Effective?

I think so. Found this on the net:This is right up my alley. In my opinion and experience, all it takes is an image like this to remind sexually active gays and straights to simply put on condom. This image illuminates the idea that although manageable, HIV leaves a permanent mark within one's body and within one's life.

Blog Awards!

Yo,
The site for which I am a contributing writer, The Bilerico Project, is up for best LGBTQ Blogsite.

Click here to vote for us!
and click here to check us out: www.bilerico.com

Also in the running is my Blog Daddy and friend, Joe.My.God.

Hey Teenagers: What's a "Virgin?"

This New York Post Article is just another example of why Sex Ed & Sex Communication classes are needed NOW:
"November 2, 2007 -- Is your teenager a virgin? That depends on your teen's definition of "is" - as well as a few other words that parents might want to run past their kids.

A study suggests 70 percent of kids 12 to 16 believe they're virgins even if they've had oral sex - and 16 percent believe anal sex doesn't count either.

Researchers at the PIRE Prevention Research Center in Berkeley, Calif., interviewed more than 900 middle- and high-school students. The study is in The Journal of Adolescent Health."

My definition of virgin is any person who has not yet had vaginal or anal intercourse. Although I do refer to oral sex as having sex with someone, I do believe intercourse and oral sex are separate practices. That is to say, oral sex is not full sex but it is a form of "having sex." Oral sex is oral sex, intercourse is intercourse.

My straight girlfriend, Amanda, is livid with how I use the term "slept with." While joining me at a gay bar or two I pointed out a guy that I referred to as having "slept with." She asked, "so you had intercourse with him?" "No," I responded, "I have done other things with him aside from that." "That isn't sex then, Eric." "Then what do you call it," I asked. We were both stumped.

The straight and gay world are completely different when referring to sex. More often than not, the straight people I know only use the term "slept with" when they've actually engaged in intercourse with someone. To me, having "slept" with someone means I've gotten off with that person in one way or another and does not necessarily include intercourse. When I want someone to know that I've had intercourse. I'll use the big ol "F word" or simply say, "we had full-on sex."

Also interesting to note is, in my experience and my friend's experience, when having a just-met-at-a-bar or online hook up, gay men are often satisfied with going as far as practicing mutual oral and stopping there. Straight people however, according to my friends, take oral sex as a cue of going further. I asked my best friend and straight guy Eric, The Roommate, to share his experience.

He says, "For me, oral sex is usual a precursor to actual sex. If I've decided I don't want to have sex with someone, I won't engage in oral sex either. The same screening process exists for both. Oftentimes, sex comes first and oral won't occur until later dates."

My straight girlfriend Lindsay has this to offer: "Oral Sex does not count as sex. And it almost always leads to sex. I can't remember a time when it didn't."

Halloween

...Knowing 6th Ave. was going to be packed because of the annual Halloween Parade I relied on my feet and skateboard to bring me back to the East Village. I needed to get to the thrift store by my apartment on 11th St. and Ave. C before it closed at 7PM. I work just above Canal St. on 6th Ave and as I flew out of work at 6PM I groaned at the already massive throngs of people hanging out on 6th. I figured I'd walk up 6th to Spring and cut east that way. Loud music was blaring, cops were scurrying around trying to direct both car and pedestrian traffic, road blocks were dropping to the left and right of me like a child's stomping foot trapping an ant. I looked at my watch: 6:07.

"Hey, officer, excuse me. Where can I cross the street," I asked an already grumpy cop standing behind a barricade.
"You got to go south man, back to Canal," he replied, "and quick! They're closing off the whole town."

