tag archive for new-york

sum yun gai

those who know me well know how much i cherish travel, and all the ceremonies and benefits attached to it. recently, i enjoyed an amazing holiday to australia and thailand, and over the last few weeks i’ve done my best to keep the holiday vibe percolating, to keep the enjoyable experiences at the forefront of my day-to-day, and to not allow my tanlines fade too quickly.

alas, 3 weeks back in dreary new york winter weather accompanied by the stress of returning to the office effaced that holiday spirit that was so deeply entrenched in my soul back in australasia. that is, until yesterday evening at the gym.

you can say that i’ve become a bit a gym bunny lately, not consciously, or deliberately, or with any weight attached to it. i’ve been going 3 times a week because it makes me feel good—it’s like guilt-free crack. i go often enough that it’s as automatic as my morning commute—i decide to go to the gym and the next thing i know i’m there lifting weights or doing crunches or mincing on the elliptical.

last night i was late to spin class, and as i mounted the last available cycle in the dim spin room, i felt a little chill. not a cold chill, but a little twinge of somethings-not-quite-right in the air. i clamped in, swigged some water, and started spinning and stretching as the instructor started barking out warmup instruction.

the spin room holds about 25 people on cycles, and all of the walls are mirrored to give the cramped space a larger feel, and to allow you to check out your cycling form. in the several dozen spin classes i’ve been to at this chelsea gym, there have been precisely zero cuties. nada. even if you round off! it’s gotten to the point where i don’t even bother dressing at all in an attractive or coordinated fashion [yesterday i was wearing baggy dark blue gym shorts and some kind of green t-shirt].

anyway, 1 minute and 48 seconds after i settle onto my bike, i take the opportunity to investigate this twinge that i’d felt earlier. directly behind is a thai boy who, as i focus more closely on his face in the mirror, looks so familiar that i nearly fall of my bike. as i make eye contact, he smiles and looks nervously away. again and again and again.

–

less than a month ago i found myself in some seedy bars in the paradise complex in phuket, thailand with a good friend of mine and a few boys we’d met along the way. tanned, blissfully relaxed, and in the final throws of a 3-week holiday, i was loving every moment of doing absolutely nothing, in the most leisurely way possible.

after a lovely dinner, we tiptoed from bar to bar, chatting and watching the world go by. each bar in this part of town puts on 2 or 3 shows every evening to draw in business. some were full-on broadway-esque revues with costumes by bob fosse and serious choreography. some were camp drag shows with faux britneys and christinas. some were less polished, with ladyboys singing and dancing local folksongs and obscure thai pop songs.

at the places we’d visited so far, in-between the shows you’d just dance and drink and gay it up [like any other trashy gay bar] and have a wonderful evening cruising and boozing and flirting and giggling. on our final night in phuket, however, one of the more gregarious doormen convinced us all to go into his club at the end of the street—hurry boys, come in come in! the show is starting now, i give you free drinks, hurry hurry!

we climb into a section of the tiny 20-seat theatre and and drink entirely too many free/cheap drinks during a 20-minute-too-long 40-minute-long show featuring lithe thai boys miming blues brothers songs and ladyboys miming mary j blige tunes. at the end of the show, the music keeps playing, and the host brings us more free drinks, and insists that we wait a few more minutes.

as the boys and i discuss the trashtastic peformance, the curtain opens in a dramatic flourish, and on stage are 16 or so skinny thai boys in hot pants, perfectly posed and polished and oiled and gelled and vaselined and smiling from ear-to-ear while bouncing to the bad asian techno music. attached to the front of each boy’s hotpants [off to the side so you can still examine the goods] is a pin with a number on it.

maybe it was the drinks, maybe it was feigned denial, or pre-emptive future-dirty-old-man guilt, but i was the last to realize that what we were looking at was a menu. a horrific, shameful, gross menu of boys that presumably fat old horny anglo westerners could choose from. by number.

–

throughout the rest of the spin class, number 23 keeps smiling at me in the mirror, giving me that same look that he did in phuket—slightly flirty, slightly horny, slightly hungry, and slightly bored.

5 years, 2 months ago
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set me free, remotivate me

it’s friday night, and it feels like it. perched at a table at therapy, cocktail in hand, friends by my side, i stand relaxed, yet confident, already pretending that i’m the king of new york. i clock him walk up the stairs immediately, but play it cool. as one does.

the past few weeks have been exciting, exhausting, exhilarating, of course. uprooting my life to new york has been a long time coming, and tonight is the first night i feel settled enough to get myself gussied up and have a big night out. i’d met the boys for a quick cruise of the moma, followed by a boozy snack at vlada, and we’re now at therapy before sneaking over to a fashion week party at the prada store.

as the bar fills up, the crowd rotates around, and next to me, conveniently, is the one cute lad i’ve seen today. i have high standards, you see.

he looks about 25, a bit shorter than me, very dashing in a mormon-cum-model sort of way. i eavesdrop without eavesdropping, and pick up a cute nawlins drawl, and notice he’s with two older folks… probably a bit odd to be out with your parents at a gay cocktail bar on a friday night, but who am i to judge? mama’s boys are hot, right?

