bj's gay porno-crazed ramblings |
| Wednesday, December 31, 2003
    "Follow Max Montoya, Altomar's Latin superstar, from his career as a high fashion model to becoming a porn superstar." directed by: Thor Johnson (1987) The mid to late 80's were not, in my mind, a terribly great time for gay porno - cheap productions, the switch from film to videotape, clipped and shaved body parts, way too many limp dicks; not to mention the hesitation to show safer sex, and the inabilty to show safer sex in a hot way. But I digress, as usual. One exception to this trend towards bland sameness in the industry was ALTOMAR, which had plenty of interracial sex, lots of uncut meat, and perhaps more uniquely, mature men (over 50) and intergenerational sex. The best part was they did it with a sense of humor and a sense of playfulness that to me is what can make porno go beyond the 8-minute jerk-off prop that it too often is. OK, one glaring problem with the clip above, and I'd love to figure out which MAX MONOYA videos this isn't a problem - but his beautiful body hair is ALL SHAVED OFF! AAAARRRGGHHHH!!!
OK, I am not going to let my last post of 2003 be that self-pitying one below. Nothing has erased those feelings, but at the same time, it's not exactly a complete picture, either; and I would much rather have some pics of, say, MAX MONTOYA topping my dec 2003 archives (well, not just my archives, if ya know what I mean, wink wink), ya know? Also, for those of you who like previews, (and who promise not to hold me to actually following up on these plans), I've got several things I'm working on for the next few weeks. Of course there's the long overdue updating of some of the director's pages, some additional "vintage" pornstar profile pages, and some cool links I have uncovered to other guys out there who are doing some cool work documenting the older stuff that I like so much. Oh yeah, and of course there is the EYEBROW MAN SHOCKER post for those of you who were following my woes from late 2002. And yes, before I leave for work this evening, we'll have our last porno clip of 2003, OK?  This pic I took during yesterday's sleeplessness; not long after finally getting to sleep, something woke me up, and this was the view out my bedroom window. Today, approaching 6 am, I find I can't sleep again. Drats. I feel like I have too much, and not enough, on my mind. This pair of cats howling in some other-worldly battle down in the vacant lot isn't helping matters much, either. The too much part is all this swirling depressed sadness that just won't go away - memories of holidays from the past that were quite good, and those that were rather tough; growing alienation from my family, which I didn't help much by dropping out of sight all last week; and that "I'm about to hit my mid-40's and haven't had a relationship in close to 5 years" thing that just won't let me get more than a day's peace lately. Not enough on my mind? Well, it's the realization that I don't have one, single, solitary thing to look forward to. Nothing in the future, near or far, that keeps my mind moving forward; no planning, no hoping, no giddy anxiety. Just numbness, and the slighly bewildered "why do I bother getting out of bed each day?" feeling. As it turns out, I do work tonight, New Year's Eve. Not that I would've had anything else to do. But it's Wednesday, the night I've grown accustomed to looking forward to seeing BurritoMan, and there's no reason to believe the man will get his almost-weekly burrito fix tonight at 9:20. Even if he was a loser like me, with nothing to do, I doubt he'd come by. Being a loser like me, he might be smart enough to not let it be known that he's a loser like me, and just keep me guessing for another week. Tuesday, December 30, 2003
I'm reading some journalblog archives of some new found site, and the quote "We are all of us in the gutter, some of us are looking at the stars" is mentioned. I smile, as there is no way I ever think of Oscar Wilde, but of course The Pretenders. Then I have to hear the song, and am too lazy to figure out which CD it's on, and where that CD is, so I open up WinMX, and Google, and begin the search. Once I find it, and it's downloading, I get up to go to the kitchen. Its well after 4 a.m., I shouldn't be up, but I just wasn't getting any real sleep, so here I am. The drunks who have fled the closed bars are filling up the chatrooms, I'm ready for some ice cream, and I stand up. Before I move, I look over toward the bed in my dimly lit room, and see a figure sprawled across the far side of the bed. The pillows and blankets have conspired to fool me into thinking there's an actual person under all that, and I was only able to enjoy that fantasy for all of 2-1/2 seconds. Look 'round the room; life is unkind. We fall but we keep gettin' up; over and over and over and over and over and over...... Monday, December 29, 2003