Suddenly I got the feeling this was no longer just Halloween in New York but rather a city being walled in by marshal law. I shrugged and swiveled my heel south to Canal, determined not to let the stress of this holiday ruin my upcoming night out. As soon as I found some space I jumped on my board and crossed the street quickly, pretending not to hear the female cop's pleas for everyone to stay put. It was 6:15. I wasn't anywhere near home but, at least, I was on the east side of the street. I pushed forward, pumping hard through a disorganized mob of costumes and traffic. I had a smile which read "suckerssss" painted on my face as I coasted in and out of cars caught in bumper-to-bumper traffic. I caught the green light through Houston and focused my center of gravity as I swished through the torn up pavement of the always under-construction street.

At 6:25 I was just entering Washington Square Park. I knew I'd make it to the thrift store before it closed but I worried it might close early. I kicked through the park and up 5th Ave. which was the most jam-packed I had ever seen. The bike path became a battle between bikers, skaters and suddenly opening cab doors. I pushed passed a frustrated biker who seemed to be as in much of a rush as I was. "Hey asshole, this is a bike path!" he growled, passing me by. I would have thought about getting off the bike path in such a bumrush environment had I not noticed cops dropping barricades to the left and right of me. "Every man for himself," I thought as I pumped harder toward 10th St.

The rest of the journey was quick and easy except for navigating through costumed people ignoring any and all standard pedestrian street laws. People were already rowdy. I knew this was going to be a fun night. I arrived at the thrift store at 6:40 and sighed with relief that it was still open. I barged in.

"Hi," I said to the store clerk. "I'm the guy who called about the flannel shirt. I'm the werewolf."
She smiled warmly, "Oh yes, I think I've found the perfect shirt for you. Red flannel, right?"

The clerk, dressed as a witch, went behind the counter and pulled out a perfect red-plaid flannel button-down shirt.

"Perfect! THANK you," I jumped giving her a high five. I gave her five dollars and took the shirt without a bag. On the way out she gave me a tootsie roll and said, "Trick or treat."
"Thanks," I said. I leaned over and kissed her on the cheek. "Oh by the way, fierce hat!" And, with that I was gone and climbing the stairs to my apartment to get ready.

Eric, the roommate, was home laying on the bed with a pillow over his face. "Happy Halloween," I gleed and jumped on his bed. He gaged my level of excitement, rolled his eyes, sighed and said, "ugh. I think a nap is in store."

I left him alone and began preparing my costume. I took the flannel shirt, turned it inside out, found the seems of the sleeves and began cutting them off. I tried to rip it a bit to make it seem as though I was a werewolf freshly turned. It worked. I threw it on. My werewolf gloves, mask, fangs, painted my nose black at the tip and jumped upstairs to my gaybors apartment to see what they were up too. Jason wasn't ready at all and was pacing back and forth thinking of what he could pull together with what he has in his closet. Nick, on the other hand, was brutal. He was standing damn near 7 feet tall, gold sparkled platform boots going above his knee, white dress, red cape, blond wig. He was the best drag Shira (of Heman and Shira) I had ever seen. That is, of course, given that I had seen this costume before. He looked radiant and I made sure to stress that to him. We exchanged plans and details and I headed back down to my apartment to retrieve my cell phone. Alex called. 6 times. I called him back and he decided to head over from Mud Cafe.

Alex showed up 10 minutes later with a severe gash and black eye painted on his face. "I'm a bash victim," he said in a matter-of-fact tone. "Ok. You look great," and kissed him on the cheek. "Happy Halloween." Alex and I hung out for a bit at my apartment wasting time until he had to meet his friends elsewhere in the East Village. We both skated over to his friend's place where I wished him a good evening and headed out myself to see what the night held in store.

I had planned on meeting up with Wayne on Christopher street around 8ish. I haven't been to the West Village on Halloween before and he assured me it was quite the scene. I skated across town back to Fifth Ave. where the street became so jam-packed with people and cars I had to get off my skateboard. There were barricades on every street. People were walking all the way up to 14th just to cross east to west. It was ridiculous and managed poorly and cruelly by grumpy police with bully attitudes. I tried to play the dumb card and just walk on through 10th st. A cop stopped me.

