disorienting few months of living with Crazy Boy in the sticks -- metro Providence, where my pal was aghast to discover that he had to drive a car to find food during his lunch break -- Mike has begun dating again. He thought he had found Mr. Right on the first pitch. The guy was his type (i.e., a Roger Clemensesque beefy physique) and showered him with attention -- initially. Today, Mike reported that the would-be BF has turned his life into an emotional yo-yo.

After calling every day for a week, Beef Boy has all but ignored Mike's messages for the past several days. Mike, being gay, is in major fret mode. I counseled my fluttering pal to do one of two things: 1) be patient and let the relationship move at its own pace (in other words, give the guy room to breathe) or 2) launch a full-court press to woo the guy (you know, send him little gifts). That's when Mike informed me that he had given Beef Boy his spare iPod. I pondered that for a moment. True, it's not the most romantic of gifts. Not chocolate. Not caviar. Not a bottle of merlot. And, true, it wasn't a great sacrifice. He gave him his spare iPod, not his only iPod. Still, in the 2000s, nothin says lovin like an Mp3 player. I mean, pop in the earbuds and you can transport yourself a million miles away from the office or train or apartment. Only time, of course, will tell if the iPod will turn Mike into the Apple of Beef Boy's eyes. But, beyond pondering romance and gifts, Mike's situation reminded me how long and bumpy the road to love is for most of us. Mine has been a dead end so far -- and time isn't on my side -- but the chase is essential to my well-being. If I thought I'd never again find somebody to love -- as fucking painful as love is -- I don't think life would be worth living. So I'll keep tabs on Mike's romantic adventure, and if the iPod eventually does the trick, you'll find me in the Mp3 aisle at Circuit City. Hey, you gotta do what you gotta do.

This is from my Livejournal, 2006, as I continue to move posts to this site

Join The Holy Orgy

2009-03-23T03:59:00.001-04:00

I was reading that 94 percent of American kids jack off. In addition to making me feel good about our nation, it got me to thinking of my own experience as a teen-ager. Let me say for the record that I was among the 94 percent who took matters into their own hands. Fortunately, I was never fed any bullshit warnings about the dire consequences of masturbating, so I simply enjoyed the moment. Or, more accurately, the moments. The many moments.

Maybe it helped that "Hair" -- you know, the tribal rock musical -- was popular at the time. It scandalized America in numerous ways, including with the lyrics in "Sodomy": "Masturbation can be fun/Join the holy orgy/Kama Sutra." Needless to say, those wise words became my mantra as a 17-year-old.

I did have one quirk. (Shocking, eh?) In high school -- as I fantasized about the cute guy on the basketball team or whoever caught my fancy that day -- I liked to jerk off to a certain Rolling Stones song. Much to my regret, I can't remember for sure which one. I think it was "Ruby Tuesday." I do recall with certainly, though, another musical theme: In college, I'd often listen to Cat Stevens' "Morning Has Broken" or "Moonshadow" in the immediate afterglow of my handiwork. As you might expect, those tunes still bring back pleasant memories.

Kama sutra.

Thoughts On A Wintertime Visit To NYC

2009-03-23T03:53:00.004-04:00

1) I think the four biggest physical icons in New York are the Empire State Building, Times Square, the Stature of Liberty and the Washington Square Park arch (left). One represents money and power, another entertainment and commercialism (on steroids), another the hope of freedom, another an urban, Bohemian spirit. It was in that spirit that I was approached by a 50ish black guy as I sat on a bench talking on the phone in Washington Square Park. He drifted past once, muttering something. I kept talking. He circled back. "You want some weed?" he asked as I tried to concentrate on my telephone conversation. "No thanks," I replied politely. Then, after I "hung" up, another guy approached me and mumbled something. I assume it was another offer of drugs. I demurred and said, "Have a good week." (Why, I don't know.) He responded in kind. Two observations: First, both dealers were quite brazen and reasonably friendly. Second, I was happy both times that the guys were dealing, simply because I initially feared they were beggars, which would have required a mini-conversation and a few bucks.

2) In an 8th Avenue diner at about 12:30 one morning, I sat munching on a grilled cheese sandwich when an older, good-looking black gentleman walked in and sat down at the next table. He smiled and said matter-of-factly, "You're so handsome." I giggled, said "thank you," and resumed munching. He continued to praise me. "Hot," I think, was among his observations. (As I said, he was older.) Even though I didn't want to encourage him, I also didn't want to diss him. So I chatted a little, asking where he was from (D.C.), what he did (actor) and how his cheeseburger was (OK). Then, he asked, "Are you a top or bottom." Three times. (If you're not gay and don't know what "top or bottom" means, maybe the Spanish version will help: "activo or pasivo." If that doesn't do the trick, think dicks and butts.) Each time, I rebuffed him, finally telling him I wasn't going to answer. I also gently deflected his hand from landing on my knee. I was a little embarrassed by the guy's question, but I wasn't disturbed by his advances. Sex is important. Love is important. Maybe he thought he had a chance at both in a lonely Chelsea diner.

3) The two companies that have absolutely cornered the market in NYC are Poland Springs bottled water and North Face coats. It seems like every third guy in Manhattan wears North Face gear. Even the first drug dealer in Washington Square Park did. If there's a business or culture writer in the house, it would make a good story.

4) January in Manhattan is a minimalist time. The air is squeezed drier than in summer, allowing only a few dusty snowflakes to drift from skinny clouds. Trees strip down to their skeletons, transforming themselves into finely lined etchings rather than thick oil paintings. Oddly, these traits accentuate the city's beauty. Don't get me wrong: I'd jettison winter in a heartbeat. Give me spring and fall, despite their melancholy. And give me summer, give me summer over and over and over again. Winter? I like about a month's worth, just enough to see naked trees outlined against icy blue skies, just enough to make me long for the first blossoms. But I'm glad I saw the city in the dead of winter. Buildings seemed more stark, more muscular without makeup, without leaves and flowers to mask their spindly fire escapes and rough exteriors. In the thin January air, the Empire State Building looked sharper than ever. And there's another plus: Those trademark summer street odors were gone, leaving only the sweet aroma of onions and peppers caramelizing on vendors' grills.

5) I'm so fucking happy, so freaking proud that I'm gay. I went to dinner with a beautiful, charming young Trinidadian, a budding journalist, and couldn't have imagined a better life. Gay to de Bone.

From my Livejournal blog, January 2007

A Biology Lesson

2009-03-23T03:50:00.001-04:00

Why are we we such saps when it comes to love? Because, someone said, we're biology. I think that's an apt summation. As embarrassing as it is to read some of the entries from 2006 and 2007 on my old Livejournal page, I realize I had absolutely no control over my feelings. That's kind of scary, but it's an unavoidable part of being a human being. At various times in life, you're going to become obsessed with another person. You'll do things that you would otherwise mock. You'll lose any semblance of cool. You'll cry your eyes out. You'll wonder what kind of fucking joke God -- if you believe in a god -- is playing on you. You'll look in the mirror and see a face transformed into a tear. You'll think of the guy all day, all night. You'll pray. You'll scream. You'll pout. You'll beg. You'll turn into a fuckin pussy. Is it worth it? Hell, yes.

Gay Flicks 5

2009-03-15T01:48:00.009-04:00

8. Broken Sky 2006
    MY TAKE: If you want to see the complexities of love condensed into 2 hours and 20 minutes of jaw-dropping cinematographic beauty, check out "Broken Sky." Along with "Angels In America" and "Trick" -- yes, "Trick" -- this is my favorite gay movie. It's unforgettable. Never before have I sat in front of a screen and been so stunned by the artful beauty of a film. You become a drop of blood in a pounding heart.
   PLOT: Set at the National Autonomous University of Mexico -- a dramatic campus with 144,000 undergraduate students alone -- the film luxuriates in its three chief characters, a trio of seriously lustful gay students longing for love. Its frank portrayal of gay sex -- frank but not pornographic -- would turn off many people. So would its pace and depth, both of which make "Brokeback Mountain" look like a romantic comedy. You could print the movie's dialogue on a gum wrapper. Everything is expressed through the actors' eyes and bodies, through the camera's mournful lens.
   FAVE SCENE: I can't pick one. Check out the video below.

SEX QUOTIENT: Intense.

Gay Flicks 4

2009-03-15T01:42:00.006-04:00

7. Adventures Of Felix 2000
MY TAKE: Sami Bouajila plays a cute, gay, HIV-positive Arab who lives in an English Channel town on the northwest coast of France. The film is a classic character study, weaving homophobia, racism and AIDS into a meandering 95 minutes. In a cool touch, it's set in spring, so the skies often are dramatic but the scenery dew-fresh, which fits the flick's tone.
PLOT: Felix loses his job and decides to take a five-day trip -- via feet and thumb -- to the South of France, hoping to meet his father for the first time. En route, he finds a new "family" of sorts.

FAVORITE SCENES: In the beginning of the film, the camera follows Felix as he rides his bicycle along the oceanfront in his English Channel hometown of Dieppe. It's the sort of scene that would probably be chopped in half or less by an American movie-maker. But it evokes wonderful feelings of youth and freedom. At the end of the film, Felix is reunited with his boyfriend after his journey to Marseilles. Their playful warmth is every gay guy's dream.

SEX QUOTIENT: Nothing overt, though there is full frontal nudity in one scene. But, hey, Sami's a beautiful human being. Enjoy.

MORE: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/adventures_of_felix/

Gay Flicks 3

2009-03-15T01:34:00.002-04:00

6. Slutty Summer 2005
    MY TAKE: The critics hated this little flick. But I liked it, maybe because I didn't expect a cinematic masterpiece from a film shot on a shoestring budget in Manhattan. Yes, the acting is uneven. Some is bad, some is very good. But the story is cute, if cliche-ridden, and the actors even cuter. Luke (Jesse Archer), as the most stereotypical gay character, is totally endearing, if endlessly horny. And Tyler (Jamie Hatchett), as the BritBoy model, is astonishingly beautiful and sexy. What's not to like? Oh, and I love Tyler's quote when Markus (writer-director-actor Casper Andreas) asks him to define their relationship: "Well, I hesitate to call us fuck buddies," he said in his clipped British accent, "because i do enjoy talking to you."
   PLOT: Four pretty, young gay guys get jobs as waiters at a Chelsea restaurant and spend the summer looking for sex and love.
   FAVE SCENE: The gay Jewish dork, Peter, finds a boyfriend -- a cool black kid -- and the two of them walk hand-in-hand down a neighborhood sidewalk in Manhattan.
   SEX QUOTIENT: Not real explicit, but sexy.
  TRIVIA: Jamie Hatchett is a former Versace underwear model.
  MORE:  http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/slutty_summer/

Gay Flicks 2

2009-03-15T01:24:00.004-04:00

4. Happy Together 1997
   MY TAKE: Wong Kar-Wai never fails to fascinate. His films are as much about art as they are about plot. None more so than "Happy Together," a study of two gay Hong Kong guys who move to Buenos Aires and soon drift apart. The breakup of their relationship is difficult to watch at times, but the underlying energy of the film keeps your eyes squarely on the screen. As playwright Hang Ong wrote on the DVD version: "It's also about the pop world of love, ships passing in the night, and the wonderfully lush moments..." Wong shows over and over again in his films, a critic suggested, that the world is one neon-lit fast-food joint, whether you're in Southeast Asia or South America.
   PLOT: Gay lovers move from Hong Kong to Buenos Aires and their relationship disintegrates.
   FAVE SCENE: I love the Taipei segment at the end of the film, simply because of the frenzied cinematography.
   SEX QUOTIENT: Nothing to write home about.
   TRIVIA: Nominated for the Golden Palm award at the 1997 Cannes Film Festival
   MORE: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/1083093-happy_together/

5. Just A Question Of Love 2000
   MY TAKE: This flick grew on me. Made for French television, it intelligently chronicles a budding relationship between a beautiful 23-year-old student (Laurent) and a slightly older agricultural researcher (Cedric). Laurent is still largely closeted, which highly annoys Cedric. Nevertheless, the interaction between these new lovers seems uncommonly realistic, as do their relationships with their parents. The film also is just plain gorgeous -- from the characters to the settings.
   PLOT: The student and his teacher become lovers -- and the teacher prods the student to become more honest about his sexuality. Laurent's parents, small-town pharmacists, are hard sells, to say the least.
   FAVE SCENE: Cedric pulls up in his car outside Laurent's apartment, ostensibly to make sure he got home all right. In truth, he can't get the kid out of his mind. Laurent is equally as excited to see Cedric, and soon they are in bed.
   SEX QUOTIENT: Light. Some modest bed scenes, but remember this first aired on French TV.

This Guy Should've Won (Shut Up)

2009-03-15T01:14:00.003-04:00

I've been bitter ever since Sanjaya lost a couple years ago. ')

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Black and White

2009-03-15T01:12:00.000-04:00

Shawn, a 20ish black kid with a trendy cell-phone earpiece attached to his right ear, was telling a friend about a fight he got into on the subway.

By his account, rendered in animated fashion at Union Square in New York around midnight, he and his girlfriend got onto the train and had to stand because all the seats were taken. Suddenly, a big white dude bumped into him -- even though Shawn hadn't "stopped short," which apparently would have negated the guy's bump.

So Shawn turned around and -- as I remember the story -- made some annoyed-but-non-threatening remark to the guy, who replied, "Fuck you."

Oops.

Shawn, wearing a suit and accompanied on the train by his white Czech Republic girlfriend, said he immediately went into "hood" mode." Out went the proper English. In came the ghetto talk. Which, as Shawn told the story, essentially terrorized the white dude, who -- fearing a faceful of fist -- began bear-hugging Shawn, lifting the lean, 5-11ish kid off the floor.

Obviously, Shawn had a choice: blow off the guy or start whaling on him. Out of the corner of his eye, he said, he spied what appeared to be a security officer approaching -- making the decision easy.

"He was white, I was black. And black guys always get the blame," he said.

So ... BOOM! Shawn's fists were flying.

When the security guy broke things up, Shawn said an old white woman -- as is their wont, he noted -- blamed it all on the black kid.

"You know she wanted to say 'nigger,'" Shawn said.

Shawn's white girlfriend, though, stuck up for him, and -- as I remember -- all ended well.

The story was one of many Shawn told in an hour-and-a-half monologue to his friends, first to a pretty white girl with a European accent, then to a studious-but-strong-looking black guy (whose reaction to the subway tale was, "Shawn, that was a long story.")

A sampling of his subjects: 1) how mainstream American culture sucked because white Americans were basically "watered-down Europeans," 2) how people in Union Square would look at a big electronic readout with rapidly changing mega-digits and speculate that it was the national debt or the number of people Bush had killed, when in fact it was a clock to the nth degree (which he said he figured out after about a week of studying it), 3) how kids in the hood used to make fun of the way he dressed, calling it "homo" (he was wearing a gray T-shirt tucked into tight blue jeans; a snug, untucked checkered button-down shirt; a silver-chain loop on his belt; and red-and-white sneakers untied), 4) how his style of dress is now catching on in the hood, where baggy is out; and how some white dudes just can't pull off the look (noting guys he'd seen in bars with their balls clearly outlined and their "hairy asses" showing when they leaned over), and 5) how everyone his age still raves about "KIDS," a 1995 flick about New York City teens' addiction to drugs and sex (he thought the lifestyle it chronicled was lame).

The guy was obviously bright and culturally and politically aware. At first, I thought he was gay, because he mentioned gay things and said he hung out in Chelsea, but by the end, I wasn't sure. In fact, how much of his monologue was real and how much was shtick is anybody's guess. He was, however, way better than a comedy club on a weekday night. And, once in a while, he drew me into the conversation. When he and his friends left the steps of Union Square at around 12:30 a.m., he reached over, shook my hand and said, "My name's Shawn. It's been good talking to you." Cool, I thought. Even cooler would be seeing him again. Fat chance, right?

Wrong.

About an hour later, I saw Shawn standing outside a brightly lit cafe at the corner of 23rd and 8th in Chelsea, lecturing a bleeding white kid. Soon, an NYPD car flashed to the scene, along with the rescue squad. Uh-oh, I thought, there goes Shawn. But the black-white thing, in this case, didn't hold. I have no idea why the white kid -- whom I first saw literally stumbling past the open-air Venus diner a couple feet in front of my grilled cheese and french fries at about 1:15 a.m. -- was bleeding, but he was the only one taken away by the cops or medics.

I thought about race -- and Shawn -- again Thursday in lower Harlem. I had wandered up 114th Street, a narrow road with teenagers playing basketball on the hot pavement and other black guys hanging out on the stoops of the skinny sidewalk. In a scene out of an NYC cops flick, about 20 police cars -- mostly cruisers, but also a handful of unmarked detective cars (along with one three-wheeled meter-maidish vehicle) -- screeched onto 114th, lights flashing, sirens squealing. Cops sprayed out like shot-gun pellets. Two panting officers raced to the scene on foot. Speculation on the street was that they were looking for someone connected with the shooting of two policemen earlier in the week. It took only five minutes or so for the cops to determine it was a false alarm, and away they went just as quickly as they had arrived.

What was notable, though, was how many of the black guys scattered when the police approached. Many of the cops -- the vast majority, maybe -- were black or Latino, but that didn't matter. Inner-city blacks and big-city cops don't mix.

That's no surprise, considering the stunning number of young black men behind bars in America.

Using information from the U.S. Justice Department's annual report on inmates, the World Socialist Web Site presented stark statistics on life for black men in America:

"More than a quarter of U.S. inmates in mid-2002—a total of 596,400—were black males between the ages of 20 and 39. This means 12 percent of black men in their 20s and early 30s—more than one in ten—are in jail or prison. The report calculates that over the course of a lifetime, 28 percent of all black men will have spent some time behind bars."

The numbers haven't changed much, according to more recent federal studies. In 2005, the Justice Department reported, 12 percent of black men in their late 20s were in prison or jail -- compared to only 3.9 percent of Hispanics and 1.7 percent of whites.

It's even worse for the poorly educated -- and one study estimates that New York City has a 61 percent high school dropout rate.

Reported the New York Times: "In 1995, 16 percent of black men in their 20's who did not attend college were in jail or prison; by 2004, 21 percent were incarcerated. By their mid-30's, 6 in 10 black men who had dropped out of school had spent time in prison."

I have no idea how many black guys are wrongly convicted of crimes. Most, I assume, deserve to be in jail. Most, I also assume, grew up in environments that helped seal their fates -- meaning no father at home, lousy schools, gangs on the streets, a numbness to ever-present violence, an acceptance of drugs. Listen to rap songs. Those guys are like reporters from the ghetto. Life isn't easy.

Race itself, however, plays zero role in why somebody commits a crime. Put white or brown kids in the same circumstances and they'd turn out the same way. That doesn't mean racial profiling doesn't lead to more blacks being jailed. It just means that race isn't the root cause.

Profiling, of course, demeans and marginalizes people. It doesn't make a kid think, "Wow. Isn't that policeman nice, mom?" And it takes places everywhere. Here in Harrisonburg, a college town in the Shenandoah Valley, the city's star high school athlete -- and later a Division I-AA football All-American -- once told me that when he walked to the 7-Eleven, cops would stop and ask what he was doing. That would never happen to a white kid here.

