Friday, April 30, 2004

Enjoy The Weekend

In a baldface effort to add readers of any kind I'll give you a weekend to have a gander (all two of you who haven't) at the winner of the Spanish version of Big Brother. He's so well hung he just needs one name. I give you Gustavo .... (sigh, I need to get laid...).

Thursday, April 29, 2004

Notes from out of the blogsphere.

I'm a bit behind but I did a lot of reading all weekend and I wanted to comment on some great/interesting writing I came across. First, the fascinating (Mon. 26) posting courtesy of Gay Canadian X Party Boy. I say fascinating because I've never done crystal, and since I've done nothing this year but read about how it is ruining the lives of gay men everywhere, I would run like the wind if it were offered, but I did always wonder what the high was like (you know, every drug has their own "signature high") and this feels like a real accurate description of what it's like to be hooked on this poison. I have a good friend, The Hellcat, who is still picking up the pieces of a life shattered by crystal use. The really interesting part of this story is at the end. After recounting living in squalor and being paid in drugs and highs that last days and paranoid hallucinations and imagining bodiless voices and running from nonexistent killers, Gay X PB (honestly and bravely) admits talking about it still makes him jones for it. This is some serious shit. Crystal buries her hooks in you deep, girrrrl. It helps me to remember how hard M--- must be working at it. I'm glad I missed the line to that little E Ticket ride. I have an affinity for the "speed" class of drugs so I stay far, far away from that world. Too scary. Rock on, sistah fag!

The other blog (diary) that I wanted to comment on concerns this continuing controversy regarding barebacking videos and the performers in same. I printed and linked to Titan Media's new "bareback policy" without comment because I wanted to present the information in an unbiased fashion. Also because I needed time to think. Now Devon weighed in on the issue with his thoughts (Fri. 23) and with a response from someone else in porn, basically calling Titan Media's position a crock (Sun. 25) and likening it to a barebacking land grab. Further mucking up the waters Keith Webb, one of the owners of Titan Media, has posted a message on explaining his position and admitting being HIV+ as well and the path that led him there. For my money, that's the most important part of his letter. I'm not the only one who escaped the first wave only to be engulfed by the fifth. I've tried to speculate in my head whether or not their motivation is the greater good or just greed and quite frankly, I don't know. It would be pure conjecture on my part. I do agree with Devon that this business of "barelisting" performers who film a bareback scene for another company is really heavy handed and just plain wrong. First, Titan Media is a porn company not my mom, so I really feel they should police their own fuck world and stay out of everyone else's. Second, again agreeing with Devon, why should someone who decides to perform a bareback scene at say, 20 (young, dumb and full of cum), then deciding he will "repent" and never shoot a load in a sweet, tight, silky smooth butt (so sorry) be punished by the major players thus being "forced" (if he wants to stay in porn) back to the barebacking companies? How is that helping? And finally, couching it in terms of protecting your performers sends a pretty fucked up message to me and mine. If you intend to follow safer sex practices and insist that all your performers do (on set) as well, why send a message ( by attitude at least) that it's inherently unsafe to have sex (with condoms) with an HIV+ person? Thanks a bunch, Keith.

In other News ...

I just found out The Ex is leaving for work Friday morning. From there he's leaving for Floreydah, returning on Wednesday. What does this mean? For six days I'm a skinny white fag with a fistful of Viagra and a three bedroom Gramercy Park apartment all to myself. Reservations are strongly encouraged.

Monday, April 26, 2004

Holy Shit! I've Gone International ....

I open up a recent comments window expecting the worst (and can you blame me?). Surprise suprise, it's a cheeky little comment that has a web link that leads me to a delightful discovery. Boys and girls, fags and ... er ... other fags, people that wish me dead, may I present Homeboi's Diary. He's got car trouble, an ex bf, a new hottie, a recently pierced tit, a proclivity for pills and some hot, hot sex ("the software exchange" made my man parts hard n' leaky ). What's not to like? I highly recommend it.

Let's see: I know 'snog', 'shag', 'knickers', I handily just learned last week what 'cottaging' is, and I already knew what a 'tackle' was. I didn't know but figured out what 'trackies' were and where the 'jap's eye' could be located.

In other news ... Auditions tomorrow in Chelsea at Big Cup for a gay reality series called Queer Pad. Should I, would I, could I? Would you just gag!!

Saturday, April 24, 2004

That Smirk On My Face? (I Can't Tell You.....)

"Develop interest in life as you see it, in people, things, literature, music--the world is so rich, simply throbbing with rich treasures, beautiful souls and interesting people. Forget yourself. " - Henry Miller

This is Stuyvesant Park. I bought some lunch and went there yesterday with a copy of the New York Times. I ate my lunch and read in the sunshine. School was out and about 15 - 20 kids (and their nannies, this is Gramercy Park) were playing some wierd football/tag hybrid the rules for which escaped me but they seemed to all understand it. I saw two boys try to steal a bag of chalk from a girl and make her cry until a au pair swooped in to the rescue. I re-connected with nature and beauty and truth. I tapped into the primal power of a city harnessing 9 million souls. And I re-affirmed once again that hate can't hurt me. Bigotry doesn't scare me. I am warrior born and warrior I will die. I am strong and powerful and I know secrets and truth and spells that many will never be privy to. I have felt the magic at work and sensed the spirit of The Universe. I will find answers because I'm searching, and peace because it's waiting, and knowledge because it's unending. I will fight, love, laugh, dream, die and quite possibly, fight once more. I will never surrender only stop. I will have lived.

Friday, April 23, 2004

Summoning My Inner Cho ...

You need to read the comments my last post elicited from a concerned PETA Nazi to really understand what this post is about. Go, read, I'll wait here......

Finished? OK.
I suppose this should upset me. Curiously, I think it's kind of funny. First, as I had a feeling it would, the decapitated cat stirred people up. Here's a clue you dumb fuck: THE CAT'S NOT REAL!! I already knew that people everywhere are so lazy when it comes to thinking that everything they see in a video or read on a printed page or hear over the radio is true. You don't honestly think any car company anywhere would actually make a commercial showing a real decapitated cat? To sell their cars? In fact, both Ford motor company and the European company that is responsible for the spot are disavowing a connection to the ad because more than just this PETA Fuckhead got upset. So, let me say it again. THE CAT WAS COMPUTER GENERATED. NO REAL CAT WAS DECAPITATED TO MAKE THE COMMERCIAL. You dumbass. What's this world coming to when we can't fire fake hamsters from a cannon or decapitate a CGI cat and laugh about it?