"Where do you think you're going?"
"Uh, (duh) crossing the street."
"No you're not," the cop responded in that East Coast Italian you-looking-to-pick-a-fight tone.
"Where do I cross then?"
"Not here," he smugly spit back.
"You know," I said being very informal, "that doesn't help either of us."
"14th," he stated firmly
"14th!?, what're you crazy?!"
"What did you say to me," he asked, this time really looking for a fight.
I stepped back, "I said slowly, what-are-you-crazy? That's 4 blocks from here!"
"Looks like you're the one whose crazy. Now GET OFF THE STREET," he hollered.
I climbed under the barricade and stood across from him. I put a huge smile on my face and in the most excited and ecstatic tone, said, "Happy Halloween," and waved him bye.
What I was thinking though was more along the lines of: "You stupid mother fucking ape-bully. Go home and beat your wife, don't take your bullshit out on me, moron!" I stood there on the street grumbling my frustrations.

That was enough for me. It was time to head back east. Besides, from here I could see 6th Ave. was a stand-still of congested costumed traffic. There was no way I was getting across.

I skated back toward the East Village and went down to 6th St. to meet up with my pals at Eastern Bloc. I would have gone later but figured I didn't have any other plans up my sleeve. By the time I got inside the bar it was already packed. Josh was spinning Salt N' Peppa's "Push it" and I decided to have my first of many drinks for the evening.

I grabbed a cranberry and vodka (hey, it's a night of getting drunk) and swigged it while talking to Josh and petted his chest since his costume was a drowned Greg Louganis. Until that point I don't think I've ever seen Josh without a shirt and I was digging it. Eventually, Ludo showed up as one of the meanest clowns I've ever seen and Matt quickly followed dressed as a High School Coach. We all drank up, heavily, and enjoyed the scene of costumed gay-hipsterness around us. I was chatting with everyone, feeling more outgoing than usual, maybe it was the costume and made sure to give shit to people who didn't dress up.

After one-too-many drinks already Ludo and I headed to The Phoenix to have one more pint before we called it a night. The Phoenix was half packed and definitely less costumed out than Eastern Bloc. We grabbed a pint and found a seat. My friend, Steve, from Dodgeball was there dressed as a cowboy and I was forced to ask if he was, "broke-backian." He said he was and I smiled. We sat there chatting and drinking until it was time for a cigarette and to go home. Everyone departed and I jumped on my board. I took a look around me and despite the fact it was 2AM people were still out, drunker than ever and I decided to appreciate this and skate around for awhile. I kicked my way down Ave. A howling at the moon in my werewolf costume and getting others to jump in. "THIS is what Halloween is all about," I said aloud with a sloshed smile on my face. At 2:45 I noticed the streets had gone empty and that it was time for me to finally put Halloween to rest. I felt secure in this decision. There wasn't anything left to do. There were no more places to go and I was sure-as-hell tired of wearing this costume. I peddled up to 11th St., took off my mask and climbed the steps to my apartment.

A Perfect Quote

Karma is a bitch, eh?

Regarding this new HUGE hustler-paying, cross-dressing, barebacking Republican Sex Scandal

Pam from Pam's House Blend simply States:

"I’m living a relatively plain jane lesbian existence simply asking for my civil rights while closet cases like Curtis get all sorts of kinks on while railing against openly LGBT citizens. It makes me sick."

Thank you Pam.

20 Busted in Westchester Restroom Sex Sting

Here we go again:
Eyewitness news is reporting:

"Twenty men have been arrested in a sex sting at a Westchester County highway rest stop, including a Catholic priest, a registered sex offender and a local Rotary Club president."

Now just sit back and watch how the gay community, people who are "out" and lead open and honest lives, get their name and community dragged through the dirt because of a few repressed and/or thrill seeking people.

I have no problem with cruising or public sex. I do have a problem with people thinking restroom sex is a trait of the gay male. It's obviously much more of a priestly trait, no?

