I joined Randee Riot and her kittens at the Dyke March today. I made a sign before going out that stated simply: "We Love Our Lesbian Sisters."
The march was fantastic and the rally before, electric. It rained briefly but the dykes toughed it out, of course, and marched on.
Many of the dykes shook my hand or snapped photos and replied to my sign with a warm smile and a "Hey, we love you too brother. Thanks for being here!"
No, thank YOU, queer and lesbian women...
We are all ONE family-
(L2R) Brooklyn, Riot, Spinner's Girlfriend, Spinner
Bryant Park Dyke Swarm
Other gay boys showing some love
Riot's Famous "Three Fingers Please" Dyke March Tee
Spinner and Girlfriend loving-out
Saturday, June 28, 2008
I joined Randee Riot and her kittens at the Dyke March today. I made a sign before going out that stated simply: "We Love Our Lesbian Sisters."
Friday, June 27, 2008
Billed as a protest march and not a parade the Dyke March is one of the best rallies throughout Pride week. Although only women are allowed to actually march men are encouraged to rally from the side lines and show their support.
Saturday, June 28th.
Step off at 5pm SHARP
from W. 42nd Street and 6th Avenue at Bryant Park.
It is such a hoot! Please come out and show your love for our lesbian sisters!
For all NYC Dyke March information visit: nycdykemarch.org!
The first Dyke March in the United States was held in New York City in 1992, on the Saturday before the annual Pride Parade. It was intended as a woman-only event, organized by the direct action group, the Lesbian Avengers. Gay and bisexual men (as well as other well-wishers) were encouraged to show support by cheering the marches on, a tradition that continues to this day.
The first U.S. Nation-wide Dyke March was held in Washington, D.C. in 1993. This event was also planned by the Lesbian Avengers. Close to 10,000 women marched at this event. The large turnout can be attributed to the fact that the Dyke March coincided with a larger march on Washington. There was a global feel to this Dyke March as lesbians from the United States and other countries marched.
The first San Francisco Dyke March was held few months later, in June 1993, and is still celebrated every year on the Saturday evening before the annual GLBT Parade which is very corporate-sponsored. The Dyke March is more informal, with marchers creating their own signs and most people showing up to participate, rather than to just watch. The streets along the march route are lined with thousands of enthusiastic spectators, mostly gay men in support of the women.
The reason for the creation of the various Dyke Marches was to protest what many women saw as the control of Gay Pride events by white gay men at the expense of lesbians in general and women of color in particular. Many of the Lesbian Avengers were also concerned that New York's Gay Pride March was losing its political edge as it became more accepted by the city courted by corporate sponsorship.
While the Dyke March in New York has always been nominally open to all women, there has been a movement to push for transgender women and bisexual women to be more accepted and visible in the March and within the queer women's community. Men have been asked to stand on the sidewalks during the New York Dyke March and cheer on the marchers, and a small number of primarily gay men often join the marchers after they reach Washington Square Park. As with the San Francisco Dyke March, the organizers do not seek out a permit, and put a high emphasis on the political. Even though there are many club nights and parties after the March, the event is not so much about entertainment as it is about educating about Dyke issues and promoting the visibility of lesbians within the larger LGBT community.
Thursday, June 26, 2008
Found in Today's Metro NY Newspaper
Remember 1983? I do. We were in the throes of the AIDS epidemic, burying our lovers, partners and friends. Who could have imagined that 25 years later, same-sex couples in New York could marry legally in California, return home and have their marriage recognized by the state of New York.
As the executive director of the New York LGBT community’s “Grand Central Station,” The Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual & Transgender Community Center, I have a front row seat to our community’s struggles and triumphs.
This weekend in New York City, as the center marches with our float in the Heritage of Pride parade, we will be celebrating a wonderful achievement — the center’s 25th anniversary. Of course, there is work ahead of us, especially the Center’s urgent need to grow in order to meet the needs of our diverse community.
Let’s go back to the early 1980s, when the time was right — New York’s gay community needed a center. The Center appealed for gifts and loans to raise the $150,000 downpayment for 208 W. 13th St.
Aquarter century later, we have more than 6,000 people a week come through our doors, and thousands more from around the world connect with resources and community at www.gaycenter.org. More than 80 staff members and hundreds of volunteers provide services for all the diverse parts of our community — from youth and families to transgender people to individuals struggling with crystal meth addiction. Every day there is a broad array of art, culture, music and other events to attend. You can browse the stacks of our library or surf the Internet at our cybercenter. The Keith Haring room is an international art-lovers destination. You need to see it to believe it.