Second, I disagree that I fucked too much I haven't fucked nearly enough and I would like to fuck much more than I have been. You hear that people? I would like to double, I'm sorry, make that triple up my current fuck rate. My place or yours?

As to me being "consummated" with AIDS, I am trying to make friends with my HIV, but I doubt I'll ever want to marry AIDS. Besides, if same sex marriage is a no go, I don't see how the people that decide my life for me are ever going to go for human/ virus marriages. Gasp! They were right all along, this does open the door for a man marrying a duck!

And last, true to form of all ignorant hate speech monger(al)s. This one also has no balls (or possibly, engorged clitoris, I don't know) to stand up and display his/her ignorance proudly and openly for all the world to see. No, this piece of human flotsam has to show us the courage of his (or her) convictions ... anonymously. (Twice! What a maroon ...) What a colossal joke.

Do me a favor, dickwad. Don't wait till I die to buy fireworks. 40 years is too long to wait. Go get 'em now. Then bend over and stick 'em up your ass. Light them up and blow your fuckin brains out.

Wednesday, April 21, 2004

If You Like Cats....

DO NOT click on this link: FORD CAT

Spent most of the day surfing the 'net (read: Looking for cock to suck). I found this:

Funny, and yet oddly hot. Or is it just me?
Anyway it's from the fine folks at The Camel-Toe Report. Milk will shoot out your nose.

Tuesday, April 20, 2004

I Hear You Knockin ...

A great kindness was done to me recently. I don't want to get into specifics not because I have anything to hide but I don't want my more cynical readers to think I'm trying to play people. Let's just say that I expressed a desire in a maybe I might... sort of way, and much to my surprise a kind and generous reader took it upon himself to provide the means to an end. I thanked him (? I'm pretty sure it's him) immediately. Trouble was, I needed to avail myself of his generosity at the time to simply keep a roof over my head. The discussion as to how I can hold down a full time job and always hear the wolves howling in the yard will take place another day. Super secret heroin habits can take a huge chunk of your funding. Nuff said. I did what I needed to at the time. Trouble was, that decision came with a heaping helping of guilt. I really felt since this person took it upon himself to do something nice for me, I was obligated to do this nice thing by proxy. Then I reasoned that in reality, because I hadn't asked in the first place, that I technically could use things as I saw fit. So I did.

Flash forward a couple weeks to my plans to get myself a working cell phone. I had spent about $50 (plus shipping) to order up a fresh cell battery and a new sym card. After two weeks of waiting I finally had everything I needed. I put the new sym card and battery into the old cell phone, hit the power button and, as they say in French fromage!, I had a working cell sans phone plan. Since Nextel was the exclusive dealer for this phone I even went to the Nextel web site and picked out the plan and features I figured I wanted so as to prevent having to haggle with unscrupulous wireless dealers (say it isn't so!).

That afternoon I scampered around the corner to 23rd/3rd to Abdullah's House of Wireless Phones, Plans and Lampshades and Pens and Souvenir Lighters. I show him my shiny, beepy phone and explain that I just replaced it's innards and wanted to select a phone plan. After much confusion about how such a thing is possible he makes a couple of phone calls, the first was to some Al Qaeda cell, the second being to a Nextel phone OK person. After relaying all my personal 411 he hands the phone to me and I give her even more info, then back to him. He gets a few instructions and then says OK and hangs up. At which point he looks me in the eye and informs me that they will be only too happy to provide me phone service, provided I provide them a 500.00 cash deposit.


Are they out of their minds? Why, I ask with all the wireless sellers and all the wireless companies would anyone be stupid enough to plunk down 500 hard earned dollars for cell phone service? Obviously, I left. Of course, I immediately attempted to accomplish on-line what I couldn't accomplish live. I ordered Nextel's cheapest phone with the plan I wanted. My intent was to then swap the working sim card on the cheap phone with my expensive phone and fromage! I've got service. Evil? I think fiendishly clever. It appeared to work, as they gave me an order number and a "thank you" e-mail. Unfortunately that was followed a few hours later by a "call us immediately scam boy" e-mail. The $500 hate tax was back on. Which I don't really understand because I know my credit isn't great but I do have credit. I have lived at the same address for 16 years. I've had phone service in my name at the same number for over a decade. When did I turn out to be such a telephone outlaw?

Of course, initially I redoubled my efforts to get a teeny little talking device that only works right half the time so I too can have barely audible conversations with people I don't really want to talk to while buying hemorrhoid cream at the Duane Reade. The best way to get me to want something is to tell me I can't have it. Finally, after coming at the same problem from as many angels as I could, it became pretty clear that the path of least resistance was to forget all about salvaging my cute Nextel phone and settle for one of the pre paid (and not nearly as attractive) models AT&T carries. So I take the half hour or so it takes to fill out all the information on the order form, I put in my credit card info (after verifying the available balance, more than enough) and get a puzzling message that says simply, use a different card. Huh? I try again, same result. That's when it hit me. I'm being blocked at every turn. The Universe doesn't want me to get this phone. I'm not sure why, I'm just sure this is true. You see, it's not enough to be the type of person who realizes the Universe talks to you. You also have to be smart enough to hear what she's saying. And then do it. And with that, I gave up my quest to attain the Holy Cell.

The point? Once I decided to listen to the Universe for a bit it wouldn't shut up. I began to think I had some unfinished business to attend to regarding my benefactor and his generosity. I had just spent two weeks and an entire day off scrambling around to secure cell phone service that I wanted (basically, so Neo could always reach me, and maybe The Hellcat) but truly didn't need. And here I cavalierly ignore it when someone provides me with the means to get something I kinda sorta do need. It would, at the very least increase my comfort level and certainly make me feel like a grown up. So after deciding that ignoring the Universe should come with a small price and taking a good hard look at the available credit I was going to use to help secure said Holy Cell, I decided to max that motherfuckin card and get myself the gift that was intended for me. So I did. And tonight, when I curl up on what will surely be the most comfortable place I've ever owned, I'll think of you. And how I always need to remember there are some extraordinarily kind and generous people out in the world. And that sometimes the Universe speaks to you. Sometimes it tells you "no". And if you're really lucky, sometimes the Universe takes you by the shoulders and turns you around and says, "look there".