UPDATE: According to this article by the Journal News
"With the exception of Mead, all of those charged are married, police said. Although most of the illegal activity takes place at night, the crimes occur throughout the day, Lutz said."

HA!

Go ahead, come on. I'm dying for it. Just go ahead. Tell me this is something "gay" men do. Again, as my previous post suggests: Gay men don't get caught in bathrooms, "straight" men do!

Big Apple Dodgeball: Game 3

In the third week of the Big Apple Dodgeball league all teams showed up confident and ready to kick ass. Balls were being thrown harder than ever, teams disputed with refs and cheers and boos were heard louder than ever before. Yup, "the game" has finally begun.

As of last week, my team The Spread Eagles, were tied for third with the OB-GYM's. This week, after our 4-to-2 win against The Splashtastics and The Manhattan Catastrophes, we may still only be in third. Check here for last week's standings. They are updated every Thursday.

Last night, first place team Big Booty Ballers, may have slipped into second place as the Butter Balls reigned terror on them and Barton's Ball Busters . The first official injury of the season occurred last night too with the broken pinky finger of Eyal Feldman. Whatcha gonna do next week, big man? BRING IT!

As is becoming tradition many of the players headed to Gym Sports Bar in Chelsea to share pitchers and pizza while getting into several rowdy games of Flip Cup.

UPDATE: According to the BAD website official standings, The Spread Eagles are in 2nd place. holla.

Mark, the official organizer and hottie Referee for Big Apple Dodgeball












Refs dispute with The Spreads: "NO throwing balls at someone's head!!!"












Post game flip cup madness

What. The. ?

Speaking of Josh Sparber, I totally just ripped this video from his blog. I can't decide what's worse this crazy chick who is deathly afraid of pickles or the fact that Maury Povich is exploiting her for ratings and laughs. So not kosher.

Halloween Plans?

If you don't already have Halloween plans for Wednesday night drop by Eastern Bloc for DJ Josh Sparber's weekly party of hipsters, hotties and East Village locals. Cheap drink specials on Jager"monster" shots and witches "brew"skies. The suggested costume code is suicide chic (how East Village) and/or swimwear sexy. I am disregarding the suggested code and going as a Werewolf, also known as, any excuse for me not to wear a shirt. Mawhahahahaha! Happy Halloween!
PS: Don't be a stupid lame-ass and not dress up this year. If you're "too cool" or "not creative" enough to come up with a costume then don't bother showing up, loser.
If you were at Holy Sheet: The Official Gay Rosh Hashanah party then you know how rowdy and silly these parties can get!

Condom Use Amongst Young Gay Men

An article featured in Southern Voice Online, an Atlanta based online publication for local and national news, discusses dwindling condom usage amongst young gay men. The article states possible factors such as: a change in attitude from HIV/AIDS going from terminal to manageable, the public school taught abstinence only program which excludes gays and lesbians by not having the right to marry, self destructive attitudes deep rooted in gay men/women because by the time we figure ourselves out society/religion has already told gay people they are pieces of shit, and lastly a shared cultural feeling that HIV is inevitable for gay men :

"There was once a time, in the not too distant past, when there wasn’t a gay social function — whether held at a club, community center or festival — that didn’t stock condoms seemingly by the truckload.
There was once a time, in the not too distant past, when many gay men — older men, teens, even gay porn stars — wouldn’t think about having unprotected sex, particularly with casual sex.

Times have changed. Jay Dempsey runs the P.O.O.L. program for gay men at AID Atlanta, and begins each new group by asking attendees whether condom use is still the sexual norm among local gay men.

“The answer’s always no,” Dempsey said.
The change in gay men’s views toward condoms is often associated with the onset of highly effective anti-AIDS drugs in the mid-’90s, when the perception of the disease transformed from an automatic death sentence to an almost invisible, manageable illness. Experts agree that no longer seeing friends suffer or die from AIDS has affected how gay men approach safer sex, but other factors have changed as well.