Today the Center is an established home for LGBT New Yorkers in all our diversity — just as our founders envisioned in 1983. But even now the LGBT community lacks basic civil rights protections at the federal level and incidents of prejudice and violence are still common, even in New York. We still have far to go to achieve full equality. We still need a place where the community’s heart and soul can reside safe and secure. That place is the Center.
When you walk into our lobby, you enter, in the most profound sense, a safe, queer space built for you. Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transgender people and our allies own our piece of New York City. Of that, all New Yorkers should be proud.
By Richard Burns
I have been to The Center time and time again. The Center is where I attended my first ACT UP meetings, where I first met Larry Kramer, where I attended and helped run meetings for the Queer Justice League, where I heard Michael Cunningham read, where I attended disco blaring hairy chested dance parties. For 25 years The Center has been home to so much - I wonder what it will bring in the next 25...
What have you seen or done at The Center?
Wednesday, June 25, 2008
I had huge plans this week to post something about Pride or Gay History every day until the actual Pride event this Sunday but unfortunately work has been kicking me in the groin lately and because so my plans have been disrupted and I somewhat dropped the ball. Grumbles.
Until work settles, go ahead an pop over to This. That. No Other written by my blog BFF Brett Stewart and empower yourself on his rant about Shirtlessness, Public Sex, Pride and those who roll their eyes.
Tuesday, June 24, 2008
Saturday I hosted a 27 Jumps Birthday Gathering at the Piers. Could not have been a better day! Bright sunshine, great friends (thank you all for coming) and of course no jump rope day would be complete without the attendance of the stellar Christopher St. kids, whom I now refer to as: "The Rainbow Children."
Rule is- if you jump, you have to get a nickname:
LipGloss (a sassy two stepper)
TopChef (get it? Lesbian, Dykey haircut= Top Chef? yes, no?)
FierceFeet and MmmBop - together they're the Mmmbops.
And then on Sunday.....
Me and the Meow Mix, Sascha and Randee Riot- The queer first cousin (far right.)
We were singing the Patty Duke theme song before arriving.
"They laugh alike, they walk alike,
At times they even talk alike --
You can lose your mind,
When cousins are two of a kind."
Matty and Dodgeballer Dom
Then the rain:
Boyfriends Scotty and Juan-Jo preventing themselves from melting
Wet fur with John
...and you know what happened after the rain stopped?
A rainbow came out.
Yes sir, it did! And it hung there for just a few moments to let us know it was there and to wish us a Happy Pride Week!
Thank you to the organizers of Folsom Street East for throwing another wonderful event. Thanks for keeping it real real.
Happy Pride Week!
Friday, June 20, 2008
This upcoming Sunday marks the annual Folsom St. East festival which is one of my favorite days in New York. I often bill it as "Leather Day" and next to Rainbow Day (Pride) it is one of those not-to-be-missed have-fun gay events.
Although it's before my time I am familiar with the once strong and outstandingly popular leather scene and community which once thrived in NYC. In fact, my first NYC gay bar was The Lure which, like everything else seedy/fun, is now closed.
It seems as though from my research and reading into 1970's gay based literature that leather and leather theme used to rock NYC. If you delve into John Rechy's "Rushes" or Kramer's wincing satire "Faggots" you'll get a glimpse of how popular leather and leather scene use to be. (Older readers: I know these might not be the best or most extensive pieces of literature depicting this scene - so if you have more information or leads then please point them out.)
Now leather seems to have gone from Heavy Leather 70's/80's to Leather 90's to Diet Leather 2000's to "Ugh he has his shirt off again at The Eagle" or "OH MY GOD, look! Those two guys over there in the corner are getting off, quick point and laugh! Point and laugh!" in 2008.
If it's not coming across in the above mentioned I detest this type of judgment upon men who enjoy 1) taking their shirts off and celebrating that liberation or just simply enjoy it or 2) have the confidence to be free enough, or are turned on enough, to shrug and get off semi-discreetly right then and there.
Regardless of my tangent above I'm glad that Leather is still recognized enough for this day to be offered to the New York public and it is certainly a wonderful day spent with men, friends, leather and beer.
