Pride & Predjudgement ...
I have made a decision.
The only way to punish myself for going a whole week without blogging about some pretty interesting stories is to force myself to sit down and write one about a random NYC night, while it's still going on around me.
To that end I have found myself sitting at Jackie’s apartment in Washington Heights stoned and have pulled out Jamie’s laptop to retrace the steps that brought me here so that I can finally continue with my evening, feeling “blogguilt” free. For those of us who have fallen off the writing wagon lately, it’s time to take a big old drink and let the dialogue flow.
There have been many unwritten stories in the past week that I’ll write all about later. There’s a boy who I met at karaoke … there’s an upcoming audition for Millionaire… there’s a tawdry story about a night of sex, drugs and a little more rock then roll … Many things have gone on in the past week or so since I’ve written in my blog. But those stories are for another entry.. This entry is about tonight..
But tonight… tonight started with today. And today started for me at 8:45 in the morning when I woke up on my own, having to pee. As I walked back to my room from the bathroom in the hallway of my hotel, I realized I still had another hour to go back sleep before I needed to wake up for work the next time. All in all, I woke up 3 times thanks to the miracles of snooze, and finally got into the shower at quarter past ten; forty five minutes before I had to be at work. I walked into work only about 2 minutes after 11, which on a Saturday morning is perfectly acceptable. It started off as a low key, but hot as fuck afternoon, that eventually picked up into quite a profitable lunch shift, with the only downside being the heat. I was scheduled to bartend at night, but not wait on tables. I knew I’d spend the night working behind the bar for a quarter of what I usually make waiting tables on a Saturday night, my favorite night with my favorite people at work. But I decided halfway through the afternoon that I would not be working the entire night. I’d be concocting a brilliant but shameful scheme to get myself out early and for securing Sunday off so I could attend the NYC gay pride festivities, that I haven’t in so many years.
This isn’t to say that I’m especially a big fan of gay pride events. Those of you who read my old blog and saw last years gay pride edition from Portland, ME (http://floridalibraboy.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_floridalibraboy_archive.html) you’d know that I don’t nescesarily hold it as something near and dear to my heart. We put drag queens and porn stars up on floats, and take them from the trendy 5’th Avenue, downtown to gayland in the Village, and wonder why straight people thing we’re freaks?!
But that said, there is fun to be had, at even the most gawdy of affairs. I’m always a fan of public mockery.
So I passed off a terrible and horrible act of deception on my co-workers and got out of work after my afternoon waiting shift was over.
Back to the hotel where Jamie and I had to pack up our things for the night so that we could check out for a few hours, and recheck in around 7am tomorrow. If this sounds silly, it’s not just you. But there is method to the madness. The hotel makes guest check out every 21 days, if only officially, so that they can’t claim residence there after 30 days, when NYC Landlord/Tennant Law kindly gives it to them.
Jackie and her friend Simone headed down to the hotel to meet us as we got ready, cleaned the room and checked our bags downstairs for the night. They had brought with them a mildly attractive carbon copy of a particular brand of fag that we’ve all known in whatever city we live in. The kind that stresses all night about wearing the wrong sneakers, and wears a pair of knock off Versace Sunglasses. Add to this that he’s black, and tries to maintain just the slightest bit of “playa” and you can probably come up with the name of the version of this person in your life.
This particular one is named Jamal, and along with Jamie and Jackie (Simone headed off to a lesbian bar to get her some pussy) went uptown to Washington Heights, first to stop at Jackie’s dealers for some weed, and the next at Jackie’s house, where we packed a bowl, and Jackie mixed some of the finest improvised Margaritas I’d ever tasted, with the help of some Mango nectar, compliments of my ingenuity. (Gotta give credit where credit is due.) This whole trip was accompanied by a crazy subway ride complete with homeless crazy men, and Jackie and I belting out showtunes.
So we smoke and drink and watch Jackie shave her armpits in front of us and I realize this girl is FIERCE with a mother-fucking capital F. She went on to talk about the commercialization of our society, and how peoples need to be slaves to fashion and trends. I seemed to be the only one in the room who noticed that such a slave to fashion and trend was indeed hanging out with our group.
I watched as Jackie mixed the second round of drinks with skilled precision, but listened to the conversation going on to my left between Jamie and Jamal. To try to remember the entire thing while I’m stoned and drunk is probably near impossible, but here are some of the highlights of Jamal’s Great Lines of the evening. All of these are to Jamie, whose reaction I wasn’t sure if was amusement or attraction.
“It’s true that short skinny guys have really big dicks. It’s true. Let’s just say I know for a fact.” - Jamal, A short and skinny 20 year old queen from Virginia.
“I promised myself I’d have sex with one white guy this year… .cause I never have before.” Said while giving Jamie a trashy look that Jamie was actually eating up and completely finding hot.
Jackie and I had previously discussed this happening, but after spending the night with Jamal the discussion was a little more disgusting. Jamal had all night made clear his intentions to go downtown and whore it up, though after he had decided he was going to kick game with Jamie he denied, even after shoving a fistful of condoms into his pocket. (I found at least reassuring that the trashy one was not out there being completely reckless.)
After walking out the door and popping back in again for a second almost 17 times (I was counting meticulously) he finally didn’t return in 10 seconds, and I knew he’d indeed left the apartment.
In my head I remember my reaction as standing, dancing around and singing “Ding Dong The Witch Is Gone,” but I think in reality I just started talking about why I found him so damn irritating. Still, I prefer the Wizard Of Oz moment so that’s how I’m going to chose to record and remember it.
But, as I accurately predicted, he returned a few minutes later saying the subway was closed. (Any faggot in town for gay pride knows that the subway doesn’t close at night. Well – clearly not EVERY faggot, but most of the ones who’ve graduated high school know it.)
And yes, he returned and I started hurling cleverly hidden slams at him, while taking pleasure in his obliviousness to my mockery. (Yeah, I’ve got issues, but this was one annoying boy.)
As I sit here and write, I hear the conversation between the three of them that is going on beside me. I notice every time the topic changes, Jamal finds a way to bring it back towards sex somehow and marveling at how once again gay society disappoints me.
I just stopped typing for a moment to address the group.
“Why is it,” I asked. “That it’s impossible for a group containing two or more gay men to have a conversation that is not somehow related to sex. It crosses every different gay social group. Faggots. Dykes. Trashy 20 somethings, or 30 something mid-life crisis havin queers … up to the leather daddies in their 50’s, with their salt and pepper chest hair. They just can’t sit around and talk about anything other then sex. Don’t we have anything else to say? Apparently not in our conversations OR our parades.
Tomorrow I’ll go and see a parade of ridiculousness (perhaps potpuried with a few truly enjoyable moments, I acknowledge) of queens and butches making spectacles of themselves in the street, in an effort to be considered “normal” to the rest of the world.
Tonight while walking to Jackie’s Washington Heights apartment to hang, while most of the rest of Gay New York was probably at one club or another, looking for a parade hookup boy, I saw a much more fascinating and surprisingly touching display on the street.
In front of their apartment buildings in the urban jungle of Manhattan were clusters of people, in lawn chairs, on the sidewalk, listening to boom boxes or car stereos, some with grills cooking some fabulous eats. They were having a night of family and friends, on a hot New York City Summer evening. A few drinking a corona, while others played cards, or chatted. A hottie 18(ish) year old boy drove up and down the streets on his little moped. They were mostly decent people, enjoying a mildly rowdy, but still somehow family friendly evening of summer, in the concrete world they lived in. As I walked by and saw these people having a good time, being themselves, I couldn’t help but wonder… Why couldn’t we celebrate gay pride this way? That’s a street affair I’d be completely proud to celebrate.
And now, as I catch up with the present, and Jackie and Jamie seem ready for a cigarette and a walk to the store for some munchies I prepare to finish out the night and get up early.
I’m a bit sad because “B” (the boy I’ve just started hanging out with) seems to have no interest in seeing me over pride weekend, but yet will predictably pop back in with a sweet gesture when the weekend is over. I’m a bit mopey, thinking of that and realize it’s probably the catalyst for some of my obvious gay pride cynicism this year. That said, I’m looking forward to tomorrow probably more then I’m willing to admit. Because though I tend to see the worst in everything, somehow I usually manage to see the best too.
I haven’t been to a NYC gay pride event in many years. I’m taking Jamie to his first. I’ll probably run into people I know. I’ll laugh at some foolish people and probably check out my share of cuties too. I may hoot and holler a little bit, cause it’s what you do when you’re happy. I might not have a great sense of pride in the choices or actions of my particular “minority group” (AS IF!), but I’ll say one thing for us … we sure can put on one hell of a show.
Happy Gay Pride from NYC!