The condom-friendly sex education of the ’90s has been replaced wholesale by the Bush administration’s devotion to abstinence-until-marriage, while, simultaneously, marriage has become a legal impossibility for most gay and lesbian Americans. And as gay people fight for rights and acceptance from society at-large, many continue to struggle with self acceptance, tensions with their families and creating healthy intimate relationships.

“If you have this feeling of yourself as not being worthy, perhaps you don’t really care about yourself, you don’t care about your health, and so you might not use a condom,” said Celia Lescano, a researcher at Brown University who studies condom use among young people.

And then there are gay men who believe wearing a condom is futile. “There’s a deep linkage in the minds of some gay people that if you’re gay, you’ll inevitably get HIV,” said Donna Futterman, professor of clinical pediatrics and director of the Adolescent AIDS program at the Children’s Hospital at Montefiore in New York."

The article goes on stating, that unless we show passion, intensity, and a modern view specific to the young generations in the wear-condoms-to-avoid-AIDS message the concept will not fit them.
"Companies like Coca-Cola launch new advertising campaigns every few years to capture new generations of youth, while the wear-a-condom-to-avoid-AIDS message hasn’t been modified in decades, Children’s Hospital’s Futterman said.

“Unless we give each generation the message with the same kind of passion, intensity and updatedness, [youth] are not going to get it, they’re not going to believe it’s for them,” said Futterman, author of “Lesbian & Gay Youth Care & Counseling.” HIV-prevention strategies must address “the interaction of so many forces” that prevent gay youth from using a condom, including various mental health stressors, Futterman said.

“We can’t isolate one factor [that causes unsafe sex] and so our approaches have to be multi-factoral,” said Futterman, who added that a societal taboo about condoms prevents them from appearing in commercials, movies, music and all other mass media. “If condoms are just in the public health sphere, and not in the real world sphere, why should young people think condoms are for them?” Futterman said."

I've always felt intensity is a key factor in "reinventing" the concept of safe-sex messages. I believe you have to establish a character which fits the roll of any person. It's not about who the character is but more about what the character is going through. The viewer needs to share the same commonality and emotions as the character they are viewing. It has to be something strong enough that causes people to say, "I never want to be in that position," or, "I've been there and I don't want to go there again. I am going to protect myself," "I respect myself. I am going to make choices which reflect that." In my opinion, you're never going to get anyone to listen by being soft on an issue. To me, being soft, is like whispering in a protest. Use the most informative and honest data and hit people below the belt.

Happy Friday!

The weekend is upon us! What to do? What to do?
Well,
Friday:
Rich King and Co. bring you the every Friday fun, friendly, foxxy and fun hot-packed basement of Snaxx. (Westside Tavern 23rd St. between 8th/9th Ave)










Saturday:
Is the National Day of Action: Come celebrate with a rally against the War in Iraq starting at Noon at 23rd and Broadway.













Saturday Night:
Ric Sena and the what-used-to-be Crobar, now Mansion, opens their doors to legendary NYC Circuit Extravaganza: Alegria Halloween. Yes, tickets are expensive ($60 at the door) but men will be hot, and dancing will once again, return to gay New York. Dressing up is encouraged. Costume contest, loud music, lewd men. 28th st. between 10th/11th Ave. Doors open at 11PM.














Sunday Night:
Metrobears New York brings you Score, a bear dance party held at Bar 13. 2 dancefloors 1 roofdeck, all bears. 10 dollar cover, free for Metrobear members. 13th st. at University. 7PM-2Am. DJ Rich King. All proceeds go to God's Love We Deliver.
















Have fun. Be safe. Enjoy your weekend.

