Hot CawfeeBoy in the City

i hate the heat of New York in the summertime. i curse my great great grandparents for thinking this was a swell place to hang their hats; clearly after the scorching sun of Sicily, New York must've been a swell change of climate, but for someone who was born here, the 950 temperatures and 98% humidity thing is fairly intolerable.

the minute the thermometer reads above 75, i start to sweat. not the light and attractive glisten of the average man, mind you. i sweat like my hirsute and swarthy fore-fathers sweat: buckets upon buckets from every pore of my body. what's left of my hair sticks to my forehead like a woman in labor and my clothes start to stick to me in the most inconvenient and unattractive of ways. by the time i get to work (it usually takes 2 hours door-to-door), i look like i've worked an entire 8 hour day. the shirt i took special care to iron, winds up a wrinkled and sweat darkened rag. i've tried a large panorama of antiperspirants, to no avail; my atomic powered sweat-glands overtake even the most ardent of sticks, roll-ons, and aerosols. as you can imagine (and most of you reading this can attest) it's quite unpleasant to witness.

it always boggles my mind when i see people walking around the streets of manhattan looking like they've just stepped off a runway or have an air conditioned bubble surrounding them, while i stand there looking like Willie Lohman after a particularly horrible weekend. don't these people have sweat glands? are they androids? mannequins? sometimes i really despise this city.

"Sometimes I get bored riding down the beautiful streets of L.A. I know it sounds crazy, but I just want to go to New York and see people suffer. "~Donna Summer

CawfeeBoy Ink

i think i'm ready for another tattoo. People told me, when i got my 1st one that they were addictive. i thought that was a joke. i mean c'mon how does one get addicted to PAIN and INK. well here we are. i'm feeling an itch that's saying, "just one more...maybe on your arm...".
i said that the Phoenix that's on my right calf was going to be the last, but now i look at it and i'm thinking that it needs some flames on the bottom, or perhaps some more adornment AROUND it, something that showcaes that is IS a Phoenix, and not a chicken or airplane as my father thought. if i do go for further adornment of a pre-existing tattoo, does it count as ANOTHER tattoo or is it just a continuation of the afformentioned one? i think i'm going to go with the former opinion and think that if i DO get another one, which i think i do, it'll be my 3rd. but will it be my last? hmm...

"Nowadays every girl with a henna tattoo and a spice rack thinks she's a sister to the dark ones"~ Willow (Buffy the Vampire Slayer)

Proud

ok, this is a couple of days after the fact, but bear with me: it's been a tough week at work...

This year's was one of the best Pride parades i've been to. mind you, i have only about 5 to compare it to. the last few i went to were fun: it was hot; the men were hot. it was sunny; the men were scantily clad. it was loud; the Dykes on Bikes were there, tits to the wind. it was emotionally moving; there were men with incredibly broad and hairy chests walking about in leather thongs. every year, for the last 5 (and i'm sure for the 30 parades prior to them). anyway, back to this year...
as you may have read in my previous post Letter to a Candidate, we started our journey at the Ferry. the ferry terminal was JAM packed with Pride Pilgrims, all making their way to Manhattan for the parade. it was nice to see all the people who didn't show up for SI Pride (Sissies and Trannies and Lezzies, Oh My!) turn out for this. Quite a few were dressed up for the occasion: Rainbow from Head to Toe. it was truly fabulous. Anyway, we got to 23rd and 5th at around 10:30 and there we stood for the next 7 hours.

This parade and spectators were so different that what i've seen in the past. Stephen says it's on account of the rain ("Fags don't get wet. They spend too much time and money on Product to let it get messed up by rain"). Perhaps he's right, because there were alot of lesbians (sorry girls, but it's true: you don't use anything in your hair) and gay men that had a very Get Up and Go look. it was nice! there wasn't any attitude, bronzer or designer sunglasses. There were alot of families marching; childeren everywhere you looked, holding the hands of one of their two mommies or daddies. Everyone seemed genuinely excited to be there; hooting, applauding and cheering despite the occasional rain. the crowd gave off such a good vibe that i was sad not to be marching.

As for the parade itself, it was really well done. The floats and revelers weren't gaudy and over-sexed like the last couple of years (note the conspicuous absence of the Altoids float). the drag queens seemed almost dignified. sure the **ack** Gay College Party float was full of the usual adolescent Tina-Queens and some strung out looking DJ, but do we expect anything less? they were balanced out by the gay Homeless youth organizations and the Harvey Milk School. the usual politicians were there, Mike and Hill etc **gag** again, do we expect less? not really. it was fun to see all the gay friendly churches and organizations. i'm always mystified by the gay football players, boatmen, horseback riders and volley ball teams; i know we like balls but c'mon! it's always great to see PFLAG and gay Police Officers and Firefighters. Hours later (after the Gay acrobats, tumblers, octogenarians, nudists, Indians, Asians, Africans, Haitians, Dominicans, Brazillians, Mexicans, and the only 4 out and proud teachers in NYC) my favorite group, the NYC MetroBears, brought up the rear (no pun intended) looking all hot and hairy and fabulous; but even they were decked out tastefully and with flair.

i can honestly say that is was a parade that was complete PR Heaven for Gay Marriage: it showed that even though we're all different, quirky and kinky we're still human beings. it made me so completely proud to be there, held by my hunky boyfriend/lover/fiance`, to watch the parade go by.

"Pride is the recognition of the fact that you are your own highest value and, like all of man’s values, it has to be earned. "~Ayn Rand

Deck the Hall

Picture it:
Staten Island, Saturday afternoon.
stephen and i went to go book the hall for the wedding. it's been about 2 weeks since we were there last, and it's been almost impossible to get down there before now (they're not open during the week and between the car trouble and the Pampered Chef Shows every weekend...).

when we had gone last, the Maitre'd had taken us up to the Loft; i promptly fell in love with the space: it's a long room, dark and elegant. there's a long bar and big windows that will look down on the garden area that they are currently putting in.it's very evocative of a space you'd see in Manhattan. there are nice sized booths all around the room, plus space for tables, that give it the feeling of a nightclub circa 1948. you almost expect Bobby Darrin to come out and sing. it's perfect for our affair. Stephen called later that week to leave deposit , but was told that they couldn't take the credit card information over the phone. the manager told him that since our date was more than a year in the future, he could just pencil us in. fast forward to saturday, sitting in the booking office.

the manager thanks us for booking and starts to thumb through his calendar to our date. then he looks up and tells us that it has already been booked. he then tries to get us to change our date. when i explain (calmly...but with an edge) that we've already printed out our Save the Date magnets, he and the maitre'd argue about who booked it, then agree that they had promised us and would call the other "affair" to change their date. surprisingly enough, the other couple won't switch. SO we sit there and lament the obvious, and agree to see a different room. after about 20 minutes of discussion (Stephen, bless him, is only concerned with my happiness and wants only to make sure that i won't be pissed about the switched room for the next 18 months) where i cross my arms, pout and stamp my feet repeatedly, we agree to go with a different room. we go back to the office and start to fill out the paperwork. Luckily, stephen looks at the contract which has October 6th 2006 written in. the Maitre'd looks at the book for 2007 to find that our name is already penciled in for the Loft.

crisis averted.

"The roses, the lovely notes, the dining and dancing are all welcome and splendid. But when the Godiva is gone, the gift of real love is having someone who'll go the distance with you. Someone who, when the wedding day limo breaks down, is willing to share a seat on the bus." ~ Oprah Winfrey

Letter to a Candidate...

Sunday morning on the way to the Parade:
This guy (Matthew Titone) was trawling the ferry, shaking babies and kissing hands, asking everyone who looked even REMOTELY gay to support him for State Senate.
Stephen and I were standing with my friend Kemp when he came over, pushing (campaign) buttons, and went through his schpiel. Kemp was like, "But why should I vote for you; what to you stand for"? Mr Titone gave him the worst possible answer: Because I’m the GAY candidate. Kemp told him to keep the button. now, to be fair, i am paraphrasing. he didn't actually say that, but he also didn't answer Kemp. he asked him "what do you think i stand for; Santa Claus for President and Mickey Mouse for Mayor. i stand for the same things you do".
we saw him later that day marching in the parade with some of the other politic-rates. it took me a couple of days to compose this letter which i e-mailed to him this morning:


Mr Titone,
It’s truly appalling how you slithered your way around the SI Ferry Terminal on Sunday, surrounded by your small go-go boy entourage, touting yourself as the only “openly gay” candidate running for State Senate. If you’re so “openly gay” as you claim, why is there no mention of it on your website? There is no mention of where you stand on Gay Marriage, Adoption, or Hate Crimes. While at the ferry, you were asked by several people what your platform was. Your answers were vague, non-committal and downright infantile. Your attitude seemed to be “I’m gay, you’re gay, why wouldn’t you vote for me”. with your unctuous manner, lascivious leer, shifty eyes, and inability to voice a platform on gay issues (or any issues, for that matter), you’ve definitely failed to garner my trust. Till now, I had absolutely no interest in the campaign for State Senator. You’ve now insured that my vote will certainly go to whomever opposes you

"Even when laws have been written down, they ought not always to remain unaltered."~ Aristotle

Another Short Weekend

i feel like i just left here, 20 minutes ago, and now i'm back at work. this weekend was an absolute blur.
i'm completely wiped out. tomorrow i'll write about the trials and tribulations of booking a hall on SI and our Pride escapades.

"Morality, like art, means drawing a line someplace"~ Oscar Wilde

Busier Than a One Legged Man in a Butt Kicking Contest

Happy Pride everyone, i hope you all have a fabulous weekend!

“If you're black in this country, if you're a woman in this country, if you are any minority in this country at all, what could possibly possess you to vote Republican?”~Cher

Lay Down the Boogie & Play That Funky Music till You Die...till You Die...

have you ever seen that commercial for one of the cellphone companies that lets you use your phone as an MP3 player? you see all these young, thin, gorgeous people of various ethnicities walking around town; their shadows appear behind them dancing while walking, then they get a call and both the waif and the waif's shadow are standing still. the call ends and the waif starts walking while their shadow busts a move. this morning, on the way into the building, i was that waif.

to be perfectly fair, i'm deffinitely neither young, thin, nor gorgeous, but standing in the elevator i was dancing like one of the Solid Gold Dancers or perhaps a Fly Girl...on the inside. Kristine, Junior and i were having a wonderful old time telling our respective audiences that we were glad to be "alive and in the land of the living"; there was glamour, there was drama, there was fabulousness. if the people with whom i shared the elevator could see what was going on inside of me, they would've hooted and hollered and (perhaps) started to stuff dollar bills in my hands, in my pockets, down the front of my shirt.

that's why i love my MP3 player: i am completely and totally addicted to music. before i had my MP3 player, i had a mini disc player, before that a DiscMan, before that a WalkMan, before that...i was in the womb. i was raised on music like other kids were raised on football or cartoons. i distinctly remember dancing around the house to South Pacific and West Side Story, with my mom (she had a stack of vinyl taller than i was at 5 years old). the radio was always on in our house, morning to night, tuned to the oldies station. i used to sit in our playroom for hours listening to Sesame Street's Singing in the Bathtub, over and over and over again. by the time i was ten i had songs commited to memory (but still didn't know my multiplication tables). i was hooked on Sheena Easton and Irene Cara. i remember playing the Sheena's Private Heaven cassette, lip-synching to Strut and Sugar Walls but obviously not knowing what the lyrics meant. i knew New Editions entire repetoire by heart, as well as the sound track to Flashdance. As i got older, music remained a staple of my development; i was well acquainted with Samantha Fox, Stacey Q, Cyndi Lauper, Madonna and any other cassettes my parents would buy me. Evenutally i was old enough to buy my own music and the 1st CD i bought was the B-52's Cosmic Thing. it was all downhill from there. my tastes began to broaden and i began to listen to everything: standards, alternative rock, pop and disco. music shaped my day and matched my mood. i felt attached to the Smiths and the Pet Shop Boys (they knew how i felt).Gloria Gaynor told me that no matter what, i would survive. Ella completley understood that i had "It Bad...and That Ain't Good". Cole Porter's lyrics were so debonaire and ripe with irony and class.

Here i am, 30 years later, and i am still completely hooked on music. it's like a drug i can't shake. in addition to my old favorites, i've recently (within the last 6 years) gained an affinity for club music. DJ's have completely revolutionized the face of music as we know it, bringing artists and songs to audiences that otherwise never would've encountered them. living proof: 10 years ago, there's no way i would've thought it possible that i would listen to anything even remotely resembling gospel music, now i can't go a day without Vernessa Mitchell or Kim English belting out how happy that there's a higher power in their life. if it wasn't for Junior Vasquez, Razor and Guido, i would never had heard them. Over the last couple of years i've found that club music actually keeps me going throughout the day; setting my pace and keeping me moving.

In light of the wedding and my brain tumor, i realize how terribly important music really is to me. i'm never without it, from the time i wake up till just before i go to bed. i'm aware that should i ever lose my hearing completely, i will be absolutely devastated because i will be unable to function without a soundtrack to my day. i recognize that, to me, the most important part of our wedding won't be the food or the flowers, it will be the mood set by the DJ or musician that we hire.

sitting here at my desk, Celine and i are telling our respective lovers (with the help of Thunderpuss) that we want to be needed like the air they breathe. my inner waif is dancing on his stage wearing skin tight (size 30) jeans and no shirt. all is right with the world.

"...It is the universe's way of saying stop, slow down, you move too fast. Listen to the music. Whoa whoa, listen to the music. Because music makes the people come together, it makes the bourgeois and the rebel. So come on people now, smile on your brother, everybody try to love one another. Because what the world needs now is love, sweet love. And I know that love is a battlefield, but boogie on reggae woman because you're gonna make it after all. So celebrate good times, come on. I've gotta stop I've gotta come to my senses i've been out riding fences for so long... oops i did it again... "~Ellen DeGenneres

the Other "F Word"

i was sitting at my desk this morning, when i heard one of the guys, who sits several desks behind me (in a different department), yell to someone across the room, "Hey S-----o, are you still a Giant's fan? Well you're quarterback is a faggot". i'll be honest, it really took me aback. now, don't get me wrong, i'm not Sister Mary Political Correctness, but it kinda surprised me that he screamed out it out and nobody batted an eyelash; people actually laughed.
when i worked at the store, if i heard someone use words like "fag" or the pejorative form of "gay", i'd nicely bring up that since i was a member of that unique fraterinity, i'd appreciate it if they didn't use such words. depending on the situation, I'd be more vehement or forceful, but i always got my point across and always received an apology.
this morning, however, i didn't say anything. i sat at my desk, pretended i didn't hear anything and fumed on the inside. i don't know the guy who said it; at least not personally. in the past i've heard him and his co-workers joking about Brokeback Mountain, and refering to other people as fags, etc. He doesn't like fags. it really doesn't take being Chastity Bono or a member of Lambda Legal to figure that out. All this time, i've never said anything. why? to be perfectly honest, i don't know what to say.
working in "big business" is very different from retail (yeah, that's kinda obvious, but bear with me). the firm for which i work is a boys club, looking around at all the departments (except for mine) there are quite alot of men working here; deffinitely the majority. in addition to that, the men are, at least to the naked eye (and my pretty accurate GayDar) straight. i think i can count on one hand the number of guys i've "spotted" in the almost 2 years that i'm here. so what's a gay guy to do? certainly not be the "outspoken/militant" gay guy of the department; that's corporate/professional suicide. just grin and bear it i guess.
i think the thing that really, honestly and truly bothers me the most is that if i had shouted out some phrase that included the "N" word, i doubt that he would remain silent. chances are i would be in HR faster than you could say Double Standard.