Monday, April 19, 2004

Ripped From The Headlines.....

The New York Post is reporting that local, independent (read: not CVS) drugstores are falling all over themselves trying to lure HIV+ and AIDS patients to their pharmacies to get at that retroviral prescription. At $15 - $20,000 a year, I'm surprised they took so long. I'm quoting from the article here:

"At Rite Aid, I had to actually pay $5 when I picked up my pills,"said HIV+ Christine Aviles, 36, who lives in Jackson Heights (Queens). "But at my last pharmacy, they gave me a new hair dryer. It was worth $75."

Six months later homegirl parlayed her "Being HIV+ For Fun and Profit " card into a new deal at a different pharmacy whereupon she received a brand new Fax machine and a monthly $20 MetroCard. Jackpot!

Another pharmacy in the Bronx is offering free beepers with their prescriptions. Then patients are paged whenever it's time to take their meds. Evil, or fiendishly clever? You decide.

While I'm on the subject of pharmacies and prescriptions let me tell you what happened last week. After my very happy doctor's visit I concluded the session by getting prescriptions for three things: Fresh, six month prescriptions for a multivitamin as well as another for extra vitamin C and a third prescription for Buspar cause I'm a whack job. I dutifully took all three to my local Duane Reade around the corner from my apartment. Not having a lot of history with prescriptions I always figured it would be best to stick with a single pharmacy for all my needs. At least, I reasoned, all my information would be in one place and not spread out all over Manhattan. On this afternoon I noticed that there were two new male pharmacists working in place of the usual all female staff. Whatever, pill off shelf, pill in bottle, how hard is that? I left all three scrips with the pharmacy aide who is perfectly nice but if she were in height/weight proportion she'd be ten foot three. I returned hours later to pick everything up and was cheerfully handed a single prescription (the Buspar. Good news, you freakin nutball, we got ya covered on crazy!) I questioned what was up with the vitamins and the pharmacy aide went into the cage where these two geniuses were filling bottles. I saw him wave his hand dismissively and say something about not covered. Immediately, I'm thinking a) this fuck is a troglodyte and b) he's also stupid. The pharmacy aide dutifully reports this to me as "he says they're not covered?"

"Really? I've been getting them here for a year."

She goes back to the knuckle dragging subhumanoid and asks again. My girl's in there pitchin for me.

Now I hear more nonsense about not covered and Medicaid and blah, blah. Timidly, she comes back to deliver the bad news.

Not wanting to shoot the messenger I yell back into the ape cage, "Well, can I have the prescriptions back, because tomorrow after I call my doctor and caseworker and they inform you that these are in fact covered they won't have disappeared in that vortex of inefficiency?" I get my vitamin prescriptions back.

After having 24 hours to work up what I deem the appropriate amount of righteous indignation, I return to the pharmacy. Without making a call to my doctor or caseworker. I don't spot Lothar of the Hill people anywhere, but the other guy is there and I know that he was peripherally involved in yesterday's action. He asks if I'm being helped. I puff up to my full 5'10 potential and start in:

"Look, I came in here yesterday to have my prescription filled. These are the prescriptions, this is my ADAP card. I come in once a month to refill this prescription. Every six months I go to my doctor and get a fresh prescription with five refills. I've been doing this in this pharmacy for the last year. I find it more than a little hard to believe that New York State is no longer providing these vitamins to people that need them and I'm pretty sure my doctor or I would have heard something about it if that were the case. I'm pretty confident you were horribly mistaken." With that, I slapped a Sheniqua ain't playin' look on my face and just stared at him.

"I'll look it up on the computer but it might take 15 minutes."

"I can wait."

13 minutes later I was informed by the less offensive of the Ack Ack Brothers that I'm covered and my prescription will be ready shortly.

"It's all set?"

"Yeah, you're covered."

"OK then", I said blithely. "No rush. I'll be back later."

The moral of that story my chidrens is this: If you're being treated for HIV or AIDS or diabetes or just being treated period. Don't take everything everybody says at face value. People say things, that doesn't mean they are right or true. Do your research. Don't just pop a pill just because it's put in your hand and don't be afraid to ask questions. Of everyone. Everywhere. Don't take no for an answer and don't accept you can't or we won't as reasons. Frequently they can and will. You just have to keep asking.

Now, if you are the owner of a local drugstore and you would like to have me consider bringing my prescriptions to your pharmacy, I really could use a new microwave.

Saturday, April 17, 2004

She Catches On, Slowly ...

So I've been blogging from a mobile location on 23/3rd called the Push Cafe. It was one of the reasons I arranged a Craigslist barter trade of my digital video recorder (that I hardly ever used) for this laptop (which I clearly use often). I would walk by almost every day and see these young cute sullen boys busily tapping away at their keyboards taunting me. And while I know I can no longer pull off young, with the right outfit I can still pull down a cute and I got the sullen bit down, girl. I put the out in pouty when I feel like it. So laptop in tow I've happily paid $3.75 (with tip) for a big ole cup of coffee and for the privilege of sitting in a too dark coffee shop with a horrible music collection so I can sit in front of the big open front wall that looks on to the street. And more important, so people can see me sitting there. To add insult to stupidity their Wi-Fi access is actually courtesy of the Starbuck's next door. They're using T-Mobile exclusively throughout Manhattan. So in addition to the four dollar coffee, I have to either open up a T-Mobile account at 30 bucks a month or just pay the $10 flat rate 24 hour access. In effect, making every mobile blog entry a $14 hit minimum (that's assuming I don't get totally jacked up and order another cup).

Today I finish up my workout, it's 8pm, I feel like having a bite to eat and run through my options. Cooking for myself is considered and then completely rejected. It occurs to me that I may have something to write about. (Note to self: Tell them about Ed Koch) So maybe dinner at Push. They have a vegan -ish, Middle Eastern -ish two page menu. I decide I don't need food to fix for dinner but I do need some basic supplies: milk, coffee, enema you know, life. So since I'm on 23rd street I head to a grocery store between 1st & 2nd. As I'm approaching Second Ave. I remember that a diner I frequent also has Wi-Fi access. As I arrive right at the window of said diner I glance down and see a decal for Verizon Wi-Fi. As in I'm a Verizon customer. As in Wi-Fi access through Verizon is free for me. D'oh! D'oh! I swear I saw a T-Mobile decal on the window at some point. Upon further consideration that may have been at Kinko's.