LifeLube and Crystalbreaks.org

I often talk about the idea that activism needs to be "reinvented." Lifelube.org, a gay-politico/events website and blog that focuses on the, "sticky stuff that keeps gay men together," makes mention of the new Chicago based anti-crystal meth organization crystalbreaks.org. This organization features a video campaign that focuses on, what I believe is a, "reinvention" of getting people's attention. Go to crystalbreaks.org, click on "campaign" and view video #1. The video features a type of in-your-face, sneak attack performance that I believe sinks into the skulls of apathetic gay and ignorant gay men. It's definitely worth checking out.

Pie Anyone?

I LOVE the idea of pieing people in the face as a form of activism. What a sweet, sweet form of activism it is, no? And hysterical to boot! In my opinion it's safe form of telling bonehead politicians and celebrities to eat it while making them out to be the clowns they really are. I don't care if the pie-in-the-face causes change or promotes solution, I just love the idea of pieing as a physical and more memorable way of giving the middle finger. Check out this video clip below. Yes, a little dated but still as powerful as ever. Click here for the history of pieing. Click here for information on who, pie-in-the-face victim, Anita Bryant is and what she stood for.

Sometimes to suppress my anger at current politicians and general celebrity idiots I often sit back, close my eyes and salivate at the satisfaction pieing would bring me.

Who would YOU like to pie in the face?
My current #1 choice is a toss up between: Perez Hilton and Chris Hanson from NBC's "To Catch a Predator."

An Ode to My Least Favorite People On Campus

from Collegehumor.com, snagged off Andrewsullivan.com

As some of you may or may not know my friends and I specialize in writing Broetry when we're bored at work. We then email our pieces to one another. Broetry is best described as poetry from a frat boy perspective. To read more Broems click here for my official Broetry Post. Do so, they're hilarious! Here are some of my favorite examples of our past work:

"Bob"

You were a legend even before your
legendary album,
Legend.
It's possibly your only album,
I'm not sure, I didn't check.

Though we never met
I feel like we're bros.
Because I have that poster,
where you are smoking that huge joint.
I bet it was 4:20 when they took
that picture.

Up in heaven,
Rip a bong hit with Jah for me
(I bet he gets the kindest bud),
And remember to tell Jerry,
"You are missed."

"falling water"
it's like dave once said:
'crash into me'
but, seriously bro, if you bump me again
i will kick your fucking ass

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!

Big Apple Dodgeball: Game 2

Last week, my team The Spread Eagles, tied for first place with the burly and boisterous, Big Booty Bread Ballers. This week, after a 2 to 1 loss to the Ballers and a 2 to 1 win against the David Barton's Ball Busters, the Spread Eagles have landed in third place. Taking the lead is Big Booty Ballers and taking second is The Butter Balls with their 6-0 win. Our team captain, Jason Saft, awarded the The MVP Hanky to, "none other than Stephen Osada (guy in harness) who was a force to be reckoned with last night."

As it was last week the night was incredibly fun, friendly and competitive. Not only does dodgeball offer a healthy alternative to meeting people outside the bar scene it also mixes men and women of all sub-genres of the gay and straight community together under one roof.

Afterward all the teams headed to Gym Sports Bar to celebrate our wins or drown our loses. I got involved in a heavily competitive game of flip cup, a college-esque drinking game, and found myself an hour later stumbling home.

Good games everyone!

The Manhattan Catastrophes









The OB-GYMS









The Butter Balls












Flip Cup with 1 Splashtastic (red) 2 Barton Ballers (maroon) 1 Spread Eagle (black)

Myspace 1's-and-0's in on Web Series

The inevitable next step of media evolution is upon us as MySpace.com debuts their first official web series. This is the first time the massive social networking site is co-producing a scripted show. "Roommates" is a scripted faux-reality show following the lives of a tightly knit group of post-graduate girls living their lives after college. The series includes 45 webisodes at three minutes each, with a new show debuting every Monday through Friday until December 2.
Despite the fact webisodes and web-media is nothing new per say, this does mark an exciting and interesting time in media history as websites now have the power to become production companies. Working in "the industry" myself this could potentially mean more jobs, new titles, a decrease in production costs and a larger platform to exercise creativity. Young, and often broke, filmmakers no longer have to wait and stand the bureaucratic process of network executives either green-lighting or passing a project, we can do it ourselves and use the power of free social networking sites to market our content the way we want want to do it. This is the new direction of media and it's limitless.