The only way to punish myself for going a whole week without blogging about some pretty interesting stories is to force myself to sit down and write one about a random NYC night, while it's still going on around me.
To that end I have found myself sitting at Jackie’s apartment in Washington Heights stoned and have pulled out Jamie’s laptop to retrace the steps that brought me here so that I can finally continue with my evening, feeling “blogguilt” free. For those of us who have fallen off the writing wagon lately, it’s time to take a big old drink and let the dialogue flow.
There have been many unwritten stories in the past week that I’ll write all about later. There’s a boy who I met at karaoke … there’s an upcoming audition for Millionaire… there’s a tawdry story about a night of sex, drugs and a little more rock then roll … Many things have gone on in the past week or so since I’ve written in my blog. But those stories are for another entry.. This entry is about tonight..
But tonight… tonight started with today. And today started for me at 8:45 in the morning when I woke up on my own, having to pee. As I walked back to my room from the bathroom in the hallway of my hotel, I realized I still had another hour to go back sleep before I needed to wake up for work the next time. All in all, I woke up 3 times thanks to the miracles of snooze, and finally got into the shower at quarter past ten; forty five minutes before I had to be at work. I walked into work only about 2 minutes after 11, which on a Saturday morning is perfectly acceptable. It started off as a low key, but hot as fuck afternoon, that eventually picked up into quite a profitable lunch shift, with the only downside being the heat. I was scheduled to bartend at night, but not wait on tables. I knew I’d spend the night working behind the bar for a quarter of what I usually make waiting tables on a Saturday night, my favorite night with my favorite people at work. But I decided halfway through the afternoon that I would not be working the entire night. I’d be concocting a brilliant but shameful scheme to get myself out early and for securing Sunday off so I could attend the NYC gay pride festivities, that I haven’t in so many years.
This isn’t to say that I’m especially a big fan of gay pride events. Those of you who read my old blog and saw last years gay pride edition from Portland, ME (http://floridalibraboy.blogspot.com/2004_06_01_floridalibraboy_archive.html) you’d know that I don’t nescesarily hold it as something near and dear to my heart. We put drag queens and porn stars up on floats, and take them from the trendy 5’th Avenue, downtown to gayland in the Village, and wonder why straight people thing we’re freaks?!
But that said, there is fun to be had, at even the most gawdy of affairs. I’m always a fan of public mockery.
So I passed off a terrible and horrible act of deception on my co-workers and got out of work after my afternoon waiting shift was over.
Back to the hotel where Jamie and I had to pack up our things for the night so that we could check out for a few hours, and recheck in around 7am tomorrow. If this sounds silly, it’s not just you. But there is method to the madness. The hotel makes guest check out every 21 days, if only officially, so that they can’t claim residence there after 30 days, when NYC Landlord/Tennant Law kindly gives it to them.
Jackie and her friend Simone headed down to the hotel to meet us as we got ready, cleaned the room and checked our bags downstairs for the night. They had brought with them a mildly attractive carbon copy of a particular brand of fag that we’ve all known in whatever city we live in. The kind that stresses all night about wearing the wrong sneakers, and wears a pair of knock off Versace Sunglasses. Add to this that he’s black, and tries to maintain just the slightest bit of “playa” and you can probably come up with the name of the version of this person in your life.
This particular one is named Jamal, and along with Jamie and Jackie (Simone headed off to a lesbian bar to get her some pussy) went uptown to Washington Heights, first to stop at Jackie’s dealers for some weed, and the next at Jackie’s house, where we packed a bowl, and Jackie mixed some of the finest improvised Margaritas I’d ever tasted, with the help of some Mango nectar, compliments of my ingenuity. (Gotta give credit where credit is due.) This whole trip was accompanied by a crazy subway ride complete with homeless crazy men, and Jackie and I belting out showtunes.
So we smoke and drink and watch Jackie shave her armpits in front of us and I realize this girl is FIERCE with a mother-fucking capital F. She went on to talk about the commercialization of our society, and how peoples need to be slaves to fashion and trends. I seemed to be the only one in the room who noticed that such a slave to fashion and trend was indeed hanging out with our group.
I watched as Jackie mixed the second round of drinks with skilled precision, but listened to the conversation going on to my left between Jamie and Jamal. To try to remember the entire thing while I’m stoned and drunk is probably near impossible, but here are some of the highlights of Jamal’s Great Lines of the evening. All of these are to Jamie, whose reaction I wasn’t sure if was amusement or attraction.
“It’s true that short skinny guys have really big dicks. It’s true. Let’s just say I know for a fact.” - Jamal, A short and skinny 20 year old queen from Virginia.
“I promised myself I’d have sex with one white guy this year… .cause I never have before.” Said while giving Jamie a trashy look that Jamie was actually eating up and completely finding hot.
Jackie and I had previously discussed this happening, but after spending the night with Jamal the discussion was a little more disgusting. Jamal had all night made clear his intentions to go downtown and whore it up, though after he had decided he was going to kick game with Jamie he denied, even after shoving a fistful of condoms into his pocket. (I found at least reassuring that the trashy one was not out there being completely reckless.)
After walking out the door and popping back in again for a second almost 17 times (I was counting meticulously) he finally didn’t return in 10 seconds, and I knew he’d indeed left the apartment.
In my head I remember my reaction as standing, dancing around and singing “Ding Dong The Witch Is Gone,” but I think in reality I just started talking about why I found him so damn irritating. Still, I prefer the Wizard Of Oz moment so that’s how I’m going to chose to record and remember it.
But, as I accurately predicted, he returned a few minutes later saying the subway was closed. (Any faggot in town for gay pride knows that the subway doesn’t close at night. Well – clearly not EVERY faggot, but most of the ones who’ve graduated high school know it.)
And yes, he returned and I started hurling cleverly hidden slams at him, while taking pleasure in his obliviousness to my mockery. (Yeah, I’ve got issues, but this was one annoying boy.)
As I sit here and write, I hear the conversation between the three of them that is going on beside me. I notice every time the topic changes, Jamal finds a way to bring it back towards sex somehow and marveling at how once again gay society disappoints me.
I just stopped typing for a moment to address the group.
“Why is it,” I asked. “That it’s impossible for a group containing two or more gay men to have a conversation that is not somehow related to sex. It crosses every different gay social group. Faggots. Dykes. Trashy 20 somethings, or 30 something mid-life crisis havin queers … up to the leather daddies in their 50’s, with their salt and pepper chest hair. They just can’t sit around and talk about anything other then sex. Don’t we have anything else to say? Apparently not in our conversations OR our parades.
Tomorrow I’ll go and see a parade of ridiculousness (perhaps potpuried with a few truly enjoyable moments, I acknowledge) of queens and butches making spectacles of themselves in the street, in an effort to be considered “normal” to the rest of the world.
Tonight while walking to Jackie’s Washington Heights apartment to hang, while most of the rest of Gay New York was probably at one club or another, looking for a parade hookup boy, I saw a much more fascinating and surprisingly touching display on the street.
In front of their apartment buildings in the urban jungle of Manhattan were clusters of people, in lawn chairs, on the sidewalk, listening to boom boxes or car stereos, some with grills cooking some fabulous eats. They were having a night of family and friends, on a hot New York City Summer evening. A few drinking a corona, while others played cards, or chatted. A hottie 18(ish) year old boy drove up and down the streets on his little moped. They were mostly decent people, enjoying a mildly rowdy, but still somehow family friendly evening of summer, in the concrete world they lived in. As I walked by and saw these people having a good time, being themselves, I couldn’t help but wonder… Why couldn’t we celebrate gay pride this way? That’s a street affair I’d be completely proud to celebrate.
And now, as I catch up with the present, and Jackie and Jamie seem ready for a cigarette and a walk to the store for some munchies I prepare to finish out the night and get up early.
I’m a bit sad because “B” (the boy I’ve just started hanging out with) seems to have no interest in seeing me over pride weekend, but yet will predictably pop back in with a sweet gesture when the weekend is over. I’m a bit mopey, thinking of that and realize it’s probably the catalyst for some of my obvious gay pride cynicism this year. That said, I’m looking forward to tomorrow probably more then I’m willing to admit. Because though I tend to see the worst in everything, somehow I usually manage to see the best too.
I haven’t been to a NYC gay pride event in many years. I’m taking Jamie to his first. I’ll probably run into people I know. I’ll laugh at some foolish people and probably check out my share of cuties too. I may hoot and holler a little bit, cause it’s what you do when you’re happy. I might not have a great sense of pride in the choices or actions of my particular “minority group” (AS IF!), but I’ll say one thing for us … we sure can put on one hell of a show.
Happy Gay Pride from NYC!
posted by Kevin at 7:03 AM
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