I had fucked around with my weblog template trying to add some new features and update my links. Why do people publish weblogs and then password protect them? Isn't that the height of ego to think that whatever you have to say is so good, so valuable that you'll only share it with a select few people? And doesn't this sort of defeat the whole purpose of creating a weblog? So that absolutely anyone can Google their way into your life for a while. Anyway, while trying to repair and replace buttons and links I was having trouble finding the code for the Blogger button. It was while hunting around for the code that I stumbled over some FAQ's from Blogger. One of them pointed to the spellcheck feature built in. The same spell check I was wondering why they didn't include as such an obvious and important publishing feature just last week. (Oh you mean spellcheck ........)

To review:
I'm stupid. I'm really really stupid. My apologies for all previous spelling errors.

Future mobile Blog Location will now be brought to you by the fine folks at Cosmo's Diner on 23/2nd. Cosmo's gotta love active Greeks.
HIV rocks straight porn This is surprising?

As is this. I can't remember when something I found on the internet made me laugh out loud and clap my hands like a delighted child. Until now. Thank you, Bradford.

Tuesday, April 13, 2004

How Ya Feelin?

Doctor's appointment in an hour. Should lead to an interesting post. Good interesting not scary interesting. More later.....

Today's mobile weblog entry is coming to you from a table at Push Cafe (23/3rd). Push Cafe .... it's coffee, what did you think?

So. I had a feeling. I was kind of anxious about my Dr's appointment. This was to be my first test since I had radically altered my diet. The Dr. that designed the plan said throughout the book that it was possible to change your body's blood chemistry. And physically, I've been feeling fine. Really fine. I've had lots of energy, I'm sleeping well (although that's about to get better, but you and I have to wait a week for an explanation, of a sort, that's already been written), and my creative juices (well, all my juices) are really flowing. So I guess it's human nature to know or believe that all roads lead to happiness but still worry that a monster is about to rise up and cause an aneurysm to make the side of your head explode. Well, as it turns out, the Dr. was right.

First, my official official weight loss after the diet is 15 pounds. Or 17. I was fluctuating between 160/162 when I started. Today I clocked in at a solid 145. I know that sounds skinny but there was a time when I was this same height and I tipped the scale at a whopping 128. Now that was skinny. I've given up worrying about my weight versus someone else my size. I'm just not a very big person. And I am, in fact, freakishly light. Given feathers I could probably take flight. Besides, all that weight came almost exclusively from my belly making me emminently more fuckable than I was before. (Try telling that to the two 20somethings I caught playing touch my pickle in the gym sauna yesterday. They practically ran through the glass door to get away from me.)

Now for some numbers:

Hdl (good cholesterol) Normal Range: 35-65 My #: 93 (up from 88) that's good

Ldl (bad cholesterol) Normal Range: 75-129 My #: 65 (from 57) that's good

Triglycerides (high is bad) Normal Range: 55-200 My # 60 down from 186 also good

I came in a tad anemic but that's normal for my family. Nothing a couple of juicy bloody steaks won't take care of. Yes, I feel our animal friends are to be exploited and consumed. Take that, PETA.

Also my blood sugars came in perfect which is extra cool because I really did fast the required 8 hours beforehand this time. Usually I eat (fuck fasting). But this time I relented due to a teeny bit of nagging from Neo. So I'm sweet as candy on the sugar, sugar.

This was a surprise. My testosterone levels have been in decline every time I test. On my last visit we had discussed beginning testosterone replacement therapy. This test was to be the deciding one, but since I had trended downward all year, my doctor and I both sort of assumed we would have to. So much so that I spent the last few months studying up on treatment options and side effects and effective dosage and administration. I arrived at my appointment with my preferences for treatment already decided upon. My last blood test my free testosterone came in at 47 (normal range is 52-280). I forgot I'm a freak. My current free testosterone came in at 60. So we table the new treatment for now. (*Bows*) I thank you, my massively huge hard cock thanks you. Fuck me? Nah, roll over Nancy. Fuck you!

Now THE numbers:

Unfortunately, my viral load more than doubled to 81,250. Don't be scared. Let me tell ya a little secret about your viral load one of my doctors clued me in on. In order for someone to give you your viral load count a sample of your blood is taken to a lab where a skilled lab technician takes your blood sample and puts it under a microscope and .... wait for it ... counts your viral load! Now, do you think that it's in the realm of possibilty that perhaps the good folks at our local laboratory may have in their employ a skilled lab technician that's load counter deficient? In a New York City Medical Facility? Impossible! All kidding aside, I have a viral load count from October of last year that came in at just over 10,000. That's four times less than my baseline numbers. So we'll just consider this a mere blip on the viro-meter and nothing to go screaming down the middle of Second Ave. over. As to my Tcell #'s: I got 464. Lost 4 of the little bastards. Quitters! I say good riddance! They were probably wearing out of season Prada. Nothing worse than TCells with no fashion sense.

So, all in all, and not to repeat myself, except for the deadly virus coursing through my bloodstream who wants to fight? Or better yet, who wants to fuck?

But wait, there's more!!!!!!!!!!