My good friends over at Test Pattern Media have already harnessed this power and created the IFC webseries "Getting Away With Murder," a pulp-comedy series about a Jewish kid living with his mother who moonlights as a hit man. Test Pattern does incredibly cool stuff and is a front runner of this utterly new wave of web-based media. Check them out at the appropriately named, EndofTelevision.com, where their motto is: "We write shit. We shoot shit. We put it on the Internet."

Where and How Do We Draw the Line?

My friend Michael Crawford, author of Bloggernista and The Bilerico Project, included this great Crystal Meth PSA amongst his interview with Jim Pickett, the AIDS advocacy director for AIDS Foundation Chicago. Click here for the interview.

I agree with Pickett and applaud him on the majority of what he says like promoting clear and honest information about drug use and STD rates, a greater focus on mental health, equal rights, and going beyond HIV and meth. However, Picket drops the word "fear-based" several times and I am left to ask what is the meaning of "fear-based?" Pickett goes on to say there should be equal attention focusing on alcohol consumption amongst gay men, which causes more damage in the majority of gay men opposed to the small minority using crystal. However this is where "fear-based" ads come into play. Other than stating the facts how are you going to curb alcohol use in any community? For instance: Everyone knows smoking cigarettes is bad for your health and causes cancer. Yet people still smoke. Nobody says to themselves, as they pull a cigarette out and pops it into their mouth, "this cigarette will kill me." We still smoke even when we pull a cigarette from a pack which states in huge black bold lettering, "Smoking kills." We all know smoking is bad but we do it anyway. There needs to be something stronger, something more striking and devastating other than just presenting the facts if we want people to strongly reconsider their choices.

Punch me in the face or give me the finger, either way I'm the first to admit that many gay men have very thick skulls. I know in my own experience I've told my recreational crystal using friends the facts and dangers associated with the drug, over and over, with compassion, communication and care yet they do it anyway. There- I've presented the facts and allowed them to make their own choices. They still feel as though they can "handle" crystal. And maybe so, but still, we all know the one person, or two or three, that couldn't and before they knew what hit 'em, they're addicted, jobless, or positive. Or all three.

And then what? When they come to us as addicts do we shrug and say, "Well the facts are out there, clearly stated on paper, we told you the information, but you made your own choices, bummer." Sorry, but a little too passive-aggressive for me. Tell me my facts are wrong, tell me I'm not speaking from a statistical standpoint- fine, go ahead. But out of the 5 people I know who have been involved in Crystal, 2 are recreational users or "non addicts," 2 are in recovery and both positive (one sero-converted while in the midst of meth use and the other doesn't know,) and 1 is consistently in and out of recovery. So do we present these facts or is that "fear-basing," Mr. Pickett, because in my mind it's a sign of a potential and often occurring reality.

Week ends

...At 4:57AM everything is blurry. I'm listening to Radio Head's “National Anthem” and I'm buzzing on both teeth-grindedness and anxiety. Saturday night turned into an absolute slosh fest and now I find myself, on the rinds of the evening, typing away at my keyboard trying to describe the indescribable I always dream of describing.

I met Scott out at Andrew's house party. Upon my close-to-midnight arrival the party was packed and the apartment, stuffy. There was a easy-mix of both muscle guys and hipsters, a cup in everyone's hand and the presence of light just absent enough. I see Scott, as animated and zestful as ever, arms flailing in the tightly squeezed room. I tap him on the shoulder and we catch up on the day over drinks. He introduces me to the current gaggle of people entranced by his presence until we detach and head over to the window for a smoke. Gregg's there, squeezed into the corner by the usual suspects of furry faces fuzzed into unfamiliar names. We greet, we smoke, we drink. The three-bedroom apartment is packed and my head, mixed with an Indian summer's humidity, begins to sweat. Droplets form, like dew to a blade of grass, upon the skin of my forehead. I remove my hat. Run my hands through my hair. My fingers aggressively wipe my beard, put my hat back on and resume composure for company.