Sunday, December 28, 2003
 I can't remember how I wound up at the CBC (Canadian Broadcasting Corporation) website the other day, but I must've spent hours looking thru their archives of video and radio clips in the section entitled: Gay and Lesbian Emergence: Out in Canada. Included is a lengthy video clip from 1959 - A psychiatric "problem" - and a cool radio clip on Chris Vogel and Richard North (Winnipeg couple marries), a gay male couple who were married in 1974. (The 30th anniversary of their marriage is coming up in February, and from what little I could find on the web, I think they are still together; but I'd love to hear any updates on them and what these two men think about their country finally recognizing same-sex marriage.) Saturday, December 27, 2003
 One of the cool things about have a porno-crazed blog and related porno pages, is that every once in a while I hear from some cool porno person from the past. About a week or two ago, I got an email from a guy looking for pictures from his past, when he was a TARGET STUDIO model. After a couple of emails back and forth, he sent this picture of himself, BUCK OWENS. ggrrrrr-yum! Now, what he's looking for I really couldn't help him with, as he wanted to see if there was some place to find the unpublished pics, maybe someone had the negatives or proofs, or even catalogues from this major mid 70's studio (some of you guys might be more familiar with the films that were transferred to video on those great BULLET VIDEOPACS in the 80's) founded by Lou Thomas. (I don't know if Thomas himself did all the photography, any help here would be appreciated). Anyway, I know that a lot of the current mags like HONCHO and INCHES are republishing vintage stuff like, but if anyone knows who might have access to some of the old stuff, let me know, and I'll pass on the info to Buck (well, I suppose Mr. Owen is more appropriate) Friday, December 26, 2003
Thursday, December 25, 2003
Wednesday, December 24, 2003
Tuesday, December 23, 2003
 OK, screw Jeff Stryker, the clip sucked anyway (and not in the good way). Here's a much better Holiday Treat.
Monday, December 22, 2003
Those of you with a blog and/or website might understand this obsessive habit I have of checking my web stats several times a Friday, December 19, 2003
Thursday, December 18, 2003
So I blew my last chance before the end of the year to chat up that customer-guy I have the crush on. 9:17 pm according to my work-computer clock, he calls. I have to admit, I love his voice, and his way of talking during our brief calls - punctuated with "cool" and "man" (hmmm, sorta like me.... please don't try to analyze that) I could just tell if we dated, I'd love hearing from him by phone - even though I pretty much HATE talking on the phone. I might be imagining it, but I sensed that he was enjoying our few moments on the phone - upbeat and animated - or maybe he has such a sweet manner with everyone. A few minutes pass, and a friend of mine pops in. I don't know if I feel this is a good thing or bad thing, as I wanted to get up the nerve to flirt with BurritoMan (you know, sometimes it's easier with the back-up of a pal - but then again, sometimes you feel even more self-conscious, and worried about falling flat on your face). Well, we chatted for a few minutes, but work was keeping me busy, so my pal left. I just happened to look up a few minutes later, he's outside, the door pulls open, our eyes meet, he smiles this mostfuckinbeautiful smile, and walks up to the counter. I pull the bag of food up to the counter, and I can't think of ANYTHING to say. I mean, I think I mumbled something clever like "Hey, how are ya?" - followed by the carefully scripted and rehearsed "That's $8.69 - ah, out of 10? One-thirty-one is your change, have a nice night." More smiling, he turns, I want to kill myself as my mind races but my mouth won't work --- WAIT! DO YOU NEED HOT SAUCE??? HHHHHHOT SAUCE???? How about UTENSILS? Napkins??? NAPKINS!!! Here - take my jockstrap. ARE YOU SINGLE? - - - - - WHAT ARE YOU DOING NEW YEAR'S EVE? - - - - AAAAARRRRGGGHHHHH! I'm hopeless. He's gone. My brain starts to work again, and I realize that I don't work the next 2 Wednesdays, his usual day for carry-out. It's gonna be 3 weeks before I get my 48 seconds with him again! AWWWFUCK. I come out from behind the counter, start for the door, I realize it's too late; resigned, I retreat. boohoo. Wednesday, December 17, 2003
