Some Queens: David B. Feinberg

"Some Queens"
from David B. Feinberg's book, Eighty-Sixed:

"Drag queens, size queens, shrimp queens (toe-sucking), rice queens (Orientals), Potato queens (Occidentals), Fire Island Queens, circuit queens (Fire Island/gym/disco circuit), cha-cha queens (Latinos), rice-and-bean queens (Mexicans), Queens for a Day (married men from New Jersey who go to the baths), face-sitting queens, fist queens, dish queens, Astoria Queens, dinge queens, beanie-boy queens (Orthodox Jews), salami queens (Italians), salami-casing queens (uncut Italians), leather queens, opera queens, tearoom queens, smoke queens, popper queens, enema queens, personals queens (likes long walks on beaches), glory hole queens, tattoo queens, butthole queens, studio queens (Studio 54 similarly, Disco Dollies), snow queens (cocaine, or blacks who like whites), fag hag queens, hyphenate queens (actor-model-dancer-waiter), stress queens, roller derby queens (wheelchairs, etc.), alfalfa queens (macrobiotic), diesel queens (men who dress up like dykes), chicken queens, diva queens, screen queens, seafood queens (sailors), Souvlaki queens (Greek action), crepe Suzette queens (French action), Perils-of-Pauline queens (thrill seekers), blue jean queens (Calvin Klien, Gloria Vanderbilt), teddy bear queens, cherry queens (deflowering virgins), Crisco queen, smut queens, ice queens (diamond stud earrings), banana queens (curved dicks), Jimmy Dean queens (Levi's, Elizabeth Taylor and Rebels without a Cause), Lean Cuisine queens (perpetual dieters), mean queens (S & M), twisted queens (deranged), pee queens (watersports), team queens, unweaned queens (sucking on tits - - also known as dairy queens), magazine queens (addicted to glossies and press releases), railroad queens, locker room queens, mile high club queens (making it airplane johns), rubber queens, dildo queens, beet queens (future farmers of America back in High School - - see also: "yam queens"), dream queens (GQ types), scream queens ("faaabulous!!!!"), palace queens (Leona Helmsley), tuna queens (male lesbians), pesto queens (into garlic), egg cream queens, fashion victim/style-police queens (beyond therapy), hostage queens (fantasies of being taken hostage in a foreign American embassy and being brutalized by idealistic young university-student revolutionaries), vanilla queens (into vanilla sex: basic sucking and fucking, no fantasies allowed), matzoh meal queens (reformed Jews), Wuthering Heights queens (hopeless romantics), skin queens (uncircumcised), peeled queens (cut), designer queens, steroid queens, beach queens, smack queens, Ma Bell queens (phone sex), Tom Thumb queens (small dicks), Uniform queens, piano bar queens, salad queens (rimming), bottle queens (alcoholics), flea queens (sex in run down hotels), bull horn queens (politicos), flab queens (AKA chubby chasers), evil queens (approximately ninety percent of the above), therapy queens (electro shock queens, Bellvue queens, couch queens, Valium queens, etc...) condo and co-op queens (the landed gentry in Manhattan), and closet queens."

Guest Post: Nick Rice

I met Nick Rice after a Reading for Filth at the now deceased Rapture Cafe sometime last winter. Nick, who is in his early twenties, introduced himself to me that he had found my blog and liked what he saw. Since then we've become friends, shared dance floors together and seen one another out at rallies and meetings. As I'm out of town for work I offered him a guest post here on KnuckleCrack. Here is what Nick Rice has to say:

I was a queer boy in middle school in the late 90's. Fearful of my classmate's judgment and ridicule, I was a loner only able to open up with a few close friends. I insulated myself from other kids with standoffishness and silence. Without invitations to the movies or to backyard pools, I cloistered myself between the dusty and quiet stacks of the local library. I found my escape, my hideaway. Being fortunate enough to grow up in a town with a massive and well stocked library, I spent years reading my way through the art and architecture shelves. Eventually, just like millions of queer kids before me, body shaking and tingling with adrenaline, I made my first furtive trips to the HQ 75-76.8 section, Homosexuality and Lesbianism. Somehow I was convinced the H stood for Homosexual and that anyone passing by would know exactly why I was there. If someone walked down the aisle, Now That You Know would be right back on the shelf and I'd be intensely scanning HQ755.7-759.92, Parents, Parenthood. Of course, no one ever gave me a second glance, it was all just my expansive paranoia.