Go ahead and check out the fascinating blog Jeremiah's Vanashing New York where he does a wonderful then and now expose on New York's leather hangouts and what they have become.
"If you long for the days when the streets of the Village and Meatpacking were filled with men in assless chaps, instead of fratboy assholes, then go to Folsom Street East this weekend. In celebration of those vanished men in leather--many taken by the AIDS epidemic--enjoy my visual retrospective of the city's lost queer fetish clubs, showing them as they were yesterday...and what I discovered in their places today."
Then (The Anvil)
Now (The Liberty Inn)
Then (The Badlands)
Now (Badlands Video)
His blog is pretty incredible be sure to check it out! Loving his motto: "Still hunkered down in the East Village, waiting for the wrecking ball of gentrification to find me. Until then, I'll write this ongoing obituary for my dying city."
Wednesday, June 18, 2008
Actually Otter has been around for awhile and I've heard it thrown around a bunch. I suppose Otter and Cubs are brother terms for each other. A cub is usually a young or younger bear while an Otter is a skinny, yet hairy, young bear. I suppose that means cubs are more bear-like and Otters are just skinny bears or friend's of bear that happen to be skinny(ier?) But, then somebody told me that Otters are actually age-less, they're just skinny bears. So, therefore, the sentence would go: All Otters can be bears, but not all bears can be Otters. Right? Oh boy.
According to UrbanDictionary.com an Otter is:
"A gay man who is very hairy all over his body, but is smaller in frame and weighs considerably less than a bear."
"Larry is an otter, and he likes to date bears or other otters."
"A skiny, hairy gay man."
"Because I am a skinny, hairy gay man, I refer to myself as an otter."
I have always preferred Cub over Otter although I've been called both. In fact one day somebody told me I was actually neither, yet, I am a "Furry Ambassador" since I tend to float between gay tribes while retaining "furry pride" and making "bear" more accessible for all other communities. Riiiiight.
Annnnnywho, without further ado, may I present to you Otter Fashion. The fashion line for otters and their otter friends. Go ahead and check out the site at Otterfashion.com and build a habitat around all their cute clothing and catchy styles.
Otters in media and history:
Jesus Christ- Total Otter
Dominic Monaghan- Charlie from ABC's "Lost"- Punky Otter
Shaggy from Skooby Doo- animated Otter
Tuesday, June 17, 2008
Fiercing it out at the piers with Alex and Ricardo (eating SpongeBob pops)
The amazing roundoff-handspring into the rope- jump.
Me and Ricardo practicing the double-jump (Ricardo still can't quite get it.)
Beers at The Dugout afterward w/ Alex and Leslie
Work is outrageous this week. Because of this I thought I would post a story of mine that I wrote this year and performed at Rapture Cafe's Reading for Filth.
"I Will go With You"
It was 30 seconds. Ok, maybe 45 seconds but 45 seconds at the most! That's how long Rob's cock was in my ass without a condom. I really hadn't thought much about it until 3 weeks later when Rob called me and told me he tested positive. Now I was biting my nails, tapping my foot and desperately searching my doctor's face for an answer.
“We were caked in lube and we were making out intensely and he just slipped in. That was it and we stayed like for those few moments before acknowledging we should grab a condom. In fact, after that we never ended up having sex! I'm such an idiot! How could I be so stupid?!”
My doctor put his hand on my knee. “Slow down, Eric, relax! You're going to make yourself sick! You say you were covered in lube?
I nodded yes in a groan and a whimper.
“And from what you say, he had very little precum, if any, and there was no ejaculate whatsoever in your ass?”
“Yeah,” I said swallowing, out of breathe. I wiped the tears from my face with the palm of my hand.
“Eric, now listen to me,” my doctor commanded, looking me in the eye, “it's unprofessional for me to say this, but from what you're telling me, if you're telling me honestly, I don't think you have much to worry about. You were covered in lube, that can often be a barrier. You can't get HIV without precum or ejaculate and from what you say there was none. But unfortunately, you're going to have to wait a few more weeks before we can get an accurate test result. Now don't beat yourself up. You practice safe sex, we've talked about this before, you do everything right. Just try and relax.”