Police, no doubt, would cast a wary eye on Shawn -- or is it Sean (and do I use "Shawn" because it sounds blacker?) -- before they would on a white guy. It's not fair, but Shawn clearly has accepted it -- meaning the system has beaten down even this exceptionally bright, articulate and knowledgeable kid from the hood.

No wonder he decided to pound that white dude on the train.

Yum 7: A Stir Fry, Sort Of

2009-02-25T04:47:00.003-05:00

It's blood orange season, so I'm squeezing those scarlet drops into all kinds of dishes, including something resembling a stir-fry. I say "resembling" because I don't use a wok and I like to cook the vegetables longer than you would in a regular stir-fry. Anyway, this is it:

THE SAUCE

1) Squeeze three to six oranges (depending on juiciness and size) into a bowl. Today, I used four blood oranges and two cara-cara oranges.

2) Squeeze another type of citrus in the bowl. A lime or lemon is good.

3) Add a few slurps of low-sodium soy sauce.

4) Add a generous slurp of maple syrup.

5) Add a minced smallish garlic clove.

THE FRY

1) Lightly coat a skillet with oil. I use olive oil, but -- obviously -- a more traditional stir-fry grease would be fine.

2) Saute some sliced leeks, several minced garlic cloves and a third of a jalapeno.

3) Add sliced sweet bell pepper (red, yellow or orange), sliced baby portobello mushrooms, broccoli, cauliflower, a few grape tomatoes, sliced zucchini. (Or, really, whatever you like.)

4) Add salt, black pepper, a little ground coriander, maybe some cilantro.

5) After it's softened some, add the sauce.

6) Cook another 10 minutes or so.

THE CARBS

1) Brown rice or ...

2) Couscous or ...

3) Bread.

MORE PROTEIN

1) A medium-hard cheese like gouda or jarlsberg, chunked.

Yum.

More Mood Than Shiver

2009-02-19T03:38:00.005-05:00

I'm not a big horror flick guy, but I love foreign films, so I watched "Shiver" (or "Eskalofrio" in Spain) the other day. The plot is pretty predictable -- light-sensitive kid moves to the mountains, people die, he becomes a suspect, turns out the monster's a psycho girl -- but the atmosphere is indeed terrifying. The movie appears to be set in a remote region of northern Spain called Asturias, a wet place of steep canyons and dark forests. The director, Isidro Ortiz, captures the insular dread of the setting perfectly. By the end of the flick, he also achieves his goal of making the dark a sanctuary. "I've tried in 'Eskalofrio' to build a horror thriller where the monsters are the heroes and where you must flee from the light to take refuge in the darkness," he wrote. "A back to front tale." That in itself is creepy.

Perceptive Bitch

2009-02-18T02:48:00.006-05:00

So I'm having dinner with a young Mentos guy. (What's Mentos? Please.) And the young waitress -- who, inexplicably, apparently has the hots for me -- brings separate checks to our table. "The top is yours," she tells me. "The bottom is yours," she tells Gabe. Hmmm. Was she upset? Anyway, as Gabe said, how dare she presume?

(OK. Mentos. That's what I call cool, hip, multicultural, well-traveled guys. You know, like the EuroKid commercials for the Freshmaker. ;)

Dumb and Dumber

2009-02-15T00:00:00.004-05:00

The absolute worst thing in the world: dining alone in a crowded restaurant on Valentine's Day. Yes, it's dumb, but nothing screams "PATHETIC" louder. So, of course, I ate alone in my home tonight, thank you. Hmm. Dumb and dumber?

So, So, Soooo Gay

2009-02-07T00:45:00.010-05:00

Although I apparently am the only homosexual in America who didn't watch "Sex and the City" when it initially aired on HBO, I'm making amends. Not long ago, I buzzed through the first season on DVD. Drooling, I then bought the complete series -- for only $99, I might add -- and am officially hooked.

As everyone knows, this is a "gay" show in drag. Yes, it's about four women's sexual adventures in NYC, but queers can totally relate to the plots and emotions. Maybe it's the promiscuity. I mean, we all know men are horny as shit 24/7. So are these girls. That alone makes it relate-able. Then there's the fashion, the sassy wit, the shopping, the ... OK, so I'm getting a wee bit stereotypical. And, of course, the TV series was created by a gay dude.

Anyway, the show's writing is hit and miss. But -- and here's where the "omg, i'm so gay" comes into play -- I watched an episode yesterday and wept like a 6-year-old girl. It's when a devastated Aiden comes to Charlotte's wedding and breaks up with Carrie, who had earlier told him she had slept with Mr. Big. So everyone's crying, including me. Then, as a still-tearful Carrie poses with her three pals in a wedding picture, she says: "It's hard to find people who will love you no matter what. I was lucky enough to find three of them." Lost it. Why, I really don't know. But sometimes, as cynical as I am, sappy romance knocks me flat.

A Reminder

2009-02-06T04:01:00.003-05:00

It's important to remember -- even belatedly. Last October was the 10th year since Matthew Shepard's murder. Savagely beaten and tied to a fence in the Wyoming prairie -- the only places on his face free of blood were where his tears had fallen -- the 21-year-old gay college student was discovered the next day by a cyclist who thought he was a scarecrow. Shepard died five days later. Most evidence suggests the two young killers were fueled by drugs and homophobia.

But, trite as it sounds, his death did not go unnoticed. Shepard became a symbol in the battle to protect gay people from hate crimes. Those crimes still exist, but -- a decade later -- a majority of Americans appear to accept gays. They might not want them to marry. They might not want to get too close to them. But they don't want to exterminate them. The subsequent humanization of this innocent kid was one small step along the way.

Just Take The Freakin Subway

2009-02-04T03:08:00.005-05:00

The only thing about Taxgate that bothers me is this: What made Tom Daschle feel he needed -- and perhaps deserved -- a car and driver at his command ... 24/7 ... as a private citizen? It's just another deliciously nasty little snapshot of this greedy era. Daschle apparently felt he was just too important to do what 95 percent of people do: either drive themselves or take the subway, the bus or even a cab. Instead -- and I'm guessing here -- he felt his time was so important, his station in life so lofty, his service to the nation already so generous that he was entitled to a round-the-clock chauffeur. It actually wouldn't bug me so much if Daschle had been spending his own $100,000-plus a year for the livery. But to accept it as a gift? From a rich guy trying to rub shoulders with "powerful" people? That's pathetic.

(The picture: THAT'S what Daschle should have been driving -- a 100 mpg car that was quite popular on Capitol Hill, at least for photo ops.)

A Serious Party

2009-02-01T03:35:00.003-05:00

So, I stayed home tonight, cooked dinner (soft-shell tacos with freshly made salsa) and clicked the evening away on the Net. As you might know, I'm fascinated with Justin TV, so -- in the background as I did other things -- I watched a very young, very cute Marine get drunk. He was with two buddies (down from six the night before) in a penthouse at Myrtle Beach ($16 a day each for seven guys), downing beer and booze most of the night. A few minutes ago -- he's now talking to buddies at another party that HE'S watching on the Web -- Stephen told a friend that he'll be spending the next month on the boat he's attached to. Then he'll be stateside for two weeks, presumably at his base in Jacksonville, N.C., before going back to sea for a while. After some time off, he said, his unit will be "deployed" in May. He didn't say where it was being sent, but I'm guessing Iraq or Afghanistan. When I heard him say that, the partying suddenly didn't seem so frivolous. It seemed more like a defensive mechanism, a last chance for normalcy. I wanted to hug him. And thank him.

"I Fuck Guys, But I'm Not Gay"

2009-01-25T02:25:00.004-05:00

I was chatting with somebody on gay.com the other day when he informed me he wasn't "gay," he simply slept with men. Sort of like the Roy Cohn character in "Angels In America" -- the true-life right-wing, anti-communist lawyer who died of AIDS in 1986, apparently insisting to the end that he wasn't queer. Now, let's be clear: These guys don't claim to be bisexual. They just claim not to be "gay." Why? I'm guessing because they buy into all the silly -- and often sordid -- stereotypes, ranging from the extreme (limp-wristed, flamboyant perverts) to the more benign (guys more adept at making creme brulee than changing a tire). In truth, gays span the spectrum: some are indeed flamboyant, others are as "mainstream" as a Peyton Manning spiral, others are beautifully metrosexual. But what makes them "gay" isn't that they get hoarse at Madonna concerts or that they wear tight, low-rise jeans or that they scheduled their lives around "Sex and the City." It's that they have sex with men. Simple as that.

Our James Dean

2009-01-24T01:30:00.005-05:00

Jack Baxter should be arrested for theft. I've never seen a young actor in a gay film steal the camera like Baxter did in "Tan Lines," a coming-of-age story set in a beach town near Sydney, Australia. He plays a 16-year-old named Midget, who is described on the movie's Web site as "surfer, teenager, partier, pervert." A better description might be a gay James Dean. Like Dean, Baxter oozes cocky cool -- even though Midget sleeps in the same bed as his dirt-poor, apparently alcoholic mother -- and exudes youthful sexuality. The story isn't complex: surfer boy discovers he's gay when a cute hunk moves back to town. The boys fall in lust -- and maybe even in love -- but Midget can't quite come out to his cool-but-insular buddies. For a gay audience, this flick has it all: a believable script, sexy bodies and lovingly shot sex. But I think non-homophobic straight guys would like it, too, simply because the story touches all humans, queer or not. Baxter, by the way, was recruited from the streets, making his performance even more remarkable. His charisma splashes all over the camera, and I think his non-acting background gives the movie rare authenticity.

A "G" and an "X"

2009-01-22T03:02:00.010-05:00

Two movies I saw recently:

If I were to be a monk, I'd choose Buddhism in a heartbeat. I mean, come on: pretty saffron robes, reincarnation, cute guys, lots of vegetarian food. It would be nirvana. So, naturally, I enjoyed a little film from Bhutan called "The Cup." It's premise is simple: the interaction of the modern world with the ancient. Set in a monastery in India (though actually shot in Bhutan), the movie focuses on young monks intent on securing a TV for the World Cup. As with many foreign flicks, "The Cup" seeps into your mind -- rather than splashing off it like a Hollywood-style movie. You almost feel as though you've actually checked into the monastery. Not a bad way to spend 93 minutes.
I'm a bit reluctant to mention the second movie because it deals with such a kinky subject: sadomasochism. I never understood the appeal of this fetish. Now, I do. Let me clarify: I have zero interest in performing S&M. To me, is seems "weird." I hate to use that word because it appears judgmental, but in this case it does reflect my intellectual and emotional reaction. Even so, "Punish Me" is so brilliantly acted and so fresh in its material (at least for me) that it's stuck in my mind. Of course, it doesn't hurt that the kid seeking sexual punishment -- played by Kostja Ullman -- redefines teen-age beauty. But it's more than that. The 50-year-old woman whipping the boy is equally compelling. Her transformation from proper parole officer to libidious sex maniac is as sharply etched as a birch tree against a gray German sky. And make no mistake: This is a very, very German film -- full of frank, stark images and emotions. Filmed in sometimes-grainy black-and-white, it gives no pretense of romance. More like art-house porn. But porn that teaches you about a murky subculture.

Boys Will B-Boys

2009-01-11T03:45:00.007-05:00

I just watched "Planet B-Boy," a can't-take-your-eyes-off-the-screen documentary about breakdancing that -- odd as it might sound -- makes you proud to be a homosapien. It's about the 2005 "Battle of the Year," an annual, low-budget mecca of breakdancing held annually in Braunschweig, Germany. The movie follows five teams as they prepare for the 19-nation showdown: the defending champion Koreans, a second Korean team (because the champs make it automatically), the Americans, the French and the Japanese. They splatter themselves on stage in routines that blend in-your-face athleticism with amazing choreography. Here's a snippet (I've imbedded it below, but click the "snippet" hyperlink to watch it in high quality):

My Name Is Chris ... And I (God Help Me) Love Wal-Mart

2009-01-09T04:24:00.006-05:00

As a liberal, I shouldn't admit this, but I absolutely love Wal-Mart. I love all the products, all the low prices, all the shoppers, all the surprisingly cheerful workers. I even love its sooooo unfairly maligned produce.

It's actually a destination resort. Every time I go, I feel like I'm visiting America. As Calvin Coolidge said 80 years ago, the business of America is business. And nothing epitomizes American captitalism like Walmart. It's sort of a smiley-face virus, destroying potential enemies and conquering whatever body it inhabits.

Yet, I love it. I love the way it democratizes a town. In Harrisonburg, everyone --from college students to Hispanic immigrants to Valley Christians to professors to mountain folk -- shops at the super Wal-Marts. I love its honest, ultra-confident capitalism. LOOK AT THE SELECTION! LOOK AT THE PRICES! AND, EVEN AS WE SMILE, LET'S MAKE ONE THING CLEAR: IF YOU'VE GOT A PROBLEM WITH US, FUCK YOU. WE'LL WIN!

Yes, I know all the bad things: how it destroys ma-and-pop stores (which are often overpriced and/or understocked, by the way), how it underpays its workers, how it forces suppliers to make things cheaply (thereby depressing wages and, diabolically, creating a ready-made market for its products), how it offers subpar medical benefits.

But it really does seem willing to address many of those criticisms, and it hires lots of people who, frankly, would have trouble getting a job anywhere else. This, too, is clutch: Wal-Mart's workers treat everybody who walks into the store equally. Doesn't matter if you're the university president or the poultry-plant worker, you're going to get a smile and a thank-you and maybe even a smiley-face sticker for your kid.

The merchandise, of course, spans the gamut. Some is junk, some is cool. I've used Virgin Mobile phones for a few years now, simply because they were on a display near the cash registers and I threw one into my cart. I have dishes from Wal-Mart that I've used nearly every day for years. You just need to pick and choose. As for groceries, you can get everything from blood oranges to fresh horseradish root -- often of better quality than at the snottier supermarkets.

And let me stress, I know snooty. I love farmers' markets and Whole Foods and gourmet shops. In fact, when I first started shopping at Wal-Mart several years ago, I noticed my credit/debit card had been frozen. I called the bank. They told me they had put a security hold on it. Why? "Have you been shopping at Wal-Mart?" they asked. Turns out Wal-Mart was so out of sync with my profile that they thought somebody might have stolen my card.

(Oh, and did I mention how cool it would be to be one of those Mad Max cart boys?)

This Amazes Me

2009-01-09T04:21:00.000-05:00

Olny sxey poelpe can.

cdnuolt blveiee taht I cluod aulaclty uesdnatnrd waht I was rdanieg. The phaonmneal pweor of the hmuan mnid, aoccdrnig to a rscheearch at Cmabrigde Uinervtisy, it deosn't mttaer in waht oredr the ltteers in a wrod are, the olny iprmoatnt tihng is taht the frist and lsat ltteer be in the rghit pclae. The rset can be a taotl mses and you can sitll raed it wouthit a porbelm. Tihs is bcuseae the huamn mnid deos not raed ervey lteter by istlef, but the wrod as a wlohe. Amzanig huh? yaeh and I awlyas tghuhot slpeling was ipmorantt!

if you can raed tihs rpsoet it

A Bit Of Fiction To Make A Point

2009-01-09T03:31:00.004-05:00

So why can't Zach and Javy accept a civil union? Why do they need to be "married"?

Zach is a 24-year-old graphic artist, Javy a 25-year-old waiter going to night school at the Fashion Institute of Technology. They met two years ago at Javy's restaurant, a vegetarian joint in the East Village. It wasn't exactly love at first sight. More like lust at first sight. The gaydar shrieked, Zach excused himself from the table to slip Javy his telephone number, they hooked up. Soon, they were committed. Well, as committed as young gay guys in New York can be. For a while, both did the odd blow jobs. Now, they're monogamous. They want to live out their lives together.

They even have talked about marriage, something alien to previous gay generations. Marriage was for straight people. It was bourgeois, an arrangement designed to propagate mankind. Without children, what was the point? Or so we thought.

Then a generation of gay kids grew up in an era of relative acceptance. Zach came out as a high school senior in Virginia. Javy never really "came out" in L.A.; he just lived his life as a gay kid, no questions asked. Neither ever had an iota of shame or doubt about being gay, so they never had an iota of shame or doubt about the notion of marrying another man.

Suddenly, though, they felt the contempt of America, they felt their nation spitting in their face.

At first glance, civil unions seem like a nice compromise. Under a civil union, gay couples have all the legal rights of straight couples. Those range from financial benefits to hospital visitation. Not a bad way to solve a divisive issue, right?

Uh-uh. For Zach and Javy, it only confirms their pariah status in society. You know, separate but equal. Remember, the separate-but-equal doctrine kept blacks out of white schools, out of white toilets, away from white water fountains. Of course, things were never equal. White schools were palaces compared to black schools. More insidiously, the laws marginalized blacks, demeaned them, psychologically cemented their status as underlings.

The U.S. Supreme Court declared separate-but-equal unconstitutional five decades ago. Among the reasons for the decision: that black children developed a sense of inferiority because they were separated from the ruling-class white children.

Zach and Javy know they're not inferior to straights. They know it in their heads. They know it in their hearts. They know it in their souls. But gay kids also grow up knowing that society views them as undesirable. Forbidding them to marry accentuates that point. It hurts and hardens gay kids, kids whose basic desires are no different than any other guys: the latest Kanye West album, tickets to the Jay Z concert, a new video game, pizza 24/7, gallons of Slurpees. Then they mature -- and they want love, security and acceptance.

Which brings us back to civil unions. They might be better than nothing, but only marginally because the federal government doesn't recognize them. Clearly, they're not the morally right choice.

Few, if anybody, would argue that churches should be required to marry gays if they choose not to do so. They're private entities. But the government -- the representative of all the people -- has an obligation to allow gays to marry. To shirk that obligation condemns 4 percent of Americans to second-class status.

The Zachs and Javys of America -- people who want to formalize their love and commitment -- deserve better.

Here Kitty, Kitty

2009-01-09T03:24:00.001-05:00

My favorite T-shirt is black with a catty message: "So Many Right Wing Christians. So Few Lions." I don't wear it in public, simply because it would offend most people. But I love the sentiment.

I guess the bottom line is I don't understand fundamentalists. And, in truth, I don't respect them. I don't respect them because they form their beliefs on blind faith. Logic? Forget it. If the Bible says it happened, it happened. If the Bible suggests it's bad, it's bad. Want proof? The Bible says ... And that's where they lose me. Quoting scripture in a argument about religion is like quoting Bush in an argument about Iraq. If I'm doubting the premise, quoting the source won't convince me.

Needless to stay, many churches are wonderful institutions. They glue together communities, perform valuable charitable work worldwide and are a source of comfort to millions of people. Others, just as obviously, are evil. They preach intolerance, reinforce prejudices and demonize gays -- which is where I come in.

Being gay, it's hard for me to look fondly on religion. Even most mainstream churches believe that gay sex is an abomination. Most say they love all people, including sinners like gays. But most also marginalize gay people by treating them -- however benignly -- as deviants. Again, many churches do important charitable work. But why should I embrace them?

If there is a god, I can't imagine he created me and my gay friends by mistake or as a diabolical joke. If there is a god, I know he would consider me as much a part of him as Mother Teresa or Billy Graham. He wouldn't ask me to repent, which would come as news to people like the senior editor who said I was going to hell for having sex out of wedlock unless I confessed my sins or to places like Eastern Mennonite University that expel or fire gay people for having sex out of wedlock -- not because they're gay, EMU insists, but because they're not married. The catch 22? EMU opposes gay marriage. So if you're gay and never have sex, you're A-OK.