I discovered Alfred Kinsey, Edmund White, Paul Monette and yards upon yards of gay fiction. I ate it up. It was my indulgence and my refuge. Soon after, I came upon this book: I Have More Fun With You Than Anybody. It is the memoir of two men in the 1970's, living as a couple together in the bloom of an open, ground-breaking and unapologetic queer social world. Having no contact with any queer people, 13 year old me was shocked and amazed to learn that a decade before my birth, gay men were already out in society, going about their lives like anyone else. I was fascinated (and a little bit scandalized) by the honest discussions of the sexual culture of that era and determined to learn as much as I could about queer society, past and present. With these books as my sole connection to anything queer, I also read as a way to feel connected to other queer people and to internalize positive explanations of all the feelings that were welling within me. I continued this reading in high school, past my coming out at 16 and on through college in rural Maine (where I discovered a whole new college library with an ample HQ section and numerous documentaries like "Word is Out" and "The Times of Harvey Milk" (Sally M. Gearhart!)) .

By college, my insecurity had given way to pride and an overwhelming sense of good fortune at having turned out queer. My daily reading led me to John Rechy, Robert Mapplethorpe, Vito Russo, Larry Kramer, Randy Shilts, Harry Hay, Fred Halstead, Andrew Holleran and George Chauncey. Because I was learning about queer culture through books, as opposed to experiencing it myself (again, I was in rural Maine), I was most often learning about queer social worlds from past decades that no longer existed. I was reaching back into the 50's, 60's, 70's, 80's and 90's for the queer positive messages I needed in order to overcome all the shame and fear I absorbed as a child. Through this process I gained an enormous measure of respect and admiration for the queer people of earlier generations who had been fighting for my rights ever since I was an infant and even before my parents were born.

After I graduated from college, I unexpectedly landed in New York, the setting for so much of what I'd read about for a decade. Walking through the streets of the Village, slowly down Christopher, and out onto the piers was and continues to be an electric experience for. Passing the teenagers in Hudson River Park, vogueing and reading their competitors, I can't help but think back to the images of the piers as they were in "Gay Sex in the 70's". After reading "Dancer from the Dance" , "And the Band Played on" and "Faggots" I wandered neighborhoods filled with fashionably dressed young, straight people to find the Mineshaft, the Paradise Garage, Keller's, the Ramrod, the International Stud, the Anvil, Flamingo, the 10^th Floor, Badlands. I searched online for addresses decades out of date and bought old gay travel guides on eBay. To stand in storied spaces that for so many years previous I could only imagine was both thrilling and bittersweet. I felt awed to be in a place that was the site of so much change and exuberance in the 70's, and then in the 80's comprised an epicenter of grief and activism in the first era of the AIDS crisis. These spaces once contained the vibrating, pulsing, ever-innovative culture of the generations to which I owe what freedom I enjoy. I was searching for a vanished world, and simultaneously felt so much connection and distance as I walked alone through its shell. For me, the Village is suffused with a nostalgia for things I never saw and people I'll never know, but which continue to impact my life today.

