So, I think I've been going about the find-a-man thing in all the wrong ways. So, as we all seem to make New Year's Resolutions - screw the hairy bod, nice pits smell, and huge schlong requirements - now I'm going to go for men with furniture that matches my pottery collection. Yup, big fag that I am, I do collect certain types of American Art pottery, and I think this guy pictured here may have more Mission Style furniture for me to put my 1915 Roseville Mostique collection on. Whaddya think?
Oh, remember all that talk about TEXAS and SODOMY a few weeks back? One of the local papers finally got their on-line archives together, and you can read the excellent coverage, starting with Sodomy Returns to Supreme Court, plus a couple other background pieces, all by noted legal scholar Arthur S. Leonard. If you are hungover like me, or don't have time, you really ought to bookmark it and check it out later.
Christmas Eve. Tuesday morning, I woke up, coffee, feeling sorry for myself, as I hadn't made plans for the holiday - but had two errands to run, to two different post offices. The first one had a box of cookies from a very good pal, and I thought to stop off at work and share. Yes, it would be my excuse to drop in on my day off, during the day when Eyebrow Man might possibly could sorta be there. I passed the restaurant on my way to the other post office, noting there was no telltale white midsized truck in the vicinity, and did the long-line at the Post Office on Xmas Eve thing on 14th st. On my way back down Ave A, I think I see a white truck, parked right in front of the restaurant, kinda blocking the bus stop. Now, since my little obsession has started, I've learned that there are approximately 15 mid-sized white trucks on any given block in Manhattan at any given time, so with that in mind, I kept peddling faster anyway. As I crossed the intersecting street, there, I see HIM climbing into the driver's side of the truck. Peddling even faster, I hear the engine rumble, pull up just at the door, with my front wheel sorta blocking the front of the truck. When he sees me, he unrolls the window, a big beautiful smile.
"HEY DADDY!" he exclaims. Wow. So he really did call me "daddy" a few weeks back when I thought I had imagined it! We talk briefly, enough for me to find that he needs to park the truck somewhere legally, but will be back, and I tell him I'm stopping in for a few minutes, and will see him inside. Gosh, it seemed like a long time before he returned, but I open the box of cookies, pass them around, and wait in the take-out area. When he comes in, I first direct him to the cookies on the counter, then we talk a bit. I ask what he's doing that night, he says "no plans" but turns and asks me the same question. I say something about "grabbing some two-4-one beers, feeling sorry for myself" but I smile as I say it, trying to make fun of myself. He asks where, I tell him The Phoenix, and while he doesn't seem to recognize the name, he says something along the lines of it sounding cool. I tell him he should come, and then I head behind the counter to look for something to write on. As I find a yellow-sticky pad, he asks what time I plan on getting there. He grimaces at the hour (midnight) but I write down my name and phone number, hand it to him, and say "make sure you call me later, it'll be fun." I pack up my stuff, and he puts out his paw for me to manhandle, and we shake. "Talk to you later" I say to him, then turn to the other 2 coworkers and say HAPPY CHRISTMAS.
I sailed home, of course, mood lifted immensely. I did laundry (clean sheets), cleaned up around the apartment, and just waited to hear. I felt good about being a bit more aggressive, clearer that I'd like to spend time together. But as afternoon turned into evening, and evening into night, no phone call. I still went out, on the off chance that he might just go without calling, but nope. I had even bought an answering machine earlier in the day, something I had put off doing for weeks, but thought "gee, don't want to miss the call if I'm down in the laundry room."
Since Tuesday night, my moods have swung widely - but mostly in the lower ranges - feeling foolish; feeling stupid for getting my hopes up, depending on some stranger to lift my spirits and provide a few hours or more of joy. And then feeling bad for feeling bad, that old Christmas "there are billions of others who are less fortunate than you" bit; it works well on me. It's totally true, but of course, isn't much consolation (which of course it shouldn't be). The frustrating part is that there is no answer; if not Eyebrow Man, it will be someone else again someday. Someone I will look at and know - it's him. And the anxieties of wondering if that feeling will be mutual, if that curiosity and hunger will go anywhere. It eats me up, drives me mad, I can't stop wondering.