I've been keeping something from you. If you go back into my archives (especially towards the beginning) my decent into depression and near madness is well chronicled. I've spent the last few years trying to makes sense of it all and patching together my battered psyche. I quit smoking, curtailed my drinking. This year I've radically changed my diet. Each of these things have left me feeling stronger and more ready to cope with life. The severe phobias including panic attacks, vertigo, tunnel vision and hoplessness have all but left me. I'm living proof that you can radically improve your life and your health by taking the time to examine the things you do that contribute to making you sick. Having said that I have a confession to make. The last year if not longer I've been struggling with a general anxiety problem. To explain: everyone gets anxious about something in their life at some point. I was experiencing irrational fears (of choking) I was unable to take escalators (fear of falling) it was impossible to initiate a conversation with anyone (unless we'd already spoken). I would see people gathered in a restaurant at night having dinner and I would shudder in fear at being forced into that room. Even though that wasn't going to happen. For the last two years I've been cutting my own hair as I can't stand the thought of having a stranger put their hands(and sharp scissors) near my head and eyes. Seeing someone on TV get wrapped up during a skin treatment totally upset me because I know how great they feel and the thought of not being able to have one because I was such a freak made me so sad. Meditation helps. Eating right helps. I've almost conquered that stupid escalator problem on my own. I've ridden lots of them this year. But I have punked out and I never know from day to day what causes it or what's going to trigger me. Please understand, I'm not paralyzed by this. But I spend an inordinate amount of time in service to these brain storms and the energy it takes to force myself to conquer the problem. So I asked for help. I asked my doctor to prescribe Clonazepam as I have a co-worker taking it and he gave me a "tester". It worked great. The entire night it was finally quiet inside my head. Heaven. My Dr. nixed this idea as this drug comes from a family called benzodiazepines that can become addictive with severe withdrawl symptoms. Instead she prescriped a drug called Buspirone that is thought to be non-addictive. I've been researching it's use and it seems that I won't be taking it forever. It seems to be used for about a six month period whereupon I'm guessing you have effectively re-wired your brain or at least stopped whatever chemicals I'm producing that is causing this general anxiety. If it doesn't work, I can always scream and cry for the other stuff. And the beauty of the internet, of course, is there's always a way. I will try to keep you posted how it's going. Supposedly I'll begin to get results in about two weeks. Quick fix me is going to have to shut his trap for a bit and be patient. If I can sit in a salon and get my haircut I'll be thrilled.

Sunday, April 11, 2004

Faster Pussycat, Kill …… Someone

Home from work on Friday at 5:15 am. Watched half an episode of Sex and the City and then off to bed. I emerged from the crypt at 12:45 pm. The sun was shining; the coffee was perking (well, dripping but that sounds bad). I opened my bedroom window and a cool breeze wafted in. I enjoyed my morning caffeine injection as it’s the only thing getting inside me lately (“Hello, can I speak to Tony, please?”). I remember being somewhat surprised how alert I felt midway through my second cup. Plan for the day included a trip to the gym. Fourth time this week, although this week’s workouts all consisted of ½ hour of cardio and light weights for ½ hour. Hardly strenuous except I kicked my own ass with my ab routine. I’m still sore two days later. I was busily checking e-mail and watching a Call for Help rerun.

Then The Ex got up. Shortly after that so did the Enraged Bitch Goddess from Hell. I don’t know why I was so aggressively nasty to him. Is it because I can? I mean, at this point, with all of the nasty comments and horrific things I’ve said to him over the years I guess he’s not leaving. And there was that one time a couple of months ago when he confessed that he was still in love with me. All that accomplished was to further embolden me to verbally harass him without fear of driving him away. This relationship comforts and confuses me. We are a shining gay example of ex-lovers living together, which technically, makes us still together without the sticky wet part. We certainly bicker like we’re still together. But how long are we going to stay together? How long should we? I certainly don’t want him to leave now but will I ever? Will there come a day when I will officially live a life without him? I’ve been toying with the idea of relocating to Florida or Vegas. At no time do I include The Ex in this fantasy relocation. What would I say if he just included himself, (as he so often does) or asked to be included? I honestly don’t know.

What I do know is that this afternoon , at least, I wanted to push my fist right through his face and out the back of his head. I don’t know what made me snap and then be so vocal about said snappage. At some point in the afternoon, as he was lying like a beached beluga on the sofa, I heard Ewan McGregor doing a familiar but kind of strange sounding overdone European accent.

“It can’t be. I thought, not again.”

I came out of my room more in disbelief than anything.

“What are you watching?”

“Moulin Rouge.”

“Oh my god! Again? You’ve got to be kidding me!”

“I like this movie.”

“You must! This is about the sixth time this year!”

“No it isn’t.”

“It is! You watch the same six movies over and over again every weekend. If they come on network TV, you watch them. If you find them on cable, you watch them. If you don’t find them there you watch them on DVD. But it’s the same six movies over and over again. It’s maddening!”

He does the same thing with TV. On Wednesday, it’s South Park at 9:30, then again at 10. On Thursday, it’s South Park at 10 again. On Saturday, the rerun of the South Park he saw on Wednesday. I want to hit him with a shovel.

In frustration, and because Ewan McGregor’s singing voice is starting to liquify my brain, I leave the apartment. I go to the bank to get a quick $20. I go to CVS for some toiletries and a new gym lock. I head to the grocery store for some food essentials. All in all I’m gone a good 45 minutes. Upon my return I walk through the living room and even though part of me wants to resist the part that doesn’t wins.

“So, what time does Star Wars Attack of the Clones start?”

“It’s not. And why do you even care?”

“Because your hearing is starting to go, and all your movies are loud. So even if I leave the room I can hear every word of it. And every word of the same movies every weekend over and over again for years and years has driven me insane! I hate these movies and I hate the weekends when you just lay there all day!”

I go into the kitchen to unpack groceries and start cooking breakfast. Of course it’s not until now that he needs to get ice. And then refill an ice cube tray. And then pour himself a soda. And then put his two liter bottle of soda in a freezer barely big enough to hold the freezer items of one person. In New York City, if one person is rummaging around a kitchen then the other person clearly isn’t. There’s no room. As I’m dumfounded and wondering to myself why in the hell all of this couldn’t have happened in the 45 minutes I was gone, and what my beginning to prepare my breakfast triggered that meant he had to do this now I simply rested my forehead on my palms and stared at him while he finished.

“What?” he said.

“Nothing. I hate you right now.”

He put the soda back and walked away.

Breakfast finally made and eaten and the skimpy Saturday New York Times perused I go back to the PC to cruise for cock and check for fresh blog entries. Most bloggers take the weekend off. (With the exception of Our Hero) Shortly thereafter, I hear the unmistakable sound of a bathtub being filled. Now, I know he has plans to meet with M------ this evening and it’s only about 4 pm. Again, part of me resists but….

“Are you planning another two hour bath? Do you think maybe I could use the bathroom to get cleaned up first so I’m not trapped in the apartment all afternoon?

“Go ahead.”

He’s not even fighting back anymore. I've broken him. At least for today. He’ll bounce back to fight again. I guess that’s why we’re still together.

Thursday, April 08, 2004

I'm Cutting Edge, Who Knew?