The internet has supplemented much of the information that I couldn't find on paper or in the physical landscape of the Village. It serves as a repository for so many memories which are not my own but which help me to understand the world that paved the way for my generation of queer people. However, offline I am pained to find the remnants of this past so few and scattered. In New York I have been privileged to get to know many queer people who belong to those generations I feel so fascinated by and indebted to, but their ranks are sparse. As time progresses there will be less of them to pass on the knowledge of what queer life was like in their youth. How is their cultural memory being preserved? Who is out there with stories to relate that my generation might learn from? What material pieces of that world remain hidden, in boxes and closets, waiting to be dusted off for us to appreciate? I feel so fortunate to be in a city where I can find so much queer history, but I am sure there is so much more out there, untapped. I would be very happy if other people felt the same. Do you have words or images with which to illuminate a queer reality, distant in time?

Mark Doty Wins 2008 National Book Award

Congratulations to gay writer and poet Mark Doty who took home the 2008 National Book Award last night for his poetry book entitled Fire to Fire.

Doty is well known for his 2007 book Dog Years which is simultaneously both a heart breaking and heart warming story about the relationship between humans and dogs during a time of love, desperation and grief.

Why do dogs speak so profoundly to our inner lives? When Mark Doty decides to adopt a dog as a companion for his dying partner, he finds himself bringing home Beau, a large golden retriever, malnourished and in need of loving care. Beau joins Arden, the black retriever, to complete their family. As Beau bounds back into life, the two dogs become Mark Doty's intimate companions, his solace, and eventually the very life force that keeps him from abandoning all hope during the darkest days. Their tenacity, loyalty, and love inspire him when all else fails.

Dog Years is a remarkable work: a moving and intimate memoir interwoven with profound reflections on our feelings for animals and the lessons they teach us about life, love, and loss. Mark Doty writes about the heart-wrenching vulnerability of dogs, the positive energy and joy they bring, and the gift they bear us of unconditional love. A book unlike any other, Mark Doty's surprising meditation is radiantly unsentimental yet profoundly affecting. Beautifully written, Dog Years is a classic in the making.

I began reading Dog Years on the beaches of Provincetown this past summer and that very same day had the pleasure of shaking Doty's hand. Congratulations.

They Shoot Homos Don't They?

Shot.

I made it to the incredible NY Art Book Fair yesterday and found myself really digging the Queer arts and books section of the event. Go figure!

They Shoot Homos Don't They? is a magazine for men and their admirers but it isn't so much porn and nudity as it is a character study on the modern gay male. Each issue deals with a specific topic but it is up to the reader to decipher their own meaning out of it.

I found They Shoot Homos Don't They? to be loud and colorful and pop-gay but most of all I enjoyed their motto and stance:

Four men are involved in running the magazine. It began because they were dark about the convergence of homo culture with mediocrity - some call it the mainstream. Rather than flash their queer eyes or mount the barricades, they decided to ask different men: how are you doing, what are your motives, what are you making, and what kind of world are you creating?

TSHDT? contributors aren't just men (or men who bang men). The bottom line is that the magazine puts forward people who are prepared to take a stance. You don’t have to be gay to get this.

TSHDT? is all about getting it. But this doesn’t mean you have to give it your best Butch Queen Vogue Fem Performance. There is a concerted effort in the editorial direction to encourage people to read between the lines and negotiate their own politics. This ambiguity should not be viewed as indifference. TSHDT? is suggesting several (sexual) positions.

I am very fond of this neo-gay au naturale art thing. Keep it coming!
See also: Pinups and Butt Magazine (NSFW.)

Chronicle of a Plague, Revisited

It's almost fitting that I would discover Andrew Holleran's re-release of old short stories in a new anthology entitled Chronicle of a Plague, Revisited on a gloomy Saturday in late September.

It was an aimless day, not one plan scheduled and I found myself walking around the city, turning corners on a whim and shrugging at North and South. Therefore it was no surprise, nor plan, that I arrived at Barnes and Noble on 6th Avenue, running my fingers along the titles and authors in the Gay and Lesbian Fiction section.

My fingers traced upon the bindings of smooth paperbacks until it fell upon a Holleran title I did not recognize. I have every book of his and haven't heard of any new release so I jumped into the cover like a treasure hunter discovering an accidental chest. There it was - Copyright: 2008.