 Well, I think I'll be struggling with my Xmas mood swings well past the New Year. Monday afternoon I got some of my Xmas decorations down from the storage space. I didn't actually put anything up, but I have to admit, when I put the Santa hat on, I got sorta kinda happy, so I decided to wear it to work, and bring it to the company Holiday Party. Yesterday was a long 9 hours working, kind of blurry, and today I was just heading back into bed at 12:30 in the afternoon, my mood back to a quiet contemplative sadness. But then a package arrives, looks like it's from my sister and her family - no doubt some sort of Xmas thing. Grrrrrr. I was really planning on spending the afternoon feeling sorry for myself, dammit! Tuesday, December 16, 2003
Why did I say i'd work the day shift today, a scant few hours after getting home from the restaurant's Xmas party? Ouch! And who gave me those tequilla shots? Monday, December 15, 2003
 JINGLE BELLS
----- Drummer Magazine, Dec. 1987 Sunday, December 14, 2003
 Saturday night was a post-anonymous-sex-depressed channel-flipping night of nothing. I ran into the Dynamic Duo (previouisly known as Hairyhispanic and Smoothie) Friday night - but that got as far as some extremely mild petting, bitching (them) about how too-crowded it was, and finally, them leaving and asking "Are you staying?" I held my tongue, wanting to say "Why would I want to stay amongst all these horny throbbing cocks and sweaty itching buttholes when I could go home to my cold and empty bed?" Instead I just made one last play for them, inviting them to my bed for pizza (Hairyhispanic was hungry, Smoothie was tired). It made them chuckle, but it did not elicit an actual answer. I stayed for a while, getting home just shy of 5 a.m., having done and seen enough to write a HONCHO magazine "article." Of course, I'm being a bit over-dramitic. My bed is neither cold nor empty - it's positioned right next to the radiator; and at last count, it contained 5 pillows, 2 jockstraps, one laundry bag, some bills that I payed earlier this week (or last week), some boxer shorts, a small bag of tortilla chips, and 3 trusty remote controls. But after feeling so blue Saturday, contemplating the holidays, being permanently single, etc., why am I so ready to go out into this cold rainstorm, amongst all the slush and melted snow from this afternoon, and check out that sexclub again? Well, I know the Dynamic Duo won't be there (I've only ever seen them there on Fridays), and sometimes the bad weather can make the smaller crowd there a bit more interesting, and interested in each other. I'm trying to get just a bit of Holiday Cheer - hence the feeble attempt at decorating as shown in the pic (I swear I'll get out the other stuff, or at least some lights). Saturday, December 13, 2003
 Friday, December 12, 2003
    directed by: Wallace Potts (1976?) I love this film. Sort of like Peter Berlin's That Boy, focusing on one guy and his sexual adventures, but Karl Forest doesn't take his narcissism so seriously. This playful scene near the beginning of the film shows off his versatility.  ugh. Even I'm getting tired of my bad attitude. So let's see if I can get this FrenchPorn ready for later this afternoon.
Thursday, December 11, 2003
Lesson #1: don't write about something that you want to happen just hours before, as it won't happen. Mr Right (aka burritoman) didn't show up for his wednesday burrito, goshdarnit. And to think that not only did I take a shower and wear my nicest black uniform shirt, but I also beaded and braided my beard. GRRRRRR. So then, during a slower part of the work-evening, I realized that it's probably a bad time of year to ask some guy on a date, anyways. You can't do that 2 weeks before Xmas - too awkwark. You might not get that second date if one or both of you are worried about the gift-giving implications/expectations of a 2nd date prior to Xmas. And you can't have a date before New Years Eve, as there would then be the awkwark question of what each are doing on that silly holiday. Of course, then January rolls around, its too cold out to do anything, and before yo know it, it's spring and who wants to date when you just want to run around and smell the flowers and have sex in the bushes of the various Parks in NYC? Wednesday, December 10, 2003
So there's this guy who comes into the burrito place I work at, about once a week, usually on Wednesdays. I've developed a little crush on him, and yet I can barely do more than say "hey, how's it going, that'll be $8.69, do you need utensils?" I can't seem to get myself to be a bit clearer that I would like to get to know him. Maybe because I'm not really sure if I want to. He's handsome, but not in a conventional manner, I suppose (which is a good thing to me). His appeal is that he has this smile, this face, that you just know is just so cuddley. He seems to light up when I say HI, and it's that kind of smile that looks so cool cuz you know you put it there, ya know? He has that REM-fan look - a bit scruffy, loose-fitting levis, all-cotton layered baseball cap wearing (gosh, now that I think about it, I have no idea what his hair looks like, IF he has hair!) But his manner, his demeanor is warm, relaxed, a bit shy. So the other day, when he called to order his take-out (I now recognize his voice over the phone), for the first time I asked for his name. He seemed a bit surprised, but I clearly did it the wrong way. I said "May I have a name, please?" - yeah, a name, not your name. Gosh, he may have made one up just to be a smart-ass. And then, idiot that I am, I didn't even use it, or try the teeniest bit of flirting when he got there, just handed him his bag of food, with the receipt and his name tagged on the outside. "hey, how's it going, that'll be $8.69." I think I am afraid of ruining it. Not that there's a lot there, just a once or twice a week moment where some nice guy makes me feel handsome and likeable just by his smile and hello. When I was in that barberchair the other night at the sexclub, and that couple I am mad about were pacing back and forth and I was feeling blue, I was actually experiencing some of the anxious, fearful feelings I've had when I was in a relationship. That "what have I done wrong"" feeling; that "why won't he tell me how he feels?" feeling; that "does he still like me?" feeling. It was quite awful, even if under the circumstances it might seem silly to most people. But that anxiety-ridden insecurity that seems common for me when I really dig someone. I hate it, I certainly don't miss it - and yet I am (fairly) certain that it is worth it if you get the pay-off; the chance to be someone's prince charming - put that smile on his face, make him know he's loved and cared for, all that gooshy stuff. I dunno. the burrito-man usually comes by on Wednesdays, (he didn't last Wednesday, and broke my heart - the agony!) and I've imagined all sorts of tacky ways to show my interest. (Rubbing my massive crotch-bulge while winking at him - but that wouldn't work as I'm behind a counter; carving my phone number in guacamole on his burrito; circling the "amount due" on his receipt in a big red heart.....) But maybe "tacky" isn't the way to go, eh? Tuesday, December 09, 2003
Speaking of Xmas...... ok, maybe nobody was, but I was sorting thru one of those old burned discs of illegally downloaded music, and found a few seasonal tunes. This one is one of my all-time faves; and I would PAY to see some sexy dancer/stripper do a routine to this lovely holiday instrumental, providing he avoids the temptation to use "jazz hands" as Jimmy Smith plays a killer Hammond organ.
Bttm4ToyPlay [2:01 AM]: sub hole here
Bjland [2:01 AM]: oh my Bttm4ToyPlay [2:02 AM]: >>> I was just about to ask what the heck ">>>" means, but I realized I'd rather not get any deeper into it with that particular sub hole. Besides, I was watching TV and laughing at Lieberman explain that somehow, Gore's endorsement of Dean made him "even more determined" to fight for the sole of the democratic party (maybe he meant soul, but I think he'll be getting the sole, at best). What a schlub. Or schlub hole. Why doesn't he take his 14 votes and give them to someone who could use them? Monday, December 08, 2003
Sunday, December 07, 2003
It's Sunday night, I have his jockstrap in my hands. (Well, it's also in my face, being sniffed, but that's besides the point). I got it Friday night, at the local sexclub; as we were dressing and leaving, I mentioned how I didn't get one of their straps - I had asked for BOTH, and the one guy said I had to choose. I figured that would be tacky, picking one from a couple, so I decided against it. But as we were dressing, I playfully mentioned that I blew it, and now I have no jockstrap cuz I got greedy and wanted both. He slowly pulled his pants back down, pulled his shoes off, stepped out of the pants, then the strap, and handed it to me. Of course I immediately put it in my face, and the coatcheck boy gasped; I put it in my leatherjacket pocket, and coatcheckboy said "That is so hot!" Well, it is and it isn't. I mean it is, but I'm kinda beyond a mere "hot" gesture. Those were the boys I re-met a few weeks back, who gave me their phone number. We talked a couple times on the phone, but my last call to their answering machine (2 weeks ago?) yielded no return call. Grrrr. I knew I shouldn't have gotten an answering machine just because of them! So, I was sorta giving up on them, and then they appeared late Friday night. Ultimately it was good hot sex, but it had too many starts and stops, and was a bit confusing to me. The Hairyhispanic spotted me first, big kiss, grope grope grope, then he said he'd tell the other one. Smoothie appeared, kinda apologized for not calling back, kisskiss, grope grope, Hairyhispanic re-appears, a bit more, then he leaves! Soon Smoothie left, "gotta piss" or some lame