after an eternity, he grabs my shoulder and asks me if i know of a fun piano bar he can take his folks to. i just moved to new york this week, i tell him, but the duplex is always a good time. me and my two long-time new yorkers spend the next 10 minutes trying to explain how to get to this place, which gives me an opportunity to share with this lad how charming i am.

as they leave the bar, he runs back up the stairs and asks, do you have a boyfriend? i smile and respond, of course not, i just moved here! and he smiles excitedly, tells me his name is jason and takes my number.

five minutes later, he calls me back, i ditched my parents. are you free for a drink?

my friends were heading home anyway, so i meet jason‘s taxi outside the bar. our date begins.

turns out he’s 29, actually, and is a motivational speaker. lives in florida, but comes up to new york all the time for business. his parents are in town to help him celebrate his pending 30th birthday. they’re cool with the gay thing and liked me so much that they insisted he ditch the piano bar and come back and snag me.

winning over parents is hot, right?

i play tour guide, and drag him across town to chelsea for a cocktail and a chat. he’s very gentlemanly, holding my hand, and buying me drinks, and just being as polite as punch. until his third cocktail sets in, and his eyes start darting all over the bar. he disappears to the bathroom for an inordinate amount of time, and i’m starting to read the signs.

meanwhile, tye is at the prada party, texting me to get my ass over there.

i’m faced with a tough choice… spend the night with cute drunken polite cruisy nawlins motivational speaker boy, or with my fun friends at an exclusive hip party.

after making the wrong choice, and convincing jason it’s time for him and i to go back to his hotel, we’re standing on the corner at the early hour of 11:30pm hailing a cab. as the cab pulls up, and he jumps in, he turns to me unexpectedly and tells me, you know what, i’m not feeling so well, i’m gonna go on back to the hotel by myself. good night!

the taxi door slams and speeds off, and i feel like karma is teaching me a lesson for violating the cardinal bros-before-hos rule. but, c’mon, karma, he was pretty darn cute!

my ego doesn’t like what happened, and against my better judgement, i spend the rest of the evening dancing backstage at the prada party with dumb models, passive-aggressively texting jason back-and-forth to determine why he ditched me. all i can get out of him was some bullshit about you’re too cute for me to bring home to my hotel and you’re too perfect for me to be with.

for a motivational speaker, the only thing he motivated me to do was bitch about him here.

5 years, 9 months ago
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oh, me too…

the dating game is retarded. but, i’m not complaining.

how i do miss the straightforward sleaziness of london. meet cute boy, flirt with cute boy, kiss cute boy, shag cute boy, see if a relationship is possible.

in l.a. boys are insecure and therefore either overly cocky and standoffish or miserably miserable to the point where they’re unapproachable.

it had been a while since i’d been out on the prowl, so saturday i decided to put on some sexy dadundaduns, fluff up my plumage just so and meet up with my party people for some fun. stiff drinks and flaccid go-go boys at .fubar with jogger chris and then actual dancing on an actual dancefloor at .hot dog [for my london peeps, .hot dog is the only non-pop non-tribal-house dance club in all of los angeles]

now, a typical club in say, sydney or manchester or ibiza or new york would have, you know, 10% cute boys, 50% of whom might like me back. my experience in l.a. has been dire, which a much lower return on investment. sure, my tastes may not fit within the l.a. norm, but more often than not when i go out i don’t even bother looking around, cuz there’s nobody tickling my fancy. that’s right, folks, i’m saying 0%. poor me, right?

tonight, was different. there was one boy, tall and skinny and blond and spiky and smiley and cocky. i try to avoid him for most of the night, as he’s surrounded by friends, but eventually we meet on the dancefloor.

hey, i’m tommy, he says with a smile.

i’m on top form tonight, and the conversation is hot and heavy. as we’re enjoying our second drink, i drop one of my classic lines, which is intended to flatter and get the mind wandering:

tommy, why doesn’t a boy like you have a boyfriend?

the response i’m hoping for is, well, eric, i just haven’t found the right guy… till tonight, followed by a tackle to the ground and 3-5 minutes of passionate kissing in the middle of the dancefloor, surrounded by horrified onlookers as the deejay squeals in delight and then the bouncers kick us out.

tommy explains, erm… i do!

suck.

yeah, he’s out of town and stuff. he’s really sweet. he’s blah blah blah blah blah and we met blah blah blah. he’s a blah blah for a living and he blah blah blah blah.

the only response to hearing the boy you’re flirting with say oh, i have a boyfriend is the same reponse you give when the boy you’re flirting with says oh, i’m straight or oh, i’m married or oh, i’m mormon:

you say to them, oh, me too…

works every time. diffuses the situation, puts you on even footing, and adds a bit of taboo to the situation.

two hours later, at the afterhours, we making out furiously. i really don’t want to do this, i have a boyfriend… he tells me.

sitting outside my place at 4am, i really can’t come in, i have a boyfriend…

inside, i’m just going to stay for a bit, i have a boyfriend…

in my bed, just for a little bit, i have a boyfriend…

an hour later, we definitely can’t do that, i have a boyfriend…

as the sun comes up, i definitely can’t stay the night, i have a boyfriend…

11:35am, i wake him up and ask him, weren’t you supposed to pick your boyfriend up from the airport?