Chronicle of a Plague, Revisited is a re-release of Holleran's old short stories from his 1988 publication Ground Zero, repackaged with a newly written introduction, now twenty-plus years after the fact.

I bought the book without thinking twice and looked forward to, once again, being held in Holleran's poetically relentless grip, like a rib cage being crushed by the delicate fineness of a pair of silk white gloves.

Once outside I leaned against the brick and began reading this new introduction. By the time I turned the first page my soul had already drained itself of color and was left with nothing more than the gray of the pavement reflecting off the sky.

An excerpt:

"Learning a book is out of print is a blow to an author. It's not that copies in print have been destroyed, but that demand for the book is so low the publisher cannot justify printing any more. When I went looking for a copy of Ground Zero last winter, I was lucky to find one in a college library in Washington, D.C., on a shelf of other books about AIDS. The "Date Due" slip told me the book had been checked out only twelve times in twenty-four years; and not at all from 1992 to 1998 or 1998 to 2006. This had to do with a professor teaching, then dropping, a course that required the text, I thought- what else keeps these books alive? The volumes on the shelf around mine looked equally untouched, as if they all been put to sleep, like the awful time itself...

...Yet it seems incredible that people still get infected with HIV. They say it's because people think AIDS is now a "manageable" disease; and few young gay men have seen anyone die of AIDS. But I think it's the same old story: the irrational power of sex, of people's search for a physical, emotional connection. So I suppose it should be no surprise that people go on getting infected, while books about AIDS sit mostly undisturbed on the shelf of the college library where I found Ground Zero. Even now I'm not sure what one should compare the disease that swept gay New York in the eighties to- the Spanish influenza of 1918?

...Still, say what you will, we have lost a whole generation of gay men, who might otherwise have been valuable mentors to their successors. Of course, gay life has evolved without those who died. One can even argue that the very assimilation that AIDS brought about seems to have caused the disintegration of the gay community, though surely that would have resulted anyway from the inevitable change in generations, not to mention new technology like the computer. Part of Survivor's Syndrome is to live in another era, when AIDS is simply part of the past, and for many young gay men, not even that. Yet something was lost..."

Chronicle of a Plague, Revisited.

As the Boats Put Out Their Light

Twilight

Out to Sea

Zombie Nightmares

Last night marked the 6th zombie nightmare I've had since finishing Max Brooks' World War Z: The Oral History of the Zombie War.

During the course of reading the book I had three nightmares all involving zombies taking over the world and me (and sometimes my friends) running from them. I finished the book sometime in December and since then I've had three additional dreams involving the same thing: Zombies, killing and survival. The most bizarre and probably macabre element of these dreams is that the zombies are increasingly getting harder to kill.

In my first and second zombie dreams killing the walking dead was simple, clean and easy (and even somewhat fun!) All it took was a mildly powerful blow to their head to decapitate them. Their flesh was soft and it was like throwing a spear through Jello. Of course, decapitation wasn't enough since you have to destroy the brain, but their skulls crushed easily under the stomp of my sneakers or boots. Done.

In my third dream, not only were there more zombies but their skin became harder to puncture. I remember during this dream kicking a zombie in the head and it not snapping off like it had in the other dreams. A streak of fear ran down my dream-spine and I realized then that they're getting stronger. This time it took 3 to 4 blows to the head (and possibly a round house kick) to snap their head off. This all happened in the East Village on 10th street but it was also like a desert too (kind of?)

My fourth dream is the one I remember most clearly and also sticks in my head as being the most graphic. I remember coming upon a female zombie who I tried smacking a few times with a lead pipe and nothing happened. I did however break enough of her bones to prevent her from walking and she became a "crawler" (in World War Z- zombies who only had half bodies were called crawlers.) From that point on I stood on her back while I grabbed her forehead from behind and, with a great deal of strength, proceeded to rip her head off. Unfortunately her spine came with it and her bones ripped from her flesh like two pieces of velco being separated. I remember this dream mostly because I could actually feel ripping this zombie woman apart. I felt the roughness of bone and the way it tore from her flesh. Needless to say I woke up with shudders and I have thought about it ever since.