"Let each person exercise the art they know best"~Aristophanes

Brain Farts

this was a truly stressful weekend. **rubs temples**

my car (whom stephen has lovingly named Jo) suffered some sort of debilitating seizure on saturday night after showing appartent symptoms for several months. we were on our way to do a Pampered Chef show at my brother/sister-in-law's house, when we pulled over at a supermarket. the woman next to me was blasting Pakistani House music, so i turned my car off, put the key in Auxillary and cranked up DJ John Michael Presents Pride Volume 1. she left, stephen came out and when i went to turn the car on...nothing. actually it was a weird ticking/grinding noise (like Katherine Hepburn hocking up phlegm). that was that. she stayed in the parking lot of the supermarket overnight (my dad picked us up and brought us to and from the show) till we towed it to a garage on Sunday. Sunday, was Father's Day which meant dinner at mom's. Stephen had plans to see his father on LI, but couldn't go because he had no way of getting there (despite his best efforts, i still feel guilty about that). i also feel guilty that my dad had to come and schlep us back and forth to the garage and then home and to their house. i hate being that guy who needs rides and inconveniences people (even if they are family); i was that guy for a very long time (i've only been driving, like, 6 years) and i realize what a pain in the ass it is to be friends with that guy. anyhoo...Father's Day dinner was like any other dinner at Mom and Pop's: i felt the usual tension and overwhelming desire to flee as soon as possible; stephen was indifferent and amiable to my family's quirkiness. we went home watched Bewitched Season 2 on DVD and sweated it out till bedtime.
Monday brought Doctor Demonico: Neuro-Surgeon. ok that's not his name, but it's what sticks out in my head. his real name is Dr Shiau; he's fairly young and trendy-asian: gorgeous suit/shirt/tie combo, nice shoe, nice glasses. his opinion? get a hearing test and see if the pea-sized tumor is fucking with my hearing (yes, i'm paraphrasing). if there is a hearing loss we discuss our options (which is really only one option: Surgery). i'm loathe to admit he made an excellent case for surgery, saying the risk of something going wrong is arund 3%. he also said that radiation is useless because the tumor is "slow growing". if there isn't any sigificant hearing loss, then he suggests getting another MRI and Hearing test in 6 months and tracking both the growth of the tumor and any loss in hearing.
with that news i went to pick up my car which needed a new alternator and inspection (i had gotten a ticket while at the Rufus concert because my inspection had expired in October of 2005. who knew you had to get that checked every year?). the new alternator only cost me $25o which was about $150 less than what i was expecting. now i can breathe a little easier knowing that my car and brain are both hanging on a little longer.

i just wanna say thanks, by the way, for everyone's love, support and good wishes through all of this. you've all been so wonderful and i truly feel lucky to have such fantastic friends as you. i really don't think i could've gotten through this without you all (especially Stephen and John who've gone to the doctor with me and seen me freak out). i love you.

"The equality that we are all entitled to, as citizens of this democracy, can't be avoided by some religious dogma of a President who's is supposed to believe in the notion of separation of church and state. And he frankly doesn't".~ Rosie O'Donnell

On Family (Part 2)

My side of the "church" would be empty indeed if i had to rely on my family alone to fill the pews. that's why i feel so completely and totally blessed that god made me gay as the proverbial goose.
Growing up in Brooklyn, the son of an NYPD cop and CCD teacher, was not as easy as one would think for a fledgling homo. Don't get me wrong, i never lacked for parental love; my mom is the prototypical Italian Mama, as many of you can attest: exuding love and food. My dad, while a truly wonderful man, pretty much stopped showing affection and emotion towards me the day i started shaving (i was about 14); i always knew he loved me, i just rarely heard it. i guess that's just how guys act **shrug**
anyway, add to this a 14 year (that's 1 year in nursery school + 1 year in Kindergarten + 8 years of grammar school + 4 years of High School) stint in the Catholic School/Penal system. suffice to say i was not a particularly happy and well adjusted teenager. Now, grammar school hadn't been a picnic: i was not like the other boys in any way and they knew it; i had very few friends. High School was better. i hooked up with the Speech and Debate team, and found a niche with other kids "like me" (it wasn't until a few years ago that i found out how many were truly like me). i wasn't expected to be good at sports because i was good at that. it was hear that i made friends that would have until today (N'il and Magenta). it was here that i realized that i really could choose the people that i would love; people i could talk to and tell all the stuff i couldn't talk about at home. it was here that i started to make my own family.
i would continue to do this all throughout college and beyond: Jenn, John, Chris, Erin etc. i found people like me, going through the same things i was; people i could confide in and learn from. i poured all the love i had into those relationships and, more often than not, got twice as much love back in return. as uncomfortable as i felt at home (pre-coming out) was as comfortable a i felt with my friends. they became a support system without whom i would not be the person i am today. it was their strength and support that helped me come out to my family; they let me know that no matter what my mom or dad's reactions would be, they were there for me and with them i had a home.

so, even though my side of the church will be relatively free of relatives, i know that i'll be lucky enough to look out and see the people that i will always consider my family.

i love you guys.

"You'll never find peace of mind until you listen to your heart" ~George Michael

On Family (Part 1)

In light of mine and stephen's upcoming nuptials, i've been thinking alot about "family".

i come from a good old fashioned Italian family: One mother, one father and an older brother. My brother just got married this past September and has a daughter from a previous relationship (she just turned 9 in November). All in all we're a very small family, considering other italians usually consist of aunts, uncles, cousins by the dozens, grandparents and various permutations of step family that usually come with **whispers** divorce. Let me explain why we're such a small group:
1) after 35 years of marriage, my parents are still together.
2) all my granparents are dead.
2) we're the black sheep of Clan L-------a.
why, you may ask? well here's where things get kinda fuzzy. like most families, mine has alot of in-fighting amongst the different cabals that form over time. Unlike most families, though the cabals that have formed in mine have resulted in theft of estates and embezelment of funds. Yup my family is like the italian version of Dynasty, complete with shoulder pads. Somehow, through all the backbiting, rivalry, and will snatching my immediate family remains honest. My ex-cop of a dad was basically cut out of his father's estate by his two older siblings and my mom's one and only sister absconded with grandma's entire life savings (including jewlery and antiques) leaving her a virtual pauper. As for my cousins, they're honestly no better than their parents. One's currently in prison, another is a wife beating alchoholic and the rest are just as two-faced as my aunts and uncles.

the Waltons we ain't.

so that leaves just the seven of us (this number includes Stephen, my lovely sister-in-law, and my niece/god-daughter) basking in each other's warm glow. Luckily for all concerned, my parents don't own any property, have just enough money to be considered "comfortable", and encourage my brother and i to be much closer than we are (and probably could ever be). there's only two of us so when (godfubbid) dad goes, mom gets "everything", when she (godfubbid) goes it "all" gets split down the middle (all i know is that i want the Christmas Spode, he can have everything else). My brother and his wife are expecting another child (due the day before my mom's birthday). i hope this kid is ready.

"It's a victimless crime, like tax evasion or public indecency"~ Karen Walker

Judy Who..?

that was the best fucking concert i've ever seen.
i got the t-shirt.
i got the poster.
we got in at 1am.
i am absolutely exhausted. if i can i might post more later...but don't bank on it.

“There's no life without humour. It can make the wonderful moments of life truly glorious, and it can make tragic moments bearable"~ Rufus Wainwright

Practice Practice Practice

i'm so excited, i can hardly stand it.

we got tickets to the two night only performance of Rufus Wainwright at Carnegie Hall. i am absolutely cukoo for Rufus. ever since his 1st album (self titled) was released, i've been hooked. it's the combination of his nasal/morose voice, his poetic lyrics and his piano playing. Jenn and i have seen him a handful of times in very small and intimate concerts; just him and a piano (and the odd family member singing backup), and we even tried to snag his autograph outside the Glad Media Awards one year (our efforts proved fruitless, but we did see Bruce Villanch and Kate Pierson). Somehow i even got Stephen into him, and was amazed when i found him ripping his last two cd's (Want One and Want Two) to his IPod Shuffle. Can you imagine how tickled i am to see him in such a grand venue as Carnegie Hall? don't answer yet, it just gets better: his concert is a complete reproduction of Judy Garland's epic 1961 concert. can you stand it?!?

ok, i know, it's a little trite and cliche` for a fag to be excited about Judy Garland, but have you ever heard the concert? it is beyond legendary. sure she slurs a little here and there, and yes there is that one part during You Go to My Head where she forgets what she's singing, but still...it is probably one of the best live albums i've ever heard. the 1st time i heard it (on the original vinyl, at the house of this man i was seeing) i was absolutely floored. till then i had heard a few Judy diddies and i was already well into Keely and Ella, but i'd honestly never heard anything so plaintive and passionate as Judy singing live. i'm getting goosebumps just thinking about it.

anyway, the concert is tonight and like i said: i'm so excited i can hardly stand it. we're all the way at the back of the Hall, but i don't care. i'm sure this is gonna be one helluva show. i just hope i can get a t-shirt...

"Always be a first-rate version of yourself, instead of a second-rate version of somebody else"~ Judy Garland

New From the Makers of Dingbat!

As many of you may know, before i started working in the wonderful world of Corporate America, i worked in a now defunct men's clothing store for several years (ok it was almost 10). it was truly the college job that did not end. while there, i encountered many, many different and all around bizzare people. one such person was a girl named Angela.
angela was a truly nice person. very rough around the edges (in that Staten Island "My Cousin Vinny" kinda way), she was still a very giving person. Unfortunately, she was also dumber than most household appliances. it was very easy to outwit her, and even easier to just plain confuse the poor dear. common sense was not her strong suit and book learning rated almost as high on her list of virtues as tolerence does on David Duke's.
anyhoo, one day she and i decided to order in lunch from Applebees. I asked her if she wanted to split an order of Buffalo wings. she looked at me as though i asked her to become Louie Anderson's piggy bottom scat queen. When i asked her what was wrong, she told me that there was no way in hell that she would ever eat buffalo. I asked her if she was serious. She was. Apparently, she couldn't think of eating from such a horrid and dirty animal. By this time the store manager had come over and asked her where on the buffalo the wings are. she couldn't think of where, but she knew she wasn't eating them. it was truly one of the best moments i'd ever had while working there.

"I wanted to be an actor because I thought I could meet queers"~ Sir Ian McKellen

1st thing in the morning

stephen and i travel to work together, every day. we hop the express bus on SI and head to 34th street. we walk through the station, holding hands, then part with a kiss; he goes uptown and i go down to brooklyn. every day.
today was no different. bus. 34th street. hands. platform. kiss. part. enter the difference...
i'm standing, waiting for the F train, when i feel a tap on my shoulder. i turn around, look down to see a little gnome of a woman looking up at me smiling. i take off my head phones...

Me:"Yes"?
She:"Thank you"
Me: "For...?"
She: You and your partner. you were holding hands and then you kissed.
Me: Um yeah we do that every day.
She: I'm a transexual.
Me: oh...um...really?
She: Yeah. i think that's great. you and him. this is our week.
Me: No, sweetie...they give us a MONTH now!
She: oh wow, that's great! i just think it's good that you guys aren't afraid. alot of people won't do that. i usually see these guys walking around afraid to even touch each other. it's good that you guys aren't.
Me: Well thanks. oh look! this is my train! Have a good day!!!

i was a little freaked out; i'm not good at meeting new people and chit chatting before i've had my coffee. i was also more than a little confused 'cause i couldn't tell if she was a mtf or a ftm. i think i was rude, but i didn't know what to say except thank you. she was a little scary, but very sweet.

if you're reading this, my little tranny sister, I'm Sorry! you're fabulous!

"You always have to remember – no matter what you’re told – that God loves all the flowers, even the wild ones that grow on the side of the highway" ~Cyndi Lauper

The Poet Laureate of Dogwood Lane

back in my wayward youth i wrote poetry. Lots and LOTS of poetry. i was young and anguished and felt that the only way i could express my pain (insert dramatic sigh and Smiths' record here) was through poetry. this site has just a smattering of my scribblings. i have a ton of hard copies at home and i'll be honest, i still write a little now and then.
let me know what you think (honestly). and yes i know that some of it is pure, unadulterated crap, but look a the copyright dates (i did get better as i got older)!
http://www.gaypoetry.com/design/search.asp?searchwhat=authorid&query=929

"The world changes in direct proportion to the number of people willing to be honest about their lives"~ Armistead Maupin

TS...Phone Home...(or Reach Out and Emasculate Someone)

i was just called "Ma'am" on the phone; not once, but several times. at the end of the conversation, the caller asked for my name (for their records) and i was almost embarassed to give it. sadly this is not the 1st time this has happened, nor will it be the last.

when i'm at work, i'm frequently called names like Anna, Christine or Lois when i answer the phone without giving my name 1st. it's usually quite interesting when i tell the caller that No my name isn't Rosie, it's David. at home telemarketers, solicitors and other phone-flunkies usually ask for Stephen on the phone. when i tell them that he is not at home or otherwise indisposed, they usually ask if i'm his wife or girlfriend or they just refer to me as Mrs. L----- (stephen's last name), or Miss or M'am. i'd be lying if i didn't get a certain satisfaction in telling them that while we will be married, i'm not his wife or his girlfriend. this satisfaction is usually tripled when we get calls from various Catholic Churches or the Society to Protect Family Values.

if you're reading this, there's a very good chance that you've heard my voice within the last 12 months. is it that high? granted, it does raise to obscene octaves when i get really upset (think an outraged Jack on Will and Grace), but ordinarily i always assumed that i have a fairly typical guy's voice. i'll admit that perhaps, on occasion, i can be a tad lispy or lilty ( i am gay, after all and sterotypes are steeped in truth), but c'mon!

"I think gay people are like blondes: There’re fewer of them but they have more fun". ~Rita Mae Brown

This Olde Homo (or What's in a Name?)

i'm thinking of changing my name.
not my given name ( i love that). i mean my "alias": CawfeeBoy. i'm clearly not a boy anymore. I've carried this "name" over 10 years, from my AOL days, when Jenn and i used to surf for guys and get into all sorts of delicious trouble. i still get e-mail for that screen name on occasion, though it's been changed to CawfeeBoy2 when i got my own AOL account. i haven't been a "boy" in years. don't ask me how many years, 'cause i really don't know. it's hard to say when i stopped feeling like a boy, if i ever did...

up until now, i've lead a life that was paradoxically immature. i lived at home till i was about 26/27 (which seems very late to me), i didn't start driving till i was 25, i stopped working at the mall when i was 28. at the same time, i hit puberty kinda early (12/13), and started fooling around with other boys shortly there after. by the time i was in college i already had a nice little goatee going that aged me about ten years; add to that my hair that was receding at 20 and i looked 30 almost 10 years too soon. i never fit into that Club Kid mold that most of my homo-bretheren fall into at some point. i was always cute/average looking, but never adorably young; the glow-stick twirling, pacifier sucking Ganymede. it just wasn't me.

now, at 29 (i turn 30 on July 31st, in case you forgot), i'm wondering where my "youth" went. when did i stop being called "kid"? when did i become a "sir" (or occasionally Ma'am on the phone) or "Mr. L--------"?

so what should i change my name to? CawfeeGuy? CaffinatedGayGuy? Please post some ideas as comments...


"I've been young and I've been beautiful, but never at the same time"- Torch Song Trilogy (Harvey Feirstein)

My Brain...Unplugged.

the doctor called last night when i got home; it's official: i have an Acoustic Neuroma.

he gave me the name of a Neuro-Surgeon on Staten Island, and i have to call him later for an appointment.
i still have the appointment with the ENT on Friday, though i'm thinking that now whatever his advice will be is sorta moot. it looks like it's all in the hands of the Neuro-Surgeon.

i called my mom after i spoke with the doctor, and she was quite supportive; in her usual honest and direct manner she told me that despite my decision not to be operated on (regardless of the findings) that there is always the chance that any tumor or growth can morph into **whispers** cancer. this did little to settle my mind.

in a vain attempt to de-stress and chill out, i asked stephen if we could forgoe our usual QAF dvd marathon and watch something more more consistantly chipper: Will and Grace (Season 4) and the Golden Girls (Season 1). i figured, I REALLY need to laugh right now and these will do the trick (better living through DVD box sets). alas, i was wrong; i picked four of the most upsetting and downright depressing episodes in either shows' history: Grace takes to her bed after being dumped by Nathan (Woody Harleson) after a botched marriage proposal; Dorothy, Rose and Blanche rally around Sophia's bedside when it appears as though she is having a massive heart attack and contemplate death.

so after i stopped crying like a premenstural 16 year old, i left stephen to finish his paperwork and went to bed.

all in all it wasn't a good night.

"If you want to tell people the truth, make them laugh, otherwise they'll kill you."-Oscar Wilde

Look Out Man...i'm gonna Bjork!

my favorite Icelandic nutball is at it again! she just released another CD (Drawing Restraint 9), and quite frankly i'm so excited i could puke.
on the off chance you've been living under a very big rock for the last, say, 20 years Bjork is one of the most inventive, creative and downright perplexing individuals ever to call themselves a musician. she has completely redefined what it means to be called an artist. she's genre-less and utterly un-classifiable. she's also completely out of her gourd. if you think WAY back to 2001 Academy Awards, she was that odd little waif wearing the swan around her neck like the Ancient Mariner. but i digress...

i've loved her since the 1st time i saw the video for her big band throw-back It's Oh So Quiet (the one with the dancing mailboxes and fire hydrants) on MTV. i ran right to Sam Goody and bought her album, Post. from the 1st tremulous yodel, i was completely hooked. i went out and bought her freshman cd, Debut and was overcome at how different and totally orginal they were. Debut was mellow and slightly lounge-friendly (except for songs like the Anchor Song that were just plain silly), while Post had a refreshing industrial dance sound that completely offset (what stephen refers to as) the "someone's twisting my nipples" sounds she made throughout the cd. it was about a year later that i learned she had an entire cd where she sang classic Swing/Jazz songs. it wasn't till i bought it that i found out it was entirely in Icelandic. By now i'd become used to her bursting out occasionally in her native tongue (i've you've never heard it i can only liken it to the sound one would make when they got their tongue caught in a table fan) so i was curious as to what such a euphonious language could bring to such showstoppers as You Can't Get a Man with a Gun. suffice to say i was completely blown away. the cd was beyond phenomonal (ok it was actually beyond ridiculous, but as a fan i found it utterly entrancing). over the next couple of years, she put out 2 more original albums (Homogenic and Verspertine, respectively) and even a soundtrack for a movie (Selmasongs). it was also during this time that learned she used to front a band called the Sugarcubes (who can only be described as Iceland's answer to the B-52's) and simeltaneously discovered e-bay. it was here that i began buying up all her solo singles (b-sides b-sides b-sides; it's all about the b-sides) and past hits with the Sugarcubes. last year she released what i thought was the ultimate in fabulousness, Medulla. the entire cd is composed completely a capella. there is not one instrument on the entire thing. all the noises and music are made by her and a chorus. it's so good, you'll wanna rip your ears off and cauterize the remaining holes with lighter fluid and a faulty Bic.

it's truly needless to say that i am running out after work to pick up her latest endeavor.