Yeah, easier said then done, Doc. I rolled my eyes and exited his office. I walked across campus banging those utterly intractable 45 seconds around my head. I replayed those moments over and over hoping for a different outcome or shred of evidence which might prove he actually never entered me. But I knew the truth. He had done so and there was nothing I could do about it. After all I learned, all I experienced, the friends around me. It was all worth shit. Like Icarus I had flown to close to the sun, I never was the person I thought I was and my head, was never above the water. The outgoingness, the handshakes, the warm meet and greets, circuit parties, all the new friends I made, trusted and believed in, hanging with the big boys, feeling as though I was on top of the world- all lead me to this! “Positive at 21,” I told myself, “what the hell have I gotten myself into?”
Phoenix Arizona, 2001
19 years old.
This is my first ever big gay gathering. It's a house party and men and drinks are everywhere. The pool outside is huge. Everyone is walking around in speedos or boardshorts and there's not a body in here that's at least ten years within my age. The majority of the men are gorgeous well built short haired hulks. “Just be yourself,” I tell myself. “Smile politely and shake people's hands. You got this.” My host greets me, “Thanks for coming up from Tucson to come hang with us, go mingle!” he says patting my ass and running off. He's on drugs. I know immediately.
I stand there, shifting my weight from one leg to another, bitting my bottom lip and wishing I could shrink up into myself. Someone comes up behind me. “Hi,” he says. I turn around and am taken aback. My mouth left open. Standing before me is a man, brutally East Coast Italian, short cropped black hair, tan skin, muscles pushing their way through his skin, and sunglasses perfectly complementing his full black-and-silver goatee. “I'm Mark,” he extends his hand. “Eric,” I respond, “nice to meet you.”
He tells me the host of the party sent him over since I might not know anyone. We trade background stories, I knew he must have been from Tri-state area so I confess I'm from New Jersey. He tells me he's from Staten Island, the land of firemen and cops, and I melt further into my immediate crush on him. I tell him I'm in school at University of Arizona, studying film and smoking a lot of pot. “Nice, we'll have to do that later,” he says smirking. We talk further well into the bottom of my second drink when I cannot take it any more. I desperately want to pat his muscled, hairy tummy and I concoct a way to do so. I run my hand down his torso and onto his stomach.
“Geez man, what's your secret to such great abs?”
“HIV,” he responds.
I jerk my hand away in shock and surprise. It isn't that I am afraid to touch him, I know better than that but I don't know how to react. “Oh-I-uh,” I stammer.
“Don't sweat it, kid. It's ok. It's the meds I'm on. I have to take steroids to supplement my body's loss of muscle. That's my secret to great abs.”
I don't know what to say and I don't want to offend him. The guy is obviously healthy. It doesn't seem as though he is outwardly suffering from anything so I just nod and take a sip out of my cup which we both know is empty.
“Didn't mean to scare you, kid. Come on, let's grab another drink.”
Mark walks me around the party introducing me to people. There was about a 100 guys at the party and Mark makes me feel at ease by placing his hand on the small of my back, stroking my hair and referring to me as handsome. I began to feel better and drunker. Mark and I spend more time talking and getting to know one another as we smoke a joint outside on the patio chairs. He introduces me to Tim, his partner who is equally handsome, massive and hairy. Tim is hanging out with a bunch of his friends in the pool. I get up the nerve to ask Mark about how he became HIV positive. If I offend him I'll just apologize and blame it on my young naivety but he isn't. He simply shrugs and tells me. He used to be married, wife, kids the whole deal and would take occasional “business trips” to Miami and rendezvous with men. There was a hustler he'd meet. Mark said he asked the hustler's status and after he said it was negative they began having unsafe sex. That's when Mark tested positive, divorced his wife and met Tim. They've been together since.
“Sometimes, I think it was a good thing, Eric. Not that I should wish you ever become positive but it helped me take control of my life admit to what I liked and I met Tim. As funny as it sounds, I've never been happier.”
I believe him. There's no reason he should lie to me and I grasp intuitively that he looks at his status as a way of being more free from the life he used to lead.
I thank him for telling me. That I am just starting to enter the gay community and clank his glass saying, “Hey, if you're happy. I'm happy.” Tim jumps out of the pool and asks us what's up. “Oh, nothing” Makr told Tim, “I was just telling Eric how I became HIV+.”
“That story again,” Tim said smiling. “Come on Eric, I've got someone I want you to meet.”
