archive for October, 2005

young americans

i kinda forgot what sex with americans is like.

it’s tough to make broad, national generalizations, but i can easily compare my experiences in london versus recent frolics around west hollywood.

i’ve talked before about the whole complicated courtship rituals here [dude, are you a top or a bottom?], which, when coupled with logistical issues [everywhere shuts at 2am, people have to drive home] makes the transaction of meeting, flirting, dancing and hooking up very rushed and weird.

not that there’s anywhere to really go dancing in l.a., which i was bemoaning to my london visitors manny and jonesy last night. but, i digress…

so, yeah. if and when you drag an american lad home, you might encounter any of the following:

pseudo-straightness

this is a legacy of the late-90s frat boy fetishizing, heavily connected to the a-and-f‘ing of the gay community’s costuming. take alex, for example. i met this cute 28yo latin boy at .the abbey a few weeks ago, just before closing time. i was coming out of the bathroom, and he stopped me to compliment me on my smile. i said thanks, and asked him his name. i’m straight, he replied.

when someone comes up to you at 145am in a bustling gay bar, flirts with you, and then tells that they’re straight, the correct response is, me too! similarly, me too! is the correct response when someone tells you but i have a boyfriend! or i’ve never done this before! or i’m just visiting for the weekend!

yeah, alex was so straight that all the bouncers knew his name, and he had an overnight bag [toothbrush, sex aids, etc] in his pickup truck.

if he were actually straight, it would be kinda hot and kinky and interesting. but, when a gay boy pretends to pass himself off as straight, it means he has issues surrounding his sexuality, which almost always manifests itself in the bedroom.

expect to hear i don’t like kissing or i don’t give head. and i expect me to say don’t let the door hit your straight ass on the way out!

top/bottom fixation

i’ve been asked more in the few months i’ve been in l.a. than in four years in london, so, are you are you a top or a bottom? butt sex butt sex butt sex.

although i’m a big ole sex fiend, i usually like to play it by ear with whomever i’m with. what’s most important to me, is that they’re attractive, interesting, sexy, comfortable and that there’s chemistry between us.

i’m most offended when someone i barely know asks me. not because i’m a prude and i’m shy to discuss sexual positions [i'm a pisces, anyway, in case you were wondering]. what pisses me off is the whole top/bottom culture in l.a.

tops are assumed to be manly, masculine, in the position of power. bottoms are assumed to be feminine, girly—the bitch. and i’m not just talking about role play in the boudoir, i’m talking about people belittling a person into a predefined role.

anyway, there’s nothing more offensive than a big nelly muscle queen coming up to me, and hissing at me in a big queeny voice, i bet you’re a bottom, aren’t you? yeah? you wanna be my bottom, bottom boy?

how is that considered sexy? bleargh. how i miss the old-fashioned, romantic days of london, where some english lad would stumble up to me, reeking of lager, and belch into my ear, i’d really like you to fuck me or i’d really like to fuck you. simple, sexy, and to-the-point.

call me old-fashioned. go on. or, hell, just call me slutty. just don’t pigeonhole me into some predefined personality type based on what i do in bed.

porn star talk

what the hell is with every american boy i end up in bed with thinking they’re in a porn film? ooh, you like that, don’t you! or oh, yeah, take it, take it! or, even worse is when they start using bad slang words, oh, yeah, lick that sausage! or ride that hard pole, yeah!

and, of course, being los angeles, most boys have queeny accents. i’ve laughed on several occasions over the past few weeks, as ooh, yeah, you like that, don’t you! lisping out some lisping twink’s mouth as he tries to be butch.

there are so many ways to communicate, to converse in the bedroom without pretending you’re on the set of some eurocreme flick. how about a simple that feels good or yeah or, my favorite, mmm-hmmm!