6 years, 7 months ago
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coconut teaser

lips

stop teasing me, you bitch! oooh i hate it when you tease me!

on your dry, cracked exterior, i’ve been seeing nothing by calmness. sorrow. blandness. beigeness. it’s been this way for weeks, and i’m growing tired of this all. yawn.

but lately, this past week especially, out of the corner of my eye, i’ve gotten a different feeling. i’ve seen you winking. teasing. flirting. hinting that there’s more, much more.

when i ask you about it, you deny me. you leave me standing here alone, bored, cranky and longing for excitement.

stop teasing me, los angeles!

the well-kept secrets are starting to creep out. the wisdom is trickling down. the playbook has been photocopied. the nose has been tapped, the ear pulled the throat cleared.

i be living in a tricky city, but i’m starting to figure it out.

i’ve been complaining about the lack of nightlife in l.a. for a while. it’s not just a lack of venues and nights, it’s a general lack of hedonistic energy. in london, life revolves around the weekend. showing up hungover on monday is a trophy that your boss appreciates. over the past few months, though, i’ve been seriously disappointed by the “weekend” excitement here. ooh, let’s go out to a crowded bar at 11pm and then get chucked out at 2. fun.

the problem, i’m learning, is that the weekend isn’t on friday. for many, the weekend is monday or tuesday, thanks to the industry.

everyone in l.a.—and i do mean everyone—works for hollywood. everyone i meet seems to be an aspiring actor, a film editor, a production assistant, a set designer, and sound engineer. cliquey? perhaps. but l.a. is all about cliques.

london is both diverse and unified at the same time, very much like new york is. everyone who lives in london is a londoner, and due to its big-city dynamics, can partake on a weekly basis in a myriad of huge events/parties/festivals which make you feel like your part of a bigger collective.

for me, it meant clubbing in multi-thousand person clubs, running into dozens of familiar faces, friends/exes/futures/enemies/acquaintances. feeling part of a larger collective, feeling connected to the city at whole.

what i’m discovering about l.a. is that there isn’t that unity, there isn’t a larger collective. there are pockets and subcultures, scenes and locales. and, it’s okay. christopher has been doing a brilliant job explaining to me the cogs of the l.a. social machine.

it’s all about hidden gems. the parties, the clubs, the fun to be had… you won’t find it in time out, you won’t get an invite on myspace. you end up at a fun cocktail bar on a tuesday, a crazy afterhours on a thursday, a house party on a saturday, a benefit concert on a monday, a movie premiere on a wednesday.

do i miss london? of course i do. i miss my friends, i miss the excitement, i miss the hedonism. although l.a. may be a lot sleepier as a whole, that doesn’t mean it’s not as refined or as valid of a big-city as new york or london.

all i’m saying is, if you’re gonna flirt with me, l.a., you better put out.

7 years, 7 months ago
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sea change

i saw the future

in his book, how to lose friends and alienate people, toby young, a british journalist who unsuccessfully tried to “break” new york, explains his failure at the end of the book:

…some of my more destructive acts seemed to be the result of the anarchic side of my character tripping the other side up, doing whatever it could to ensure i’d never end up achieving the things i’d set my heart on. i was my own worst enemy—and by the time i left new york there were plenty of competitors for that title.

yet in failing to become a somebody, did i just remain a nobody? or did i stay true to myself? i can’t help feeling that the terrorist inside of me was the british part sabotaging the american part. the longer i spent in the states, the more british i felt. like so many others, i thought that by moving to new york i could re-invent myself; i could become an american. it seemed entirely possible, too—for about six months. then my britishness started to reassert itself. it was as if i took a flight across the atlantic and my nationality came by boat…

my americanism is here, still, and always has been. and i knew that, i really did. it’s easy to distance yourself from the bits of america that seem to be universally hated in 2005: bush, conservatism, consumerism, imperialism, but america is so much more than that, and i’m upset with myself for forgetting that. when i first lived in germany, i came back telling everyone how wunderbar deutschland ist. after i returned from england the first time in 1998, i was dressed from head-to-toe in topman, drinking newcastle and listening to blur—same deal.

this time around, though, i know better. it’s not about which is better, and it’s not about enumerating the differences, and it’s not about trying to reconcile the myriad of experiences and emotions from my disparate disconnected lives. i have to look forward. i’ll bring my past with me, of course, but i have to look to the future.

toby concludes his rant with a lovely maxim courtesy of the philosopher horace:

coelum non animum
mutant qui
trans mare currunt

which translates to

those who cross the sea
change the sky above them,
but not their souls.

7 years, 11 months ago
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bombings

gherkin

spent most of the day yesterday in my car, stuck in slow traffic all around l.a., cursing the city for not having decent public transport.

wake up this morning to hear the news about the coordinated rush hour bombings on 3 tube trains and 1 bus in london. horrific. just horrific.

several things pop into my head:

this is timed perfectly during the G8 summit. definitely, now, the focus of the G8 summit will not be trade, will not be relieving third-world debt or making poverty history. the focus, again, will be on terrorism [or terr-ism as dubya says].

presuming it is al qaeda, why would they execute these attacks? just when the popular opinion is really starting to turn against dubya, against the iraq war, these bombers kill 33+ people, fanning the flames around the world against them.

the london underground is old, slow-moving and repairs are very inefficient. when an escalator breaks, the whole station shuts. when a train derails, the whole line is taken down for weeks. there’s no way that anything close to regular service will be restored to the tube for a while.

i remember being in london during the nail bombings in 1998, and the outrage after the admiral duncan/brick lane market/brixton academy killings. i also remember the always-in-the-back-of-your-mind paranoia/vigilance that everyone carried on their shoulders in the following months. people will say a little prayer at the start of each tube journey now, and a sigh of relief as they exit each station.

the conspiracy theorist in me fantasizes that dubya [by dubya i mean rove et al] is behind this, building support for continuation on his war on terr-er and presumed invasion of iran.

-=-=-

i wish i were in london right now, i really do. to stand united against this, with my friends. instead, i’m in america, watching as the media whips itself into a frenzy, with government officials scaremongering, raising the homeland security scare-o-meter from yellow to orange flavor.

i’m scared. not scared of terrorists. i’m scared of the footage of huge hulking soldiers running around on new york subways with machine guns—for no reason. i’m scared after watching footage of chicago police cars zipping around town with their sirens on, presumably chasing after terr-rists in the heartland. i’m scared that america will now be whipped into a renewed sense of fear and mistrust, even though there is no specific threat.

7 years, 11 months ago
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memories for sale

my mom has been nagging me for years, eric, when are you going to go through all your boxes in the attic?. she’s also been nagging me, eric, when are you going to come back to indiana? and eric, don’t you love your family anymore? see, when i moved out at the age of 18, i raided the house, and took pretty much any belonging of mine with any sentimental, emotional or resale value. i made sure of it—i like to keep my life tidy and organized and portable.

everything else was put away in boxes, and for the past 10 years these boxes have been sitting up in the attic. crawling up the attic stairs this morning, before the hot afternoon heat set in, i found 20 21 22 boxes. what’s inside? no idea. why don’t you look with me, which i’m sure will be as exciting and as long-winded as when geraldo broke into al capone’s vault…

box #1: 1000s of baseball cards, once valuable, now all bent and moldy. i’m guessing the childrens [sic] of 2005 don’t spend much time playing with pieces of cardboard with photos of steroid users on them? treasure: nothing.

box #2: wrapping paper [huh?] and blacklight posters. i don’t really remember having a blacklight. treasure: nothing.

box #3: 8×10 photos of eric in 3rd, 4th and 5th grade. not for sale, but saved for safekeeping, for potential use in upcoming jonny moirée: behind the music special. local newspapers from 1993, featuring dorky interviews with me, with titles such as sommer auf deutschland. star trek books and disturbing books with terrorism themes [e.g. black sunday and the president has been kidnapped!]. empty piggy bank, pinewood derby cars which never came close to winning any races cuz my dad wasn’t that technically inclined, mess kit from boy scouts, probably with mummified peach cobbler inside. 1991 upper deck hologram baseball cars [ebay says they're worth something]. treasure: photos of 8/9/10yo me, $180 worth of baseball cards.

box #4: back issues of boys life magazine [for boy scouts, silly!] and nintendo power [maps of zelda and tips on how to get to the minus world in super mario bros]. gonna keep a few of these for retro kitsch value. trapper-keeper binders from high school. an angry letter i wrote in to the local newspaper, complaining about class size, financial problems, dress codes, drugs, attendance policies, gangs, fights, suspensions, beepers… american schools are falling behind. i was a pretentious faux-foreigner back then, too. term papers on the works of kurt vonnegut. treasure: 1 issue of nintendo power.

box #5: awards: kiwanis scholar, presidential academic fitness, calculator mathematics olympiad, a blank certificate congratulating me for exceptional service in ________ [yet signed by the principal], academic super bowl, science olympiad, german club, honor society, young scientist, teacher’s pet. and like 100 medals from science olympiad. treasure: nothing except the inner geek.

box #6: a few old-school xeroxed zines that i subscribed to through BBSes [pre-interweb]. ooh, and a letter from lisa, this pretty girl whom i worked with at dairy queen, analyzing my flirtations with her and asking me out. via folded-up note. she writes, whatever girl wins your heart, remember to tell her that i wish i could be her. eek! she was the first girl i came out to at work. treasure: nothing except the repressed memories of that complicated summer.

box #7: more awards [geek!]. photo of me with a garter belt on my head, from prom? german magazines. stuff from the chicago cubs convention, 1993. boxes and boxes of baseball cards. most are worth only $0.08. i have notes on some cards listing their value as $125.00 but are now valued for $10. actually, wait, a few are listed at $100+! that’s jamba juice money, my friend! neon yellow sign stating the rules for entering eric’s room [enter at your own risk!!!], heavily worn boy scout manual [troop 10, killer whales!]. regarding drugs: when a junkie gets hooked, he can’t help himself. he must have more and still more. to get money he needs to by drugs from some other ‘junkie’, he may stage a holdup. he may even commit murder. boy scout beads, merit badges, belt. class of 1995 fluorescent pink water bottle… probably matched my l.a. gear shoes at the time. treasure: $500? worth of baseball cards.

box #8: photo of me in new york with my german friends in 1995, wearing a pansy division t-shirt with giant pink triangle. homo! tons of cassette tapes… mostly respectable: tom’s diner, motown philly, now that we found love, i got the power.. some not: unskinny bop, do the bartman, i wanna sex you up. my first communion prayer book and rosary. photos of my high school friends conga-dancing around a mexican restaurant for my 17th birthday, me with sombrero on my head. treasure: a few photos.

box #9: photos from when we snuck mike, our foreign exchange student from germany, to the canadian side of niagara falls, without a passport. jailarity ensued, and [apparently] i’m not permitted to ever go back to that border crossing. letter from q101 deejay samantha james, regretting she will not be able to attend our 80s-themed senior dance, but rather she put together a special mix tape for us with shout-outs from our favorite deejays and a remix of tainted love. photocopies of a dot-matrix, wordperfect printout of the rocky horror picture show script. original nintendo nes controllers and some bits from the power glove which i don’t remember owning. tons of comic books, mostly archie and jughead comics, some other random ones, apparently worth up to $100 each. treasure: $300? worth of comic books.

box #10: an appraisal from phil’s cards and collectibles offering to buy my baseball card collection for $100. funny thing, though, is that it’s dated 1996, when i was away at university. how thoughtful of my little bro to try to make some money off my junk. about 400 more comic books. i look up a few online and see them valued at $40-$100. i gently transfer them to a new box. treasure: $300? worth of comic books.

box #11: rubber-banded cache of folded-up notes from my ex-girlfriend jennifer. she writes: sorry it took me 4 years to write you back, but my intestines fell out, on the titanic, p.s. i must commend you on your last kiss, oow!. floppy disks with games for my old 386. flag of germany. my eric bogs stationery from elementary school, which i used to correspond with penpals in japan and alaska and brazil. a very wrinkled warning: teenager lives here poster. calvin klein underwear advertisements [hmm...] dot matrix print out of local BBS numbers, with hours of operation and accepted baud rates. l33t! a light in the attic, a witty children’s book given to me by my loving grandma whom i lived with for a few years. keeping that one. more end-of-the-world books, e.g. star bright: planet earth is burning, every hour is now a lifetime! one day soon, there will be no future! colecovision donkey kong junior cartridge. garter belt, presumably from one of my 3 [females] prom dates? d.a.r.e. bumper sticker [dare to keep kids of drugs]. treasure: embarrassing photos, book from grandma.

box #12: my actual boy scout uniform. there are too too many badges on it, and i can’t remember what any of them mean. should i wear it in a doubly-ironic way? you know, making fun of all the gay boys who wear them, making fun of the boy scouts? ooh, and the matching red uniform beret. folded clean handkerchiefs, strange. sunglasses from the tom cruise-in-footloose era. pocket telescope [no longer works]. all of the youth for understanding manuals and paperwork from my trip to germany. big novelty eraser which says my brother doesn’t make big mistakes from my lil’ bro. 4 complete sets of baseball cards, probably worth $20. photo of my girlfriend jen hugging me, i have a naughty smirk on my face. treasure: boy scout uniform, baseball cards, embarrassing photos.

box #13: box of chinese checkers, unopened [what a boring game]. my capsela kit! capsela was the bomb. i used to make remote-controlled boats and robots and cars and all sorts of other things. vhs tape labeled german honors project with barry which was my good friend barry and me pretending to be german on film for 30 minutes. christian children books which don’t look the least bit familiar. dot matrix printout of how to configure ansi.sys in dos. photo of me when i had chicken pox. photo from 16 years ago of kevin [who is now dating my sister] kissing cathy [who visited me in london last christmas and whom i'm having dinner with tonight]. printouts of how to cheat in sim city and have infinite money. copy of pc magazine explaining the features of upcoming windows 3.0. chicago bears earmuffs. treasure: incriminating photos.

box #14: spirit of america remote-controlled boat which i used to race across wolf lake. missing the remote control. treasure: memories of when we lived next to the lake.

box #15: my first silkscreening project… a black sweatshirt with bart simpson spraypainting eric graffiti onto a wall. little league baseball mitt. cross country ribbons [orange means 14th place, i think]. trigonometry notebook. b96 bumper sticker from 1993. membership card to american coaster enthusiasts. my first pair of geeky eyeglasses. treasure: nothing.