Mark and Tim take me over to where a DJ is spinning records. They introduce me. His name is DJ Buck. He's a bigger guy, fat and has deep lines in his dimples, near his cheeks, like heavily scarred wrinkles. He asks me if I like dance music and I tell him I go to a lot of raves.
“Oh so like glow-sticks, pacifiers and visors,” he asks.
“Something like that,” I say smiling.
“Well I don't know anything about that but look what I got here, signed by Donna Summer herself!”
He puts a record in my hands and I study it. Above Donna Summer's signature is a song title big bold and black it is called, “I will go with you (Con te partiro.)”
“Cool,” I shrug, handing it back.
“Cool?!” he questions, “you young guys know nothing! How old are you anyway, twenty-two?”
“Nineteen,” I say smirking. “But twenty-two is fine by me.”
Almost in chorus Mark, Tim and Buck groan in a he's so young tone. Buck flips on the record and people come to the dance floor as if this song is a particular siren calling them. I watch Mark and Tim dance with each other, holding one another, kissing and staring into each other's eyes. Other men gather around me. I begin dancing myself. I start noticing similarities of the men around me. Many of them have the same features as Mark, six pack abs or muscle stomachs, deep creases in their face like Buck, and prominent veins jut from their legs and behind their masculine features and bright eyes lays a grief and great sadness that I cannot describe. A feeling that I would find many years later still steals its way into my soul. This stands as my first of many experiences being surrounded by HIV.
The song is joyous and emotional to the same degree. All of these men dancing are alive but how many friends aren't? 1? 10? Whole address books? I swallow these new feelings and emotions and just continue dancing. I am happy and it's been a bumpy road for me to get here.
As Donna Summer sings the lyrics, “I will go with you, I'll go where you lead me, forever true, forever and ever we'll stay, in love together.” I look over at Mark and Tim and decide to do just that.
In the following months in New York and throughout the rest of the year Mark and Tim would be my daddies. We joke they adopted me that day on the dance floor. They take me everywhere, teach me about life, about being gay, about staying negative, about what to expect and what I'd be exposed to. They never make me feel uncomfortable or awkward or pressured and they protect me from the men who they refer to as having, “bad vibes.” We never have sex and they never ask for it and it is their hands I hold above my head in triumph as a giant rainbow flag of lights is unveiled at my first New York Pride Pier Dance. They are the first to tell me everything. Just like a year later they are the first to tell me, Buck is dead.
I walked through campus sobbing. I was programmed not to have unprotected sex. Not to do this. But I did. And it happened. And yes, Rob had slid in, pushing his way past everything I had absorbed from Mark and Tim, and up into my body. “I'm sorry guys,” I whisper out into the dry Arizona air, “I'm not the wonder boy you think I am.”
Five weeks later, just as my doctor said, I tested negative. And now, five years later I continue to test negative. I've lost both Mark and Tim to crystal meth and haven't seen nor heard from any of the men I met at the Pheonix house party. But despite their own failures, the advice to which they themselves did not live up to, their spirits still speak to me, like ghosts, from an everlasting shaman's fire. That great sadness I saw, lying behind their eyes on that dance floor is something I still see and something I still feel.
I often find myself grieving the deaths of men I never knew and of friends I never had, because this virus, this disease, this struggle of my brothers haunts me beyond repair because negative test after negative test I can't help but feel that those 30 to 45 seconds are still ticking by.
Friday, June 13, 2008
And if you're not doing anything in the next ten minutes you MUST read MSNBC's Article on gay adoption entitled, "When Father's Day is a Double Celebration."
Meet the Brothers Z: 4-year-old twins Zach and Zayn, and their younger sibling Zeth, fast approaching 3. In many ways, they are typical denizens of the hilly suburban neighborhood where they have lived most of their lives. They spend their days in preschool while their parents both work in the telecom industry. The family owns an SUV and a pickup. They shop at Costco and go to church on Sundays. They work in the yard. They watch Disney movies on their big-screen TV.
But Father’s Day will be a double celebration at their house because the brothers have two daddies — Geoffery and Devin, foster parents for the boys for three years before adopting them.“All we’re trying to do is raise three healthy boys to be participants in society,” said Geoffery, Devin’s partner for a decade.
That’s a modest description for what the county judge who finalized the adoption in December called an act of heroism. The boys, taken from substance-abusing and incarcerated biological parents, faced long odds against growing up together. Given their treatment by the birth parents, there were far more questions than answers about physical and emotional issues that might arise for them down the road.