—

i could also complain about general manners [oh, you didn't finish?] and basic etiquette [i have to go home? but it's 4am!] but i won’t. i’ll just keep my fury to myself, and take it out on whichever unsuspecting victim crosses my path next.

i’m not being pretentious, am i? really, these are simple requests, aren’t they?

maybe i should just start stalking the handful of eurotrash boys that i’m sure are hiding out somewhere in this giant parking lot of a city…

4 years, 4 months ago
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ego carving contest

sorry for the shakiness/darkness of the last two video blogs. as i mentioned in said video bogs erm blogs, i’ve bought a super-fancy motion-dampening camera mount for my car [gratuitous, moi?!] but can’t figure out how to hook it all together. i’m working on it, so get off my back. punk.

anyway, i’m so incredibly excited about halloween. it’s been three years since i last properly celebrated halloween in america, and i am stoked. my last halloween was in 2002, in san francisco, as a hot cop erm officer of the fashion police.

i arrived on a friday afternoon, not having slept the night before or on the plane flight from london. i arrived into sfo, and in no time, i was having cocktails with hooman and stacy and jason… shortly after we were getting our fashion police costumes on at allison’s with tizzy and crew. shortly after that i was guzzling frozen cosmos outside the bar, and shortly after that i was sharing a beautiful sunrise [and subsequent holiday romance] with a lad named joel, at a fucking wicked seaside rave.

this time around, i’m equally excited, but don’t have a firm plan of action. i have probably one of the best costumes i’ve ever had [yes, even better than the well-endowed prince of 2001], tons of enthusiasm and vim and vigor, but (1) no partners in crime, (2) no party invites, (3) no excuses to go bar trawling.

there are numbers in my phone’s addressbook, of course, and there are messages in my myspace inbox, and buddies on my buddylists. i have that one friend visiting from london, and that one deejay friend from the radio, and that one model who wants to be in my magazine, and that ugly boy that i met a few weeks ago, and that friend of my roommate.

it’s not like i’m using them simply by asking them if they wanna go out partying with me, is it? or, inviting myself along to whatever halloween parties they might be going to? can they smell my desperation? does it show up on their caller id? is it flagged in their inbox?

sod it, maybe i’ll go out and paint the town pink on my own. w.w.e.b.d.? oh, hang on, i have a call…

4 years, 4 months ago
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red letter day

a friendly ghost inhabits my ipod on my drive home thursday night…

4 years, 4 months ago
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halloween eve eve eve eve

ooh i loves me kitty new camera. a little story about halloween, and some tunes [she wants revenge] as i cruise through beverly hills

4 years, 4 months ago
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un-pause

wow, where did that come from?

i slept for nearly 65% of the last 3 days. i needed a re-charge.

mumsy tells me i’m worn down, that i don’t take care of myself. she always tells me that. that doesn’t mean she’s wrong, of course.

atif tells me that l.a. is filled with all sorts of new germs that i haven’t been exposed to. he’s a medical professional.

i’d argue that i’ve not been sleeping properly, and have been accruing serious sleep deprivation over the past few months. plus the changing of the seasons. plus i picked up a bug. plus some seasonal depression.

regardless. after some hot baths, miso soup with spinach, tons of vitamin cocktails and plenty of fluids, i’m feeling almost human again.

i should write something interesting here.

umm… i got a new video camera today in the mail—boring/inappropriate/uncomfortable/poorly-produced video blogs on their way!.

umm… i subscribed to playboy magazine—making it the 33rd magazine that my household subscribes to.

umm… guess which character from scooby doo i’m gonna be for halloween? hint: i can’t grow facial hair, and i’m not a short, fat lesbian.

i give up. i’m recharged but that doesn’t mean i have to be witty. bite me.

4 years, 4 months ago
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scalamonday

woke up today frightfully early, and freezing cold. looked outside to find not blue skies but grey skies with drizzle.

sniffle and cough as i lie in bed, listening to song after song after song play on my alarm clock. reeeeeeeally not wanting to get out of bed. am i sick? yeah. am i sick enough to stay in bed all day? no.

when i finally do get motivated enough to get out of bed, i spin round, placing my left food, then my right foot on the ground. as i stand up, i nearly tumble over. i seem to have seriously injured my right leg recently, and i’ve been dealing with limping, loss of feeling, loss of coordination and overall gimpiness. it’s gotten better each day, but i’m worried there’s some permanent damage.

cause is either strenuous exercise at the gym last thursday, or strenuous exercise of another sort altogether last friday. i’m not sure which is better, but either way my butt is sore, too. no, not like that.

wake up, and the roommate is in the bathroom. i really have to go. so i wait. it’s cold, so i get back under the covers. how i really would love to go to sleep.

stumbling into the bathroom, eventually, i glance in the mirror to see a gross cold sore. god i hate cold sores. i seem to be getting them much more regularly in l.a. than london. what sucks is that in london i had a very unhealthy lifestyle [no sleep, tons of snogging, drinking, etc] yet i rarely got cold sores. here, it seems like every few weeks i’m feeling that familiar tickle. annoying.

stop by the laundry place to pick up all of the laundry i dropped off on saturday. strolling in, i’m greeted with the familiar, hello, my friend, but i see a sense of defeat in his eyes. i’m so sorry, my friend, but you see, my machine is broken…. no clean underwear for me.

returning home, trying to coax my coffee maker to churn out some coffee, i log on to the six different instant messaging services i have to log on to in order to communicate with my myriad of friends. within minutes, news trickles in from my london peeps, taking my monday morning from annoyingly dreary to substantially sad…

did you hear about simon?

anger, and sadness, and disbelief. everyone loves simon. such a wonderful, fun, well-liked, nice guy. so many of my wildest, most memorable, most enjoyable memories of london involved simon. from the first time i met him until my final farewell on my last night at .popstarz, i always looked up to him as a charming example of what post-20something gay life could be like.

what a tragedy, what a loss. london won’t be the same without him, and i really do mean that.

i trust he’s enjoying a frosty red stripe and playing some suede up in heaven that rubbish room in the sky…

4 years, 4 months ago
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identify

old compton street sketch

changing of the seasons? maybe.

i look at the last week of my life, the last month, the last 5 years, and the whole 28 years, and i see an amazing rollercoaster. an unpredictable stock chart, an insane, spontaneous bumpy graph that no modulation of fourier transforms can describe.

each time that life throws me a curve ball, or i end up in a foul mood, or i begin to feel that tickle of depression at the back of my throat, i snap into a downward spiral of self-doubt and over-analyzation of my life and what i’m doing and where i’m going.

this is not self-destructive. nay, quite the contrary. these crazy bouts of ego-flagellation are how i’ve progressed from a shy boy from indiana to where i am today, throughout career twists, country hops, personality clashes, mental awakenings and jaunts around the world.

the past few weeks, my mind has been spinning, reeling with possibilities and opportunities and different directions—not all good, some quite bad, in fact. what’s so unique about this iteration of my quarter life crisis is that i feel quite alone.

i am very alone in l.a. at the moment. the funny thing is, though, that if i were to retreat “back” to london, i’d feel just as alone there. it’s been a while since i’ve enjoyed a solid support network of friends… in san fran i had smart friends who were as career oriented as i was.

in london i had loving friends who enjoyed life as much as i did. now, i’m having difficulty deciding on what kinds of friends i even want to have in l.a.… mostly, because who i am seems to be very much in flux.

i’ve complained previously about never having a true role model, some positive older figure to look up to. what i need right now, more than anything, is a mentor… some one to coach me and help me make the tough decisions i’m facing.

therapy? maybe. i can handle my life, my relationships. and, i’m probably too egotistical to actually trust someone else’s advice more than my own. my career and my long-term goals are a bit muddled at the moment. part of me would love for some surprising opportunities to get thrown at me. part of me thinks i just need to wait it out.

part of me just wants to go to sleep. that’s normal, right?

4 years, 4 months ago
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flip the switch

i wasn’t in the mood.

i was still sore from my workout on thursday, i think i was coming down with the flu, i was feeling generally just tired and achy, and on top of it all it was cold and raining.

but, i’d been trying to hook back up with james for over a month, ever since our incredibly hot moving violation six week ago. we’d played so much phone tag that i think we’d both just given up on the concept of ever seeing each other again.

i kept replaying that really hot first encounter in my mind. the instant attraction, the intense connection. the smiles, the laughter. him tearing my clothes off as i drove his pickup truck around l.a. at 3 in the morning. calling me his husband, saying we should get married, half-jokingly repeating over and over how much he loves me.

yesterday he calls me, dude, i’m having a party. you should totally come! i ask what the occasion is, he tells me oh, my mom’s out of town. it’s gonna be awesome! i cringe, but the rest of our conversation reminds me that he is, in fact, something special. eloquent and witty and smooth and sweet. i agree to come to his party in burbank.

after a hot shower to ease my achy bones, and some cold medicine, and putting on my cutest duds, i arrive at his mom’s house, a very comfy, very suburban two-story family home. i let myself in, and creep out back to find a gaggle of boys and girls out by the pool, passing around the pipe and doing shots of jäger. james ran to the store to get ice, they tell me.

everyone’s super friendly, and in no time i’m laughing it up with a girl about her giant boobs, some boy from wyoming about whether it’s better to rustle cattle on a horse or on a motorcycle, consoling another girl on her recent breakup, and talking with a funny gay boy about how very white he is [he's african american of course].

how do you know james? they ask. oh, i’m his husband. they all laugh, in unison, oh, he gave you that line too? he says that everyone. ha. ha ha ha ha ha. oh.

he shows up, looking incredibly dapper, and cuter than i remembered [or, rather, not as ugly as i'd feared, as often happens when i forget what a hookup really looked like]. we hug, and he allows me a quick peck on the cheek.

there are maybe 20 people at his party, so i let him circulate and mingle. for an hour or so, i kick back and watch him hug and laugh and do shots and tell stories with each of his friends. i keep waiting for him to come over, but he seems, um, preoccupied.

i’m a big boy, and i know how parties go. i head inside, looking for the bathroom. the one on the ground floor is in use, so i head upstairs. i find james crouched over the stereo, adding [even more] nine inch nails and 311 cds into the changer, to keep the party bumping outside.

i go up behind him and massage his shoulders. he jumps up, i grab him and plant a kiss on his cheek. what are you doing up here, dude?! i tell him i’m just looking for the bathroom. you can’t be up here! and he points me back down the stairs.

can i have a kiss? i ask him. he pretends he’s busy with the cds. oh.

i don’t wanna be a bitch about it, so i give him one more chance… i hang out downstairs, charming each and every one one of his friends. he comes back down, and it’s obvious he’s avoiding me. have i been played? probably. maybe, maybe there are just some extenuating circumstances, like these friends haven’t seen his gay side, or he’s overwhelmed by my hotness. i dunno.

just before midnight, i tell him i’m leaving, and he gets angry. raging mad. begging me to stay, but not in a sweet way, or in an apologetic way. just more of a i want my party to be really packed kinda thing. i tell him i’m just not feeling the party, but i’d like to see him sometime, maybe 1-on-1? he shrugs. a quick hug, no kiss, and off i go.

it sucks to be on this side of the balance of power. it doesn’t feel good, that’s for damned sure. my naive mind replays the events of our last meeting, and of tonight, and gives it one last shot—a cute, flirty, straightforward text message. one last shot, right?

maybe i’ll call him later today…

4 years, 4 months ago
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i am wario

anyone who was addicted to video games in their youth like me knows that the worst foe to do battle with is your doppelgänger—that evil identical twin that perfectly exploits your weaknesses and negates your strengths. last weekend i met mine.