I've been thinking a lot about hands, and lips, lately. Body parts that can never be adequately displayed in any porno scenario, but probably the most important body parts there are. Cliche' for the more usual fantasies involving body parts, but the old saying about it being "what you do with it" is indeed what counts. Because it's the use of them, the touch of his warm hand on your shoulder, the gentle feeling of his lips on the back of your neck, the kisses you give to his dark eyelids - soft, reassuring, ....... yeah, I'm stuck on this guy for a while, I guess. I haven't even seen his lips, they are so buried under that 'stache! It's driving me crazy, and I only hope that the good crazy can help compensate for some of this frustrating, annoying, all-consuming please-lord-give-me-a-lobotomy bad crazy.
Today's clip features another scene from Navy Blue, from Francis Ellie. Very typical of "his" films (actually a team of 2 men, see director's page linked below) - corny dialogue, and loud distracting music; it still "works" if you wanna close the office door and pull out your wanger for a few moments and see that at least Santa gets some this Christmas.
Director: Francis Ellie (1979)
Starring: Jack Wrangler and George Payne; plus Giuseppe Welsh, Brian Ray, Adam DeHaven, Kurt Mann, Snapper Foster, Derek Thurston, and Anna Freed
Director: Francis Ellie (1979)
Starring: Jack Wrangler and George Payne; plus Giuseppe Welsh, Brian Ray, Adam DeHaven, Kurt Mann, Snapper Foster, Derek Thurston, and Anna Freed
Sometime around 2pm, I give in to the urge to have some coffee, and go around to the bar to pour some, and as I'm standing there doing it, I hear a "heya man!" Gosh, I can be so blind. He's sitting there, on the other side of the bar, looking at a menu. The restaurant has huge windows, so behind him is quite a bit of light, framing his swarthy head as I smile and cough out something about him not showing up at the party. He asked how it was, and none of my clever lines came to me about how it would've been better if he were there, or how I got so drunk he coulda... Anyway, we chatted a bit, I couldn't think of any excuse to stay away from my station any longer, so I smiled and returned. After a few minutes of smiling to myself, and hoping like an idiot that he'd come over and talk some more, I poked my head around the corner, but he was gone. No sign of him, no food at the spot where he was sitting, nothing. Sheesh! Maybe he got his food to go again.
I walked around, looked for the truck, and the truck was still there. I maneuvered around to see the cab, and he was in the driver's seat (where else? - hehe), and appeared to be talking on a phone. I just sorta watched until my phone rang, and jumped to take a delivery order. Thankfully, a few minutes later, he was back in the restaurant, trying to figure out where his food was. I just leaned against my counter, giving him a mild "hey buddy" smile, which he returned. Then I noticed this puzzled look on his face, and I was continuing to have this come-over-and chat-with-me look, and he walked over, his face fuzzy and scruffy and hairy and lickable, and asked if I knew of any apartments for rent. I mentioned that my landlady seems to be showing apartments lately, but they wouldn't be cheap, and he said was looking for under 700 bucks. I laughed, and so did he, saying "maybe the Bronx, eh?" Then he said - "or do you know of any available room for rent?" "Well, I could always kick my roommate out." His reaction was hard to gauge, but somehow, I was happy that I was being a bit more myself, flirting a bit more directly. We continued talking, his food was ready (which of course I grabbed and packed for him), and I asked "So, what're you doing for Christmas?" At this point, he was behind the counter with me, about a foot away, and he turned and said, "No plans, just probably do some of this somewhere" - as he gestured a whacking off motion with his right fist! OOOh baby! I bite my lip and only laughed, saying nothing aloud, as he passed by me to grab the package, then he turned and said "Hey, what about you?" "Oh, I don't have plans, I usually see the family in Chicago, but thought it best I be smart and not spend the money, so nope, nothing planned." He paused, scrunched up his eyebrows and seemed to be thinking (hence the scrunched brows), then said "hmmm, you working tomorrow?" I told him yes, at 6. "Oh, you work til 6?" No, at 6, I work nights during the week. "Oh, okay buddy, I'll talk to you then." He puts his hand out for his good-talking-to-you-buddy handshake that I've grown so fond of, grabbed his bag of food, and we shook hands, and he left.