"You are heroes in our community," Judge Mary Yu said, beaming from the bench while the boys frolicked about the courtroom, the whole family decked out in red-and-white Mickey Mouse ski sweaters. “Who’s going to assume the burden of taking care of children like this, children who possibly have been neglected or set aside in some way? … People like you, who step up. Thank you.”
Devin and Geoffery, both 44, can celebrate Father’s Day on Sunday secure in the knowledge that their ranks are growing. Gay, lesbian and bisexual people across the nation are pushing for parental rights and increasingly are seen as a valuable resource by the child welfare system in dealing with the tens of thousands of American children who need foster and adoptive homes. And while they are nagged by recurring attempts by political and religious interests to rally followers around anti-gay issues, they are generally too busy juggling juice boxes and car seats to notice.
Yeah, for reals.
AM New York is reporting:
A young New York City entrepreneur has decided to "have fun" with the campaign by marketing condoms featuring images of Barack Obama and John McCain.I'm totally getting some and then hopefully "getting some," if you know what I mean...(elbow nudge, elbow nudge)
Benjamin Sherman, who created the company Practice Safe Policy, says the Obama condom carries the slogan "Use With Good Judgment." The McCain version says "OLD BUT Not Expired."
According to the Web site, McCain condoms "are battle tested, strong and durable, for those occasions when you just need to switch your position!"
While the company can't guarantee the condoms are 100 percent effective, it says it's certain "that without wearing one, there's likely to be an Obama-Mama in your future."
Go to ObamaCondoms.com and McCainCondoms.com to pick some up. The sites are pretty funny- probably funnier than the idea that 72 year old John McCain is still having sex.
Ugh. He's so Del Ray Beach men's locker room. You know the type- they're in their 70's and walk around the locker room naked like they own the place and their balls are all dangly and hang to the side...(shudders)
Wednesday, June 11, 2008
Tuesday, June 10, 2008
I probably would have posted this sooner if I didn't still have AOL mail and its wonky and peculiar spam filter. Stupid AOL. Stupid Emails. (I know, I know, ok? I plan to do the Gmail conversion as soon as I can figure out how to get all my email contacts over to Gmail without losing any... Pointers?)
With that said: Welcome to the Gayborhood!
Gayborhood.tv is a new web-based media platform that is all LGBT all the time. From webisodes, to comedy, to man-on-the-street interviews to documentary, Gayborhood.tv is filled with all the Queer material mainstream media would never allow us.
I wasn't asked to pimp gayborhood.tv but after seeing their man-on-the-street interviews called "The Box" which comes with the tagline of: "Get on THE BOX and SPEAK YOUR MIND! Our cameras go to LGBT festivals, events, and hot spots around the country providing a "soapbox" for anyone and everyone to talk about what's on their minds," how could I resist?!
here's a bit from the Gayborhood itself:
At Gayborhood.tv we see no reason why LGBT programming should be limited to what comes out of our TV sets. So we got together and created a place where people can watch shows about life in our communities — shows that are reflections of ourselves — on a website that highlights each and every colorful shade of our diverse rainbow. The people who work here are our LGBT brothers and sisters, our straight allies, and just darn good friends. They’re always busy creating super fun original web series that everyone can enjoy.Ok, so I know that write up above sounds a little "gay" but seriously watch the link below. It's quite compelling.
But wait there’s more! Part of the site — called LGBTube — has been set aside for user–generated content. Gayborhood users can upload, view, share and post their own video clips — because at Gayborhood.tv it's all about new ideas, new perspectives, and new information.
Link to gayborhood.tv's the box
Anybody over there want to hire me for some field producing? No, really- I'm serious.
Monday, June 9, 2008
Sucker, a short story which evolved into Wayne Hoffman's debut novel Hard, has been adapted into a short film entitled, Sucker.
“Sucker” has now been adapted into a short film, and is having its NYC premiere at the New Festival in June, as part of a program of sexy short films called “Sweat.” It shows twice: on Monday, June 9 (@ 8:15) and Saturday, June 14 (@ 1:30), at the Loews Cinema on West 34th Street. If you’re there on June 9, you’ll see Wayne in the audience.
To see what else is on the program, or to order advance tickets ($13), go to newfest.org, then click on “Film Guide/Schedule” and look under “S” for “Sucker.”