A very interesting war of words has broken out amongst different porn producers and performers. It was all started when Titan Media released a strongly worded anti - bareback (on video) statement. And then a followup.

First, the original release: Courtesy of Gay Porn Blog


Titan Media Public Policy Statement -- "Bareback" or High Risk Behavior

Titan Media will not knowingly hire any model or performer who has
previously appeared in films that depict or portray "barebacking" or
unprotected anal sex.

During our model application process, potential models will be asked
about any previous involvement in "bareback" films. Any potential model
that has performed in any film featuring "barebacking" will
automatically be disqualified from performing in a Titan Media or
ManPlay production.

Models who have previously appeared in Titan Media productions, who have
gone on to perform in "bareback" films will no longer be eligible to
work for Titan Media.

We will however support the continued sale and distribution of
"Pre-condom" adult films. These films were produced at a time when sex
without condoms was not a life threatening behavior. In the same manner
that mainstream films of the 1950's and 1960's feature cigarette
smoking, but yet are still widely distributed and enjoyed, we will
continue to support the availability of "Pre-condom" adult features.

Sex without condoms in these "pre-condom" features was not a heath
hazard and was the accepted behavior at that time. Today's "bareback"
films depict and eroticize high risk behavior as the centerpiece of
their sensuality - risking HIV is the fetish and foundation of these
presentations. We find this to be reprehensible and an attempt to
profit at the risk of the health and safety of performers and the
community at large.

Titan Media was founded on a core principle of eroticizing and
portraying safer sex practices. We recognize that some younger gay men,
and others discovering their true sexuality later in life, may adopt the
habits and practices they see in adult films and then take those
practices and behaviors out into the community at large. Titan Media is
dedicated to portraying and eroticizing only safer sex practices, and
leading by example for the benefit of all.

Titan Media takes seriously the health and welfare of its employees,
models and customers. As such, we cannot and will not condone or support
any performer or production company that produces films that promote,
glorify, or depict high-risk sexual activity in the form of "bareback"
or unprotected anal sex.

According to the CDC (Center for Disease Control), "Abundant evidence
shows a need to sustain prevention efforts for each generation of young
gay and bisexual men. We cannot assume that the positive attitudinal and
behavioral change seen among older men also applies to younger men.
Recent data on HIV prevalence and risk behaviors suggest that young gay
and bisexual men continue to place themselves at considerable risk for
infection with HIV and other STDs."

Titan Media believes that as the leading gay adult studio and producer,
we must take a stand and lead by example. Titan Media is committed to
continuing the efforts to portray and eroticize only safer sex practices
in our productions. It is our desire to ensure that prevention efforts
are sustained and promoted to the coming generations of young gay men
and the community at large.

Bruce Cam, Keith Webb, Harold Creg, Brian Mills
Owners, Io Group Inc. dba TITAN Media

Then the clarification:


Titan Media is gratified by the volume of discussion generated by the release of our recent “Titan Media Public Policy Statement – ‘Bareback’ or High Risk Behavior”. There is some misinformation about our intent that is being generated by others, which we would like to set straight.

Our recent press release states that we do not wish to hire performers whose commercial stage “persona” has previously appeared in films that depict bareback or unprotected anal sex.

The private and personal practices of performers will NOT be questioned or used in our hiring decisions. The private lives and personal practices of each performer is just that: private and personal. We have no interest in knowing what a performer does in his private life, only how he has portrayed his public and commercial “persona.”

When we hire a model/performer, we are hiring a public persona, not the private and personal individual behind that public persona. Most model/performers use a “stage name,” which is a persona or character they have cultivated.

We do not hire “John Smith” to work for Titan Media; we hire “Dred Scott” to perform in our features. One is a private individual, the other is a public stage persona created specifically to appear in commercial, adult film productions. The public “character” created by each mode/performer is his “brand” and goes with him in each film where he performs.

In the same way that many mainstream companies do not want their brands associated with performers, whose public performances are not aligned with their company’s message, Titan Media is making the same choice.

Performers who appear in commercial film productions that portray barebacking are not the type of “performance personas” that we wish to have represent the Titan Media brand, and therefore will not appear in our features.

Just as Disney is not going to hire a persona that has appeared in an adult film, Titan will not hire a persona that has appeared in a bareback film. If an actor aspires to appear in a Disney film, don’t do adult films….and if a model/performer aspires to appear in a Titan Media film, then don’t perform in bareback films…it is that simple.

It is up to each individual performer to decide how to market and sell his public persona.

We at Titan Media felt that it was important to go public with our policy to ensure all model/performers were aware of our standards when making decisions about the type of roles and films in which they choose to appear.

And Finally (finally) here's a link to the responses from various producers and performers. It's fascinating reading. Courtesy of Video View.
I Remember When Blogging Was Fun!

I'm in lust.

In keeping with one of my New Year's Resolutions, I decided to go out last night. As always there was a plethora of nightspots available to me with Urge being the most likely (read closest) choice. It helps that they do have some of the trashiest (in a good way) go-go sluts around town. But I always feel like go-go sluts swinging hard cocks in your face are sort of saying "see what you can't have?" After a while it gets on my nerves. Instead I had already decided a visit to Barracuda was the order of the day. My reasons will be made clear.

For entertainment, they had a new show starting last night as they have a pretty big section of the bar devoted to a stage and shows. The new show on Tuesdays is called the Gayly Show. If you're wondering if it's a gay rip-off of the Comedy Central show The Daily Show it is. By the way, if you don't watch the real thing on a regular basis you're really missing out. The show is fucking hilarious. John Stewart's delivery is spot on.

In any case, they booked the lovely and talented Shequida to host The Gayly Show. I thought she had left for some foreign country on a long tour, I remember a going away party recently or some such business but maybe I'm not up on my drag queen travel info. They worked up a background screen with a knock off of The Daily Show logo and stuck Shequida behind a "desk" that seemed to consist of a piece of Plexiglas and a couple of sawhorses. OK, I'm exaggerating but can you say "cheesy"? The show was advertised to start at 10 which translates to drag queen time at 11 or 11:30. The Ex hogged the bathroom just as I wanted to be getting ready (as well as on Saturday when he took a two hour bath in the afternoon. Is it just me, if you were planning on taking a two hour bath wouldn't you mention to the other people you live with "hey, I'm gonna be tying up the bathroom all afternoon if you want to get in there ahead of me go now".....or maybe after you've been in there an hour inquiring "hey, I've been in here an hour do you need to use it?" What a selfish mutherfucker. But I digress....) so I ended up leaving for the bar around midnite. The walk across town was 20 minutes or so. When I arrived the show was just starting. Gaytime go figure.