Oh gosh. Even though I know it's a bad idea to get my head going in that direction, and I know enough to be able to tell it's terribly unlikely that he'll stick around til 6pm tomorrow just to talk, or plan something with some guy he barely knows, I figured, WHAT THE HELL. I am going to enjoy the 24 hours of nervous anticipation and allow my self to imagine the most ridiculous possibilities, give myself over to thinking - he looked just as eager to talk to me today as I did to him, but neither of us knew how to do it, what to say, and that's very cool. It could go nowhere; I might not even get my 5-minute visit again til next Sunday, but for now, I can pretend it's one of those awful Christmas specials on TV where the guy gets the guy for one great day together (oh wait, they don't have TV Specials like that). And talking about it and writing about it certainly will jinx it, but who gives a shit. It's fun; he's just so fuckin' munchable - and honestly, the little tidbits I'm picking up about him just make me more and more curious, wanting to learn more, and hopefully (yes, I'm from the Midwest, I say "hopefully," and I end sentences with prepositions, too; now where the hell was I?) just seeing if a friendship, or hot sex, or ferchristfucking sake, both, happen. Wouldn't that be cool?
Doing a few errands today, got some pics I finally developed, a roll that had been in my camera for close to 3 months. Many weeks ago, a gentleman from the west coast asked for a recent face pic, so here's one of the pics I took trying to comply (partnered, 3000 miles away, why do I do these things?). Also, funny enough, in that same roll is actual documentation of when I last had sex here in BJland - 10 weeks and 1 day ago, I asked the man who's balls were in my mouth if he could stand up, lean against the wall, as I pulled open the blinds to get the natural light (I hate using flash) - well, I dropped his balls out of my mouth to make the request, of course, I'm not that talented. Where was I? Oh, he was cool about it, but only let me snap the one pic, so here it is. 
I think he's the only guy I've actually met on CRUISETOOL, the "partnered" guy who wound up standing me up 2 weeks later (twice!) - but despite all that, I'd probably do him again. Really fun in bed, and he's quite into me bossing him around, or at least that's what he said the other day in an email when I told him he had to make up for standing me up.
while I kinda think the democrats might've been better off having Mr Lott in the more visible postion as Senate Majority Leader, if his resigning as Leader means that god-awful nasty man Orrin Hatch will stop whining 24 hours a day, I am happy. (tell me this isn't scarey)
"I am the air that you breathe; I am the blood in your veins."
Director: Peter de Rome (1976)
Starring Tim Kent, Bill Young (aka Big Bill Eld), Thom Aaron, Philip Darden, Paul Eden, Evan DeBraye, Alain Monceau, Billy White, Rick Scott, Gian-Paolo Cotto, and Glenn Middleton
did I mention that after 9 weeks, 5 days and 10 hours, I finally had sex? Good sex, with a handsome fuzzy man in a filthy filthy place. He said he'd like to see me in his bed soon, and gave me his phone number. gulp. haven't been in someone else's bed in god knows how long. I think I remember how, though.
and media coverage. Ugh. Yeah, I know you are supposed to have "balance" - so the dutiful New York Times story included the remarks of a few people who happened to have anti-gay signs on the steps of the Captiol, while the CNN story gave just the bare-bones facts. Of course, I also noticed pigeons crapping on the steps of the Captiol during the vote as well, but the Times failed to report that.