To read about the film – and see a trailer, and check out early reviews and interviews with the filmmaker – go here: www.magicclubfilms.com/sucker.htm
For the past couple of months I have been tormented by these cupcakes at a local cafe/bakery. These cupcakes are the most gorgeous things you ever saw. Nice moist, sturdy looking cake with about two inches of thick creamy frosting on top with sprinkles or peanut butter cups or butterscotch. Every time I pass by this cafe the cupcakes scream at me to buy them. I stand there over the cases like a child at a pet store puppy display thinking if I should just say, "oh to hell with it!" I'll get one. But the summer is here and I know just half of those cupcakes will plague me with two full days of gym going and buyer's remorse. That is until, Saturday night when I said, "to hell with it" and got one.
I awoke Sunday morning around 6AM feeling as though the center of a cyclone was in the right side of my stomach. Strange because I took it easy on Saturday night and didn't have anything to drink. I rolled side to side trying to see if the cyclone was just a thing or the way I happened to be sleeping but rolling back and forth only made me feel worse. And then it hit me, "yup, I'm going to hurl!"
I sprinted my way to the bathroom and crouched down on my knees just in time for last night's dinner and cupcake to chunk it's way up my esophagus and out into the toilet bowl. I let out a few good heaves, just enough to see what hasn't been fully digested since the previous night and let my body catch a few breathes. Heavy sweat began dripping out of my brow and I held my forehead against the cool ceramic sink. I felt better, temporarily. I checked and double checked whether or not I had anything to drink the night before. Nope, clear. I guess it's just a thing. I went back to my bedroom, crashed and didn't wake until 10AM.
10AM: The nausea was unbearable. I knew the slightest move was going to cause another horrific upchuck. I clenched my teeth and in a fast movement swung my legs over the side of the bed. I didn't even have time for a catch-up breath for the puke-express was already ahead of schedule. I mad-dashed to the bathroom once again and spewed forth whatever was left of last night's dinner. Oooh! Onions and broccoli! Oh! And there are those sprinkles! I took a slight whiff for two reasons. 1) taking a whiff of your own puke enables your body to get re-sick enough that you just puke out what's waiting to happen in the next 10 minutes and 2) I like to do things that judge my own personal strength. I asked myself, "can you do it? Can you really do it? Come on, do it! Sniff it! Sniff your own puke!" And I did, and it worked, yeah I know it's a little 2girls1cup of me but I was again, temporarily, relieved.
11:30AM: Eric, The Roommate gets up and I meet him in the kitchen. "Dude, what's up?" "Oh man, I don't know. I think I got food poisoning last night." "Was it the cupcake," he asked? And then it dawned on me- the cupcake did taste a bit strange but I figured it was all the butter and then as soon as that thought streamed across my mind, the cyclone in my belly erupted and there I was again crouched over the toilet bowl, spewing forth the only thing my stomach had left in it- bile and dry heaves. This time it hurt but then I kinda shrugged thinking, "well hey, at least my abs will look good for the rest of the week!" It's strange how, in the midst of puking, I discover how truly shallow I am. Eric, The Roommate (bless his heart) ran out and got me Red Gatorade and Pepto Bismol, neither of which stayed down.
"Maybe it's a stomach virus," he said.
"Maybe YOU'RE a stomach virus," I responded in a half joking/half over-it retort. And with that Eric, The Roommate picked up his dirty laundry, some overnight clothes and headed down to his parent's beach house in Long Beach Island, New Jersey.
So there I was, left alone in my small apartment with nothing but my puke and my BO to keep me company. The rest of the day was spent in foggy haze between sleeping and drinking ginger ale, sleeping and drinking ginger ale. I felt as though I gave my body sufficient rest and by the time I awoke from my third nap around 9:30PM I was well enough to watch a few episodes of The Office and I finally crashed into deep slumber around 11:30.
Today was much better. I took the day off from work as I am not 100% just yet but I should be ripe and ready to go by tomorrow. There is a silver lining to all of this though. After all is said and done, after the amount of crouching and hurls and toilet bowl flushings, I suppose I'll never be tormented by those damn cupcakes again!
Friday, June 6, 2008
Thursday, June 5, 2008
My friend Jay Blotcher, a long time ACT UP activist and an all around smart and bad ass guy responds to those in the community who feel as though same-sex marriage is one step closer to assimilation: