I was going to make a comment on the overuse/misuse of the word evil but I don't think I can really define it. I do, however, know it when I see it. Congrats on the new job, Mr.Kissinger, I eagerly await the whitewash.

(oops! sometimes i confuse pornography with obscenity - i'll try to get back to the pornography soon....)

Holiday Reminiscing

Once I hopped on the bike with my 12-pack tucked under one arm, heading off to t-day dinner with 2 good friends, I started to think a bit more about my post from Thursday afternoon. I mention a best friend, and while "best" is accurate (compared to other friendships, I hung around, talked to, etc., with him the most) it wasn't what you might think. We were best friends at school, but I can't remember us doing much of anything together outside of school for those 2 years we were best friends, 7th and 8th grade. Meanwhile, at the end of 5th grade (age 11), during summer break, I enrolled in summer school classes at a local High School, sort of a place to send kids from the area who I guess weren't doing the sports thing, and I took Current Events, and a few other classes I can't remember. The first day of class, there I was in the assigned homeroom, with about 15 girls filling in the other desks. The classroom continued to fill, and oddly enough, I was still the only other boy. Finally, at the doorway, a boy showed up - he looked around the room, scoping things out, and then came over and sat next to me. We quickly became friends for the summer. And for the next 2 summers, we both attended this summer school, and tried to sign up for the same classes (once we even did a Presidential debate - he was Nixon; me of course, McGovern). He lived in another part of town (but still South Side) so during the regular school term, we only occasionally talked by phone, but never saw each other in person. Graduating from grade school, my parents insisted I go to the so-called best High School in town, all boys, and it scared the crap out of me. Of course, High School anywhere scared me, as I am fairly fearful of change, then and now. The good news, my pal from summer school was also enrolling in the same High School.

This was the boy who would become my true Best Friend. I turned him on to pot when we were 16; he asked about my sexuality when I barely understood it myself (and was the only person I was "out" to for years); I saw one of my first concerts with him (Bootsy Collins Rubber Band), he had a years-long crush on one of my sisters. Graduating was tough, as I had settled on a school in Alabama, and he was going to the West Coast (where my first 3 choices of college were located, actually). But we stayed in touch, hung out during Xmas breaks, and summer breaks, and still referred to each other as Best Friend during those years, and even later when I moved to New York, and he eventually made his way to Boston for Grad School.

Have I ever mentioned my addiction to Lifetime? You know, "Television For Women" - Lifetime, the cable channel. I often joke about it, as it's mostly the made-for-TV movies that I watch. But in the last few weeks, I have gotten into a bit of a routine late at night. I get home, read some emails, check auctions or webpage stats, and by 1 a.m. I am watching CNN, then switch to Lifetime for Any Day Now at 1:30. I had watched it only occasionally before, having liked the black woman star from her recurring role in older Law and Order episodes as the feisty public defender, but was a bit disappointed at what seemed to be a more lightweight character in this newer series. But when I'd watch, I always enjoyed it, and recently, getting to see 3 or 4 episodes a week, the friendship between the 2 woman - the subtleties, the arguments, the understandings without speaking - I've grown to really love this show. If you know the show, you know it's a white woman and a black woman, in modern day Birmingham, Alabama, but the show also includes storylines in each episode of their growing up together in the segregated South of the 60's. Last night's episode dealt with how, as close as they both are to each other, race is still a huge issue, and affects them quite differently. And it occurred to me that that is another huge reason why I enjoy the show. Sure, sometimes it's sappy, and some things do seem to resolve too easily, but the friendship challenges each woman, and "the race issue" isn't dealt with in one episode, tidied up, and they move on. And some of the stories of their childhood are the most compelling to me. I know, I know, who likes reading about someone else's favorite TV shows. And while my life was nothing like theirs back in the 60's, (I think the characters are perhaps just a couple years older than me) it is the only show I know of that deals with one of the big issues of my childhood (Civil Rights, race relations, etc) and ties it in to how far we have, and have not, come since then.