Earlier, at the party, one of the shift managers comes over to me - "What the hell's with you? You do like 40 bong hits before getting here?" True, I was pretty much sitting in that same seat all night long, having stuffed my face early, then allowing whoever wanted to to bring me a beer. Eyebrow Man was a no-show, so my lost-puppy face must've been showing, although fortunately for me, no one would know why. I was glad I went, nonetheless, even though it was fairly boring - I just enjoyed people-watching, how the crews from the 3 restaurants stayed in their own corners for the first 2 hours before the music got louder, the lighting a bit dimmer, a few people danced, and some Mexican guys tried to teach me Spanish (and me sounding just like Pee Wee Herman - "Feliz Navi-blah"). As I tried to leave, that same manager (a very nice guy) tried talking me into joining a few of them at some pool hall. I tried to laugh it off, but said I might, and took note of where they were going. After I left The Cock, I did, in fact, go to 4th Ave and 11th St, but the place was closed - haha, just as well, I didn't really need to embarass myself with a cue stick in front of co-workers. I think I am still a tad tipsy here, and I had hoped to get a few errands done today, my day off. Maybe.
He will no doubt be back later, but I decide not to ask about the Xmas party -- he'll be there or he won't, me asking just feels silly. He may just be a nice, good-looking str8 man, or he might be a nice, good-looking queerboy, but it's work, and I'm not up for complications. A couple hours later, he walks right up to me - "Hey, you going to the Xmas Party tomorrow?" then, "You bringing a guest?" I say yes to the first, no to the second, he seems perplexed and asks Why. "Boring restaurant humor, I wouldn't put anyone through that." The phone rings, a customer ordering delivery, I get a tap on the shoulder as I take the order, he smiles and waves good-bye. Hmmmm.
Name the 3 men here, and get a prize. Assist me in finding 2 other men to re-enact this scene, and get a VERY BIG PRIZE.
well, I tried the cynical, bad mood thing, but a couple of on-line conversations with pals, a friendly pic-exchange with a VERY HOT local bouncer, plus some new, semi-retro dance music forced me to (at least temporarily) snap out of it.
I was gonna describe my night out Wednesday - bumping into a pal, 5 beers, a failed attempt at picking someone up, his pursuit of a 3-way (without ever indicating an interest in sex with me), some weed, 3 great songs at 3:45 that found me smoking that last bit of joint by myself, smiling in the dark, then almost giving my phone number to someone who turned out to be too busy pursuing coke, then slowly walking home, making sure to take the few extra steps to inhale Xmas trees lined up on Ave A - but the shorter version is all I got in me right now.
I think of lines like that, but never in time to use them. I had written my name and phone number down, and headed to the bathroom of The Cock to give it to him. I never do that - hand someone my number who hasn't asked for it. Homicide by 999 was playing, but after I found him, I changed my mind, and that slip of paper is still in my pocket. Gotta get some sleep now..
Then I wanted to go out. Drinking, hunting, searching. Of course, bike is broke, it's 20 degrees out, and it's a Monday night. Somehow, all that forced me to think, and thinking made me realize going home after work was best. Sex, if it was possible, wasn't going to do it; and affection was terribly, terribly unlikely. Any Day Now wasn't too sappy, thank god, the guac and chips were good; then Al Parker and Mike Davis helped me get some sleep. Tuesday was a day off -- some walking around the neighborhood searching for a belated birthday gift for my godchild, no luck except seeing that every trendy campy store has the same JESUS figure from Japan. What would Jesus do? (probably get all giddy about his goddamn upcoming birthday, no doubt, what with all the myrrh) I did some cleanup around the house -- ya know, a freshly washed kitchen floor can make you happy for about 2-3 hours! But it's okay, sadness, depression, blues, whatever you call it, it's a process. If you use it properly, you start to go over the stuff you need to go over, figure some stuff out, make a few small decisions to start with, prepare yourself for other, bigger ones (but don't ask, I haven't even begun to let myself think about those). I watched some videotapes I made about 2 years ago -- gosh, I used the Wish You Were Here album for a lot of whacking off clips! Actually, it was kinda cool, I kinda miss that buzzed head of mine - or maybe it just looks good in blue lighting.