box #16: complete set of how it works encyclopedias, as seen on teevee. i remember reading each new issue cover to cover, definitely helps to explain why i’m such a know it all. the “H – Le” edition was my fave. can probably find entire contents at howstuffworks.com. treasure: nothing.

box #18: approximately 25 trophies. they look nice. they make my mom proud. we’ll leave these in the attic. treasure: put back into storage.

box #19: more baseball cards. vhs tapes of when i was in germany, some converted to ntsc. the first cassette tape i ever bought [dick tracy by madonna]. i remember being at the mall with my friend matt and his mom… his mom made me call my mom and ask permission before i could buy it. my address book from before university. more comic books… many worth $40, $110. my admissions letter from caltech, dated on my birthday, with a little handwritten happy birthday! note from the director of admissions.

another letter from my ex-girlfriend jennifer. this one dated just after i started sleeping with her boyfriend, but before he and her broke up. i think i was trying to convince her to break up with him—eek! die fantastischen vier postermagazin. a letter from someone in germany named frank. sheet music for joseph and amazing technicolor dreamcoat. letters from different local organizations that gave me scholarships all those years ago. i owe them all a huge thank you for helping me flee indiana all those years ago. treasure: comic books.

box #20: cassette tapes: teenage mutant ninja turtles, california raisins, m.c. hammer, ghostbusters soundtrack, beach boys. 7th grade leaf collection. more photos from germany, high school. chicago cubs puppet, baseball hats which i’ll be giving to my baby sister. german newspapers. autograph from eric clapton. notebook with all my nintendo passwords. the best one is for faxandu: ipgIAItkCEAiEIQtCEA. you can use it if you’re stuck on level 17. junior achievement awards banquet [i help run a chocolate factory for two years in high school]. elementary school yearbooks. freshman speech on alabama, which starts although most of you probably think alabama is just a state full of whiskey drinking hicks, alabama is much more than that. alabama is a very important and interesting state. stuff from my science fair projects. catechism notes: we are to live as adult christians, saying YES to christ, then we will live as he directs us, caring for others as he did [in my own handwriting]. copies of the nintendo newsletter i made for my friends and my mom photocopied at work. hand-painted ceramic statue of e.t. from my babysitter. treasure: cubs stuff for sis, elementary school yearbooks, nintendo newsletters.

box #21: every photograph, film negative, train ticket, scrap of paper or used kleenex from my trip to deutschland in 1993. treasure: fond memories.

box #22: 100s of copies of video game magazines, and of my favorite catalog, 1001 things you never knew existed where i bought entirely too many magic tricks and practical jokes and spy watches and insect repellents and pocket fishing poles. treasure: memories of playing video games 16 hours a day for most of my childhood.

phew. exhausting. i’m not sure how we’re going to dispose of all of this crap… most of it is books and magazines, i wonder if it can be recycled? i’m taking away a small briefcase full of memories, of photos, of letters, of yearbooks. some cubs memorabilia for my lil’ sis [she's a huge fan, it turns out, her whole bedroom is done up in a baseball theme], and a cache of baseball cards and comic books, with an apparent value of $1000+, but which i’ll bequeath to my lil’ bro to sell.

7 years, 11 months ago
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berlin, part one

shoddy

two weeks, no clubbing, no pubbing, no drinking, no sex, no pulling—a decompression, an escape, a detox. that was the plan for my two weeks in indiana. in all honesty, a straightforward goal which should be easy for eric to achieve.

the second day i’m here, i come out of the shower to hear my brother talking to a friend in his bedroom. i get dressed and wander in to see my brother at his computer, chatting to his best friend jeremy who is sprawled on the bed. i stand there in the doorway, and make a very loud, cartoon-like, gulp sound.

i’d never met him before. he’s tall, skinny, 22. brown hair, pale skin, a bit of facial fuzz and cocky sideburns to match. he’s wearing a black baseball cap, baggy jean shorts, and a belt with stars matching my tattoo. under the sleeves of his tight black freshjive tee, i can see some skater tattoos sneaking down each skinny arm.

exactly my type. no, no, no—it all seems so incredibly taboo, in my brother’s bedroom, in my mother’s house, in suburban indiana. eyeing up a 22yo boy on the dancefloor of a gay club in london is one thing. eyeing up a naive 22yo american friend of my brother’s—in indiana—is downright predatory.

we’re chatting, we’re smiling. i’m trying to play it cool and not come off as the annoying older brother, or even worse as a creepy pedo. he goes to the local community college with my brother, where they both mostly slack off and smoke pot. his parents live just around the corner, but he moved out when he was 17. we laugh when i discover he works at the same dairy queen that i used to. and, yes, some of the same people are working there.

there’s a lull, and he shifts the topic of conversation. so mike says you’re starting up some kinda magazine? i smile, and give him the elevator pitch of what qr is all about. he nods, wide-eyed. i explain how i feel gay youth in america needs a voice, needs a new magazine now that xy is gone. he smiles.

hey, what are you doing this friday? he asks. i turn to michael, and shrug. cuz, this friend of mine… well… this girl i know, her ex-boyfriend… well… this weekend is chicago pride, and we were thinking of going to berlin.

i’d never been to berlin before… i do know, thought, that it’s one of the bigger gay bars in chicago, and also one of the most ‘mixed’. the idea of going there with him and my brother is the most alien concept imaginable. but, knowing that in a few days my clubbing [dancing + flirting + drinking + seducing] itch will need some scratchin’, i tentatively agree.

—

the next day, my sister kimberly comes over, giving me the download on her life while puffing her way through a pack of cigarettes. i brace myself, trying to take it all in—it’s a bit like drinking from a fire hose. when she pauses to come up for air, i mention that i was thinking of going downtown on friday with mike and jeremy.

with no prompting, she blurts out, you know, i think he’s bi, and continues outlining a series of i heard and someone saw statements, conclusively [in my mind] proving that there’s something more to this innocent, heterosexual country bumpkin suburban punk.

—

the following day, i find myself visiting my 94yo great aunt, sitting on her front porch listening to her stories. it’s swelteringly hot heat [90 degrees plus humidity] but she loves sitting out in the heat. i pop into the kitchen to get us some sodas, and peek out the back window, to perve at jeremy painting the back porch.

i casually saunter down, and try to drum up smalltalk, trying to start a conversation, but fail miserably. there’s definitely a divide, perhaps it’s just my own silly interest over this 22yo skaterboy, perhaps i’m just used to having more people to stalk/seduce, perhaps i can’t resist a challenge. we talk a bit about dairy queen, a bit about my brother, but it’s generally just… strained. i leave with my tail between my legs.

—

last night everyone came over for a barbeque… my sister kimmy and her boyfriend kevin, my brother mike and his girlfriend alex. jeremy would be showing up later, with “some girl”. my mom’s made a few salads, made mainly out of mayonnaise, and i put together some kabobs to be grilled up all nice and spicy.

we chow down, we play some music, we drink some beers, we reminisce and catch up and have a great laugh. jeremy and his date arrive, the parentals sneak off to the cinema, and we crank through a few cases of beer. i’m clicking with kate [the "some girl" that jeremy brought] in the kitchen [i'm always in the kitchen at parties], laughing about new york and fashion and highschool rivalries and shut up! i exclaim as i notice her tattoo—the rose from depeche mode’s violator album. i almost want to slap her, i’m so excited.

a few hours later, i [soberly] transport everyone from family-centric suburbia to Another Dancefloor at Yet Another Gay Club, across empty tollroads, zooming past people escaping the taste, with loud music, 2 drunken lads and their 2 drunken dates in the car. i miraculously pull into a parking spot just across from the club, where i’m beginning to think i’m about to explode in a big fountain of sexual frustration.

7 years, 12 months ago
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mind the closing doors

mind the closing doors

the above photo does a decent job of encapsulating what summer in london means to me… commuting into town to meet up with friends for drinking sessions around soho, zipping out to friend’s parties in zone 4 and beyond [not .beyond], waking up in the morning afternoon, having a cup of tea with a stranger and then trying to find your to the nearest rail station to make your way home, or more likely, meet your mates for another late-afternoon brunch.

this bank holiday weekend was the beginning of my bittersweet departure, and of course london snapped instantly into summer mode, just to taunt me and tease me, showing me what i’ll be missing. but, after running into long-lost friends and exes, it’s become abundantly clear to me that, although the years zip by, london will always be here, london summers will always astound, and these same smiling faces [more-or-less] will always be here for me to bump into on the streets.

the love is starting to pour in from my peeps. there are different kinds of love one receives when making a grand departure…

sad love: this is the love you receive from your greatest, closest friends. friends whose lives i affect as much as they affect mine. the people who really don’t want me to leave, even if it’s for the best.

smiling love: these are the pleasant goodbyes, the friendly hugs. these are from my extended circle of friends and acquaintances and exes, who may be sad to see me go, but know that i’ll be back to visit, and are already licking their chops at an excuse to visit los angeles.

romantic love: ignore my previous post about losing my mojo… in the past few days, my heart has been pulled and pushed and wrung and stomped on and is now in a very fickle state. running into long-lost loves, contemplating new romances… everybody seems to want a piece of eric now that he’s leaving. everyone wants what they can’t have.

i’ve entertained friends visiting from new york and paris in the past week, and mumsy is arriving in less than 24 hours. i have lists of lists of to-do lists, my email inbox is overflowing, my mobile has some 80 messages in its inbox [which is normally empty], and i feel like a nap, although i’ve just woken up.

if i stay busy enough, i won’t have to think about the enormity of what saying goodbye really means.