I swivel out of conversation and head to Andrew's bedroom with the hopes of seeing him. I duck into the room and, low and behold,there he is, arm slung over a friend's, chatting away, bright eyed and gleaming. He greets me with a warm hug and I hug him back, adding a few jabs to his rib cage in that I love you so much want to grab-you-touch-you-hurt-you-fuck-you type way. It's a sign of affection and respect more than an intention toward heavy flirting. I'm glad to see him. He's good people and I'm letting him know. We quickly chat, cheers and drink up until I grab another beer roam around and look for Scott.

“We're going to Eastern Bloc,” he states with confirmation and leadership. “Ok,” I shrug and drink what's left of my beer.
Eastern bloc is three avenues and seven streets southeast of the party we were leaving and we used the walk to talk nonsense and smoke cigarettes. Scott's two friends are visiting from LA and I gabbed them up about where I lived and where they lived and the inevitable NY vs. LA conversation which always leads to nothing other than apples vs oranges solution. In any event the journey went quickly and before my second cigarette was out we were flipping our ID's for a bouncer.

Eastern Bloc is as lit as an American version of a real red light district. There's hardly any light, but just enough red bulbs glow so you can see the amount of money your spilling out on to the bar. It's narrow and packed, part of the gropey-get-wasted galore of it all. It's a real elbow and snuggle crowd until you form your own space with the posse you walked in with. I found a corner of the bar and spit dollar for liquid and ended up with a vodka-tonic. I picked the lime off the glass and chucked it onto the floor. Shoved the straw in my mouth and swigged to a survivor's Saturday night.

Scott bought a beer and his LA friends were easing in with vodkas and sodas. We were handsy and drunk and the place was rowdy. The DJ was spinning a mix of bubble-gum pop classics and rock remixes. It was both easy to dance and easy to stand. There was a guy dancing in his underwear who could have easily been a go-go boy as much as a local East Village boy gone wild on a Saturday night. He danced as if he accepted either outcome of the equation and reveled in his sacred moment of performing. The music is loud enough that you have to bend into somebodies ear to understand what they're actually saying, which became difficult as conversations flew from huddled-circle mouth to huddled-circle mouth.

Eastern bloc was supposed to be a last night drink but I was well into my second when Scott told me he was leaving. I hugged him tightly. Thanked him for a wonderful night,which unspoken, translates to a: it's always a pleasure seeing you- I'm glad you're my friend, sentiment and he was on his way.

I finished off my beer while having a conversation with a studly guy about whether his HRC hat was just a hat or an organization he supports. More or less, it turned out to be just a hat, but I enjoyed his warm energy, tightly fit tee shirt and his ability to keep up in conversation. I tipped the last foam-froth of beer into my throat and put the hollow bottle on the bar. I was thinking it was late and my hunch proved correct as the lights flicked on, turning what was once red and dim, to blaring and unforgiving. The man I was having a conversation with and I ducked out on to the sidewalk. The mass of nothing-to-do and nowhere-to-go but still-want-to-party crowd was on the sidewalks blabbering and smoking. I fished my pocket for a cigarette from a pack of Camel Lights I happened to come upon after someone left them at Andrew's party. I plucked one out and socialized for a light. I got one, said some goodbyes, offered my last remaining heart-felt smooches on the cheek and headed east to my apartment.

Happy Friday

...Thought I'd start this weekend off with a laugh. Here's a Daily Show Larry Craig piece by the always fantastic, John Stewart. I found this clip on The Bilerico Project by contributing writer Alex Blaze. Have fun!


And one of my favorite daily show episodes:


Oh ok, some Sarah Silverman too