The thoughts spin around, I realize there are a few things in the short run to do to help. Baking usually helps - it doesn't last long, as there isn't the "yummy" sounds from a boyfriend, coworker, or what have you, but the actual baking is therapeutic, makes me think. And the Bronx Zoo. Less than 3 weeks until my membership runs out, I always have a good time up there, especially during the off periods. And I can get some Xmas gifts for the nieces and nephews. But I miss affection, and sometimes wish I wasn't being so picky about sex these days. But other times I know that bad sex isn't always better than no sex, especially when sex isn't really the point. Contact is. And sex without the wonder and dreaming about who this is in front of me just won't do for now.
(is this no-sex thing getting me cranky?)
I'll try to post, or link to, a few pics that show them "modeled"; but these are the 5 that I have in stock, and willing to sell direct for a short while. - e-mail me for pricing, but basically you're looking at 6-10 bucks each, plus U S PRIORITY mail of $4.50 (more if you go over a pound, but that's unlikely).
Speaking of auctions, I'm taking a rest for a few weeks, as I don't really like to do shipping and tracking down bidders as we get close to Xmas. That'll give me a chance to organize some stuff and be ready for selling in January again. I'm always looking for porn donations, of course, just email me if you think you've got something I want. Cockrings. Still have a bunch, any interest in one (or more), e-mail me with questions about prices, pics, etc. - they make great stocking stuffers! I love the 5-snap red leather one, very Xmas-y. (Nice folks get good deals, so don't be shy.)
So this morning, my bike chain falls off as I'm leaving for work, so I re-lock it in front of the building, and walk the 3 blocks to work. Going through the side door, just inside, Eyebrow Man is standing in the stairwell, and says a big "Good Morning!" - yum! I mean, "good morning, man" as I smile but continue going to put my stuff away. Then I don't see him anywhere, and figure maybe he's already left. While doing some prep work for the shift, I'm sorta in my own world, but look up, into the kitchen, and there he is, about 5 feet from me, with a big bowl of whip cream in his hands, and whip cream on his mustache. I shout out "Boy, wish I had a camera!" - puzzled, but smiling look on his face, he asks why, and I just grab at my own mustache, and he laughs, puts a little more whip cream into whatever he was having (at 11 a.m., I might add) and walks out of the kitchen. Now, I know what you're thinking, but thats honestly not what I was thinking. I was like, "cool, he really enjoys food like I do, how great."
A little bit later, only minutes after noticing where his truck was parked, I see that it's gone, and just relax with the silly thoughts of him going through my head, and have a decent day of work. But a couple hours later he's back, talking to the manager about work stuff, and I see he's wearing a sleeveless shirt, exposing his hairy arms, and what might be hairy shoulders! A few minutes later he's over in the take-out side, on the other side of the counter from me, and starts chatting. Something about some mix-up from earlier in the day, I have no idea what he's saying, or why, but he's put his jacket on one of the stools, and is standing just on the other side of the counter, and i can smell him. Light, but good, armpit smell. Mmmmmm. He's talking, a couple of words sound like New Yawk, and I'm just drifitng away, nodding at what I hope are appropriate moments. As the story finishes, I ask if he wants food (often workers get their meals ordered from the "to go" side), but he says he already ordered. Then he asks "Hey, you ever go to Hogs and Heffers?" Um, could you name a scarier straight bar in NYC? I think. But I say something like, "um, no - isn't that on West 13th?" "Really, you never been? it's great - there's a few places over there I like" and he starts naming non-gay bars that I've never heard of. Then he mentions the Hell's Angels, he's heard they have a bar near here, and I am clueless what this guy is trying to tell me. Who knows? He's a truck driver who hangs out in biker bars. He's also the hottest man I've seen in months. Is it straight? Is he queer but, um, likes all that straight shit? Sigh.
Hello!