So, sometimes when I see the conflicts the two women have in understanding each other, it reminds me of my 30-year friendship with my Best Friend from my youth. These days we only see each other at the Holidays when I go back to Chicago (he settled back there several years ago), and not necessarily each year. So we aren't Best Friends anymore, how could we be with so much time and distance between us? But, remarkably, we can slip very comfortably into conversation about just about anything when we do see each other, and last Christmas, having dinner in a restaurant, of course race relations in the great city of Chicago came up. And we argued. And it was heated. At one point, he looked at me and said "how many black people are in this restaurant?" As I started to look up, he said "no, don't look, just tell me" I guessed 5 or 6. He said I wasn't even close, that he was the only one in the restaurant, and that he knew that as soon as he walked in the door. We talked about hypersegregation, how blacks and whites still don't mix socially, about how we still we never see the world the same way, how fucked up things are. It saddened me; it angered him. His anger made me angry, and defensive, but we stuck it out, not resolving anything, just kept talking and disagreeing and I got some understanding that perhaps towards me it's not so much anger, but frustration - that you can be close to someone, and yet experience things so differently, and hate having to explain yourself over and over - for decades, in our case!

We left the restaurant, it was late; we had talked about going to a bar (he's usually nice enough to let us go to a gay bar where I'll be more comfortable) but decided to head home, and we got in his car and headed back to my Mom's place where I was staying. Having gone only a few blocks, we hear a siren, and lights flash. A cop, behind us. My pal pulls over, visibly angry, but once the cop got to the window, very polite, formal, answering questions, showing driver's licence, etc. Everything was done slow and meticulously, it seemed odd to me, but I was getting it eventually. Black man, nice car, white neighborhood. We tried talking about it after the cop left, but he couldn't - shaken, angry, saddened, and I think also embarrassed - he acted respectfully and formally to the cop, but it clearly enraged him that he could not question the cop, the public servant, about what the fuck he was doing and why. Here we were, two 40-year old men, being treated like guilty teenagers.

The next day I called, only to get the answering machine. I remember telling my family later that night, and without explaining, just when they heard "cop pulled us over" they knew. They were angry, and sad for my friend, who we've known for 30 years, who put himself through Stanford and Harvard and has done community service jobs all his life, is the smartest man I've known, works his tail off - but is still seen as someone who shouldn't have that car, and be in that neighborhood.

'Be Thankful For What You've Got'

Things you regret; things you're thankful for. Back in the early 70's, 8th grade, Miss Davis my teacher had proudly put up her Black History Month display on the bulletin boards, huge banner proclaiming "TO BE YOUNG GIFTED AND BLACK". It looked great - artists, poets, freedom fighters, etc, - their pictures and bios displayed on large multi-colored construction paper. As I took my seat, one of the other students nudged Miss Davis, looked over in my direction, and whispered something. I didn't think much of it until later in the day, after going to other classrooms for other classes, then returning to my homeroom with Miss Davis. The banner had been changed. Now it read "TO BE YOUNG GIFTED AND BLACK, and WHITE" Oh crap. I was so embarrassed. Perhaps horrified is a better desription.

It was the early 70's, my family lived on the South Side of Chicago ("the baddest part of town" as you Jim Croce fans might remember), and the neighborhood was going though "the change." When we first moved there, it was an all white neighborhood, moving into a cute house my mother had grown up 5 doors down from, always hoping to some day live there. Then the first Black family moved in, a nice quiet middle-aged couple with no children. Then the panic set in, the whisperings about when people would be moving (not if), my parents seeing their friends less and less for no discernable reason to us kids, not at first. The Catholic school I went to had been all white when I started in kindergarten, but by 5th grade, there were only 5 white students in my class, and by 8th grade, I was the only white kid in my class. My brothers had moved on to high school, my sisters (one grade younger) were in some experimental small school. My best friend was black, and was taunted for being my friend. Needless to say, some of the kids weren't nice to me ("honkey" being a popular word in the early 70's), but overall it was still a good school, the teachers were great, and I didn't miss my old friends who turned out to be bigots. Our parents never explicitly talked to us about why we stayed, even after the loss of all of their old friendships. And I didn't always tell them about every little incident at school, and this one bothered me.

For whatever reason, somehow I had felt lucky to have been given this opportunity, not to run from "the change" in the neighborhood, but to stay, meet new and different kids (you can imagine the hairstyles, I'll have to share a class photo), and one of the best things was kids bringing their records to school, and even singing pop songs in church - even the nuns got into the "making it relevant" movement, and one of my all time favorites was Be Thankful For What You've Got. Anyway, I just remember thinking "oh, Miss Davis, you shouldn't have done that, its okay, I understand, don't ruin the message just to try to make me feel ok...." but I never spoke up, 13-year-old me. Many years later, home for the holidays from college, I told that story to my parents, how bad I felt for not speaking up, but how happy I was that they were wise enough to have us stay put in our neighborhood, despite how hard it was for them, and sometimes us kids, and give me those memories and amazing lessons about life.

work

good, bad, ridiculous. The shift started off fairly slow, I was bored, and my usual antsy ready-to-serve mood, chattering like I'd just had 3 cups of coffee, straightening stuff out. I knew I had to settle in and just read or something to pass the time, as it's the day before a holiday, it will most likely be a slow night. So I settle in and continue to read Holidays on Ice, have my first few chuckles, and off to the side (from the restaurant side) a man approaches, huge smile saying something like "HEYA DADDY-O!" He most definately didn't say that, but more likely got my name wrong and it just sounded like Daddy-o, but it was Eyebrow Man, walking past me behind the counter, and around to the front, to look in the mirror and comment that he lost his leather cap. I of course said a big hello as well (no reference to daddies, though), he gestured towards his coat as he seemed to be talking to no one in particular, opened it to reveal a sloppy white t-shirt with some sort of big logo I couldn't read fast enough, pointed at some paint on the inside of his coat, zipped up, and said something about a Happy Thanksgiving to everyone. It all happened so fast, him swooshing past me, only inches away for a brief second (I estimate the distance at 8 inches, an "educated" guess), then stopping in front and blabbering about something I couldn't quite understand as I was kinda stunned and staring (and hopefully not drooling). Only 2 nights earlier a friend had emailed that just maybe Eyebrow Man had been hanging about on purpose. NAWWWWWW! was my reply, of course, but this made me wonder. Nothing clear, but still that happy gee-maybe-he's-queer-and-better-yet-interested thoughts that gave me the calm smile I enjoyed for a few short hours.....

Sometime after 10pm, one of the guys who sometimes does deliveries, sometimes busses tables, etc, came into the takeout side, and was just acting a bit goofy. As it was slow, and my co-worker had already left the take-out side for the night, this guy took up space in front of one of the computer terminals. I had left my station for a few moments, came back and he had some weird screen up, and I just reached over and said NO, and closed the screen off. He mumbled something in Spanish - he knows barely any English at all, I know NO Spanish at all. A few moments later, a couple of other guys come over, they start kidding around with each other, but all in Spanish. At one point I try to interject something, a lame joke, no one reacts initially, and the guy who had first come in says "Maricon, Maricon, Maricon; Punta punta punta" and the three all titter and guffaw. Probably directed at me, and probably with the "he-doesn't know Spanish it won't hurt" intention, but you can't live in New York for more than 2 weeks without knowing those words. Pissed me off, but I let it go, figuring what the fuck, why make a scene, he's an ass. 10:30, 3 rather drunk guys come in, approach the counter, laughing and stumbling over each other, and try to place and order, one repeating or one-upping the other. Eventually they get the order clear, I punch it into the computer, he gives me his credit card, i ring in through and have him sign the slip, telling him it will be about 10 minutes. Thankfully, the drunks go outside into the cold to wait. Meanwhile, the Spanish-speaking co-workers had meandered away, but soon had come back. The drunks came back in, I told them it would be a few minutes. Then the order was ready, and one of the delivery guys packaged it, and called out the order, handing it to the guy who had placed the order. One of his friends see the obvious Hispanic-looking guy doing this, points to his friend grabbing the package and says "this guy here, he MARICON!" laughs, gets a laugh from my co-workers, and says it twice more. I'm standing on the other side of the counter, but barely 18 inches away, and say loudly: "You know, some people find that word to be very offensive" He shrinks away as the pal who was being called the name says "what he say, what does it mean??" Continuing to be loud, I said "It means FAGGOT, and it's quite offensive" I see everyone look down at their shoes nervously, as the customer says "Oh Jeez, he didn't mean it, he's really drunk, gosh I'm sorry, he didn't mean it, I'm really sorry" and they all leave. Meanwhile, all 3 co-workers, the Spanish-speaking guys, have slowly walked away, into the restaurant.