on friday i found myself up in seattle, visiting a few friends and exploring a city that [somehow] i’d never tiptoed to. seattle is one of those very distinctive yet entirely predictable cities, like boston or atlanta or boise that looks, smells and acts just like you’d expect. ooh! space needle! ooh! starbucks! ooh! trees and cold air and water water everywhere. ooh grey gray drizzle, people throwing fish at you, a monorail… i loved it.

one of the boys i was visiting was my old london chum, sim, a wiry, quirky, hyperactive and incredibly funny long-haired chinese boy, spending his 14th year as a student up at you-dub. i’d met sim at a gay men’s writing group in london so many years ago, when there were still a few tiny shavings of innocence left in me.

although i hadn’t heard from or seen sim in many years, i was well-connected to him through my best bud .gregiño and my future-ex-husband babydaddy christopher. through them, i heard two things.

first, was that sim is a member of a gay frat. i know, right? did you click that link? you really should. go on, i’ll wait.

[3-minute pause for thorough enjoyment of frat boy pics,
and any necessary cleanup.]

if you’re anything like me [which, sadly, you know you are], you’re probably thinking initiations, you’re thinking hazing, you’re thinking lots of heavily-worn abercrombie baseball caps strewn across your bedroom floor. hot.

well, the second thing i heard, was that the president of this gay frat—whom we’ll call brett—is apparently my twin. by varying accounts, we looked alike, we sounded alike, we had the same personality, we had the same incredibly large… ego. hot.

after dinner and bar-hopping with matt on friday, i finally rendezvoused with my long-last buddy sim at a stylish cocktail place on pike street in capitol hill. after a good solid hour of upload/download/syncing, i inched over to get a better look at my supposed twin, brett.

i felt like i was looking at one of those police drawings… glancing at him, he looked so… familiar. cute-bordering-on-handsome, boyish-bordering-on-manly, innocent on the façade but with a naughty twinkle. spiky hair, a small mole on his left side, a winning smile.

he looked like a younger version of me. excellent.

as we verbally sized each other up, and conversationally negotiated who would be playing the part of eric, we inched closer and closer, becoming friendlier and friendlier, hoping that the other would let down their guard. as i contemplated getting a drink, brett jumped up, beating me to the bar.

he returns with a tray of french 76s, a cocktail made with vodka and champagne that i’d never enjoyed before. after a few of these, we made our move to a trashy bar/club next door, called man ray.

huddled under one of the unflattering black lights, we did the usual stand-awkwardly-waiting-for-the-dancefloor-to-fill-up-but-still-pretend-you’re-having an-amazing-time huddle. as the music got louder and the club smokier, boys started to trickle in. in a very holidayish mood, my doppler radar swept across the entire club every 20 seconds, until i clocked a tall, lanky black-haired boy.

brett, in a very bored tone and with an eyebrow raised, asks, see anyone you like? nonchalantly, i reply, well, besides you, him over there is kinda cute. he was giving me eyes a moment ago. i point out my prince charming, hoping for either [1] affirmation or [2] a twinge of jealousy followed by seduction.

brett disconnects from our huddle and circles over to where the boy is. how nice of him to go set me up, i think. they start chatting. after a few moments, the boy starts smiling, and they shake hands.

i keep looking over, waiting for brett to point me out. another minute goes by, and i watch them inch closer. the boy puts his arm around brett’s waist, and they head to the dancefloor.

my jaw dropped… of course! the old bait-and-switch! i invented that move… how dare he!

furious, and beaten at my own game, i retreated for the night. but fear not, dear reader… i sought my revenge the following night.

candlelit dinner at wild ginger, cocktails at neighbors, dirty dancing at good times and then a little houseparty at a mutual friend’s.

and then a kick to the curb at 3am. does that make me evil? no, of course not. it just makes me spiteful. and a little bit immature.

most importantly, though, it makes me his doppelgänger—his evil twin… not the other way around.

4 years, 4 months ago
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ain’t that a kick in the head

robbie through beverly hills… higher resolution, AND, you should be able to get to this via itunes / on your video ipod (see podcast link above right)

4 years, 4 months ago
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