excuse. Later I spot them going at it, and decide to leave them alone. Then I got blue. Sitting there in a sexclub, pining over some hot couple. How pathetic. I almost left, wondered what the etiquette was (do I have to say goodbye? if I don't am I rude? blah blah blah), but decided against it, and then saw them with another guy. I watched, got excited, and made my way over, and was welcomed in. Then Hairyhispanic leaves, then Smoothie, and I'm thinking - maybe it's some stupid drug thing where they can't stay focused. Upstairs, a bit later, the 3 of us start up again; gets very heavy, very sweaty, and boom! Hairyhispanic mumbles something, walks away. Smoothie continues for a few minutes, but then seems distracted, and says he's gotta piss. I then decide to pry just a wee bit, and say "is he OK?" Smoothie tells me he'll find out. He doesn't actually come back, but I sit in that barbershop chair in the middle of the main room, and watch as Hairyhispanic walks past, and several yards behind is Smoothie. Back and forth several times. This time no acknowledgment of me; when they don't return for a while, my curiosity gets the better of me. When I find them, they are going at it by themselves, and I just stand at a distance; and then, after each notices me, they motion me over. Sloppy kissing, pushing my face into various parts of each other, then pushing my face into one, then another stranger's privates, back into sloppy face-to-face stuff, and Smoothie blasts a huge load all over my back. Hairyhispanic starts to walk away. WTF? He stops, turns, looks at me like "C'mon!" and I follow him up the stairs, he plops down on one of the couches, and pats the couch for me to sit between his beautiful thighs. More kissing, then shoving my face in his crotch, and by now he's really yanking on my beard. Smoothie reappears, plops down besides his boyfriend, they start to make out while Hairyhispanic is shoving and pushing and pulling on my head, face, and beard. He sounds like he's gonna pop, and I can't hold back anymore - I stand up just long enough to let them see me cum and he YEE-YANKS my beard back down, pulling real hard to get my face back under his balls, them SPLAT! all over me! And then the tough part. I get pulled up off the floor, pulled in between them, and we sit cuddled up, me in the middle. And we talk about nothing for a while, gently stroking, an occasional kiss. And it just feels sooooo good. And yet, where do I really fit in in this picture? This has occupied my thoughts for the past 2 days. It's pretty nutty to get all emotionally involved in a couple, eh? But besides the obvious amazing attraction I have to each of them, and to them together, I actually like them. Not just the ego thing of them again saying nice things about me after the sex, but the sort of comfortableness I felt with them. And wanting to get to know them better. And the burning desire to spend a night with them, including sleeping. I'm sure that would be a disaster. Well, obviously I'm not sure it would be, cuz I wouldn't want it so bad. But that feeling of collapsing after cumming, and just lingering until sleep takes over. I'm sure I wouldn't get much sleep, but I'd totally enjoy watching each and both of them sleep. I sure miss that part of sleep-overs. So anyway, I got dressed much faster than them, but stuck around and walked out with them. Even walked over to the deli with them; Hairyhispanic offers to buy me a snack, I decline. When we get outside, they're gonna take a cab uptown; me, I'm on foot (snow). I was gonna wait and see them into a cab, but realized I'm just prolonging the inevitable - me going home alone. I peck one on the cheek, then the other. Smoothie grabs me and gives me a huge firm hug, then his partner does as well. It's nice. But I want more. I smile and walk up Avenue A. Saturday, December 06, 2003
Friday, December 05, 2003
   "The hottest gay movie palace in New York: orgy in the orchestra, ball in the balcony, or make-out in the men's room." Filmed in Cruise-O-Rama, directed by Jack Deveau (1978). One of my all-time favorites - corny humor (mostly from Jack Wrangler - "I'm in men's clothing"), disco soundtrack including Sylvester, even a storyline! A young college student is interning at the Adonis Theatre, "majoring in Bars & Baths, with a minor in Discos," so we see the goings-on of the theatre thru his eyes. Oh yeah, and HOT SEX! Excuse the quality - a bit dark, and their's a bit of a buzz to the sound. Starring Jack Wrangler, Jayson MacBride, Geraldo, Tommy Ruscica, Malo, Big Al Little, Keith Strickland, Chris Michaels, Todd Tavers, Paul Maul, Eartha Hugee, Robert A. Glory, and Victor Williams. Plus Bill ELd, Lee Foster, Roger, and Mandingo (in scenes from Sex Magic) Myles Longue (a scene from Narcissus II) and Mark Woodward.
Thursday, December 04, 2003
   "Ever wonder about truckers? Or about how men get it on - with each other? My old man did." Yeah yeah yeah, another re-run; but like yesterday's - been over a year, it's Joe Gage, goshdarnit - and UNLIKE yesterday's, you'll actually see a bit of manmeat. 
"That's studly Hank Hightower who, if I had my druthers, could pound my ass any time he wanted, porno movie or not. Hank is a hot fucking daddy who defies the standard shaved and buffed porno star look. Plus he has a real dirty mouth and looks a lot a like my hot rancher uncle. The hottest scene I could imagine with Hank would be a recreation of my adolescent fantasies involving my uncle, his barn, his boots, his cock, and my ass." SPROING!!! Wednesday, December 03, 2003
 "If there's anything I like better than sucking cock, it's kicking ass!" I know I promised more porn, and this clip is from a pornomovie, but I just love this 2-minute scene so much, I just had to re-run it (I think I showed it about a year ago, so maybe some newbies might not have seen it). I think I'm gonna start calling jerks "PORKCHOP" like my hero Mr. Locke does in this clip. The early coverage on the Limon v. Kansas case seems to indicate that the outlook is good - although I must admit my heart sank when I read that it could be 60 days, or even longer, for a ruling to be issued, and further appeal is possible, (yes, I'm still naive enough to hope that a panel of judges would look at each other during oral argument and declare "This is outrageous! Set that young man free immediately!") - with one member of the three-judge panel hearing the arguments finding some of the State of Kansas's arguments for the huge discrepency in sentencing of same-sex vs. sex-discordant sex crimes "utterly rididulous."
Tuesday, December 02, 2003
  "I thought I was only doing 55, sir!" Apparently I've been a bit too frugal with the bandwidth this month, and so I need to burn thru a bunch by this Sunday (but don't go posting pornoclip links on those message boards, OK?) I realize having another dupedpornovideo give-away asking you to merely guess the lead actor's identity is too easy, so to make it a bit more interesting, you'll need to correctly identify the hairy hunk cop, then tell me whether you want to top or bottom with him in a porno movie, and why (yes, you'll have to turn me on to win - duh; and no, I can't arrange for you to actually do a porno movie scene with him). Most importantly, the winner's entry will get published here, but no names. Then the winner gets to pick from this pile of
The Kansas Court of Appeals will be hearing arguments in Matthew Limon�s appeal on December 2, 2003. I think this is happening as I type this - scheduled for 10 a.m. this morning (Central time), each side was given 30 minutes for oral argument (apparently, the usual time alloted is 15 minutes). I have no idea what the time frame is for what happens next - is there a set time for the Court to issue it's opinion? Remember folks, he's been in prison for 3 years, 9 months; if it was str8 sex under the exact same circumstances, he would have been out of jail 2-1/2 years ago! Monday, December 01, 2003
  It's the fall of 1983. I had only lived here for a few months, but The Bar on 2nd Ave and 4th St was already my favorite hangout. That's where I met Danny, and after talking a bit about music sipping our beers by the jukebox (oh wait, Danny never drank beer), we left and went to my place. We dated for just a couple of months; he's not one of the three "official" boyfriends I've had - I generally count just the ones that have lasted more than 6 months. Anyway, those couple of months was mostly going to movies, listening to music together, smoking pot - fairly laid-back relationship that somehow (miraculously, actually) smoothly went from boyfriendness to friendship rather seamlessly -- just one day we realized we had stopped sleeping together; I was dating someone else, and so was he. We stayed good friends, but saw each other less, of course. A movie here or there, bumping into each other at the same East Village bars, and of course our shared interest in music (he always had the coolest 12-inch records, and turned me on to THE THE, for example). But as the decade progressed, every once in a while I would get a panicked phone call. An unexplained purplish spot, a cold that wouldn't go away - always common symptoms that could be anything, but somehow he'd work himself up into a panic and freak out. He'd see a doctor a day or two later, all was fine for a few months until another panic hit. Even when the HIV test became available, it was too scary for most of us to even consider taking it. There wasn't anything to actually DO about a positive result, for one; and there were a million reasons to worry about what could happen to you if someone like a landlord or boss