My fifth dream was mostly about running. It was as if I accepted the fact that we, as a civilization, were lost within a zombie apocolypse and from this point on it was all about running. I don't remember killing any zombies but I do remember trying to run to the Hudson River for some reason.

Last night's dream, my 6th, was horrific and disturbing but for different reasons. I was in a military occupied safe zone where survivors were to go for shelter and medical needs. There was a rigorous screening process where medical examiners asked us to strip down and looked at our bodies for bite marks and other signs of infection. There was a person a few people ahead of me who happened to be hiding a bite mark, and right there, got a harpoon-weapon of sorts to the skull. No if, ands or buts! I was clear, and I knew I was, but I remember seeing my clothes in a pile on the floor and telling myself "whatever you do, do not lose your jeans or your sneakers." I quickly picked them up and at that moment lights started to fall from the ceiling and everything went black. I heard screaming and threw on my jeans and sneakers and picked up the first hard-hitting blunt object I could find (go figure- another lead pipe) and ran.

I ended up at another "safe house" but this one didn't seemed to be occupied by the government or military. It was more of a vigilante safe house and the doors were guarded by thug-looking older guys with machine guns. They asked me where I came from and I told them the "safe zone" which was under attack. They ushered me in quickly and quietly. I found a picnic table to sit at and two gentlemen approached me. They said, "hold on to your weapon, guy. The zombies might be out there but we've got our own animals in here. People have been known to get stabbed and even killed so just watch your back. We're all turning on each other." I understood what they meant and swiveled around on the picnic table so I could get a better look at my surroundings and grabbed my lead pipe tightly- just in time for....

...my alarm to go off.

Anyone know of a good shrink?

Annnnnyway, go to the Official World War Z website and take the survey to calculate your chances of survival.

And also check out the new trailer for George Romero's, the Super Granddaddy of Zombie films, newest release Diary of the Dead.

What to do when the Flu

After waking up at 1pm, I....

• Tried to read further into this new book I bought called Dancing with Tina, by far the most brutal and explicit account of a gay man trapped within Crystal Meth addiction I've ever come across.
• Updated my Facebook Profile. When I said I might be "over it" two posts down- um, apparently, I'm far from it.
• Made soup- ate half the can- thought I was going to vomit.
• Answered emails and IM'd with Josh Sparber
• Spent way too much time cruising BigMuscleBear (NSFW) and after looking at so many swoonful men asked, if there are Shiites and Sunnis, why can't there be "swoonies?" Then I watched this Lazy Bear Weekend video and definitely plan on going this year.
  
• Ate the rest of my soup- didn't think I was going to vomit- but I did sweat.
• Waiting for Eric, The Roommate to come home so I can throw things at him while he peacefully tries to read The New Yorker.

I am however, totally feeling better.

True BFFs!!

It's Friday and Friday is a time for friends. I love my friends so much. So much that I cry sometimes when I think about them being in my life. I'm so lucky to have them. They truly are my BFFAEAEAE (Best Friends Forever And Ever And Ever And Ever)

Eric, The Roommate and I have been friends since the 5th grade. After college we lived together in LA for two years and we're still roommates here in NYC. He is the closest thing I've ever had to a brother. We're pretty inseparable and despite his crossed legs and baby blue V-Neck shirt- he's straight. If any women reading this blog really dig fit Jewish vegetarian musicians- Eric's your guy.

This is us when we lived in LA with Matt (our other best friend who we've known since Junior high and who is also a musician and yes- straight.) Schook, a few friends down, lived next to us and referred to us as "My Three Jews," as if we lived in a sitcom, which much of our life happened to be.

Gwen is another best friend of mine and my first official gay role model. Gwen came out at 14, when we were in the 9th grade by writing a courageous article in the school newspaper demanding acceptance and tolerance for gay and lesbian students. I didn't come out until 18 but she was a definite catalyst in my decision to do so. She has an intimidating intelligence, a great sense of dark humor and is a favorite drinking buddy- she knows more than anyone else that when I've had one too many, instead of getting rowdy, I get smoochy- she's always a target.

Gruber is yet another best friend of mine from childhood. We've been friends since we were 5! He is also a brainiac- responsible for creating some very popular and widely used virtual worlds and knows everything from books to film to hip hop. His first name is Eric, so yes, that makes three best friends all named Eric who all happen to be Jewish. I'm the only rainbow flavored one though. He's seen here trying to kiss Gwen's girlfriend- the always stellar, Nikki.

Eyal and I have been friends since Palm Springs White Party 2002 when I noticed a Star of David dangling from his towering 6'7" body frame and bonded over being, quite possibly, the youngest guys there. I was only 20 and he was just 24! We've been friends since- from Palm Springs to New York to LA and back to New York. Eyal is the founder and CEO of BoyButter Lubes. He's seen here smiling his face off (as always) with boyfriend Brendan.

Schook is a more recent best friend. We met in 2004 when we were just piss-on Production Assistants on Paris Hilton's "The Simple Life" reality TV show. He was and still is my go-to for a dry and witty sense of humor and the latest in hot-poppin' sneakers.

Rrrriot! and I happen share a brain and there's more to it than simply being queer 1st cousins. Thanks to that side of the family we're almost identical in silly-obnoxious humor, taste in movies, music, people and taking our shirts off. We can make each other laugh for hours. She's my sidekick, my cuddle-buddy, my partner in crime and my favorite person to cruise guys with. After meeting and hanging with so many of my friends she's a self identified queer-female bear lover! Every Sunday we set out in an aimless direction and get brunch at any new restaurant we stumble upon. Mostly we find ourselves in the West Village and almost always end up at the Christopher St. Pier, whether it's winter or summer, where wrestle and roll around in the grass like mentally challenged maniacs. My mother refers to us as yenta 1 and yenta 2 and she's drop. dead. GORGEOUS!

Wayne. Wayne has become more than just a great friend he's become an influence, a mentor and a motivator. Since meeting Wayne my views on so many things- from activism to literature to gay culture to sex to history have all changed for the better. I first met Wayne by picking up his novel "Hard" at Barnes and Noble. "Hard" is a fictional novel about the struggle for liberation during the NYC based sex wars of the 1990's told through the eyes of a sex positive Jewish bear-cub. I read the book in a matter of days and googled Wayne with hopes of sending him an email to tell him how much I enjoyed it. A few months later I was making my way across town to the Dugout where Wayne was holding a book signing. As he signed my copy I called him Mr. Hoffman and told him how much I appreciated his book and how courageous he was to write on the topic. I had no idea that months he'd become an incredibly close and important friend. He's adorable and has one of the biggest hearts I've ever known. Here he is reading at Rapture Cafe.

I have to go and wipe the tears from my keyboard now. :)

Reading Rainbow 2

My friend, writer/activist, Michael Crawford came up with a list of 10 (non-fiction) books he feels every gay man should read.
Here's his list:

1. Ultimate Gay Sex
2. Making Gay History
3. From Boys to Men: Gay Men Write About Growing Up
4. Outing Yourself
5. The Way Out
6. And the Band Played On
7. Queer in America
8. Beyond the Down Low: Sex, Lies, and Denial in Black America
9. My Life and the Paradise Garage
10. Virtually Normal: An Argument About Homosexuality

I wrote a similar post on this topic here in August entitled: Reading Rainbow
Here's my list for fiction (REALLY) in no particular order:
1. Dancer From the Dance- Andrew Holleran (My all-time favorite)
2. Grief- Andrew Holleran
3. The Beauty of Men- Andrew Holleran
4. Faggots- Larry Kramer
5. The Normal Heart- Larry Kramer
6. 86'd- David Feinberg
7. Hard- Wayne Hoffman
8. Rushes- John Rechy
9. Afterlife- Paul Monette
10. The Beautiful Room is Empty- Edmund White
In that post from August I said:

"It's important to keep these books in mind. Some of them are the only history books we have, the only artifacts the gay community has to recall their histories, memories, pains and passions. There certainly aren't any American schoolbooks that will touch the subject.

Book Review: World War Z

World War Z: An Oral History of the Zombie War

In the not too distant future a strain of "human rabies" breaks out in China, then in Africa but this strain of virus not only kills, it reanimates the victim after death. That's right. They become the living dead. If you get bit, you suffer immediate infection. Soon half the world's population is lost to the walking dead.

Billed as "the Studs Terkel of Zombie Journalism," author Max Brooks, takes us around the world capturing many survivor's stories of The Zombie War from the first outbreaks to The Great Panic to Total War to Victory. How do you defeat an enemy that doesn't feel fear or emotion, doesn't need to be clothed, fed, or sleep, grows larger with every bite and only dies when you destroy the brain? This is the struggle of the war against Zombies.

I don't even think one needs to be a Zombie or horror fan to enjoy this riveting and ultimately haunting book (I had two nightmares in the course of reading it.) Written in the style of a military document this book fills every gap and question one might have about zombies and how this modern world would react if attacked. Within this style the book cannot prevent itself from being a satire on the modern world and how we look and react to war and fear. I took my time reading this book and loved experiencing every fictional point of view as if it were real. This book is nothing short of a apocalyptic and post-apocalyptic fan's wet dream. Two hugely severed thumbs up!

(click the link under the pic to visit the official website and take the survey to find out your chances of survival.)

Lance Bass: more like, Lame Ass

You're a douche!

So Lance Bass, former pop-singer for boy band Nsync, now turned gay icon, comes out of the closet and writes a book about his poor, sad, oppressive upbringing and celebrity status while floating through interviews and media attention as if he's some sort of leader or hero. Sorry dipshit, you're neither. You're a pussy.

It's important to remember that Lance Bass denied and hid his sexuality until he was forced out of the closet by celebrity blogsites and tabloid newspapers. It was only until then that Mr. Bass suddenly becomes "Out and proud." And, subsequently gets handed the HRC 2006 Visibility Award. Fuck that and fuck him! Save the, "ohh you're sooo brave, such a hero, such a leader," credit for the kid in high school who chooses to come out and not the post-celebrity trying to regain his 15 minutes after being forced out!

Reading Rainbow

...Here's just a sample of some the books I've been reading this year. Since reading Andrew Holleran's Dancer from the Dance I've kind of been stuck in the genre of New York gay-based literature. In fact, I've read so many titles, both past and modern, that I've had to broaden my horizons and pick up a copy of Rubyfruit Jungle, which follows a country girl's coming of age into lesbianism. I finished it right here, on this bench in Washington Square. (haaaaay)

It's important to keep these books in mind. Some of them are the only history books we have, the only artifacts the gay community has to recall their histories, memories, pains and passions. There certainly aren't any American schoolbooks that will touch the subject.If looking to start a new book I recommend any of these titles.

The Beautiful Room is Empty- EB White
Dancer from the Dance- Andrew Holleran
The Beauty of Men- Andrew Holleran
Night in Aruba-Andrew Holleran
Grief- Andrew Holleran
Faggots- Larry Kramer
The Normal Heart/Destiny of Me- Larry Kramer
The tragedy of Today's Gays- Larry Kramer
City of Night- John Rechy
Numbers- John Rechy
Rushes- John Rechy
Ruby Fruitjungle- Rita Mae Brown