What bullshit.

Screwed Or Not?

2009-01-09T03:22:00.000-05:00

Never Say Goodbye

2009-01-09T03:20:00.002-05:00

Eric Higashiguchi pulled up in front of my office in his rental car. "Man, this is cool," I thought. "A gay.com friend come to life!"

I'd "met" Eric several months earlier on-line. We'd talked for hours and hours on the phone when he was a law clerk for a federal judge in El Paso. Later, Eric moved back to California -- he was a Hawaiian but got his degree from Cal-Berkeley -- after landing a job at a Los Angeles law firm. Business took him to Washington, so one afternoon he drove two hours to Harrisonburg just to have dinner with me.

Eric emerged from his car and shook my hand. He was a nice-looking guy in his early 30s, the product of a Japanese father and Puerto Rican mother, but -- more importantly -- he was sweet. A wee bit shy. Intelligent. A fun conversationalist. On the phone, we talked about everything, but food was always Topic A. Nutella was a particular passion. So, it was appropriate that our two-hour window that evening -- I had to go back to work -- revolved around dinner. We went to a home-style Indian restaurant here and had a neat conversation. He clearly liked me. I thought he was cool, too.

Most special, we never talked about sex. Not in on-line chats. Not on the phone. Not in person. We laid the foundation for a friendship rather than a hookup. That's not always easy to do with gay.com guys. Distance, though, takes its toll. As he adjusted to life in L.A. -- and later moved back to San Franciso -- and as I got involved with other guys closer to home, Eric and I lost touch. We'd see each other on-line every few weeks, but we didn't talk on the phone, and our friendship became more a memory than a reality.

Still, every so often, I'd think I should call Eric and see how he was doing. I knew he was lonely, I knew he was having trouble finding somebody to love.

Today, at work, I got a call from a stranger in California. He asked if I knew Eric. He then told me he had bad news. Eric was dead. He'd taken his own life a month ago. Friends had found his cell phone and were calling everybody on his contacts list.

Did being gay contribute to Eric's death? It's so much harder for us to find committed mates, to find true relationships. He was sweet but not sexy, just the sort of guy the girl next door wants. But maybe not the kind young gay guys seek out.

I wish I'd called Eric. I wish I'd known how deeply he hurt. His memorial service is this weekend. I can't be there. But I'll be thinking of him, and I'll be thinking of this simple fact: Never let a friendship lapse, never neglect a friend, never say goodbye.

(I first wrote this in July 2006 in another blog, but I think it's worth repeating.)

Yum 6: Too Freakin Healthy

2009-01-09T03:04:00.003-05:00

Nailed the kale soupish thing:

Saute half an onion, a jalapeno pepper and several big garlic cloves in olive oil. Add kale and continue sauteing for a while. Then add a sweet bell pepper, 15-20 or so sliced grape tomatoes, kale, cilantro. Add salt, lots of freshly ground black pepper, a little cumin, a little coriander, a sprinkle of dried Italian herbs, a generous slurp of maple syrup (crucial!), the juice of one orange, a half-can of black beans (or cannellini) and vegetable broth to make it soupy. Simmer for 20-30 minutes. Top with slices of cheddar cheese (or parm-reg if you're using cannellini), eat with dense multi-grain bread.

Race To Judgment

2009-01-08T03:58:00.011-05:00

Race. It's totally loco to even try to talk about it. So, of course, I'm going to talk about it. Anyone who thinks race is irrelevant might want to check out what's been going on in D.C. this week with Roland Burris, a has-been politician appointed by the apparently uber-sleazy Illinois governor -- you know, the guy who looks like the mayor of Budapest, circa 1977 -- to fill Barack Obama's seat in the Senate. Last week, Burris was DOA. No way would the Senate seat him, the Dems said. Not after the man who appointed him -- Rod Blagojevich -- stood accused of trying to auction off the seat. Then came this conversation (sort of): "Psst. Harry! Senator Reid! He's b-l-a-c-k." "What the fuck?!?! Why wasn't I informed!?!?" A party that gets 90-plus percent of the African-American vote suddenly was blocking the appointment of a rarity -- a non-white person in the U.S. Senate. Not good. So, of course, the Democrats have all but changed their mind and appear prepared to welcome Burris to the Capitol.

Three thoughts: 1) Hell yes, the Senate needs more blacks, more Latinos, more women, more gays, more Asians, more multi-racial people. America is turning into a brown nation -- a most excellent development -- and Congress needs to better reflect our new hue. 2) Having said that, I also have to be honest: The only reason Burris is about to be seated is because he's black. The Congressional Black Caucus -- showing the sort of myopic approach that I hoped would fade with Obama's election -- voted unanimously to seat Blag The Terrible's appointee. No way in hell would the Caucus have issued a similar plea for a white or brown man in these circumstances. And Senate leaders, according to the always on-target Dana Milbank in the Washington Post, were on the defensive Wednesday about Burris' race, a sure indication it was foremost on their minds. 3) Finally, the Democrats -- stunningly stupid in their handling of the matter -- had no real choice but to accept Burris. It was becoming an unnecessary distraction, a distraction neither Congress nor Obama could afford as they try to solve seemingly intractable problems. "Unnecessary" because Burris is, on paper, fit to serve in the Senate. Even if his judgment stinks: Burris, after all, was complicit in Blag's cynical maneuver to force the Democratic leadership to accept his appointment, knowing -- unless he's ignorant -- that he would create both a major distraction when the nation should be focusing on real problems and a major embarrassment for Obama on the eve of the president-elect's inauguration. Still, he's apparently an intelligent and accomplished man.

Regardless, race irrelevant? Hardly.

Yum 5: Whore's Pasta

2009-01-07T03:43:00.005-05:00

I know everybody (can there be an "everybody" if nobody's reading your stuff?) wants to know this. My super-simple, quick, go-to dinner, the one I make more than any other, especially in the wee small hour of the morning (GREAT Sinatra song, kiddies), is pasta puttanesca (loosely translated from the Italian: the whore's pasta). A total kitchen dummy could make it. Here it is:

1) Pour some decent olive oil into a skillet.

2) Dice up a head of garlic -- note I said "head," not just a clove -- and toss it in the skillet.

3) Sprinkle in a sizable dose of red pepper flakes.

4) Saute at fairly high heat for a couple of minutes.

5) Add sliced sweet bell pepper (red, yellow or orange) and chopped (and, if you want, seeded) grape or sweet cherry-esque tomatoes.

6) Throw in a spoonful or two of jarred capers (pungent little bitches).

7) Chop up maybe a dozen pitted kalamata olives; throw them into the skillet. If you choose, squeeze in some fresh lemon juice (totally optional).

8) Toss in some pine nuts.

9) Sprinkle with salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper.

10) Let everything saute at medium to high heat until it kind of sticks to the skillet. It should be pasty rather than liquidy.

11) While that's going on, boil water and cook linguine or angel hair. When that's done, toss it into the skillet and mix everything together.

12) Pour it into a bowl or onto a plate; top with parmigiano-reggiano or, if you prefer, cheaper parmesan cheese.

That's it. Serve it with a big salad. (On a flat, square plate, I take a mound of spring mix and surround it with things like avocado, carrots, a few grape tomatoes, apple/blood orange/pear/peach and whole almonds.) Pop open some red wine if you dare.

Norwegian Punk

2009-01-04T00:54:00.033-05:00

I really can hardly watch Hollywood movies anymore. They're like chewing gum -- a nice burst of flavor, then nothing but wasted motion. You might remember the one-liners and special effects, but I doubt if "Batman" or "Indiana Jones" stretch your mind. Which is why I far prefer foreign flicks, where directors often try to strip a character naked and expose him to the world.

That's what 34-year-old Joachim Trier does in "Reprise," a 2006 Norwegian film that I watched via Netflix's on-demand option (finally available for Macs). It tells the story of two young writers, Erik and Phillip, whose lives dramatically diverge as each gets published. Erik accepts his success with relative ease, while Phillip has a mental breakdown (the best portrayal of madness I've seen since the absolutely harrowing "Requiem for a Dream"). Backed on occasion by a punk soundtrack (who knew Scandinavians did anything but "Barbie Girl"?), the movie bumps with energy. I have no clue, but critics compared "Reprise" to France's New Wave films of the 1950s. It definitely smells European, from the brooding backdrops in Oslo to the skinny actors who portray the protagonists.

In essence, "Reprise" is about young people staring into what seems -- at 20 or 25 -- a never-ending life and a never-ending world. The characters talk in Norwegian (don't let the subtitles spook you), but they speak universally -- about the desire for respect, for fame, for success, for love, for security, for friendship and, as New York Times critic Dennis Lim put it, the "near-universal longing of young people" to be somewhere else.

Patriotic Or Not?

2009-01-03T02:29:00.022-05:00

I've been trying to figure out if Obama's election has made me more patriotic. During the Bush years, I certainly never felt any love for the American government. In fact, I hated it. I hated the arrogant executive branch, I hated the pushover legislative branch, I hated the ideological court system. One of my favorite songs was Rufus Wainwright's "Going to a Town":

Tell me, do you really think you go to hell for having loved?

Tell me, enough of thinking everything that you've done is good

I really need to know, after soaking the body of Jesus Christ in blood

I'm so tired of America

I really need to know

I may just never see you again, or might as well

You took advantage of a world that loved you well

I'm going to a town that has already been burnt down

I'm so tired of you, America

I hate standing for the national anthem at sports events. I hate the pomp and circumstance of what Nicholas von Hoffman once called "Imperial Disneyland," aka Washington, D.C.

But here's the dichotomy: On my youtube favorites, I have the cast of "American Idol" singing "God Bless the USA" around the time of the Iraq invasion, never mind that the war was immoral and stupid. I have Liza Minnelli, escorted by NYC cops and firefighters, singing "New York, New York" at the first baseball game at Shea Stadium after 9/11. I cry every time I see footage of the attack on the World Trade Center. I cried when Obama was elected president. I choke up when I see young soldiers and sailors willingly putting themselves in harm's way. I think anybody who attacks America -- such as Al Qaeda -- must be destroyed, no questions asked. Yet I understand their hatred for America.

So am I patriotic? It's such a tough question. I love the ever-increasing diversity of America. I love the ideal of America. I love the heart of America. I wouldn't choose to be anything but an American. But I feel just as much pain for an "enemy" solider -- usually, just a kid in blue jeans, t-shirt and sneakers -- killed by Americans as I do for an American soldier killed by the "enemy." I don't believe Americans are better than people anywhere else in the world, and I think when power is in the wrong hands (read: Bush), the United States is the greatest source for evil in the world.

As I said, it's a complex question. I'm certain Red America wouldn't consider me patriotic. Which, actually, might make the whole question moot.

Listen, Please

2008-12-31T04:38:00.008-05:00

The best kick-ass rock song nobody's ever heard: "Oh Yeah" by the Cliks. If there's such a thing as soulful androgyny, it's encapsulated in Lucas Silveira's voice. He's like knuckles tripping down your back, chilling and warming at the same time. Of course, he does have an advantage, range-wise: He used to be a she. But if you can get past the transgendered thing, "Oh Yeah" is rock at its grittiest best.

(And, yes, I realize that I'm pretty much talking into empty cyberspace until -- unless? -- my livejournal friends find me.)

He Poops Live?

2008-12-28T02:41:00.031-05:00

Yes, he poops live. “He” is a college kid on blogtv, his site is called “EdwinsGeneration,” and for pure, spontaneous entertainment value, it blows away network television. It also opens an uncensored window into the often cringe-inducing world of teenage America, where “PC” definitely signifies nothing but a computer. Words that would be considered racial slurs in grownup society are as common as the underlying sexual tension that permeates Edwin’s site -- and all livecam sites, it seems. The n-word, in its various forms, is common here. Edwin, himself a 19-year-old Mexican-American who lives in Arizona, playfully calls his mixed-Asian girlfriend “Chink” and “Half-chink” (she is his gf, so he gets a pass). All of which raises a question: Are these kids bigoted, or are they postracial? Are they prejudiced, or are they subconsciously mocking racism? My instincts tell me that teenagers today live in such a polyglot world that colors mean nothing more than just that -- black, brown, white. Which, I hope, makes their seeming slurs innocent, if ignorant and immature.

One thing’s for sure, judging from EdwinsGeneration: Kids are absolutely obsessed with h-o-m-o-s-e-x-u-a-l-s. One of the ultimate putdowns -- and one seen continually -- is to call somebody or something “gay.” Also, not surprisingly, there is much speculation on whether particular viewers are queer. Why the obsession? Slipping back into pop psychologist mode, I think lots of the posters are still so young (I'm guessing many are middle school and high school students) that they’re intent on proving their heterosexuality by slamming gays whenever possible. Benignly slamming, I might add, but slamming nonetheless. Because, as the Supreme Court pointed out in Brown v. Board of Education (which banned segregated schools five decades ago), when you single out people as different, based simply on genetics, you marginalize them.

Edwin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to give a shit about his viewers’ orientation. The boy’s a showman, first and foremost, and if his audience is mixed, that’s fine. The more people the better. He thrives on interaction with viewers, flirting with brilliance during his “live shows,” which simply consist of Edwin taking center stage and spraying his huge personality into cyberspace. When his mom burst into his room one evening to tell him to be less noisy -- yes, he lives at home -- Edwin responded by turning out the lights and whispering maniacally for the rest of the night. His energy level is off the charts. He and seven other blogtv guys organized a charity competition called “XmasInsomniax.” Not surprisingly -- given his metabolism -- Edwin won, staying awake (and on camera) for about 48 hours (I kicked in $20 twice, the second time because it was actually inspirational seeing him fighting off sleep to win). His share of the proceeds went to help the Invisible Children of Uganda (check out his excellent youtube video). Obviously, he’s a smart, cool kid. His personality is infectious, and -- except for the haters -- he treats his viewers (usually 20-40 at any given time) with respect and/or humor, rarely kicking or banning people. Plus -- and this is crucial, of course -- the camera licks him like a sweet lollipop.

Although he doesn't take on political or social issues, Edwin does share at least some DNA with Lenny Bruce, the iconic no-holds-barred comedian whose 1962 performance at Carnegie Hall in NYC was immortalized by critic Albert Goldman:

This was the moment that an obscure yet rapidly rising young comedian named Lenny Bruce chose to give one of the greatest performances of his career. ... The performance contained in this album is that of a child of the jazz age. Lenny worshipped the gods of Spontaneity, Candor and Free Association. He fancied himself an oral jazzman. His ideal was to walk out there like Charlie Parker, take that mike in his hand like a horn and blow, blow, blow everything that came into his head just as it came into his head with nothing censored, nothing translated, nothing mediated, until he was pure mind, pure head sending out brainwaves like radio waves into the heads of every man and woman seated in that vast hall. Sending, sending, sending, he would finally reach a point of clairvoyance where he was no longer a performer but rather a medium transmitting messages that just came to him from out there -- from recall, fantasy, prophecy. A point at which, like the practitioners of automatic writing, his tongue would outrun his mind and he would be saying things he didn't plan to say, things that surprised, delighted him, cracked him up -- as if he were a spectator at his own performance!

In a general sense, that's Edwin.

I first started watching EdwinsGeneration a few weeks ago, shortly after reading about the kid who committed suicide live on Justin TV. I’d never heard of either JTV or blogTV (though an on-line friend had acquainted me with Stickam). What I found was a cyber society of people sitting in front of their computers, or talking on the phone, or lying on their beds, or getting drunk, or sleeping, or dancing in their rooms, or jacking off, or getting high, or just talking about any topic (especially the mundane details of their lives) in front of whomever on the globe decides to visit. There’s a guy in Tokyo who takes his cam to work, to McDonald’s, to his kitchen. A college kid at the California Maritime Academy leaves his cam on in his dorm room, allowing people to listen to the smack talk among the cadets. And did I mention sexual tension? It’s HUGE. Shirtless blogging is popular, and guests are often trying to cyberly strip their hosts. Edwin isn’t the least bit shy, teasing guests with sex-charged banter, always with a huge smile, or running around in his undershorts.

And, again, he does poop live. And he pees live. And he showers live. All with the camera strategically placed to maintain a PG rating. Someday, I’m going to interview Edwin. Because, as you might have noticed, this phenomenon abso-fuckin-lutely fascinates me.

Oh Holy Fight

2008-12-28T02:37:00.008-05:00

A fat 82 percent of Americans like the way Barack Obama is handling his transition to the presidency, according to a CNN poll. Surprising? Not at all. Since his election, Obama has turned into Middle America’s sexiest suitor. He’s made overtures to everybody from dog lovers to the military to big business -- while keeping his liberal base reasonably happy. Well, most of his liberal base.

The big exception: gay leaders. Many of them are upset that Obama chose Rick Warren to give the invocation at the inauguration. Warren, of course, opposes gay marriage -- a litmus test for some in our community.

As a run-of-the-mill rank-and-file gay guy, I’m OK with the invitation to Warren for three reasons.

First, Warren is not a hater. He doesn’t condemn gays as people, and he actually seems comfortable around us. He also made a point recently to say he doesn’t equate homosexuality with incest and pedophilia, as he seemed to indicate in an earlier interview. On the other hand, his mega-church in suburban L.A. will not accept sexually active gays as members. (Yeah, that’s smart: Tell gays never to have sex. That’ll make them well-adjusted human beings, don’t you think?) Still, overall, he’s friendly toward gays as people. It’s just the abstract that freaks him out.

Second, Warren does not oppose civil unions for gay people. I think churches have the right to forbid single-sex marriages, though they’re being bigoted and myopic in doing so. But the government doesn’t have a moral right to deny legal unions to any adults who seek them.

Third, we all should have learned many lessons from George Bush’s presidency. One is that, in a nation as diverse as ours, you cannot rule as an ideologue. You have to embrace folks of all shades, except for racists and other extremely hateful people. Otherwise, we become starkly polarized, and nothing gets done. Obama said from the beginning that he would try to erase Blue and Red from our maps. Inviting Warren reaches out to evangelical Christians who feel disenfranchised by liberal Democrats. Hopefully, by meshing all viewpoints, Obama can persuade everyone to be more accepting of others.

Almost Hell

2007-12-22T04:36:00.001-05:00

Is Rich Rodriguez's decision to abandon West Virginia for Michigan the most devastating betrayal in college football history? I think it is. Rodriguez, a native son, essentially dropped a nuclear bomb on his alma mater, shattering both a Top 10 program and the psyche of an entire state.

An exaggeration?

Unless you have ties to West Virginia -- my dad was born and raised there, and I'm a WVU grad -- it's hard to explain how much the Mountaineers' rise to national prominence meant to the state. Yes, major-college football is hypocritical, corrupting and even absurd. But it also unifies like no other sport. Go to any town or holler in West Virginia, and I'll bet you'll find people wearing blue-and-gold.

So what, you say? Every college has fans, often equally as passionate. True, but the difference is that Longhorn fans or Buckeye fans or Hokie fans or Nittany Lions fans or 99 percent of the world's fans live in places where they are inherently respected, where simply saying the name of their state doesn't prompt sneers or snickers.

West Virginia -- the state -- has always been the nation's stepchild, lacking in pedigree and respect. Out-of-state companies stripped it of its coal and timber for decades, leaving behind denuded hillsides and sludge-filled rivers. Today, West Virginia's people are portrayed as hicks, hillbillies or rednecks. Demographically, nobody wants the place -- its poor (50th in the nation in median household income), under-educated (50th in the nation in the percentage of college graduates) and old (3rd in the nation in the percentage of senior citizens). Worse yet, most of its people speak with country or mountain accents, no doubt provoking jokes -- ironically enough -- in places like Boston and Brooklyn.

Statistics, of course, never reveal the whole picture. Years ago, the federal government declared Pendleton County -- near where I live in Harrisonburg, Va. -- a poverty area. It came as news to the folks there. They felt no more poverty-stricken than Bill Gates. Yes, their incomes were low, but their back yards were groaning with garden-fresh vegetables and their housing costs were minuscule.

Is West Virginia sophisticated? No. But neither was much of America when America became a great nation. West Virginians are salt-of-the-earth people, friendly, helpful and country-smart. They also know what the rest of the nation thinks about them. That's why the WVU football team's ascension meant so much. For once, West Virginia had produced something that not only equaled the best in the nation, but something that was cutting-edge. You watched the Mountaineers and you saw the future of college football. And they looked damn sharp, to boot. WVU was actually become trendy.

For people who are used to being made fun of, who crave the respect of their countrymen, WVU's football team was an in-your-face retort to their critics.

"Pride" is such a cliche, but it fits this situation perfectly. Check out youtube videos of Mountaineer fans singing "Country Roads" en masse after every home football game or at the Sugar Bowl two years ago. It'll put a lump in your throat.

Which brings us back to Rich Rodriguez. By bolting West Virginia for Michigan, Rodriguez gave currency to the people who patted WVU on the head and said "nice little program -- but don't think you're more than you are." Here's what CBSsportsline.com columnist Dennis Dodd wrote after Rodriguez left: "West Virginia is still West Virginia, an amazingly overachieving program tucked away in the Allegheny Mountains. A charming little program that channels the coal industry in that both work damn hard to produce something good for the state."

That's light years from the rhetoric columnists and broadcasters were spouting three weeks ago when WVU was about to play for the national championship. Such has been the regression in image for the program because a home-grown coach decided the Mountaineers weren't good enough for him.

And that's what hurts West Virginians about this whole affair. It's not like when John Beilein left for Michigan after five seasons as basketball coach. Nobody expected him to stay at WVU; he wasn't a native. But Rodriguez was born and raised 35 minutes from Morgantown, he played football at WVU, he married a West Virginia cheerleader. A year ago, he promised to be at WVU "a long, long time" after turning down Alabama. To keep him from leaving for the Crimson Tide, the university gave him a 70 percent pay raise (he became the 17th highest-paid coach in college football at age 43 after just six seasons as a Division I coach), bumped his assistants' salaries, built an academic center and began work on new locker rooms. There was no doubt among fans that his love for West Virginia was as great as theirs and that he would remain at WVU for years.

Then came the loss to Pitt, setting in motion a chain of events that led to Rodriguez's betrayal -- or, from another viewpoint, career move.

Looking at it objectively, Michigan is Michigan. Next to Notre Dame, it might be the most spine-tingling job in college football. Even though WVU has a better chance of winning a national championship in the next couple of years than the Wolverines, even though Rodriguez made more money at West Virginia than Lloyd Carr did at Michigan, even though the old royalty is being shoved aside by the nouveau riche. Also, there's the kid-in-the-candy-store factor: Rodriguez had to be intrigued by how his dynamite offense would work with world-class recruits at every position rather than world-class recruits at only a few positions.

And let's not forget WVU's reactionary administration. Rather than being pro-active and giving coaches lucrative new contracts on its own after mega-successful seasons -- like Beilein's NCAA runs and Rodriguez's No. 1 ranking this year -- West Virginia waits until richer schools swoop in with offers. That's no way to make a coach feel loved. On the other hand, WVU isn't in the Big Ten or SEC, meaning it isn't wealthy. Fiscally, I'm sure it does the right thing. But in this case, nobody was more valuable to the state's morale than Rodriguez. Even if it meant boosting the taxpayer portion of his salary significantly, I think West Virginia should have made him a $3 million coach on Dec. 2, the day after the Pitt loss. (And, yes, I know how corrupting that is to the university, but if you're going to play with the big boys, you have to act like a big boy.)

There is a chance, of course, that WVU could land on its feet. Rodriguez was a brilliant coach, but so perhaps is a Jimbo Fisher. And, regardless of who gets the job, the Mountaineers will be a national-title contender again next year, which might generate enough fairy dust to keep the program humming. More likely, I think, a program that was poised to be a perennial Top 10 occupant will sink back into the pack after the next couple of seasons.

Regardless, West Virginians won't forgive Rodriguez. If there's one thing people in the Mountain State know, it's a blood feud. And this is one.

Need proof? Check out this guy:

MerryFreakingXmas

2007-12-22T02:20:00.000-05:00

There's a Russian gay ecard site -- ripped off stuff, I think -- that includes this absolutely fantastic Christmas card:

Unforgettable TV

2007-12-08T22:13:00.000-05:00

I think this is one of the most brilliant moments in television history. It was on the "Andy Griffith Show," circa 1960. Here's the setup: Ben, the Scrooge-like character in Mayberry, wants a mild-mannered family man jailed on Christmas eve for making moonshine, seeing how Ben sells liquor legally at his own store. The family man explains he was just making some holiday cheer, and Andy -- of course -- is reluctant to lock him up over Christmas. But Ben insists, so Andy decides to bring the guy's family -- and his own -- to the sheriff's office for Christmas Eve. Ben climbs on a stool outside and peers into the jail, secretly longing to join in the spirit of the holiday. He even tries to get himself arrested, to no avail ... And then this scene ...

You'd Have To Be Crazy Not To See This Film

2007-11-22T04:58:00.001-05:00

Please, dear God, don't let me wet the bed again. Please, dear God, don't let me be soft. Please, dear God, don't let me be gay.

If you think you've seen all the coming-of-age films you need to see, you're wrong -- unless you've already watched "C.R.A.Z.Y.," a twist-your-heart-until-it-bleeds French-language flick that floored critics with its passion and wisdom.

Set in Quebec from 1960-1981, "C.R.A.Z.Y." injects you into the membrane of a tight working-class family whose five sons include a drug addict with a temper, an egghead, a jock and a fattie. But the movie revolves around Zac, who spends his adolescence suppressing his homosexuality out of deference to his conservative father. Played with astonishing skill by the stunning Marc-Andre Grondin, Zac represents every kid who has to endure an assault by his parents on his orientation. In this case, Zac -- with a few detours -- finally accepts and embraces his sexuality.

"C.R.A.Z.Y." -- the title is an acronym of the five sons' first names -- doesn't paint black-and-white pictures. Every major character -- except for perhaps the saintly mother -- is complex. The lunch-pail father, for instance, is a sympathetic figure, a loving parent who simply can't cope with the notion of a gay son until tragedy shakes him out of his bigotry.

While the film's theme is a gay coming-of-age story, "C.R.A.Z.Y." also is a powerful tribute to family and spirituality, subplots that will bring you to tears. At the same time, the humor is razor-sharp and the music -- Patsy's Cline's "Crazy" in a recurring theme -- makes the flick wholly entertaining.

Every straight person with a brain should see this film. How good is it? Rottentomatoes.com's analysis of reviews gave it a 100 percent positive rating.

And, finally, from a gay guy's point of view, Marc-Andre Grondin is as close to perfection as human beings come. Watch him lip-sync to David Bowie's "Space Oddity" (you know, "Ground control to Major Tom...") and you'll fall in love instantly.

SIDENOTE: I downloaded "C.R.A.Z.Y." from netflicks and watched it on my computer. The downloadable movie selection is limited, but the platform was satisfactory. It wasn't high-def, but the netflix media player was large enough and sharp enough to make the experience enjoyable.

The two pictures show Zac's progression from his kid-next-door phase to his Ziggy Stardust phase. The first part of the movie actually deals with his childhood years and is skillfully played by a boy actor.

I Love You, Yeah, Yeah, Yeah

2007-11-22T01:58:00.000-05:00

Some of you might remember what a hard-on I got for Clap Your Hands Say Yeah. Well, my new musical lust is Vampire Weekend, a bunch of recent Columbia grads who just signed with a label (meaning, it seems, that only two of their songs are available for download now). The music's been described as preppy with a strong dose of Africa. Yeah, these are white kids. But they're good. Call it alt or rock or whatever, but basically it's pop in its purest, best form. Sort of like the Beatles -- in genre, not sound.

http://www.myspace.com/vampireweekend

Snow. Yay.

2007-11-16T21:26:00.000-05:00

We had our first few snowflakes yesterday.
Not a fan.
I used to get butterflies in my belly at the first sight of snow.
No more.
Snow before Thanksgiving was a treat; snow before Christmas was mandatory.
Now?
Now, I want warmth and life year-round.
Maybe it's age.
Maybe I don't want to be denied the pleasures of spring and summer and early fall.
Or maybe I just don't want slush in my shoes.

10 Q's For The Gay Sports Editor

2007-11-16T04:55:00.004-05:00

So, a friend who has a well-read blog wants to interview me about being a gay sports editor. Not a bad idea, except I've never publicly revealed that I'm gay. A lot of people know, but it's never been a topic of conversation at the paper. That raises a question: Am I a "gay" sports editor if I haven't told my readership or bosses that I'm gay? I see myself as a journalist who happens to be a vegetarian, who happens to be way left politically, who happens to have a German-born mother, who happens to have a West Virginia-born father, who happens to be gay. Nevertheless, I can see how it might intrigue people. Here are some of the questions I'd ask myself if I were blogging on the topic:

1) What's it like going into locker rooms full of naked men? It's gross. Locker rooms are as sexy as used jock straps. Especially in football, they're smelly and full of hairy-assed guys OD-ing on testosterone. Beyond that, when you're writing a story, you're concentrating on journalism -- not on human anatomy. Sadly, many college football and basketball locker rooms are now closed to the media (largely because of the increase in the number of women sports writers). I say "sadly" because you get the best gut reactions in the locker room. Typically, athletes are brought into formal interview rooms, killing almost any chance of a spontaneous -- read: honest -- comment. On the other hand, I don't miss the awkwardness of fully-dressed middle-aged men interviewing naked 20somethings as they dress or pad to the showers. Having said all of that, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I've seen guys in locker rooms whom I found sexy. It's just that you don't get a chubby over them because you're working and it would be highly inappropriate to shift into sex mode.

2) Does being gay influence how you cover sports? I'm not sure it's so much being gay as being metrosexual. If you have a sense of style -- and many gay guys are more into that than straight folks -- it influences the topics you write about, the descriptions you include in stories, the questions you ask during feature interviews. I like to write about guys' tattoos -- they often tell a story that strips away the subject's veneer -- and I often include some description of the guy's body (the "sinewy tailback," "the skinny-as-a-net-cord point guard," the "zero-body fat cornerback") that you might not find in a non-metrosexual (or non-gay) sports writer's stories.

3) As an editor, does being gay influence your story and picture choice? Sometimes. For example, I used a shirtless picture of David Beckham with a story on his appeal as a pitchman in the United States, simply because I found the photo sexy. A straight and non-metrosexual sports editor might not connect the dots like that. Usually, though, the types of stories and pictures I use won't be any different than what you'd find in any other fairly sophisticated sports section.

4) Do you think parents would worry if you revealed you were gay and covered their kids? Some would. I don't cover high school sports, so that would never be a direct issue. But it would be an indirect issue, with less enlightened parents questioning whether a gay man should be involved to any extent with teenagers. Attitudes like that, of course, reflect willful ignorance and rank prejudice. Ask yourself this: Does anyone question it when straight men cover girls' sports? Of course not. But, our neighborhood homophobes might argue, those men don't have access to girls' locker rooms! True, but I don't think many reporters go into boys' locker rooms, either. So it should be a non-issue.

5) Why don't you tell your readership that you're gay? Because I don't see any point in stamping a rainbow tattoo on my forehead. My sexuality, just like my race and gender, should be irrelevant as a journalist.

6) But aren't you doing a disservice to fellow gays? Wouldn't you be a good role model for young gay sports writers? Touche. But you have to be reasonable, and I live in a conservative area that would see any disclosure of my sexuality as in-your-face rather than refreshingly honest. Maybe I'm rationalizing, but I don't think my most private traits should have any bearing on my job as a journalist. On the other hand, if I were in NYC or San Fran or Miami, would I be more vocal about my sexual orientation? Almost certainly. Hmm, I'm not liking this answer.

7) Do you think your staff has a right to know? My writers speculate among themselves endlessly, or so I've been told by guys who come to learn about my sexuality. And if they can't figure out that I am indeed gay, they should find another line of work. But I don't see how announcing to each one that I'm gay would be relevant to my job as their editor/supervisor. On the other hand, I never lie when asked. Plus, if I socialize with a staffer or former staffer, I tell him, simply because at that point he has a right to ditch me if he's not comfortable drinking a glass of wine (how gay is that?) or downing a few brews (trying to be macho) with me.

8) Have you known any gay athletes who would make good stories? Not many, but at least two come to mind. One is a high school basketball player who I think is too young to approach about that. The other was a college soccer player whom I asked for an interview (but was eventually rejected). Ethically, I wouldn't be able to write a column about a gay athlete without disclosing that I too am gay. I don't think that would be necessary in a feature story.

9) If you could date one sexy, mega-star athlete, who would it be? Tony Parker. He's cute and his accent would be a HUGE plus. ;) But T.O. is sexy as shit, as is A.I., Vince Carter, A-Rod, Jeter, Beckham, Dwyane Wade, Gilbert Arenas, Carmelo, Tiki ... and the list would take up the Internet. ;)

10) Which genre of athlete has the best and worst bodies? Shooting guards and small forwards in the NBA are at the top of the pecking order. They're leanly muscular and in peak condition because of all the running. Tennis players and sprinters are tied for No. 2. Obviously, NFL linemen are at the bottom of the list, though -- surprisingly -- NFL quarterbacks aren't much better (too lumpy). Most gays, I suspect, would say swimmers are No. 1, but that's because of my community's fixation on white guys with totally smooth bodies. I find them pretty but not particulary sexy.

Any other questions?

Sex? Good GOD, No!!!

2007-11-06T11:35:00.000-05:00

Saturday night -- or, more accurately, in the wee hours of Sunday morning -- I got an IM from Gabe. He had just gotten home from partying and wanted me to come over to his apartment for some "fun."

Intriguing, no? I mean, Gabe is a handsome 20-year-old student at James Madison University. And -- down, boy! -- he's a Latino. From L.A. no less. Well, L.A. via the D.C. suburbs. But still.

Did I mention he's also smart? Gabe's on a full scholarship at JMU to study international relations.

So let's recap: Good-looking. Latino. Smart. Young.

No-brainer, right? You would think so. But for the second or third time this semester, I rebuffed Gabe's attempt to hook up. In fact, we've never met face-to-face. I've asked him probably half-a-dozen times to meet me for dinner, but he keeps putting me off. We know each other through -- what else? -- gay.com. I was in a D.C. area chat room last summer and Gabe popped up to say hi. We had a cool chat, and he appeared eager to meet. "I can't believe you live in Harrisonburg," he said. A friendship was budding. Or so I hoped.

Why, then, hasn't it happened? Two reasons, I think. From Gabe's end (no pun intended), he usually contacts me when he's a little drunk and wants to "hang out" at his apartment at 2 or 3 a.m., which I assume means he wants to have sex. (In fairness, though, he did ask in September whether he could do a brief internship at my office.) From my end, I want to get to know the kid's heart and soul and mind, not his dick or butt. Don't get me wrong. Sex with a 20-year-old Latino would be sweet, but there's a hitch: I'm three decades older than Gabe, and slam-bam-thank-you-ma'ams with college guys violate my behavioral code.

That doesn't mean having sex with Gabe would be immoral. If we got to know each other and the "moment" occurred, sex would be perfectly fine. (I've slept with my share of 20somethings.) And I have no problem with other older guys boinking 20-year-olds just for the carnal pleasure. (Or, if you're Bill Clinton, getting a blow-job, albeit with a chunky woman, rather than a cute guy, but you get my point.)

So here I sit, rebuffing Gabe -- and wondering if I'm a fool for complicating a simple, good act: s-e-x. And don't even ask me about Allen, another JMU student I've rejected. Shoot me, please.

Cool Artist

2007-11-04T01:56:00.000-04:00

Check out this young artist from ... well, from all over. He graduated from NYU and now lives in L.A. His name is Ian Kim. I love the pop flavor of his work.

http://www.ikplay.com/

If You Want To Understand Gay Men, Read This

2007-11-04T01:29:00.000-04:00

At times while reading John Weir's very funny, very sad "What I Did Wrong," you might find yourself flashing back to Al Pacino in "Angels In America." In this case, the guy dying of AIDS is much younger and much less political, but equally bitchy as life seeps out of him. It's a memorable portrait in a book full of memorable people and moments.

Set in New York, "What I Did Wrong" deals with a 42-year-old Queens College professor's relationship with three people: Zack, his dead sort-of boyfriend; Justin, one of his students; and Richie, his best friend from high school. To simplify, Zack represents reality (AIDS, death), Justin hope (a potential lover half the prof's age)and Richie a combination of innocence, normality and inertia (the straight guy who ends up not far from home, physically or psychologically, in Long Island).

Don't run your fingers across the pages of this book. Weir's writing is so sharp it'll make you bleed.

I'm A Phenomenon!!!

2007-09-26T02:35:00.001-04:00

In perhaps the most priceless quote ever uttered -- well, supposedly uttered -- by a Middle Eastern leader, Iranian President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad denied the existence of gays in his nation.

"In Iran we don't have homosexuals like in your country. We don't have that in our country," Ahmadinejad told a hooting Columbia University audience in response to a question about the persecution of gays in Iran. "In Iran we do not have this phenomenon. I do not know who has told you we have it."

As happy as I am to be a phenomenon, I must say I doubt that Ahmadinejad actually said that. Yes, I know, it was on TV. I watched it. But Ahmadinejad was speaking in Farsi, and I'm thinking the translator blew it. My best guess is that he was speaking about the persecution of gays, not the existence of gays. Otherwise, he is indeed a complete dope.

Of course, either way, he was lying. Like many a Muslim nation, Iran treats gays despicably.

Food For Thought

2007-09-03T00:48:00.000-04:00

First, let me stress that I love farmers markets. I love local vegetables. I love local maple syrup. I love local jams and jellies. Whenever possible, I like to eat and cook food grown fresh locally.

Having said that, I think localvores are crazy.

In case you don't know, a localvore is somebody who insists that all of your food should be produced within your extended community -- defined, apparently, however you choose. Some might say a 100-mile radius; others might say an entire state. The reasons for the movement are threefold: 1) environmental (it uses too much oil and other resources to transport food thousands of miles), 2) health (locally produced food is more likely to be organic or at least less drastically sprayed) and 3) lifestyle (local food tastes better because it's picked when it's ripe).

All good reasons.

But to suggest that we should restrict ourselves to those foods represents a pitchfork mentality. Not only would dismantling the national (and international) food system eliminate a huge number of jobs, but it almost certainly would jack up prices and lead to shortages of quality foods for working-class people. In other words, I doubt if there are enough tomatoes or apples being grown in Virginia to feed the people.

Beyond that, quality is important. Personally, I don't want a local cantaloupe or watermelon. Compared to the Deep South variety, they're insipid. As much as I enjoy local apples, I also like varieties from the West Coast. Ditto cherries. Not to mention bananas and every citrus fruit on the earth. The list goes on and on, from avocados to jalapenos. And, yes, I do enjoy Spanish clementines in December.

I also am not willing to give up fresh tomatoes or mesclun mixes in winter. So why not grow them locally in greenhouses? As a Wikipedia article suggests, some believe it is more environmentally taxing to do that than to ship tomatoes from southern climates to northern climes.

I think the logical solution is to eat locally as much as you can. For instance, it makes no sense to buy a cardboard supermarket tomato in summer when the farmers markets are groaning with great-tasting local tomatoes. But if you want a Rainier cherry, for God's sake, buy them.

YAY! He's GAY!

2007-08-30T02:22:00.001-04:00

It's always a good day when another right-wing hypocrite is outed. Larry Craig, the icky senator from Idaho, is the latest -- assuming things are as they appear. Making it even more delicious is this clip that surfaced on youtube. My GOD, this guy is a creep:

OK, beyond Craig's apparent rank hypocrisy, I've got a question: Is this fucking 1975? Have these people never heard of the Internet? I mean, good God, who goes to toilets or parks or dirty book stores to find sex nowadays? Just click onto gay.com and you can hook up in a nano-second. Jesus.

Critics All Wet

2007-08-30T02:08:00.000-04:00

The most annoying thing in the world right now? All of the people who are urging us not to drink bottled water. Their reasoning: Bottled water is environmentally unsound because it uses plastic bottles and needs to be transported -- both of which require oil.

OK, I agree that drinking Fiji water is idiotic. Or Scandinavian water. Unless those sources have special minerals that turn gray hair black or erase wrinkles or add 3 inches to your dick, there's no need to drink them. In fact, I chided one of my writers the other day when I spied his square bottle of Fijian H2O. The oil consumed to ship it to Virginia constituted environmental rape.

But is it so bad to drink Deer Park if you live in Virginia? Or Poland Spring if you live in New York? Both are drawn from sources nearby (usually Pennsylvania and Maryland for the Deer Park sold here in Virginia, and Maine for the Poland Spring sold in NYC). Yes, they're in plastic bottles. The solution, though, is to recyle the plastic, not to discourage people from drinking bottled water. Because, I guarantee you, almost nobody is going to carry around a refillable bottle full of warm tap water. If anything, they'll turn to soft drinks or fake "juices."

So why are the anti-bottled water people annoying? Here's why: I'm guessing many are upper-middle class folks who live in sizeable houses and drive SUVs. That's just a guess. I've done no studies on the matter. And I'm not talking about the activists who spend their lives on these issues. I'm talking about the do-gooders who've taken up the cause. Perhaps they should downgrade to a VW before yapping about water.

(Sparkling waters such as Perrier and San Pellegrino -- which, along with Deer Park and Poland Spring, are owned by Nestle, by the way -- probably are OK to buy, even though they come from Europe. The market for sparkling water, I think, is a fraction of that for flat bottled water, so they're a luxury we can afford envrionmentally.)

Think, Not-So-Think

2007-08-29T01:59:00.001-04:00

I watched two gay coming-of-age films recently -- one American, one Swiss. I liked both, but as you might suspect, the European movie was far more layered, far more thought-provoking than the American one. And, as you might suspect, the American flick was more fun to watch than the Swiss one.

"Garcon, Stupide" is about a 20-year-old kid who works at a chocolate factory in Bulle, a small town in the French-speaking part of Switzerland. He's an uneducated lad who relies on a slightly older woman to help guide him through life. The director, Lionel Baier, does a nice job of "growing" the kid -- showing how a handful of people enter his life and change him. Baier also touches on issues that all gay guys deal with: obsession, suspicion that everyone you meet wants sex, the desire to be "normal" (in this case, to have a wife and family).

"Dorian Blues" focuses on a teen-ager's coming out story. It's funny and touching, though sometimes a little too bitchy. The best part is Dorian's relationship with his ultra-loyal, straight, hunky, football-playing brother. It's a nice film about how tough it is for gay people to have relationships -- with everyone from family to friends to lovers.

Oh, Yeah, It's Working

2007-08-24T13:38:00.000-04:00

I keep reading that the "surge" is working -- and not just from the dumb, demented or diabolical. Neocons aside, people like Hillary Clinton (please, Barack, find your voice quickly) also are acknowledging that the injection of more American soldiers in Iraq has pacified parts of that nation.

My reaction: So what?

The salient points remain the same: 1) Was invading Iraq worth -- at last count -- 3,725 American lives and tens of thousands of Iraqi lives? 2) Was it worth weakening the United States both militarily and morally? 3) Was it worth setting the stage for the election of an Islamic government once the Americans slink home? 4) Was it worth -- again, at last count -- nearly half-a-trillion dollars ($454,818,446,792)?

It doesn't surprise me that parts of Iraq are safer because more soldiers are patrolling them. It would surprise me if the end result was any different than I think it's going to be: that the Americans are going to withdraw (claiming victory, but -- in fact -- having been defeated), the Iraqis are going to suffer a period of turmoil (where fewer people die than have perished because of Bush's policies) and that Iraq will have a fundamentalist Islamic government in league with Iran.

Meanwhile, the whole adventure had zilch to do with combating terrorism. Well, almost nothing. As study after study after study has shown, Iraq was not a factor in terrorism before the United States made it one by its invasion and occupation -- thereby playing into the Islamic militants' hands. Read Lawrence Wright's "The Looming Tower" -- this year's Pulitzer Prize winner -- and tell me that Osama bin Laden isn't cackling in his cave at the sight of America bogged down in a war against Muslims. It's exactly what the terrorists want -- and, as luck would have it, a stupid president and his arrogant neo-con advisers accommodated that goal.

So, perhaps the "surge" is succeeding in quelling the violence in parts of Iraq. Unless you're willing to keep American troops there forever, though, it means little.

(The photo was taken by David Leeson of the Dallas Morning News)

Oh, I'm Gay?

2007-08-19T00:59:00.001-04:00

It took me a long time to figure out 100 percent that I was gay. I mean a l-o-n-g time. But that speaks more to my naivete than anything else, because I certainly had clues.

For example: As a seventh-grader living at Eglin Air Force Base on northwest Florida's sugary-white Gulf coast, I'd go to youth-league baseball games with my dad -- not because I was remotely interested in the sport, but because the local team had a cute pitcher who always threw himself out of his shirt. Those glimpses of skin -- along with the Pixie Sticks I'd buy at the concession stand -- sustained me for weeks.

Of course, there were other clues in my early teen years. When pink bellies became a fad, I was in absolute heaven. And what budding Baby Boomer queer can forget TV shows like "Flipper," where kids our own age were running around shirtless for 30 minutes.

Still, I put those feelings on the back-burner. Not only did I have no idea what a "homosexual" was -- though I can still picture the precise moment I asked my parents about the word, which had just come up on a TV show (a rarity in the '60s) -- but I figured I would grow up like everyone else in the official version of Mainstream America and settle down with a wife and children.

Boy, was I stupid.

It began to dawn on me that I was gay -- though, again, that was such a foreign concept in my world that I didn't really understand it -- when I was a junior at Baumholder American High School in Germany. My best friend was a smart, witty, slightly stocky kid named Rich. Never once in the year or two we spent together at BAHS did the words "gay" or "homosexual" cross our lips. But even then, I suppose, my gaydar was finely tuned: I knew he was gay from Day 1. He, on the other hand, apparently was clueless about my orientation. It wasn't until about five years ago that I told him I was gay, too.

Anyway, I remember us going to bars in Baumholder (there was no true drinking age in Germany at that time) and getting plastered. Weekend after weekend. Once, when I stayed over at his house, we were stumbling home and I pretended to be drunker than I was. The reason? Simple: I wanted him to have to half-carry me home, knowing there was no way he could avoid skin-to-skin contact, thanks to a particularly loose shirt. It worked. One of his hands kept me from falling to the sidewalk -- pulling up my shirt in the process -- while the other wrapped around my naked waist. It was a total turn-on for me -- and, I'm guessing, for him.

Pretty strong clue, huh?

Idiotically, I continued to ignore the obvious for years after high school. Now and then, I'd "date" girls. The dates, needless to stay, never ended in sex, unless you consider a back rub to be sex. I think the reason I was so naive was twofold: 1) Although I was a media addict, newspapers and TV in those days pretty much pretended gay people didn't exist, so I wasn't exposed to issues like gay marriage that are now so commonly discussed; neither was I exposed to channels like MTV, which portrays gay folks as completely normal (not to mention trendy); and I wasn't exposed to the Internet, where chat rooms would have shown that there were millions of people just like me around the world. 2) I was scared. The little I read about homosexuality suggested it was a bad thing done by weird people. I was deeply into politics and journalism at the time, so I didn't spend much energy researching the topic. Call me a Sexual Capitalist: My attitude was laissez-faire -- whatever I would become, I'd become. Eventually, of course, it dawned on me that the mainstream media's portrayals were simple right-wing and Christian propaganda.

Slowly, I understood who I was. Slowly, I began dating guys. Less slowly, I began sleeping with guys. And I'm now who I am. But, as a 20something gay pal once told me with deep pity: "Oh, you missed out on things when you were young and cute. " Ouch. So, um, gay kids, don't put off your coming-out parties. You'll never regret being honest with yourself.

The Kid and the Kid

2007-08-11T21:38:00.001-04:00

I absolutely love this photo of Roger Maris with the 19-year-old kid, Sal Durante, who caught his 61st home run ball at Yankee Stadium on Oct. 1, 1961. Doesn't it connote an infinitely more innocent era? Maris looks like the quintessential baseball-playing boy of postwar America. Contrast him to the steroid-built bodies of Mark McGwire and Barry Bonds.

As for Durante, Maris told him -- a la Bonds to the guys who caught his home runs -- to keep the ball and cash in. So Durante, a truck driver from Brooklyn, sold it for $5,000 to a restaurant owner in California.

"People say I was crazy for selling it for $5,000, but that was a lot of money back then," Durante, now 65 and living in Staten Island, told the New York Daily News recently. "That was a year-and-a-half's salary for me - I was taking home $60 a week back then. I have no regrets."

The restaurant owner eventually gave the ball to Maris.

Cool, no?

(Sources: New York Daily News and Time.com)

Of Cherries and Watermelon

2007-08-11T20:39:00.000-04:00

Cherry season is over. Actually, it ended a week or two ago. The Rainiers that I craved 24/7 disappeared; the remaining Bings became subpar. If you haven't had a Rainier cherry, you cannot possibly understand the gap that now exists in my life. Firm, juicy and uncommonly sweet, they're to a typical cherry what Myrtle Beach is to Miami Beach. With one, you get putt-putt golf and taffy. With the other, you get palm trees and gelato. Soon, sadly, sweet watermelons, too, will be gone. Nothing -- absolutely nothing -- compares to crisp, sweet, juicy watermelon on a hot summer night. The only thing that keeps me going is the certainty that come June 2008, the cherries will be back, along with the melons. Hope. It's what makes life worth living.

Fratboy Flaks

2007-07-31T02:44:00.001-04:00

Does anyone else wonder why major news organizations constantly quote spokesmen whenever politicians get into spats? I'm not talking about background information from campaigns, which no doubt is invaluable. I'm also not talking about substantive points from aides. I'm talking about the stupid, predictable "sound bite" quotes that come from PR people.

An example from the AP, quoting a Romney flak: "While we'd all like to be able to join Mr. Edwards and laugh off $400 haircuts, Mitt Romney believes that working families should be able to keep more of their money," Craig Stevens said.

That's like Swift Boat Lite. It allows the candidate to appear "presidential" while his people take jabs at opponents. Had Romney brought up Edwards' haircuts -- something that would never happen -- it would be newsworthy. To quote the aide is idiotic.

I know the rationale: Reporters can't always reach candidates, so they take what they can get from PR people. Even in my role as a sports editor at a college-town paper in Virginia, I understand how difficult it can be to get a hold of, say, a university president. But I would never quote his spokesman taking a cheap shot at somebody -- and not because of some holier-than-thou attitude. I just think it's dumb. The quotes add nothing to the public discourse and nothing to our understanding of the candidates (if only because they all do it). They just give one side a giggle and piss off the other side, like frat boys playing pranks on each other.

Hot Streets

2007-07-30T03:46:00.000-04:00

For some reason I love this street scene from NYC. Yeah, yeah. I know. The guy is sexy as shit. But beyond that, it captures the city's feel on a sizzling summer day, I think. I took it in mid-July on the West Side. (You need to click onto the image to get the full effect.)

Yum July 27: Fresh Summer Pasta

2007-07-28T02:10:00.000-04:00

This only works if you have fresh summer tomatoes -- like out of your garden or from the farmers market. It's a raw "sauce" that gets heated a little by the cooked pasta. A very summery flavor.

1) Chop some fresh summer tomatoes into a bowl (mix in some heirlooms, if you have them).
2) Chop in some fresh basil.
3) Mince a few garlic cloves and throw them in the bowl.
4) Add a splash of balsamic vinegar.
5) Drizzle generously with good olive oil.
7) Add salt and black pepper (I use sea salt and freshly ground pepper).
7) Add some pine nuts if you choose.
8) Mix everything together and let is sit while you boil water and cook penne pasta.
9) Drain the pasta and add it to the bowl.
10) Top with reg-parm (I use the cheaper, less-aged wedges).\
11) Mix it all together.

Quick and good.

The Sexist Billboard Ever

2007-07-15T03:20:00.001-04:00

Armani Exchange has this billboard up all over NYC (top). It absolutely oozes sexuality, I think. Of course, the gay world's favorite shop doesn't ignore the homoerotic, either, as the ad below shows.

Yum 3

2007-07-14T23:34:00.000-04:00

Here's a really good summer dish I concocted -- it's especially good if you have access to home-grown vegetables:

1) In olive oil, saute a small leek, a few cloves of garlic, two-thirds of a diced jalapeno pepper and about half a sweet bell pepper (red, orange or yellow) for a few minutes.
2) Add thinly sliced zucchini and yellow squash (a couple of medium ones, or four small ones). Sprinkle with salt and lots of freshly ground black pepper. Let it fry until you have to scrape the skillet.
3) Add a few fresh tomatoes, fresh parsley, a little fresh basil and some tomato juice (like from a can of diced tomatoes) and one-third to one-half a can of cannellini beans.
4) Add a few shakes of low-sodium soy sauce.
5) Cook on medium-high heat for a while, stirring occasionally to keep it from sticking (though the tomato juice also does that).

When it's done, serve over rice (which, of course, you should have started cooking before the main dish). I've used brown (tastier and more nutritious) or white (quicker). Top with shavings of parm-reg cheese.

For a salad, I sliced some strips of not-quite-ripe avocado, some strips of ripe papaya and a couple handfuls of mesclun lettuce sprinkled with salt and pepper. The dressing: the juice of two limes, a slurp of olive oil and a slurp of maple syrup.

Why Gay.com?

2007-07-08T01:09:00.000-04:00

Guys have three reasons for logging onto gay.com: 1) they're horny, 2) they're lonely, or 3) they're socializing. Each is a perfectly good excuse for clicking onto a Web site that has both taken the toilets out of cruising and become the 21st century gay man's version of a town square.

Clearly, the cruising role is fundamental, but it isn't necessarily primary. Yes, gay.com is sex driven. Hang out in a big-city chat room for a few minutes and you're virtually guaranteed a quick hook-up -- assuming you want one. And lots of guys DO want one. But plenty of others are there just to chat, either because they're lonely or because they like the company. I've made lots of cyber friends and a handful of flesh-and-blood friends thanks to gay.com, and they're always mega-interesting people.

Of course, you do have to pick and choose. For me, a "way left" under the politics portion of the profile is a huge turn-on. So is a cute wit and sense of humor. Turn-offs are multiple, too. Among them:

1) A picture of your dick. You know, certain things should remain a mystery. I guess some guys get insta-chubbies when they see a penis staring at them. For me, it's just a total yawn. Not to mention classless.

2) A butt spread out like a filleted chicken breast. Again, not my cup of tea. I mean, a little butt is fine, but I can do without the visual anatomy lesson. If you insist on displaying your butt, please be under 30. A kid's butt is inherently cute; an older guy's butt is borderline gross. (And, for the record, I'm 20 years over the limit.)

3) Screen names of guys in their 30s or 40s that include "boy" or "kid." Um, here's a little piece of intelligence fresh from Bush's covert NSA spy program: You're NOT a kid anymore. Now, let me stress that I like guys who retain a young demeanor, be they 30 or 50 or 70. Too many "adults" become boring, closed-minded and humorless. BUT that doesn't mean you're a "boy" or "kid," so stop the subterfuge, please.

4) Guys whose first question is: "What do you like to do?" Answer: "I like to X you off my screen."

5) People who don't have enough balls to post a picture of themselves. These guys may be great folks, but you've gotta have some guts. I assume they're staying anonymous for one of two reasons: 1) they're unsightly, or 2) they don't want people to know they're gay. I do have sympathy for Reason No. 1. If a guy is fat or thinks he's unattractive for another reason, the only way he might be able to chat with people is by hiding his appearance. His goal, I suppose, is to get his foot in the door -- to get to know a guy, mesh personality-wise and then hope that looks don't matter. (Yeah, right. This is GAY.com, remember?) Reason No. 2 is just stupid. I mean, first of all, if you're on a gay site that requires you to register, your straight boss or straight brother or straight arch-enemy isn't likely to find your profile. And, second, nobody wants to chat with a blank face. Grow a set of balls and post your picture.

6) Guys who talk about nothing but sex. Usually, these are older people, like 40 and over. Why I don't know. Maybe because they're jaded and don't want to "waste their time" making friends with someone. Maybe because they've been cruising so long they've lost all sense of romance. Sad really.

Anyway, gay.com is cool. You just have to know why you're there and why the guy you're chatting with is there.

Random Thoughts on a Friday Night

2007-07-07T02:07:00.000-04:00

1) I was startled to see a Virginia license plate here this week that read: "NOMOMEX." Offensive? Unless I'm reading it completely wrong, I think so. But, then, I also for the first time saw a Sons of the Confederacy plate with a tiny Rebel flag affixed to it. For a minute, I thought I'd been flushed into Mississippi. I wonder if Virginia would allow the Human Rights Campaign or PETA or NORML or a pro-abortion group to have special plates. I know, I know. The Sons of the Confederacy represents part of the state's heritage. So does a noose. Doesn't mean I want it on license plates.

2) Queen Anne's Lace might be my favorite weedy flower. It's no tulip, but there's something wonderfully egalitarian about this plain-jane white flower. It seems to grow anywhere. I've seen it in the high mountains of West Virginia, and I've read that it's also common in Sicily -- meaning its habitat includes both northern and Mediterranean climates. Today, driving through Harrisonburg, I saw a clump of them growing out of a mound of dirt at a construction site. Cool, I thought. Even its fragrance is down-to-earth -- a very faint sweetness if you put your nose directly on the flower. Ironically, the English -- supposedly so frilly compared to Americans -- have a different name for Queen Anne's Lace: wild carrot. How perfectly egalitarian.

The Gong Show -- American Democracy At Work

2007-07-05T01:14:00.000-04:00

American presidential elections jumped the shark in 1988. Remember Michael Dukakis in the tank, looking like a Tonka Toy puttering around the yard? Or Willie Horton, a Massachusetts criminal whom the Republicans twisted into a symbol of Dukakis' supposedly squishy soft record on crime? Or the clinical answer Dukakis gave when asked during a debate what he would do if his wife were brutalized and raped? Or Lloyd Bentson eviscerating Dan Quayle?

Such is how we select the leader of the free world.

Ensuing elections weren't quite so comically idiotic, mostly because they got slicker. Bill Clinton stands up and walks toward the audience during a debate, and the people cheer. George The First glances at his wristwatch during a debate, and the people scowl. An uncommonly bright man, Al Gore, is ridiculed, while an uncommonly dumb man, George The Second, follows his handlers' script straight to the White House. John Kerry, a decorated war veteran, is trashed for his service, while a chicken-hawk, George The Second again, is portrayed as a man of courage and vision.

Out of this come the candidates who, presumably, possess the intellectual firepower and intellectual honesty to deal with Islamic terrorism, dwindling oil resources, China's emergence as a superpower, global warming, the potential of a society-crippling flu pandemic, the changing face of America and a cruel megalomaniac in a nuclear-armed North Korea. Not to mention health care and the environment and social issues like abortion and gay rights.

The platform we've chosen to test these men and women adds insult to injury: two rural, white states that reflect American society as accurately as a carnival mirror.

Having said all of that, I'm utterly addicted to the entire stupid charade. I'm glued to CSPAN this time of year, watching the candidates' antics at diners, parades, businesses and rallies throughout Iowa and New Hampshire.

With that in mind, here's my thumbnail views on the men and women who would lead us:

DEMOCRATS

Hillary Clinton: I respect her command of issues and her experience. I think she was wrong on Iraq for way too long, but I also don't think she would have launched a "preemptive" strike. I also think she would do almost anything to become president, which isn't necessarily a deal-killer. And, hey, we'd get Billy Boy back.

Barack Obama: I really like his brain-power and his thoughtfulness. I really don't like his lack of fire. Overall, though, he's my man. Being black and multi-cultural is a huge plus, simply because it brings a mindset that whites rarely can match. He was right on Iraq from the beginning, though I'd like to see him be more radical in his exit plan.

John Edwards: Man, that youtube video of him preening is devastating. He looks so fake. But I think that's just because he's been a lawyer and politician his whole life, meaning a degree of subterfuge is ingrained in him. I do believe his views on two Americas -- rich and poor -- are sincere and correct. And I respect his forthright acknowledgement that he was wrong to vote for the Iraq invasion. I'd enthusiastically vote for him, either for prez or veep.

Bill Richardson: The man should have more gravitas than he's given credit for. Nobel Peace Prize nominee, cabinet member, governor. He's got credentials. But ... he lacks "it."

Joe Biden: OK, he is gabby, but articulately so. He's extremely reasonable -- if that's possible. But he seems like yesterday's news.

Dennis Kucinich: Gotta love Dennis The Menace. Not only is he dead-right on almost every issue, but he's also a vegetarian. Sadly, he looks like Alfred E. Neuman (the Mad magazine guy) and is totally unelectable.

Chris Dodd: The former party animal is a very likeable candidate. But he completely lacks presidential presence.

Mike Gravel: A gruffer Kocinich. Plus, he looks like a libertarian.

Al Gore: Not a candidate. Not a chance.

REPUBLICANS

Rudy Giuliani: How weak are the Republicans? Look who's leading the polls. My god. This guy's personality would kill him before Labor Day. Yes, he was a profile in courage during 9/11. No, that doesn't qualify him to be president.

Mitt Romney: It's become politically incorrect to mention that Romney is a Mormon. But he is, and a devout one. That's a legitimate political issue, just as Joe Lieberman's extremely conservative Judaism was in 2000. Why? Simply because both men have made a point of wearing their religion on their sleeves. And, it should be noted, the question isn't one of faith; it's how closely Romney would adhere to Mormon doctrine on social issues.

John McCain: I have no doubt McCain would melt down under the glare of a national campaign. Give him credit for standing tall on issues he really believes in -- immigration reform and campaign finance reform, both anathema to the right wing -- but I question his stability. And he's delusional on Iraq. (Remember the infamous stroll through the market in Baghdad?) Plus, he looks like 100 rather than 70.

Fred Thompson: He was a lousy senator and he'd be a lousy president. He's definitely positioning himself on the rabid right. Earlier, I thought he was the biggest threat to Democrats. I still think he has the charm and acting ability to fool America and get into the White House. But I'm hoping his extremely conservative views will eventually sour the public on him.

Tommy Thompson: I've seen way too much of this clown on CSPAN. He's the most awkward, annoying campaigner in history. Zero chance.

Sam Brownback: I respect Brownback. I think he's genuine, and I was impressed that he spoke at one of the memorial services for -- I think -- Coretta Scott King. He's a thoughtul guy who's just too damn religious. Hence, he's wrong on every issue.

Jim Gilmore: Please, get this nobody off TV. He has the charisma of a doorknob, and his legacy in life will be cutting the car tax as governor of Virginia. Yay. And doesn't America really need a former party chairman as its leader?

Tom Tancredo: The good thing about him is he's helping ensure that the Democratic Party will get the lion's share of Latino votes for decades to come. His anti-immigrant rhetoric is disgusting.

Ron Paul: OK, I love his views on Iraq. But he's a libertarian, so there's the wacko factor.

In short, I don't think there's a winner in the Republican field.

Yum 2

2007-07-04T01:52:00.000-04:00

This is vegetarian version of Brazilian stew. I checked out various recipes, using one in Vegetarian Times as a rough base. But instead of tempeh or potatoes, I used mushrooms to give it a hearty taste. It ain't bad.

1) In a skillet with onions and olive oil, saute a box of sliced mushrooms (I used baby portabellos). Sprinkle them with salt, pepper and low-sodium soy sauce. Toss in some freshly chopped parsley.

2) In a deep skillet, saute a red onion, three-quarters of a jalapeno pepper and a sliced celery stalk in olive oil and the juice of one lime.

3) After the onions have cooked for a few minutes, add 1 cup of vegetable broth, a can of black beans (or, if you have the patience, uncanned black beans), some fresh chopped tomatoes, a couple cloves of minced garlic, a half of a minced chipotle chile in adobo sauce (weird little things), the previously sauteed mushrooms, some dried italian herbs, a few minced basil leaves, a dash of Saigon cinnamon, a small slurp of maple syrup, the juice of another lime, salt and pepper. At the end, stir in some freshly chopped parsley.

4) Simmer for 20-30 minutes, covered (or uncovered if you want it to be crispier).

5) Serve one of two ways: a) as a soup that you can dip crusty bread into (I used a walnut-raisin bread), or b) as a stew on top of rice (delish). Toss in some cheese chunks if you choose (anything from cheddar to mozz).

Thoughts on a Summer Night

2007-07-01T02:16:00.000-04:00

Random thoughts on a Saturday night:

1) I think I have a new favorite Edward Hopper painting. I still love "Nighthawks," the stark, lonely diner in Greenwich Village. But I think I like "Gas" even better. It reminds me of my visits as a kid to my grandmother's house in the mountains of West Virginia.

2) Nothing -- nothing -- smells worse that rotten tomatoes. Unless it's rotten bananas.

3) After five decades, it's official: my two favorite fruits (shut up) are cherries (especially Rainier) and watermelon. I eat them non-stop from June to August.

4) I continue to think Obama would make a fab prez. But he isn't catching fire, I think, because of his low-key rhetoric and because of his extreme caution. His cat-and-mouse game with Hillary on the Iraq vote a few weeks ago was disgusting. It was a great opportunity for him to demonstrate leadership, regardless of the fallout. Instead, he played crass politics.

5) A friend showed me a study by a University of Virginia prof on how most straight guys have a visceral repulsion toward gays. The reason: Gay sex disgusts them. No duh.

6) If you had any doubt that Dick Cheney is an evil puppet-master, read the Washington Post series on how he helped steer America into the Iraq war, how he made sure the U.S. was allowed to torture prisoners and hold them indefinitely without charges, and how he helped circumvent environmental safeguards. That is one son of a bitch.

7) Do your brain a favor and read "Looming Tower" by Stephen Wright. It's a fascinating account of the rise of Islamic extremism. Regardless of your political beliefs, you'll come away with a far better understanding of Osama and his crowd.

8) I played Gay Gumshoe the other day. (It seems, by the way, that nobody under 40 knows what a "gumshoe" is; it's a private eye.) A straight friend asked me to check out his 18-year-old cousin's myspace page to see if I could detect his sexuality. The reason: the kid had asked somebody else about ways people commit suicide, and my friend was worried about him. After 20 minutes or so, I concluded, with near certainty, that he was gay -- newly minted, though, and worried about the consequences of his orientation. I asked a college-age friend in Houston to check it out, too. It took him maybe 25 seconds. Verdict: gay. Anyway, I passed on the info to my pal. I hope he talks to him. Soon.

Um, Yeah, He's Sexy

2007-06-18T02:43:00.000-04:00

Ronaldinho

(AP Photo -- click for hi-res)

Funny, But ...

2007-06-16T23:17:00.000-04:00

Being gay, I hate religion. I don't think there's an alternative. That doesn't mean I hate the idea of a god. On the contrary, it would be great it there were one, if there were an afterlife, if we were reunited with our loved ones in bliss. But religion and god aren't synonymous. Far from it.

I've never understood why rational men and women subjugate their minds to the Bible or the Quron or other holy books. I can see using them as a resource, just as you would use another philosophical tract. But to take it as gospel baffles me.

Anyway, I got to thinking about this again when I stumbled across a Muslim comedian named Baba Ali. His stuff is on youtube under ummahfilms. It's very funny and sometimes thought-provoking, especially his explanation of why he converted to Islam.

Did you watch it? Funny, no? But also sincere.

As a gay person, of course, Islam is abhorrent to me. While Christians consider us sinners and abominable, most don't want to execute us. I believe the same could be said of most Muslims. BUT there are theocracies -- Iran and Saudia Arabia come to mind -- where gays have been killed for being gay. Sometimes beheaded. Sometimes hanged. All in the name of Allah. Want proof? These hideous photos from the Iranian Student News Service, published worldwide two years ago, show two gay teenagers -- one 18, the other 16 or 17 -- being executed. Gay rights advocates said it was simply for having gay sex; Iran said they "raped" a third boy. Because the third boy was 13, it was considered rape whether or not he consented.

Photos of gay teens' hanging in 2005 by ISNA

Obviously, there are tolerant Muslims and intolerant Muslims, although I'd use "tolerant" carefully. The tolerant ones might throw gays in jail rather than hang them. The Quran, after all, makes it clear that homosexuality is evil. Even Iran, according to one activist there, doesn't aggressively pursue gays for punishment. But it happens. Legally. Because of religion.

I'd love for a converted Muslim to explain to me the appeal of his new religion.

Dick Naked

2007-06-14T13:48:00.000-04:00

Koji looked like he had just seen Dick Cheney naked.

His face twisted ever so slightly, eyes narrowing, lips struggling to smile.

Apparently, I wasn't his type.

"Hi. How are you?" I said, emerging from the tiny foyer at the Chelsea Savoy Hotel on 23rd and 7th.

"Good, good. And you?" he replied, his stricken gaze still on my face.

Oh god, I thought. Keep the meter running.

Koji and I had made arrangements to meet after talking on-line and on the phone for hours over several weeks. He was 34 and reviewed Broadway plays for a publication back home in Japan. I was a 49-year-old sports editor from Virginia. Somehow, we clicked.

It was a gay.com success story. Or so I thought until that cold April night when we met at the appointed hour for dinner.

"Hangawi OK?" I asked, thinking he might suddenly develop bronchitis and beg off.

"Yes. Should we take a cab?" he said.

A cab? Good grief, no. He could stare at me all the way to Midtown.

"Let's walk," I suggested, wondering if my salt-and-pepper hair looked more black or silver under the neon lights.

By this time, Koji was politely masking the biggest disappointment of his dating life. We had a nice chat as we walked briskly to Hangawi, a soothing Korean vegetarian restaurant on 32nd Street. Dinner went smoothly too, and he even took me to a theater district joint for strawberry shortcake afterward. We parted with a generic peck on the cheek outside of his subway stop at about 11 -- four hours after the date began.

Obviously, Koji's good manners had taken over. But, just as obviously, it was the last time we would see each other. I think we chatted on-line twice afterward -- briefly -- and then he and his gay.com nickname disappeared forever.

It's the nature of cyberspace. Hope fading into reality. Budding friendships dying like too-early crocuses in the back yard.

Koji was an extreme example, simply because we actually met face to face. Other friendships on platforms such as gay.com vanish with less trauma, less personal capital spent.

I still wonder what happened to the Vietnamese-American from the East Village with the Ivy League degree and quick wit, to the Hell's Kitchen Filipino who was almost an icon on gay.com until he too faded, to the Indian dorm-keeper at a New England college, to the Latino in Queens with the keen social consciousness, to the black kid from U.Va. who was trying to make it as a software developer on Long Island, to the Russian economics grad from Columbia, to the 40-year-old from Brooklyn with the taut body who still danced professionally, to the Virginia boy transplanted to South Beach, to ... well, the list is endless.

But another list, a shorter list, exists, too, a list of cool guys who were fun to hang out with, fun to meet face to face. That's what makes cyberspace, specifically gay.com, a lifesaver for gay men. It's a safe, energetic place to meet guys, and not primarily for sex, although -- clearly -- gay.com is sex-driven.

Why Koji and I didn't mesh is anybody's guess. No doubt, he pictured me as far better-looking than I am -- pictures do sometimes dissolve into fantasy -- and found the skin-and-bones version repulsive.

Oddly, though, the incident didn't enter my mind when I dated other guys afterward, guys who never looked like they had just seen Dick Cheney naked.

MySpace Tombstones

2007-05-27T22:59:00.000-04:00

People go to MySpace to flirt, to chat, to check out pictures, to catch up with friends.

More and more, they also go there to mourn.

Many American soldiers have MySpace profiles, a comforting reminder of home, of normalcy, of sanity. And when those soldiers die in Iraq, their sites stay active, unspeakably sad ghost pages in cyber space. Usually, there's a picture of the soldier, sometimes trying to look tough, sometimes trying to look cool, sometimes abandoning all pretense and simply smiling a kid's disarming smile.

Friends migrate to the dead soldier's page to say how much they loved him, to thank him for his heroism. To say goodbye.

If virtual tears exist, these pages are soaked.

It's difficult to look at the ghost pages, and I've done so rarely, in part because I wonder if I'm violating a dead kid's privacy by doing so, in part because they shatter my heart. But, sometimes, you need a reality check. You need to shake your head and forget about a delusionally evil president and his handlers. You need to forget about the politics. You need to forget about the big picture and zoom in on the people, the hundreds of thousands of Iraqis and the 3,454 Americans whose lives have been -- as the now justly marginalized and ridiculed John McCain said in an unguarded moment -- wasted.

So today I typed in the name of an 18-year-old soldier from Montana -- Matthew -- who was killed by friendly fire a week after arriving in Iraq. His mentor, another young soldier, died with him -- on perhaps his final day of combat duty. Time magazine reported that the Montana kid had been rushed into combat with inadequate training.

For those who knew and loved Matthew, of course, politics means nothing.

Their messages on his MySpace page are heartbreaking. One example:

OMG, MATT, IM SOR SORRY i GET TO SAY GOODBYE IM REally sorry, you'll be really miss now more than ever,since theres no goona be more chances for us to see each othere again I'll miss you budy, RIP,

In his boy-next-door profile on MySpace, Matthew wrote in the "Interests" section: "A happy life at my home and hopfully i can have children soon." He described himself -- with a smile, I'm sure -- as a "swinger." He was 5-foot-8 and "slim/slender." His education level: "High school." His occupation: "Army."

I'm reluctant -- out of respect for his privacy -- to put his picture here and to post more of his friends' anguished goodbyes. But, obviously, this was as typical a kid as you're going to find in the Army. A kid who no doubt believed his country would never spend his life recklessly. It's important to see his face and his heart.

Skin

2007-05-23T02:44:00.000-04:00

Nothing is more sensual for me than when I first catch a glimpse of a sexy guy's skin, be it his side, his back, his belly. To pull up his shirt and lay my hands on his bare skin is electrifying.

Why, I don't know.

Skin, after all, is almost devalued now. Exposed flesh is more common than Big Macs. Girls, especially, have decided they have to show off their guts and backs. Fat chicks -- "It's my body, and I'm proud of it!" -- seem to take special pleasure in unburdening their shirts. Gobs of flesh droop over their pants as they thunder past in low-rise jeans licking ice cream cones. Guys are less obvious about it, opting for one-size-too-small T-shirts that hug the contours of their muscles while also offering peeks of skin here and there. But television makes up for any lack of male flesh in the real world. MTV is a swirl of hips, backs, nipples, belly-buttons, chests, sides and abs. So is every other youth-oriented channel.

Yet, somehow, the heart-pounding mystery of skin persists. Will it be dry or oily, smooth or hairy, darker or lighter? Will it be freckled or flawless, bony or muscled? Will the nipples be flat or pointed? Will the navel be a swirl, a plug, a simple indentation? So many possibilities, so many little surprises when the moment arrives. Unless, of course, you've seen the guy shirtless. Then, the mystery is gone, replaced perhaps by something less romantic -- lust.

Rubber Necking at Walmart

2007-05-19T03:49:00.000-04:00

Come gather round, people, wherever you roam -- the times they really are a changing.

I was walking through the main aisle at Walmart -- the one in front of the cash registers with the constantly changing array of merchandise to entice weak-willed shoppers -- when my eyes spied ... are you ready? ... condoms.

Or c-c-c-c-condoms, as Kramer might say.

And not some will-it-be-a-boy-or-a-girl brand straight from China, but honest-to-penis Trojans. In Harrisonburg, Va., of all places. Yes, we're a college town -- metro population: 115,000, I'll have you know -- but we're also Church City, USA. Mennonites, Brethrens and evangelicals are big influences here, and they absofuckinglutely hate sex.

Yet, there they were -- condoms.

Walmart frequently surprises me. For all its flaws, it has been progressive on gay rights among its employees, it's becoming a major force in organic foods and -- in a nod to the environment -- it's now pressuring suppliers to significantly cut back on packaging.

But condoms! Up front! Right where little Melody and Jeremiah can see them! Fuck.

The Fem Boy

2007-05-17T03:37:00.000-04:00

A kid walked into the Nepalese restaurant in Harrisonburg this evening. Obviously gay. Mod haircut. A tight shirt revealing the countour of his chest and belly. A peek of skin when he leaned against the counter. A man's purse strapped around his back.

He walked like fem gay kids walk -- fast and scared. His face was blank and tense, almost unnervingly so. No doubt he's been the object of ridicule most of his life, so I assume he's put up an emotional shield.

When he entered the restaurant, he glanced quickly at me -- my table was directly beside the door -- and I smiled. I hope he saw the smile. And I hope he knew the smile was meant to convey love, not scorn.

Even in the gay community, you still see warnings on guys' on-line chat-room profiles: "no fems." In a way, it's our version of the dark-skinned/light-skinned black conflict. The "straight-acting" gays feel superior to the feminine gays.

I find the "no fems" admonition offensive, partly because it tries to marginalize a group of people -- something gays should be familiar with -- and partly because those guys face enough daily trauma in the straight world without being ostracized by their gay brothers.

But to be honest -- and it hurts to be honest -- I sometimes wince when I see "flaming fags." I absofuckinglutely hate having that reaction. But it's there. Why, I don't know -- I assume it's something middle America taught me as I grew up -- and I'm determined to fight it.

So I strip away the pretense and look into the eyes of those fem guys. Try it. You'll see a scared puppy. And you'll see another human being, a human being longing for the same things you want: love, companionship, respect and security.

I hope I see that kid again. I hope he looks at me. I hope he sees me smile. And I hope he smiles back.

(Another post from my other blog, but I think the sentiments are worth repeating now and then.)

10 Things

2007-05-17T03:29:00.000-04:00

OK, being old and wise, here are 10 things I've learned in life:

1) Seize the moment. I've mentioned Robert Frost's poem, "Wind and Window Flower," in an earlier entry. It's the one about a winter wind that flirts with a flower in a windowsill. The flower can't decide whether it wants to hook up with the winter wind. By the time it makes up its mind, the winter wind is a hundred miles away. Believe it or not, life's short. We live only 2.5 billion seconds, and they go oh-so-quickly. Don't let life -- and all of its adventures, carnal and otherwise -- slip away.

2) Be generous. Money ain't shit. Spend it on your friends. And never ever ask a friend to pay you back.

3) Don't be coy. Paul McCartney was right: It's a fool who plays it cool by making his world a little bit colder. In other words, be eager. If somebody you like asks you out to dinner, go for it -- enthusiastically. Don't hide your emotions. And don't downplay your love or lust.

4) Read until your eyeballs drop out. I spend much of my life around 20-something guys, so I know that's an alien concept to most people under 40. But if you don't read after you get out of school, you'll stop growing. You'll become one of those old farts whose cultural tastes are frozen in their youth, who grow increasingly narrow-minded as they age, who find new ideas more frightening than exhilarating. Read at least one great newspaper every day -- meaning the New York Times or Washington Post -- to get a quick snapshot of the world each morning, however imperfect that snapshot might be. Read the New Yorker every week to remain culturally literate. Read novels now and then to nourish your soul. Read non-fiction books to give your opinions enough depth to be taken seriously. Do that, and you'll never stagnate.

5) Love people before you love your country. Love an Iraqi kid as much as you love an American kid. Because we're all the same -- we all want love, we all want security, we all want respect. Doesn't matter what color, ethnicity, religion or social class you are.

6) Be extremely skeptical of anything you're taught in school. If they tell you that the American criminal justice system is fair, think of O.J. -- think of how anyone with enough money for a brilliant lawyer can beat a murder rap, and how anyone with a court-appointed attorney is fucked. If they tell you that the high courts are blind to political considerations, think of Gore vs. Bush -- think of how the federal government's Republican Supreme Court tried to secure the 2000 election for George Bush and how the Florida government's Democratic Supreme Court tried to secure the election for Al Gore. If they tell you that American democracy is a beacon for the world, think of that same 2000 election -- think of how the people's will was circumvented in favor of the ruling class' preferred candidate. If they tell you that America is morally superior to other countries, think of atom bombs falling on Japan, think of napalm melting the skin off of Vietnamese peasants, think of the elected leader of Chile being overthrown, think of the Pentagon's glee at "shock and awe" in Baghdad. If they tell you that the American press is completely independent, think of Iraq -- think of how papers fell in line like tin soldiers when Bush was whipping up support for the war, think of how we never see pictures depicting the real horrors of war, think of how papers cozy up to the Washington establishment at things like the Gridiron Dinner. If you're got two oil men running the executive branch and they tell you that oil has nothing to do with a war, think only one thing -- impeach the motherfuckers.

7) When you become a boss, bend over backward to respect your workers. It took me awhile to learn that. But I now understand the importance of listening to them and consulting with them rather than barking orders at them. For one thing, they will be much better employees if they feel they have a direct stake in the everyday product. For another thing, they almost always deserve to be treated kindly and with respect. If I were to yell at one of my guys, he'd be in turmoil at least until he saw me again, probably a day later. That wouldn't be fair. Everybody in the world has an inherent right to be happy. At the same time, you need to push your workers to be the best they can be. But they need to know you're doing so only because you care about both their careers and personal lives. When I criticize one of my writers, I often preface it by saying, "You know I love you like a brown-spotted banana, Javy, but ..."

8) Always remember: You only live once. So if you want a bottle of wine, buy it. If you want a fancy meal, get it. Don't pinch pennies. You might be dead tomorrow.

9) Don't hurt people's feelings. Little white lies aren't sins. I mean, if your mother gives you a pie and it sucks, tell her how much you enjoyed it. She'll feel great, and so will you.

10) Make your body a priority. Whether you're 20 or 60, go to the gym. Keep yourself toned, build up your stamina. Don't put things in your body that will hurt you -- like Hostess Twinkies or cocaine. I shop for a lot of my basic groceries at Wal-mart. Which is good, because Wal-mart has more fat butts and guts per capita than any other location in America -- and all I have to do is look around and any urge I have to buy ice cream or doughnuts will evaporate.

My Cool? Va-po-rized.

2007-05-17T03:25:00.001-04:00

So, I'm curious: How long will it take before other guys interest me? You know, what with the love thing. Which I still absofuckinlutely hate, by the way. I mean, it vaporizes your cool in an insta-second. You're bitchy, you're jealous, you're mopey. It's disgusting. I freakin hate myself right now. I'd chop off my dick if I wasn't so attached to it.

Anyway, as I was implying, other guys still don't interest me at all. Cutest guy in the world could wag his butt in my face and I'd yawn. Just because of this love shit. And, as you probably know by now, I have zero chance with the guy I'm ga-ga over. I mean, he's straight, or at least he thinks he is, which at this point is just as bad. And there's a gazillion other reasons why I need to erase the dude from my memory banks -- all of which come down to one bottom line: It's consuming every spare second of my rapidly ticking life.

(I wrote this last year on another personal blog. So far, nobody else has caught my eye. But I'm at least dating again. Baby steps? Yeah, but that's better than nothing, no?)

He Pays WHAT!?!?!

2007-05-12T00:36:00.000-04:00

One of my former writers -- a Manhattan native whose father once owned a Times Square restaurant called Hamburger Harry's -- returned to New York City to attend grad school after leaving Harrisonburg. While doing so, he applied for a housing lottery. The lottery was open only to people who met certain criteria, low income among them. He won.

The reward was a loft in the Financial District for, at the time, less than $300 a month. He also had to put down a $16,000 deposit, refundable if he moves out. Sixteen-grand sounds like a lot until you consider that he, essentially, made it back in a year because of the absurdly low rent. Since moving into the loft two or three years ago, he's gotten at job with a Time-Warner magazine and is making more money, so his rent is now just below $500 a month -- still a steal in Manhattan. How much of a steal? Check this out (from the New York Times):

The rents for one-bedroom apartments in Manhattan average $2,567 a month, and two-bedrooms average $3,854 a month, according to data from Citi Habitats, a large rental brokerage company, but rents tend to be far higher in coveted neighborhoods like the Upper West Side and TriBeCa.

Because landlords typically require renters to earn 40 times their monthly rent in annual income, renters of those average apartments would need to earn at least $102,680, individually or combined, to qualify for a one-bedroom and $154,160 to afford a two-bedroom.

I have no moral qualms with any of this. Manhattan is an island. Space is precious. Prices reflect that. Ideally, of course, people of all incomes could afford to live there -- ideally because diversity gives places character. Fortunately, there are enough dumps in the East Village and Lower East Side to keep the place honest for a while longer.

Steve Nash -- Too Sexy For His Shirt? Or Not?

2007-05-09T14:57:00.000-04:00

AP photo (click for hi-resolution)

Here Kitty, Kitty

2007-05-05T12:51:00.000-04:00

My favorite T-shirt is black with a catty message: "So Many Right Wing Christians. So Few Lions." I don't wear it in public, simply because it would offend most people. But I love the sentiment.

I guess the bottom line is I don't understand fundamentalists. And, in truth, I don't respect them. I don't respect them because they form their beliefs on blind faith. Logic? Forget it. If the Bible says it happened, it happened. If the Bible suggests it's bad, it's bad. Want proof? The Bible says ... And that's where they lose me. Quoting scripture in a argument about religion is like quoting Bush in an argument about Iraq. If I'm doubting the premise, quoting the source won't convince me.

Needless to stay, many churches are wonderful institutions. They glue together communities, perform valuable charitable work worldwide and are a source of comfort to millions of people. Others, just as obviously, are evil. They preach intolerance, reinforce prejudices and demonize gays -- which is where I come in.

Being gay, it's hard for me to look fondly on religion. Even most mainstream churches believe that gay sex is an abomination. Most say they love all people, including sinners like gays. But most also marginalize gay people by treating them -- however benignly -- as deviants. Again, many churches do important charitable work. But why should I embrace them?

If there is a god, I can't imagine he created me and my gay friends by mistake or as a diabolical joke. If there is a god, I know he would consider me as much a part of him as Mother Teresa or Billy Graham. He wouldn't ask me to repent, which would come as news to people like the senior editor who said I was going to hell for having sex out of wedlock unless I confessed my sins or to places like Eastern Mennonite University that expel or fire gay people for having sex out of wedlock -- not because they're gay, EMU insists, but because they're not married. The catch 22? EMU opposes gay marriage. So if you're gay and never have sex, you're A-OK.

What bullshit.

Obama Obody

2007-05-05T12:45:00.000-04:00

I'm as intrigued by Barack Obama as anyone. I'd vote for him over Hillary in a heartbeat, even though I think he's being a little too mainstream, a little too ruling class in his statements these days. But what about the sex appeal factor? I think Obama is cute, but he certainly looks better in his suits than in his swim trunks, no? (Though I could see a couple of nipple rings on that chest.)

Yum 1: Beans and Pasta

2007-05-05T12:43:00.000-04:00

Beans and pasta. Odd, no? But this is really good:

1) Pour some olive oil in a skillet
2) Saute a leek or half an onion with several garlic cloves
3) Add red pepper flakes
4) Add sweet red or yellow bell pepper (diced or cut into little strips)
5) Add a handful of sliced grape tomatoes
5) Add a little salt and some black pepper
6) Add bitter greens (I use escarole, radicchio and endive, which you can buy separately or in Dole's Mediterranean mix)
7) Add half a can of cannellini beans (a creamy favorite in Italy)
8) Add some pine nuts
9) If you choose, you can also add a few drops of really good balsamic vinegar (by really good, I mean one of those little $50 bottles where each drop is thick and sweet)
10) Cook 15-20 minutes

While you're making the "sauce," boil some rigatoni. When it's done, toss it into the skillet with the sauce. Add reg-parm cheese. It's a great winter pasta because its so freakin hearty.

The Not-So-Skinny On Locker Rooms

2007-05-05T12:42:00.001-04:00

Locker rooms at places like Gold's Gym are cool, I think, because every strain of humanity uses them. Young, old. Black, brown, white. Skinny, toned, paunchy, muscular, fat.

And, yes, gay and straight.

I'm a little surprised, though, that nobody has suggested segregating queers into their own locker rooms. Actually, it would make dating a snap. It'd be better even than gay.com, simply because you could see your potential mate in the flesh. On the other hand, can you imagine how uncomfortable you'd feel if you thought every guy in the room was checking out your body? One good thing about universal locker rooms is that nobody knows who's gay or straight, meaning you pretty much keep your eyes to yourself.

Of course, at my gym in Harrisonburg, I'd just as soon gouge my eyes out with a fork as scope most of the guys in the locker room. As I've said before, it seems that when a man turns 60, he loses all inhibitions about his body. I've had old guys start up conversations with me stark naked, their ballooning bellies casting shadows over dicks tucked away in a lifetime of country-cooking fat. These guys pad back and forth from the showers, swinging their asses like chicks in a rap video, blinding passers-by with their utter whiteness. It's enough to turn a gay guy straight. (Yeah, right.)

My philosophy on nudity: If you're got a reasonably taut body, go for it. If you don't, keep the boxers on, please.

None of this would have to be spelled out in a locker room marked "Gay Men," which would smell fresh as flowers and be a de facto fat-free zone. After all, the saying is true: 2QT2BSTR8. Those of us who didn't measure up would just slink off to the regular "Men's" locker room and keep our eyes squarely on the floor.

Tears

2007-05-05T04:36:00.000-04:00

Why do I still cry every time I see footage of 9/11?

What happened that brilliant blue day that seared itself so deeply into my being?
The answer, I think, is elemental, almost trite: The attacks were the embodiment of man's inhumanity to man. It wasn't the act of a lunatic, like Virginia Tech. It wasn't an act of nature, like Katrina. It was a group of men -- men blinded by religion -- deciding to kill thousands of their fellow human beings.

I think of the beautiful blend of humanity inside the World Trade Center. I think of the humbling bravery of the firefighters as they began their ascent up the towers, bravery captured in a heroic, life-affirming documentary by Jules and Gedeon Naudet. I think of a world weeping with America. And I cry.

Nobody has more cynically capitalized on 9/11 than George Bush. And now he's again using 9/11 to justify his attack on Iraq, a grotesque distortion of history. Maybe Bush's delusions allow him to wash the blood off his hands, to vanquish the angry ghosts that surely pound at his windows every night, to wipe dry a billion tears shed by the shattered living. Or maybe he's really that ignorant. Maybe he hasn't read study after study -- some by his own government -- that say Iraq had nothing to do with the terrorist attacks on New York and Washington.

At least the press -- even the establishment press -- is calling foul this time. Here's what Washington Post columnist Dana Milbank wrote this week (in bold):

President Bush is at odds with the American public and a restive congressional majority over the Iraq war, and even some Republicans talk about imposing new requirements that could trigger a troop withdrawal.

It's time to play the Qaeda card.

In a speech about Iraq yesterday morning at the Willard Hotel, the president mentioned Osama bin Laden's group -- 27 times. "For America, the decision we face in Iraq is not whether we ought to take sides in a civil war, it's whether we stay in the fight against the same international terrorist network that attacked us on 9/11," Bush told a group of construction contractors.

Never mind all that talk about sectarian strife and civil war in Iraq. "The primary reason for the high level of violence is this: Al-Qaeda has ratcheted up its campaign of high-profile attacks," Bush disclosed.

The man who four years ago admitted "no evidence" of an Iraqi role in the Sept. 11 attacks now finds solid evidence of a role in Iraq by the Sept. 11 hijackers.

"I don't need to remind you who al-Qaeda is," Bush reminded. "Al-Qaeda is the group that plot and planned and trained killers to come and kill people on our soil. The same bunch that is causing havoc in Iraq were the ones who came and murdered our citizens."

Yes, all indications are that Al-Qaeda is in Iraq. But it has been drawn there by the American invasion. To insinuate that the United States is in Iraq because of Al-Qaeda is another lie by a government that stole the White House in 2000 and has since redefined arrogance.

I wonder if Bush cries when he thinks about 9/11. He often says his view of the world changed on Sept. 11, 2001. Rightfully so. But, because of his fundamental ignorance, he failed to give us a reasonable plan to fight the terrorists. Never in its history was the United States more justified than in its attack on the Taliban and, by extension, Al-Qaeda. The world was poised to bond in common cause. Then came Iraq. Then came hundreds of thousands of deaths. Then came tears of a different kind -- tears of rage at a senseless war, tears of sorrow over lives wasted by misinformed American aggression.

I'm glad I cry when I see the Towers imploding, when I see the courage of those firefighters, when I see the British play the "Star Spangled Banner" at the changing of the guard in London. It reminds me that every life is profoundly important. And that reminds me of why Iraq is so wrong.

An American Idiot

2007-04-29T02:04:00.000-04:00

It's almost silly to bash Bill O'Reilly for his bullying distortions. The man, like Rush Limbaugh, is a propagandist. If you're smart, you understand that. If you're stupid, you don't -- and nothing will convince you otherwise.

Often, like any clever liar, O'Reilly sprinkles in just enough rational statements to make him appear momentarily objective. Of course, he isn't. His mind -- picture a black-and-white TV -- lacks nuance to an astonishing extent. He responds to the Iraq mess by asking this question: Do you want us to win? It's a simpleton query designed to elicit a simpleton response. He responds to criticism of the president by asking this question: Do you think George Bush is evil? Again, a simpleton query designed to elicit a simpleton response. Unless you immediately answer "yes" to the first question and "no" to the second, you're an un-American lunatic.

Worse, maybe, is the way O'Reilly twists words. During an interview with retired U.S. Army Col. Ann Wright last month on his FOX-News show, O'Reilly slandered the 29-year veteran, accusing her of being anti-American because she criticized some of the Bush administration's practices in Iraq and in the "war on terror." Nothing, of course, could be more patriotic than speaking out against abuses within your own country. O'Reilly appears unwilling to accept that fact, either because he's too dumb or because he knows the value of his shtick to TV ratings. Watch the segment. It's a case study in how to bully and distort (fortunately, Col. Wright stood her ground admirably):

Which brings us to O'Reilly's newest target: Bill Moyers' brilliant documentary on the American media's complicity in making the Bush administration's case to invade Iraq, a case that appeared false to many of us at the time and a case that has since been proven to be either wrong or a lie.

In "Buying The War," Moyers shows how the major establishment media outlets -- including the New York Times and Washington Post -- played along with the administration in the buildup to the invasion. To demonstrate the mood, Moyers included two snippets of O'Reilly making statements that suggest anyone who criticizes the war effort will have to bear the consequences. From a transcript at truthout.com:

Bill O'Reilly (Fox 2/26/03): "Anyone who hurts this country in a time like this. Well let's just say you will be spotlighted."
Bill O'Reilly (2/27/03): "I will call those who publicly criticize their country in a time of military crisis, which this is, bad Americans."

On his show this week, O'Reilly acknowledged those quotes looked bad. But, he said, they were taken out of context. He then played the full quotes. To me, there was no significant difference. Moyers carved out the essence of O'Reilly's comments, leaving the excess verbiage behind. Nothing wrong with that.

In a typical fit of arrogance and pique, O'Reilly sent one of his people to do an ambush interview with Moyer. Because O'Reilly is a propagandist, I have no idea if the information presented in the interview was accurate. In it, Moyers appears to have said things in a Rolling Stone interview -- things that have nothing to do with the integrity of the documentary -- that he denies saying. Essentially, he said, on tape, that the O'Reillys of the world are slimey. Maybe because he was generalizing, he didn't think his words should apply directly to O'Reilly. Maybe he thought the interviewer was referring to his documentary, not the Rolling Stone interview. I don't know. I do know it was irrelevant. O'Reilly -- did I mention his arrogant spite? -- condescendingly suggested Moyers' age (72) might have something to do with his apparent forgetfulness during the interview.