Now, I'm not sure what was up with the sound but I was in the back of the stage area theoretically plenty close enough to hear everything. She sounded like she was working with a pillowcase over her head. So it was headlines a la The Daily Show I assume, but all I got at first was *muffle, muffle, muffle* Christina Aguilera. *muffle, muffle* skank. *"Muffle, muffle, muffle* Madonna. *"muffle, muffle* old lady. I guess this was actually kind of merciful because the one thing I didn't hear during this part was any laughter. Since I couldn't really hear, it was hard to say if the jokes weren't funny or if the sound problems were room wide. I got the impression that the sound was better closer to the stage so note to The Gayly Show: find a comedy writer. It seemed though that Shequida was controlling most of the music snippets and video gags from a laptop on stage which, for a tech geek like me, was big props on using technology to put together a show. Tech savvy drag queens.... who knew?

After 20 minutes or so of un-hilarity ensued the real reason for my visit came upon us. Just like The Daily Show, this show had booked a guest to interview. Their first guest was local porn star/escort Raging Stallion and Rentboy exclusive Tony Serrano. *sigh* I've been lusting after this man for over a year. Have a look....

That's what got my sorry ass showered, dressed and across town on a Tuesday. Now, I have to say my obsession with Tony has been borderline unhealthy. It's just that he's too perfect. He's American, but he's also Latin and Italian. He's hung like a , well, Raging Stallion and those lips. Of my many fantasies he falls squarely into the Latin top that fucks me fucks me naps with me has some pizza and fucks me again category. Truth to tell I sort of was hoping that if I saw him live that I would be able to find a fatal flaw to knock him out of my head once and for all. That happened with another porn star escort many years ago that I had the pleasure of "meeting". I'm not going to name him because he was really nice and did have a great bod, all five foot four of it, and once I discovered he was a wee one (with kind of a wee one, truth) well that broke the spell.

So Tony's portion of the show consisted of an interview, "how did you get in porn, blah, blah...." "do you like all your co-stars....blah, blah" The only thing interesting about it was inexplicably, when it came time to provide Tony a microphone for his interview, rather than just pull out another mike it was revealed that Shequida's mike was on some sort of a splitter cable. She had to hook a second mike on to her mike and the cable that split off looked to be about a foot long. So interviewer and interviewee were by default locked together with a foot of cord all that separated them. For the life of me, I can't figure out who decided on this setup. It looked....awkward. There's no way this was the best they could do. With their sound system and dj booth two separate mikes on a stage is a piece of cake. Anyway, towards the end, they talked about Tony's latest video and showed an extensive clip. Again, I'm desperately hoping something will turn me off. Instead I get video images of Tony eating butt and deep dicking a moaning bottom. Fuck! So now it's 1am and I'm standing in the back of the stage area at Barracuda and my cock is now snaking down the leg of my jeans. Shoulda worn underwear I suppose. Eventually, the show came to a conclusion after a (real) girl and guy came out as "correspondents" reporting for the show. They were funnier, at least, but strictly snicker funny not guffaw funny.

So with the show concluded I made my way to the front to scope out the crowd. Ya know, I have to say I've been to Barracuda on several occasions and for a gay bar in Chelsea they do attract a diverse crowd. Over by the bar, 30 year old heteros are having a beer and kissing. There's a part Asian kid in his mid 20's workin the room. The boy wants to get fucked. I don't need to be an empath to clock that one. There's a couple of queens easily ten years older than me (that's old!) but still in good shape (nice to know) having a couple beers. Just as I'm making a mental checklist about where I'm going what I'm doing tomorrow in what order I turn and face the door. Not 10 feet away from me in between me and the door, it's him. He looked a lot like this at the time:

Just then, whoever, whatever he was waiting for must have popped up because he started walking in my direction. It was as he walked right past me and glanced (unmeaningfully) in my direction that I realized I was hopelessly, irrevocably in lust. He's exactly my height. The strange sound I made? That was my asshole trying to grow a hand and grab him. I love guys the same size as me. I get intimidated when they're much much taller and I only want to fuck the smaller men. My height or a tad shorter or taller, all bets are off every hole is fair game. I have to have him.

Unfortunately hooker sex money comes from a luxury fund that is already badly depleted (more on that later), so this particular fantasy fulfillment will have to be tabled for now. Besides, he was leaving to shoot a video in Palm Springs first thing in the morning. Rest assured I always find a way to get what I want. And I want to have long loud reapeated nasty dirty sex with him. In the meantime, my brush with Tony Serrano has turned me into a horny, filthy bottom. Just so you know.

Tuesday, April 06, 2004

*Ding!* In Which Our Hero Comes Out Swinging

Dear Ricky,

While my buddy Ryan is more than capable of defending himself if he needed to, I couldn’t help but respond to your offensive posts myself. After all, since we have the misfortune of traveling in the same circles at the same bars here in NYC, I don’t want you to be surprised when I push you in front of a speeding city bus someday soon. Originally, I figured you were just a stupid 20 yr. old with access to a computer in some study hall in some backwater town somewhere. You really can’t blame me, I was basing my original impressions on your amateur writing style, your horrible grammar and you’re inability to stick to a cohesive sentence structure. (Have someone explain that.) Graduated with two degrees, did you? They decided they hated you and gave you degrees to make you leave didn’t they? For a while I thought you were French. That would have explained the snotty attitude as well. Imagine my horror at the realization that you were a stupid 30 year old and walking around free all over my playground.

As I scanned and discarded all of your glorious comic book allegories (You do know Mordru isn’t a real person, right?) I managed to slog through most of the rest of your blog. I did notice how often people in your life that started out as friends quickly became “enemies”. You seem to acquire a lot of “enemies”. Why do you suppose that is? And curiously, you always seem to be the injured party. The one who was wronged, betrayed. As if all of your “friends” are in reality back stabbing, unreliable evil people. Why do you suppose you’re attracting this type of person to your world? Karma is a bitch, Ricky and you seem to be collecting the bad kind in spades.