I'm alone, but for 2 customers a few feet away waiting for their food, a bit shaken, but glad I spoke up. I have no idea what the Spanish-speaking guys think, I don't know if I really care much, but I keep hearing my own voice saying "faggot" loudly, angrily. A half hour passes, not much activity but for me doing my nightly cleaning up, and as I sit back for a moment to relax, a waitress and the night manager are over in my area doing some of their clean-up, and she looks down and says: "Are you wearing two differnet shoes?" Of course I look down and say "NO", then look again, and she is right; we all 3 burst out laughing. Two different worn-out Timberland boots. When I leave shortly after midnight, the Spanish-speaking guys are still hanging around, at a table, drinking beer. I didn't say goodnight, neither did they.

So, everybody has the day off tomorrow, and the Phoenix has $1.00 draft (Bud) tonight. I get off work around midnight, and could bike home, change out of my work t-shirt, then be there by 12:30 and...... hmmmm. The folks I used to hang out with are mostly paired off, or don't do the bars anymore; strangers will stay that way (I rarely approach anyone in a bar) - they are all much younger, anyway. So I could down a beer or two, stare at the juke box, then head down to House of Regrets and spend 10 bucks to pace back and forth. Weird mood today, contemplative. I honestly have lots to be thankful for, and tomorrow will be spent with 2 good friends plus maybe 2-3 others I don't know. Reading a few blogposts that really rubbed me the wrong way - as I haven't completely settled on how I feel about them, only that the callousness displayed is rather unsettling. One post is a stranger, and yes, a young one, which I would usually dismiss, but can't. The other two are guys I've met, and like, if only casually. Well, this is all very vague, but my apartment is a mess and no time to flesh this out at the moment.

Grrrrrr. I can't get the music clip below to work (update: it works now), so let's just try some Chi Chi LaRue for a diversion while I work out the technical difficulties. This is the briefest scene from BACKSEAT B.J., a video I just happened to have posted on eBay today. I remember back in the early 90's, when Chi Chi was churning out tons of not-so-good videos - same formula - suck suck, rim rim, fuck fuck, and then the camera would move from the models off to some inanimate object, like a vase, a window, and then fade out. It used to drive me crazy, and I just couldn't bare (bear?) watching. Then, Boot Black II came out, had one of my all time faves, Aiden Shaw, plus Cliff Parker (slurp!), so I rented it despite it being another Chi Chi video. WOW! She had come a long way. Technically it was so great - finally someone was using lighting, music, sound, and snappier editing to create a more sensuous, not just sexual, feel, to a porn movie again. Now of course, many of those techniques are overused these days, but it was good to see the growth in her videomaking. Now where was I? Oh yeah, this clip from Backseat B.J. (gotta love the title, eh?), an all oral movie is a great example of the proper use of a totally black background, with simple primarly colors for the model's clothing.

I lock up my bike, take the few steps toward the restaurant, a few minutes early for work, as usual. As i get to the door, who is kneeling, on the ground, in front of me?????

Eyebrow Man!!

I stop, knowing a body next to his might get his attention, and he turns his head up, we both smile widely and say "hey man." I open the door and report for work, he continues painting the front of the restaurant. After I settle in behind the counter, he walks in, comes toward the counter, not sure who to address (my co-worker who does the deliveries works right beside me) as he asks for some money "for the truck." I giggle like a, well, no, I giggle like me, a real butch giggle, of course. I reach in the cash register and pull out 50 cents, place it in his hand as our eyes meet, my heart melts, he says thanks, and goes back to the outside of the restaurant, his baggy jeans slowly walking away from me, filling my imagination.