My name is Rachel, and I am a current college student. This semester I have a class that had a unit ( hehe, she said UNIT) on the sex-trade, and now I am investigating the internet sex trade for my final project. I was wondering if you would be interested in doing an informal interview about the internet sex trade, your role in the internet sex-trade, etc. I am searching for information on how the real life sex trade differs from the internet sex trade, why someone would want to get involved in either, what legalities effect the internet sex-trade, and the emotional and physiological effects of the internet sex-trade. This is purely research, and it will go to enhance the knowledge of my classmates when I give my final presentation. For my final presentation I would like to put together an online panel, via IM, during class where my classmates can ask questions. If you would like to be a part of that as well as an e-mail interview, that would be wonderful.
Please let me know if you are interested in helping me out. I appreciate your time and consideration.
Sincerely,
Rachel
(if i had a nickel for everytime she said "sex-trade"...)
Fratboy1: Is it true that hairy whores like you spend a lot of money on A-200?
BJland: First, whores get paid. Technically, I'm a slut. Back to your question - I buy in bulk.
SororityGirl1: Any special technigues you recommend?
BJland: Learn how to swallow your guy's cock while tickling his butthole with your tongue - it's a very special feeling.
Fratboy2: Is it true that your tricks call your beard a buttbrush?
BJland: Bend over and find out for yourself, jockboy.
SororityGirl2: Um, why do guys who claim to be expert cocksuckers on-line only show a butt pic, but no face? What's with that?
BJland: Very good question, one that has puzzled me for years. Personally, I prefer to see where my cock is going. May I suggest you do some research on that, and get back to me - I know a lot of guys who'd want the answer to that one.
Director: Jack Deveau (1979)
Starring: Larry Paige, John Carlo, Garry Hunt, Chris Michaels, Hugh Allen, Matt Harper (aka Will Seagers), David Littler, and Pepe Brazil; plus George, Frank, Johnny, and Juanita.
Name: head2toes
Location: NYC & L.I.
Sex: Male
Marital Status: married
Favorite Gadgets: compaq
Personal Quote: staight on the streets, gay between the sheets
Can we all say EWWWWWWWWWWWW! together?
Someone recently asked me to post face pics - this is the best I can do with a crappy webcam that I drop-kicked some months ago - but there ya go, took these just after I walked in the door.
And the weather! I had to walk blocks! Past supers shoveling snow, through streets covered in greyish icy slush, my vision impaired by the frosty water gathering on my lenses, but finally I found the right spot to do it. A few quick seconds later, I got up, and noticed a woman about 20 feet away giggling at me. She extended her arm down to her son, helping him get up - he was also making angels in the snow.
Director: Bob Jones (1998) - Starring: Master Chad Maxwell, Jason Ryder, Swanson, and Jared Mason
Some people ASS-ume that since I have a preference for hairy men, that I don't care much for the smoother of my gender. Not true! If Mr Jason Ryder were to show up at my apartment with a box of clothespins, I'd know what to do, believe me. If anyone wants to see a clip from Wanted: Bondage Trainee, lemme know - gotta run to work, but if i get any emails begging for it , I'll get right on it when I get home.
Stars Tracy White and Russ Morgan (and others); from PM Productions.
Love, and loss. Such a beautiful rendition of this song, Ev'ry Time We Say Goodbye, I figured the excellent video from Annie Lenox and RED HOT should be seen, as well. Such a universal theme, and how strong the emotions regarding both fill your heart at this time of year, remembering the ones you love, the good times, the hard times.... I ran in to 2 old ACT UP-ers this week, guys I hadn't seen in years. One had the distinction of chanting "FIGHT AIDS, NOT ARABS" on the CBS Evening News in January of 1991; the other, just your typical hard-working cute activist from those days. A bit of the old-days talked about, wondering if much of what went on back then could ever be done in this current anti-terrorism climate (would anyone be brave enough to try and hang an ACT UP banner from the Brooklyn Bridge these days?)
Anyway, I did take a look at some potential posts of porn movie trailers last night - a few had me screaching out loud at 2 a.m., my poor neighbors! How clever these voice-over guys must've thought they were saying "Cumming soon to this theatre" as the video shows hard throbbing cock shooting load after load.... gotta run., but look for one or two of those soon ( I said LOOK, I didn't necessarily promise I'd actually post...)
(ok, its 3 a.m. and I ain't as clear as I'd like to be, but this is a BIG deal).
Last night went to a RED HOT event, for the RED HOT + RIOT album. You might expect some fancy Manhattan party, and while the club itself was, the beauty of the event was that it was very grass-roots; a table selling raffle tickets, my pal Jeff selling the FELA CD and vinyl, someone else selling hand-made jewelry - all benefitting CRH in Nigeria and AID FOR AIDS. We saw Red Hot + Riot: Encounters with AIDS in Africa about the AIDS pandemic in Africa, with a special focus on the life of singer/activist Fela Kuti (will also be shown Dec 3rd at GMHC), and a healthcare worker from Nigeria, studying here in the States, spoke about her work, and what she hoped to accomplish with her degree when she returned to Nigeria. They do tons of events like this, all over the world. I felt very proud of my pal Jeff for all his continued hard work with RED HOT.
We were hurrying up 2nd Avenue, trying to get home, and to the rooftop, in time. But as we walked along Stuyvesant Park, I could see the lights of the Empire State Building dim. We stopped at a clearing, and the few buildings we could see from street level had begun going dark. Snapped out of our momentary pause, we hurried to 18th St., and up to the roof. It was the first "Day Without Art/Night Without Light" (Day Without Art had begun the year earlier), and it was indeed spooky to see the New York City skyline darkened. As the lights clumsily came back on, that too was eerie - how odd it was that the lights coming back on didn't signify some great event like the lighting of great skyscrapers ought to. We left the rooftop after brief but tight hugs, and settled into Phil's apartment for the RED HOT + BLUE t.v. special.
The album had come out a few months earlier, I think, but this was national television, and we were anxious to see what the artists would do visually, and what sort of safe sex and AIDS awareness messages would finally be broadcast to a mass audience. Neneh Cherry's I've Got You Under My Skin was visually amazing, the stark blue/black lighting, the thumpthump pulsing of the bass (but we did giggle at the dancer in his skintight latex outfit and his fringed mask). Iggy Pop and Debbie Harry's Well Did You Evah was fun, K.D. Lang's So In Love was stunning. Simple, as she dutifully washed/sterilized someone's clothes, but as she hung up a woman's slip on a hanger to dry, and ever-so-briefly carressed it, we all turned to each other with our jaws dropped - one or two years before her "official" coming out! Memories of each video, or Richard Gere giving brief, digestable facts are kinda vague 12 years later, but it's still difficult to watch the Erasure video. We were all pleasantly surprised to see this light-hearted song, Too Darn Hot, use footage from several ACT UP demonstrations, with faces we knew being dragged off by police, big banners with redpaint (blood) splattered; but still, the emotions are still churned up knowing how many of thse folks aren't here today. And of course none of us could help crying during Annie Lennox's Ev'rytime We Say Goodbye. But when it was over, there was this quiet empty feeling. Yes, it was good, yes it was long overdue. But would it help? Would friends regain their health? Would the bigotry and misinformation end? Somehow I managed a few years of screaming at buildings, and learning chants, and risking arrests at demonstrations, some volunteering thrown in, but by the end of 1994, whatever advances that might have been going on didn't seem to affect the people closest to me. Dave died in November. The first few months of 1995 involved a very close friend getting sick, his friends struggling like little children, clueless how to help, he couldn't handle it anymore, Rick died. I don't have a "keep trying" message, words of wisdom or "play safe" slogans. Writing this just reminds me how angry, sad and bitter I am.
(oops! sometimes i confuse pornography with obscenity - i'll try to get back to the pornography soon....)