Digging deeper, I found this little gem:

Saturday, February 21, 2004
Shock Value
That words, Shock Value, define who I am. That is who I am.

Last Thursday night at The Hole, I am not sure if Web and Little Joe saw but Cyn saw it and she shrieked when I did something drastic. Someone threw a lime into the air and it landed in my cup filled with my favorite drink, Cape Cod. I was offended but certainly not upset. I lost the appetite to drink that cup so I tossed the whole cup in the air and let it land on someone else. Not my problem. Cyn was stunned and said, "YOU DID IT! MY GOD! YOU DID IT!!"

Fuckin lovely. That’s what we need more of in New York, boorish ill-mannered assholes that toss drinks into the air. You're a fuckin prize, Ricky. Do all the people in New York that know how to behave in public a favor and drink at home. Oh, and while I’m at it since I see you’re part of New York’s deaf gay community here’s a little public service message: TIP YOUR BARTENDER, YOU CHEAP-ASS MOTHERFUCKER!

Obnoxious Asshole, define who you am. Rest assured, if I ever have the misfortune of finding myself in public at the same time you’ve slithered out from under whatever rock you’re living, I won’t hesitate to kick your ass up and down Second Avenue should I witness this anti-social, juvenile behavior.

From Monday, March 29:

I freaked out when I learned that you might make out with that facial wasting fool.

And further..

Facial wasting is coming soon for certain persons. And when the day comes, I shall smile.

This, taken along with comments you left on Ryan’s blog, lead me to believe that you think it’s somehow clever and appropriate to wish AIDS symptoms on people who “annoy” you. You’re a pig.

It’s clear to anyone who manages to get far enough into your postings that hate is a place that you operate from very frequently. And also very clearly, the two things you hate most of all are being gay and being deaf. The two things you will sadly never escape. I’m sorry you are so obsessed with people thinking they are somehow better than you or better dressed than you or more popular but the fact of the matter is, they are. Because your self loathing has made you sad and ugly. I’m sorry, too that you’ve allowed your envy of people who have apparently done nothing but been born able to hear poison you and cause you to retreat into a comic book existence. It may also explain why you have no discernable social skills whatsoever. If anyone deserves to be pitied it’s you. That which you call “poking fun” is just so much angry lashing out at how hard it is to be you. But when you insult and make fun of sick people, when you tell them you want them to die, when you think this makes you somehow clever, what it really does is make you small and insignificant. I’m sorry you find the life you’re forced to live so painful. Perhaps the next time around you’ll get a better deal. But if you continue to run your existence from a position of hate and bigotry I seriously doubt it.

Oh, and one more thing (since you seem so fond of the expression), I'm not sure how long I'll be running my club, and I see much to my dismay that we've had the displeasure of your company already, but I will be watching for you,

I trust you won't be at all surprised when you're refused service. I'm nasty like that.

Sunday, April 04, 2004

And Finally.... (as they run screaming for the exits)

Another e-mail from my guest correspondent:

To answer your unspoken question - yeah, my "fetish" is cumming in a guy's
ass (no shit) - it's what gets my dick hard - there's just something about it... And
yeah, I like to hear about other guys giving and taking cum, so that's
what I was thinking about when I read your post about the blindfolded
bottom. But my sex life is a whole other subject...

I think you missed my point completely when I gave the examples of things
that can be risky. I'm not saying giving someone a cigarette is the same
as giving them a load of cum in their ass. What I was saying is that
everything in life has risk associated with it. Yes, everything including
an air conditioner falling on your head when you go for a casual walk down
the street. While I agree an air conditioner could bash your head in we certainly don't leave our houses expecting that it will. There are degrees of perceived risk. (Things like that happen - I personally saw a planter box fall
from a window ledge in SoHo and nearly hit a woman).

What's interesting is watching how people (and society) designate things
as "acceptable risks". It amounts to people drawing lines in the sand -
these are "safe", these I'll only do every now and then (risk reduction), This risk reduction thing is a relatively new concept to me. I'm currently studying it further.
and these I won't touch with a 10' pole 'cause they're stupid and
dangerous... It's not a logical process and there are "safe" things that
are more dangerous than others that are seen as "incredibly risky".

Fear and bigotry play a role in how society views risk. We often
internalize norms without questioning them and it takes a lot to see past
these unquestioned assumptions. If you hung out with people who were into
S/M you'd probably get over your fear of bondage because they'd help you
see past the fear... And I still find it interesting that people can be
more afraid of bondage than HIV... fascinating, ain't it?

We all do "mental gymnastics" to figure out what we're OK with and what
we're not OK with. While sometimes those "gymnastics" amount to coming up
with excuses so we can do what we want to do (i.e. George W. going into
Iraq to finish his daddy's war), they can also be honest attempts to
understand ourselves. You seem to be reflexive enough that yours are
honest attempts at understanding. (I'm tryin, girrrrl.)

You didn't want to be part of the gangbang because you couldn't "be a part
of something that [you knew] could hurt him." Yet, I doubt you thought he
was neg, and I doubt you suspected you had an(other) STD. There was the
possibility of reinfection, but there was also that possibility with the
blindfolded bottom. In other words, you apparently weren't worried about
your hurting him, but rather being part of something where someone else
might hurt him. (Exactly. My participation, even if I didn't believe I would hurt him but that someone else might signifies in my mind at least that I think it's OK to let someone get hurt by an act you participate in.) Your blindfolded bottom is getting fucked raw by
strangers, (you're speculating) just not as many in a given day... It's just curious to me that
you're OK with one, but not the other - that was my entire point...

Another way to put it would be - if you don't think you're likely to
"hurt" the guy, why abstain?

I would like to publicly thank this guy for taking the time to exchange words with me about this subject. So many within the gay community are blindly classifying this as a black and white good or bad issue and it so very clearly is not. He has obviously given this subject quite a bit of thought and as always, I applaud anyone who has a strong opinion and the courage to publicly express it. I had to decide what I believed to be acceptable (for me) behavior before I was HIV+. I had to shuffle the decks and re-think that position after I was diagnosed. At least some of us are taking the time to really think about it. I think, publishing his e-mail response and a couple of semi smart-ass comments by me should bring closure (for now) to this topic. I'm sure in the future it will squirt itself in my eye again. Thanks again, man.