The bottom line, of course, is that Moyers is right: O'Reilly was -- and is -- part of the machine that produced the disaster in Iraq. Quibbling about quotes won't change that.

Getting Uppity

2007-04-24T03:29:00.000-04:00

I wrote this is February 2005, but I think it's still relevant:

Now that gays are America's new whipping boy -- and the first culture to truly incite the nation's rural Christians since blacks freed themselves in the 1960s -- perhaps it's time to alter our tactics.

Time, maybe, to get retro and replace the oh-so-lofty Human Rights Campaign with the in-your-face Queer Nation, time to stop watching "Will and Grace" and move en mass to the hump-a-minute "Queer As Folk," time to pick up our guns -- figuratively speaking -- and take aim at Red Amerika.

Time, in other words, to fight back.

George Bush declared war on the gay community in 2004 by using gay marriage as a hateful wedge issue designed to inflame his benighted base. It worked. The Christian right helped return Bush to office and swatted down gay initiatives in state after state.

The message was simple: You disgust us.

We disgust them for many reasons, I assume, but foremost because of the way we have sex. I use the term "have sex" carefully, by the way, because I think that's the way straight people view our carnal activities. They make love; we have sex. By thinking of gays as perpetually sex-starved creatures who prey on boys in bathrooms, it demonizes us. Just as it did blacks in the 1950s, when it wasn't wise for a "colored" kid to look too long at a ruling-class white girl.

Not that the black-gay analogy should be overdone. Blacks were legally enslaved for 250 years and effectively enslaved for another century. The gay man's experience -- except for those 100,000 poor souls who wore pink triangles in the Holocaust -- has been infinitely easier. As long as you kept quiet.

If you kept quiet, you climbed up the corporate ladder, the social ladder, the church ladder quite briskly. It was the genesis, really, of Bill Clinton's don't ask/don't tell policy for the military. Clinton was a great president because he was a small-g governor. He sought consensus on every issue -- prompting critics to say he lacked a moral compass -- knowing that in a nation as diverse and polarized as the United States, compromise was essential to keep the glue from melting. Nevertheless, don't ask/don't tell was cowardly. Clinton, already suspect because of his anti-war draft-dodging youth, didn't want to alienate his generals. So he declined to order his troops to start regarding gay soldiers as human beings worthy of respect.

Instead, he told gay airmen, sailors, marines and soldiers to shut up. Have sex, if you must, but do it in private and don't tell anyone. Don't put a picture of your boyfriend next to your bunk. Don't bring him to the NCO club for lunch. Don't tell any of the guys -- your brothers in war -- that you like boys.

At the same time, however, Clinton fostered a climate of tolerance for gays. Note the word "tolerance," another indication of our status in America. If straights decide to be benevolent, they'll let us be. But, never forget, it's up to them. We're like dogs in the city. If we don't poop in the park, we're acceptable.

So, sanitized gays popped up everywhere in the '90s. "Will and Grace" was a mainstream television hit. Gays became ubiquitous on MTV, where a reality series without a queer would be like a loaf of Wonder Bread at Dean and Deluca -- decidedly un-hip. Actors and actresses, and even a few athletes, came out. It seemed like every politician had a gay child, sibling or lover. And, of course, everyone thought the boys on "Queer Eye for the Straight Guy" were the personification of edgy, urban fun.

Then, we got uppity.

Out of nowhere, it seemed, gay couples were demanding the right to marry or at least the right to be recognized as a civil union. Some simply wanted the same legal benefits as straight families; for them a civil union would do just fine. Others, though, wanted more. They wanted the binding moral authority of a wedding ceremony, a ceremony where they would profess their love in front of friends and family, perhaps in a church and definitely with the blessing of the state.

Churches clearly have the right to embrace or condemn gay marriage. Governments do not. Governments represent the people, all the people. They exist at the pleasure of the people and, in the United States, they exist to protect the rights of minorities, whether that minority is black, Jewish or gay.

Regardless, it seems so obvious that gay marriage is a pro-family initiative. How many straight people would have walked out on their husbands or wives if they weren't legally married, if they hadn't committed their hearts and wallets to their spouses? I assume it would work the same way with gays, turning them -- for better or worse -- into homebodies.

Gay marriage is only the most obvious issue being fought by Red Amerika. In Virginia, a state legislator's bill to eliminate a gay club at Harrisonburg High School sailed through the House of Delegates 92-0, in part because its stated purpose was to outlaw student groups that promote sexual activity. The sponsor, however, has admitted he was motivated by the local gay kids' club. What a stupid assumption: that because gays want to socialize, it promotes sex more so than any other teenagers' club. Another bill in Virginia -- a state that tried to marginalize blacks by yanking whites out of public schools rather than integrate after Brown vs. Board of Education, and a state that banned interracial marriage until the Supreme Court told it to get real in 1967 -- singles out gays for background checks if they want to adopt children. Other states also are goose-stepping backward.

So what's a gay to do? Is it really better to fight back than to quietly try to get along? Nobody wants to be snickered at or sneered at or yelled at. Isn't it OK to just live our two-tier lives, one in the gay ghetto and bedroom, one everywhere else? After all, gays aren't being lynched, they aren't being kept out of universities, they don't have to drink out of separate water fountains. What's the big deal?

The big deal is human dignity. You can't live proudly and live a lie. It's taken some of us half a century to realize that. Fortunately, today's gay kids learn that lesson much earlier. They hold their boyfriend's hand on the street. They kiss him goodbye at the bus stop. They walk without shame, without fear.

That's why it's a big deal. And that's why, somehow, someway, we have to fight back. Just like black Americans fought back 40 years ago to achieve their dream, their rightful place in society, their dignity.

Shit! Another Gay Guy!

2007-04-24T02:58:00.000-04:00

So, one of my ex-writers sent me an email about his apartment search in metro New York. To paraphrase it: "The thing I hate about Craigslist is every time I find a great apartment, it always ends with the potential roommate describing himself as a '29-year-old gay guy.'"

My ex-writer is a very cool dude. I nicknamed him World Boy because he's been everywhere from Beijing to Cairo to Rio. Plus, he's the New American Blend: a 24-year-old Latino who was raised in a high-brow Pittsburgh neighborhood (Squirrel Hill) by a Colombian mother and a half-Colombian/half-American father. The family is just as diverse religiously. World Boy describes himself as half Jewish and half Catholic, but he also has Mormon ties. Money? Lots of it. His mom is now president of a mortgage bank in Miami. The kid also is not shy sexually. Have dick, will travel.

In other words, he's Mentos. (You remember -- the hip Euro ads for the Freshmaker.) Yet, he's also homophobic. We never discussed my sexuality, although I always assumed he knew I was gay by some of his comments when we went out to dinner. Now, obviously, I'm not so sure.

But substitute the "gay guy" in his email with "black" or "Muslim" or "Jewish" or "Asian." Is there a difference in the prejudice somebody would exhibit toward a race or religion and the prejudice somebody would exhibit toward sexual orientation? I suppose you could make an argument that there is. If you lived with an Asian or Muslim, you might find the food or music or books or philosophies alien, but you wouldn't have to worry that your roommate might want to hit on you or that he might get turned on when he saw you shirtless.

Of course, in reality, the gay guy probably would have no romantic interest in the straight guy -- meaning there'd be no sexual tension at all. And if the straight guy was free of sexual hang-ups, he wouldn't care if his roommate found him attractive. Some of the coolest relationships, I think, are between gay and straight guys who become friends and can tease each other about their preferences. I often tell one of my straight friends how freaking sexy he looked in this or that outfit.

Anyway, I was a little hurt by the email. But I wasn't deeply wounded, as I would have been if I'd been black or Asian and World Boy had taken a jab at my race. The reason, I guess, is because it's socially acceptable to express distaste for gays. Sad as that might be.

Gay Flicks, Part 1

2007-04-23T04:08:00.000-04:00

I hate Hollywood movies, yet my favorite gay flick is a light romantic comedy. Go figure. Anyway, here's my little guide to gay-themed films. (Nos. 1 and 2 top my list; the third one onward simply represent a numbering system. I think.)

1. Trick 1999
MY TAKE: Sure, it's a little fluffly, but "Trick's" popularity is no mystery. It speaks to every human being's deepest desire: to find somebody and fall head over heels in love with him. Doesn't matter if you're gay or straight, male or female. Of course, it doesn't hurt that Gabe, the budding screenwriter, is boy-next-door cute and Mark, the go-go dancer and former CUNY journalism student, is slinkily sexy. It also doesn't hurt that the film is set in Lower Manhattan, the epicenter of Gay America, where guys holding hands is as normal as licking an ice-cream cone on a summer evening.
PLOT: Two boys meet and spend the evening looking for a place to hook up. It turns into a cool and highly entertaining romantic comedy.
FAVE SCENES: 1) Mark (upper left on the subway) takes an uncomfortable Gabe to a gay club. Needless to say, Mark immediately strips off his shirt and starts dancing. Gabe demurs until -- with transvestite Miss Coco belting out "I Am Woman" -- he too catches the fever. The expressions on Mark's face are priceless. 2) The boys, who had noticed each other during Mark's performance at another go-go club, end up in the same subway car that evening, make eye contact and begin their hook-up. 3) In a tiny scene at a late-night diner, Mark confides to Gabe that he lives with his mom in Brooklyn. It goes by in a flash, but it's one of the most endearing moments of the flick.
SEX QUOTIENT: It's sexy, but nothing's explicit. Straight people could watch the movie without blanching.
TRIVIA: Queens native J.P. Pitoc (aka John Paul Pitoc), who turns 33 on Monday and has done lots of TV since making "Trick," is half Colombian (which accounts for his amazing looks) and studied drama at NYU (brains, too!).
MORE: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/trick/

2. Angels In America 2004
MY TAKE: Obviously, this is one of the greatest theatrical achievements in American history -- Tony Kushner won a Pulitzer in 1993 for his efforts. The movie ain't bad, either. An HBO miniseries, it ran for 352 riveting minutes, sucking the viewer into a vortex of overpowering drama and breath-catching comedy. In a word, it's massive. The performances of Al Pacino as an AIDS-ravaged Roy Cohn, the brilliant but despicable anti-communist who helped fry the Rosenbergs, and Meryl Streep as Ethel Rosenberg and a Mormon mom (among others) are astonishing. So is the poignancy of the relationships between straights and gays, HIV-negative and HIV-positive lovers, out gays and closeted gays, and on and on. The subtext, of course, is profoundly political.
PLOT: Wow. In short, a little-know disease -- AIDS -- is ravaging the gay community. Relationships are affected.
FAVE SCENES: Again wow. 1) Prior Walter, fighting AIDS, is visited in, shall we say, dramatic fashion by a sex-crazed angel. 2) Prior meets Louis, who ditched him because of the disease, in a reunion of sorts in Washington Square Park. 3) A black gay nurse interacts with a dying Cohn.
SEX QUOTIENT: Zero.
TRIVIA: The charismatic Jeffrey Wright, who played the gay nurse, also excelled as the lead role in a film about Jean-Michel Basquiat.
MORE: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/angels_in_america/

The angel visits Prior.

3. Latter Days 2003
MY TAKE: You've gotta love a flick that takes on religion, in this case -- obviously -- the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints, aka the Mormons. There's lots of comedy here and some all-too-obvious moments, but the underlying messages are strong: 1) You are what you are, and 2) intolerance is fueled more than anything by religion. Again, this isn't original, but it's highly watchable.
PLOT: Slutty gay boy in L.A. meets cute-but-closeted Mormon missionary and falls in love.
FAVE SCENES: 1) Christian, the West Hollywood party boy, thinks Aaron, the Mormon, is dead, so he tearfully visits the latter's family home in Idaho to return a family heirloom. It's then that Aaron's mother -- who had been piously anti-gay -- understands how wrong she's been. 2) At the end of the movie, Aaron shows up at a restaurant where, coincidentally, Christian works. In a tear-jerker, they're reunited.
SEX QUOTIENT: Moderately explicit, but if I can watch sex scenes in straight movies, I assume enlightened straights could watch the scenes in "Latter Days" without being too grossed out.

TRIVIA: Written by a gay Mormon, the movie was filmed in 24 days, according to IMDb.
MORE: http://www.rottentomatoes.com/m/latter_days/m/m/latter_days/

Steve Sandvoss (left)
and Wes Ramsey

The Goode, The Bad, The Ugly -- Oh, They're All The Same

2007-04-23T03:57:00.000-04:00

Being in Virginia, I rarely expect my politicians to make me proud.

There's George Allen and his racist remarks during the 2006 campaign. There's Virgil Goode, the redneck congressman from southwestern Virginia who criticized a recently elected Minnesota representative for choosing to take his oath of office on the Koran. There's the old fool in the state legislature who said blacks should "get over" slavery. There's the homophobe state legislator who tried to shut down gay clubs in public high schools. There's the dummy, also in our august assembly, who tried to ban extremely baggy pants that expose underwear.

Wow. (All but the baggy-pants guy were Republicans, by the way.)

On the other hand, Allen lost his re-election campaign last fall, in large part because of the "Macaca" comment. Goode was condemned for his religious intolerance. Virginia, not long after the "get over it" comment, became the first state in the nation to formally express regret for its role in slavery. The state senate told the house to get real and quickly killed the anti-gay club measure. And the baggy-pants proposal also was DOA in the senate.

So, while we have an uncommon number of dumb politicians, their ideas usually are shot down.

One politician who has always had my respect, however, is John Warner. I've rarely agreed with him on the issues, but he has always seemed reasonable and gentlemanly. In recent weeks, though, the 80-year-old Republican -- and former husband of Elizabeth Taylor -- has stunned me. First, he and Chuck Nagel of Nebraska became the leading GOP senators to oppose Bush's escalation in Iraq. Then, a few weeks ago, Warner weighed in on Gen. Peter Pace's bigoted comments about gays. The day before, Pace -- chairman of the joint chiefs of staff -- told the Chicago Tribune that homosexual acts were "immoral." Warner told him he was full of shit.

"I respectfully, but strongly, disagree with the chairman's view that homosexuality is immoral," Warner said in a written statement. Now, that goes above and beyond the call of duty. Warner, as a Republican in a still fairly conservative state, could have kept silent on the issue. Instead, he joined the voices that are helping tip the nation toward acceptance of gay lifestyles.

For a change, I'm proud. Well, until I see shit like this -- from Mr. Goode again, this time spewing his racism on the U.S. House floor:

When? Now.

2007-04-22T04:23:00.000-04:00

Whenever I ask people if they think America should withdraw from Iraq, they say yes. When I ask them how quickly, they almost always talk about a phased withdrawal. Their rationale: that if the Americans got out too quickly, Iraq would dissolve into ... into what, I ask, into chaos? Into civil war? Into carnage?

I don't know how much worse Iraq can get. If you believe a Johns Hopkins University study, more than 600,000 Iraqis have died because of the American invasion. More than 3,300 U.S. soldiers have been killed and another 25,000 wounded. This month alone, 72 coalition soldiers (almost all American) have died, most of them in their 20s, at least three in their teens.

It seems almost crass to talk about money, but the United States is spending $2 billion a week -- a week -- to perpetuate its immoral policies in Iraq.

On a human level, again how much worse can it get? Iraq already is engaged in a sectarian civil war. America's presence will only prolong the killing. And once the U.S. leaves, Iraq almost certainly will ally itself with its fellow Shias in Iran. So what will America get for its thousands of dead? In all likelihood, an Islamic government with strong ties to another Islamic government, this one fundamentalist and repressive. (Yea democracy.) Won't that be wonderful? Iran and Iraq, flush with oil and weapons, strutting around the Middle East.

And all because of an evil or stupid -- take your pick -- American president.

It's too late to put the genie back in the bottle. It isn't too late to get out.

Although I value their lives as much as I do those of our soldiers, I can do nothing to prevent an Iraqi kid from killing another Iraqi kid. I can do something, if only by voting and speaking out among friends, to prevent more Americans from dying.

During Vietnam, of course, John Kerry asked a haunting question after returning home and becoming an anti-war leader burnished by medals for bravery: "How do you ask a man to be the last man to die in Vietnam? How do you ask a man to be the last man to die for a mistake?"

How do you ask Michael Rivera's mother in Brooklyn to accept that her 22-year-old son died in a roadside bombing this month in Iraq, just six months after the birth of his daughter?

How do you ask Barry Mayo's family in Ecru, Miss., to accept that their 21-year-old son -- a kid who joined the Army at 17 -- was killed this month during his second tour in Iraq?

How do you tell Kory Koster's mom and dad in The Woodlands, Texas, that their 19-year-old boy (pictured at the beginning of this entry) died this month in Iraq, died at a time when he would have been home on leave had he not given up his slot to another solider whose wife was expecting a baby?

Three young guys out of 3,319 who have perished in a morally bankrupt war. Three young guys who were betrayed by their government. I think it's important to look at their faces, to read their stories. Then ask yourself, when should the United States get out of Iraq?

Twink Cars?

2007-04-22T04:07:00.000-04:00

I'm thinking this is a BIT of a reach. The New York Times did a story on "gay" cars. Of course, as I'm reading it, it's dawning on me that gay has nothing to do with it. It's a metrosexual thing. Period. End of story.

Believe me, living in the Shenandoah Valley, I KNOW there are plenty of style-impaired gays. Redneck queers? We got 'em, baby. And I'm thinking they're driving pickups and picking the soup out of their beards rather than hopping into cute Mini Coopers. So this is a STYLE thing, not a sexual-orientation thing, I dink.The first few paragraphs of the New York Times article (everything in bold is part of the Times story):

Ron Geren, an actor in Los Angeles, commutes to auditions and jobs throughout Southern California in a sleek black Mazda MX-5 Miata convertible. But for a recent date with a woman, he rented a Cadillac Escalade because he was so used to friends saying his Miata is “gay.”

“Guys say, ‘Hey, that’s cute,’ ” Mr. Geren, 40, said, adding that the comments come from gay as well as straight men. “You have to fend off that perception.”

A few years ago, Meghan Daum, an op-ed contributor to The Los Angeles Times, wrote about a promising first date with a man that never led to a second one because, she later learned, the guy saw that she drove a Subaru Outback station wagon and concluded she must be a lesbian.
And when Joe LaMuraglia, the founder of gaywheels.com an informational site modeled on the likes of autoweb.com, told his partner he wanted to buy a Mini Cooper convertible, the boyfriend joked that he would not be seen in it because the couple “would look like such a gay cliché,” Mr. LaMuraglia said.

Cars are no more straight or gay than cellphones, office chairs or weed whackers. But in recent years that truism has not stopped a perception among some motorists that certain cars can, in the right context, be statements about a driver’s sexual orientation.

People actually appear to believe this. But, as the writer noted at the end of the story ...

On Gaywheels.com, one indicator of actual gay buying trends is the list of vehicles most frequently researched. As of last October, the Toyota Yaris, a $12,000 economy car, led that list, followed by the Toyota Camry, which was the No. 3-selling car in America last year.

The Mini Cooper. Gay? Well, it IS too cute to be straight, but ... no.