8 years ago
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ojom

i fuck on the first date

the planets disaligned, and for one night my mojo was turned completely upside down. since everyone loves a bit of schadenfreude, here’s a detailed blow-by-blow rundown of my failures for the evening:

chip
we’ve written extensively about my obsession with chip, the 9.9-out-of-10 hottie pseudostraight skaterboy that is consistently yet varyingly mean to me. each of my friends hates him so very much, but i can’t help myself. spent most of friday exchanging alternating flirtatious and condescending text messages with him. that usually works—but not tonight.

mario
i seem to have fallen into this very casual romance with 32yo portugese mario, who befriended me some 5 months ago on the dancefloor of .beyond [the whole pisces/passive debacle]. at 712pm he promises to come over after work. at 1101pm he cancels, saying he’s too tired—tonight i’d only be mario, not super mario.

stuart
remember the hot 23yo ginger ambassador to uzbekitrinistania? after getting drunken text messages from him at 1am tuesday night, 1am wednesday night and 1am thursday night, i figured a friday evening preemptive strike was in order. sorry, eric, i’m out with friends tonight in brum [birmingham] maybe next week? of course, at 1am, he texts me, i’m back, can i stop over?

justin
i receive stuart’s text just after crawling into .popstarz, trying to ensure that kevin and his twinky friend greg have a good time. just after entering, i’m drawn to a tall, all-american lad smiling just next to the cloakroom. americans are a tricky bunch, you see, as most abhor direct flirtation. within minutes, though, justin has his arm around my back as he complains how slutty english boys are. his perfect smile and chiseled face make it easy for me to ignore his khaki shorts and white socks.

we find out that we have a very intertwined history, involving my arch-nemesis from college, justin’s ex-boyfriend, and dramatic backstabbing, mind games and—my favorite—revenge sex! as we put the puzzle pieces together, he leans closer and closer until we’re practically butting heads. 5 seconds of silence. i lean in for a kiss, he backs away, spins, and flees.

i spot him later with a slutty english boy.

toby
dancing in the main room, i see kevin voguing and smiling. i ask if anyone tickles his fancy, and he points to a boy on stage, a floppy moppy lad in a green t-shirt. want me to introduce you? i know him! i tell kevin. he nods and a smirk creeps across his face.

we bound on stage and i approach green t-shirt boy.

what’s your name? i ask.

        he glances at me, then kevin, then me. sorry, i’ve got a boyfriend!

yeah, me too. i’m asking for my friend kevin here, he’s visiting from new york, and he really likes you…

        ooh, okay. my name’s toby.

toby, kevin. kevin, toby.

toby turns back to me, puts his hand on my hip, pulling me close. i’m not interested in your friend so much, but you, eric, well…

he leans in for a kiss. nice.

well, i’d consider leaving my boyfriend for you! he tells me. the boyfriend standing behind him looks like he’s itching to drop-kick me across the dancefloor. kevin and i jump off the stage, crowdsurfing back to safety.

i spot toby a few hours later making out with some troll in a brown shirt, the boyfriend long gone. and by troll i mean equally hot boy whom i embarrassingly tried to instigate a threesome with.

pedro
unphased, i find myself at the bar overly-complexly ordering a straightforward round of drinks. one diet coke and vodka, one jack and coke, one vodka and coke, one more jack daniels and coke. what? huh?

next to me is a dark-skinned cutie with white eyes/teeth/necklace. reaching deep into my bag of awful lines, i ask him,

don’t i know you?

        i think so… he says, eying me up.

what’s you’re name, “again”?

in under 3 minutes flat, pedro unloads his life story on me [spanish, student, homesick], the reasons why he thinks i’m cute [smile, eyes], but how he’s sick of “boys like me” [love 'em and leave 'em]. i kiss him, he smiles, and i walk away.

later, he tries to apologize, but he’s no longer looking cute and desirable. and, he hit the nail on the head… at the moment, i’m definitely behaving like a “boy like me”.

thomas
throughout the evening, a disconnected floating head keeps following me, floating effortlessly across the dancefloors, high above the rest of the smiling faces in the crowd. just after atif finally arrives, around 2am or so, i look up to see the head above me. it’s attached to a very handsome 6’7″ frame. i stand on my tip-toes, but still am not even close to making eye contact with this boy.

he sees me, turns, and gives me a nod. hi, i’m thomas… whenever i go on tip-toe, he goes on tip-toe, just to piss me off. i tell him, i might have to fit you diagonally in my bed, to which he replies, oh, don’t worry, my bed has plenty of room. we both look at our toes in cheesy sheepish embarrassment. i look up for a kiss, we kiss.

i smile, he looks away, and then flees. spot the trend.

greg
i feel a bit pervy writing about this as he’s sleeping half-naked on the couch in my living room right now, but i think i’ve managed to quell my obsession with kevin’s friend greg [aka FlyG] visiting from new york. day one, i found him sweet and innocent and cute. day two, i found him a little bit grating [closely tied to my unreasonable dislike of unworldly americans]. last night i learned of his history with .darian, which had the equivalent effect as being plunged into a tank of freezing cold cod liver oil while watching lesbian porn.

8 years ago
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