"If you believe in telekenisis, raise my hand"- seen on T-Shirt on Queer As Folk

Sissies and Trannies and Lezzies, Oh My (or We're Here! We're Queer! We're All Alone!)

Picture it: Staten Island. June 3rd 2006. it's rainy and bordering on chilly that morning when a small gaggle of local Homo-folks get together for the 2nd annual SI LBGT Pride Parade. how small? VERY small. let's just say Stephen and i have had more people in our living room than were walking in this parade. ok, maybe that's a slight exageration: there was a marching band of about 20 people (men, women and some that were literally in-between. ie this fabulous Tranny with a Drum) and then about 60 marchers (of varying ages, genders and preferences). it was small, but festive. i kept waiting for the band to play Don't Rain On My Parade, but it never came (which might've explained the storm that raged at the very end). we made our way down the boardwalk on South Beach, our homo-heads held high; chins held up with determination, waiting to brave any jeers and accept support from the spectators that would line the boardwalk.
too bad there were no spectators. Apparently anyone who actually cared, was IN the parade. everyone else was home, in bed, probably thinking "god those crazy gays would never go out in THIS, their taffetta and leather will be ruined". there was some small opposition, of course. the Crazy Christers (thank you Michael Thomas Ford), were out in full effect, holding signs and handing out (to the marchers) pamphlets prosteltizing Jesus' love for all (non-practicing) Homos. in response, the six lesbians that made up the "parade staff" ran defense and cheered and hooted love and praise in FRONT of the plaquard weilding Jesus-freaks, until that bit of the parade passed and then they'd run forward again in front of the next batch of Chest Beaters. One man behind me just shouted out to the Bible Thumpers, "Chill out! Jesus LOVES a parade"! i dunno if he does or not but by the time we made it to the end (1 mile and 30 minutes later), the heavens opened up and down came the rain. this was mine and stephen's cue to leave our bretheren (have you ever smelled a wet bull-dagger? think wet sheep-dog, cedar chips, beer and tuna). we left the "festival" and went to go book the hall for our reception.

but where were all the homos? a friend of mine did a search on My Space for Gay Staten Islanders and came up with a WHOPPING360 people. There was barely a quarter of that number showing their pride! where hairy hell was everybody?

"If you are ashamed to stand by your colors, you had better seek another flag" ~Author Unknown

Book 'em

Yesterday's MRI was a breeze. I was in and out in about an hour, with the minimum of fuss and difficulty. The strangest thing about the entire affair was when the Dr left the tourniquet on my arm for about 5 minutes longer than necessary. Apparently he had forgotten that it was on (it was the same color as my t-shirt) and walked out after administering the injection for the contrast/dye. The results will be in by Monday, let's all keep our fingers crossed.

in other news, Stephen and I are in the midst of a small skirmish over my being a slob. When I moved in I brought with me a mini-library of congress. I have more books than Robert Redford has wrinkles and more CDs than Imelda Marcos has shoes. Reading and music are my two biggest passions and unfortunately both take up alot of space when pursued "right". I'm one of those bizarre people who can re-read books after a few years. I have several omnibus editions of series which I find utterly timeless(the Hitch Hikers Guide, Tales of the City) and other books that just get better the more times I read then (Valley of the Dolls, Steve Kluger's Almost Like Being in Love). My collection of gay fiction spans about ten years and includes some of the best and worst of the genre. Being a geek pushing thirty, I've also amassed an incredible number of graphic novels (DC and Marvel have been churning out collections of reprints of the Justice League, the Teen titans and their Crossover storylines ie: Crisis on Infinite Earths, the Dark Phoenix Saga, etc). These books are like old friends that one would call every so often, just to check in. Asking me to part with them is like asking me to cut off a pinkie toe or one of my nipples. Unfortunately, Staten Island townehouses only have a limited amount of storage space, and I'm almost at my limit. Stephen has requested that something be done with all the books that have become thigh-high piles in our loft cum office (overlooking the bedroom). Now, as many of you know: I'm a lazy bastard. This is an irrefutable fact. I would honestly let those books sit in piles till the cows came home. When I wanted one, I'd rifle through the piles and grab one, only to replace it days later after it's been read (actually this is what I've been doing). This is also a fact. Unfortunately, Stephen is well aware of the facts and is requesting that something be done about (what he calls) the "piles of rubble" lying about. During an exchange of e-mails, I made it quite plain that there is no way the books were leaving the house. Granted, the subject of giving away/selling/shit-canning the books was mentioned only as an absolute last resort; I'm a drama queen and entitled to think in terms of the Worst Case Scenario, aren't I?

the search for adequate (and tasteful) shelving has begun...

"Never be bullied into silence. Never allow yourself to be made a victim. Accept no one's definition of your life; define yourself". ~Harvey Fierstein