I walked down the stairs and turned the corner, and there he was. "Swarthy" might be the best one-word description, but a lot more words were immediately floating through my head. I stopped right next to him, smiled, and turned my head around the corner to catch my boss's attention, but he was on the phone. We both stood there and waited patiently. I figured he was a vendor of some sort awaiting payment. He was dressed in jeans, one of those hooded sweatshirts and jacket over it, maybe an inch or two shorter than me, and probably about 20 pounds heavier. But his face was what I tried hard not to stare at. He put out his hand, introduced himself, we shook, I told him my name. I immediately forgot his, as I often do. His face. Big, thick, full goatee, which he pet and stroked while we both stood waiting to get the attention of the boss. Dark, I almost expected him to be Hispanic like many of the workers here, but his accent was clear English, with a hint of, hmmm, Brooklyn? Queens? Deep dark eyes, and what really grabbed my attention, his eyebrows. The fullest, thickest, most munchable eyebrows I had ever seen, sitting just below his leather cap, I did my best not to appear to stare. Then I noticed his forearms - also hairy - dark, furry arms that made me wonder what his belly, legs, and chest hairs might look, and feel, like. The boss finally got off the phone, talked briefly to this guy, then handed me my "bank" and I left, saying something lame and unimaginative like "bye."

A week or two later, I was working a Sunday day shift, filling in for someone, and there he was, at the bar, eating something. Hmmm, maybe he works at one of the other restaurants (I think we have 3 in Manhattan). Sleeves pulled up, revealing those delicious forearms, I passed by just to get a credit card checked, and returned to the take-out side, not able to see him any longer. But my thoughts were full of him; how I'd playfully chew on those thick eyebrows (I'm not kidding, they're like bushy dark brown hamsters sitting atop his eyes!), gently kiss his dark eyelids as he slept beside me, snuggle my face between his neck and strong shoulder..... I didn't even think of sex, per se, or wonder about his genitals - it was the face that I knew I could stare at forever, the thick warm body I could cling to for hours at a time.

Yesterday morning I get to work - now I will be working Sunday days every week - and I get to the basement to get some supplies I'll need for the day, and there he is, talking to some of the Mexican staff who work in the kitchen. Gulp. I get the stuff I need, hoping to get out of the supply room fast enough to get one more look. I pass by, and just as I begin to walk up the stairs I turn back, and see that he has turned slightly and our eyes meet for the briefest second as we both keep going. Naw, he didn't purposely turn to see me, did he? Maybe a half hour later I see him on the ground floor, in the restaurant, talking to the manager, then he leaves. Nope, nothing there. But I'm smiling, just having the fresh memory of that face. Probably straight, hopefully clueless what I'm thinking, but the handsomest man I've seen in a long time. The day progresses slowly, uneventfully, as I get along well with the delivery guy assigned to me for dayshifts. A little bored, I go into the restaurant side to refill my paper coffee cup at the bar, and Eyebrow Man is sitting there, right on the other side of the coffee pot, eating. I smile weakly, in acknowledgment, but careful not to smile that way and he semi-acknowledges me. While I am happy to get another closer view of his handsome, rugged, kissable lickable face, I worry that I may be too obvious. I don't like the idea of making someone nervous or uncomfortable, especially a coworker (granted, I've only seen him 3 times in over a month), and I quickly go back to my take-out side. A few minutes later, while gazing out the window to the street, I see him cross, and get into a big white truck. Is this some fantasy porno-romance novel I'm writing? Swarthy handsome truck driver teases horny middle aged man until he can't take it any more? I stare out across as he gets in, his beautiful head moving slightly to look for traffic, and I notice the delivery guy looking at me, wondering what has caught my eye, so I shift a bit so as not to appear to be staring, drooling at the vision across the road. Eyebrow Man pulls away, my heart very slowly begins to settle back into its normal beat, and I sit back behind the counter.

Rydar Hanson

Well, either we have a lot of Hanson fans out there, or a bunch of you just love your Photoshop! Thanks guys for the cleaned-up pic of Ryder (you can stop sending now...) - I'm guessing it's a still from Chain Reactions (sadly, a video I had that was all f**ked up and unplayable); I really don't think it's from Faces, even though the boxcover of that one shows him in leather pants (chaps?). I just watched another video with him in bike shorts....

Now, where was i?

oh yeah - Rydar Hanson. Usually when casually mentioning an 80's porn star, i'd link to maybe the HIS Video page dedicated to the star; but that page sucks. Sure, it has a few of his videos, but not even half of his output. Born Wolfgang Praegert in Germany in 1957, he died of AIDS in 1989. Lightly hairy, uncut, beautiful body, incredibly edible ass (which I might add was never fully given its due on film or video) he was a typical 80's pornstar, in a couple good videos, but poorly utilized in most - (bad sex, bad lighting, awful editing, you got the idea). To see a fuller listing of the video titles, you should check out this relatively new, but fantastic site I learned of only the other day, Woody's Gay Video Erotic Index. Fantastic cross-referencing of pornstars, video titles, and directors, I've spent hours the past couple of days looking up info. And, the WEBMASTER contacted me and asked for some help if I see errors or missing info, so I'm only too happy to add my 2 cents. Check it out, and send the guy a note if you are enjoying his hard work!

Back to the video box cover below (yesterday's brief post) - that's Hanson on the cover,all decked out in leather, looking pretty tasty (although I don't think he's wearing that outfit on this video). It's one of those compilation videos put out by Magnum Griffin, an interesting company from the 1970's that i know little about. Their actual 1970's output was great - a bunch of magazines, high-quality photography, beautiful men including Jack Wrangler, and some great loops - 10-15 minute films ( the voice-overs were laughable, best to be turned off if you wanted to get off). By the 80's, when video was hitting big, they released these loops on tape, packaged usually an hour's worth - so they included 4-6 clips. But only Volumes 1-5 or 6 seem to be their own, original work, and something like Vol 9 shown below is a mish mosh of 70's and 80's stuff (I haven't looked fully, but it has the Jack Wrangler whack off scene from Kansas City Trucking, the Rydar Hanson/ Eric Stryker scene from Thinking Big, and several others. (Yes, soon to be available for purchase on eBay, once I preview it and take note of all the scenes).

Oh yeah, I definately need to learn Photoshop - that boxcover pic would look great with all the words deleted, and cropped just below his nicely unsnipped cock, doncha think?

you know I hate to go a day without posting, but i'm tired and hungry. SO let me get some food, change my PUBLIC pic on CRUISETOOL and pretend I'll get some emails, relax, and come back later with my thoughts on this pic, Mr Hanson himself, and other related and semi-related thoughts.

When we think of early 70's gay porn, we often think of Wakefield Poole, Jack Deveau, and Fred Halsted. But by 1971 Jaguar Films, headed up by Barry Knight (who produced many of the Salem cigarette ads of the day), began to produce full-length feature films with young men and, yes, interesting plots. Skinny, young, long-haired types aren't my taste, but it is fun to look back 30 years and see that there were folks bold enough to make these films. Here's one.

The Experiment

"They'd been good buddies all their lives, but for one night they were going to be lovers. They'd get a little drunk, and they'd explore every sexual variation two guys have ever encountered together. And tommorrow they would forget - The Experiment. Or would they?"

Director: Gorton Hall (1973)
Starring: Dave Craig, David Blair, Eva Faye, Gorton Hall, Jimmy Hughes, Joey Daniels, Mike Stevens, Peter Thomas, Robert Weaver, and Tony Ross .

talented bottom

6 weeks

For those of us counting, it's been six weeks since I've had sex. (NO! That hairy p---y/lubejob incident at House of Regrets 10 days ago doesn't count - I left the booth without getting off.) Anyway, it's not freaking me out like I would think, but since i am a pragmatic man, I figured just in case the opportunity should arise, so to speak, I may need some tips. Even the best of us get rusty, so I popped in a tape I am selling on eBay, The International Guide to the Fine Art of Fellatio, to get some help from macho-voiced Michael Braun (just listen to the way he says COCK-K).

The International Guide to the Fine Art of Fellatio

"They want it so bad, they look up at you like a cocker spaniel"

(1989) Starring: Michael Braun, Lon Flexx, T.J. Anderson, Eddy Crane; introducing Craig Anderson, Ted Cox, and Brian Travis