found out. We saw each other less and less, but sometime in the late 80's he called to tell me his brother, who lived in LA, had died of AIDS. Apparently he had been sick for a while, his brother's lover had been quite wonderful to him, even his Mom had flown out to help in the final days. It was quite unlike Danny to share intimate details like that, with me or anyone from what I knew of him. But he needed to talk, and we talked about it for a while, then on to other topics, catching up, and vowing to see each other more often. That didn't happen. We'd still run into each other, I got involved in ACT UP, he moved out of Manhattan (temporarily, he would always say). He no longer had his full-time office job, but several part-time freelance gigs, which seemed fine, but money was always tight. He managed to move back to Manhattan, but we didn't really see each other more - not planned, anyway. But it was good to bump into him when we did, of course. Meanwhile, the mid 90's were tough - my Dad passed away suddenly, then two very good friends got sick, and both died. I had given up on ACT UP for lots of reasons by then, and the day-to-day of seeing Rick get sicker, spend time in the hospital, and finally give up, was just too overwhelming. And only a few months after Rick died, Danny called. He needed help moving. Since leaving Manhattan a few years back, he'd lived in Brooklyn, Manhattan again (scary Avenue D), and then Queens. He couldn't even afford Queens any longer, and could I help him pack and move? Sure, of course (although I dreaded it - I'd helped him before - he's one of those guys who gets huge boxes and throws everything in them while the moving van is in the street waiting). The shocker was that he was going to Long Island, to live with his mother. That's when he told me. He's sick. He has no money, he has no insurance, he has to sort through his stuff and throw stuff out so he can move into his mother's small Long Island apartment. He was barely working. When I first got there, he looked OK. Not great, but not sick, ya know. Worried, overwhelmed, and in the middle of tons of shit. We busied ourselves with the task at hand, getting his stuff ready, sorting what's going, what has to be thrown away or given away. I don't think we ever talked about him being sick. I did find out that he had no actual way to transport his stuff to his Ma's house, but I knew someone who I figured would work cheap. I can't remember how long we worked, or if I went out to Queens more than once before moving day to help sort. But the toughest part was as he's pulling stuff to throw away. One of our running "disagreements" in terms of music was the Rolling Stones. He loved them. Absolutely adored Mick Jagger, thought he was sexy, talented, etc., etc. I thought quite the opposite, and would often tease Danny about it. Danny had a couple of huge advertising placards, these huge monstrosities that he somehow finagled from some record store years ago. I couldn't tell you which albums they were from, except that they had huge ugly Mick Jagger all over them. He was bringing them down to the garbage. I stopped him. He argued that he had no room for them - I reminded him that he never had room for them, I'd helped him move them before. His mother would kill him anyway with all this shit he bringing with, there was just no way. I offered to keep them for him, until he got a new place. He thanked me, but calmly said it's better that he just get rid of this stuff. I was getting very upset;, but it was irritating him, so I let it go. Moving day comes, we somehow managed to get all his stuff in Norman's van, leaving more stuff on the curb of his old apartment building in Queens. We get stuck in traffic on the Long Island Expressway; I'm in the back seat, and Norman starts to make conversation with Danny. Why is he moving, why Long Island, etc. Danny is evasive at first, but eventually he tells Norman he's sick, no money, no insurance, etc. I can't hear everything that's said, but by the time we get to Danny's Mom's place, Norman is writing down some info, some phone numbers and names to call. Danny's Mom is overwhelmed by the amount of stuff Danny has, and oh-fuck, we brake something of hers while carrying the boxes inside. She has totally not prepared for a grown man to move all his worldly possessions into her home, and we are just stacking boxes of albums, books, art supplies, etc., where ever we can. She offers to take us out to lunch, but Norman needs to get back to the city. I say my good-bye to Danny, he tries to give me money, so we have one last argument before I leave. We hug. I wait until we get in the van before I cry, riding quietly back to Manhattan. It's the fall of 2003. A pal of mine from North Carolina is sitting shirtless next to me at the upstairs bar at The Eagle. We're buying each other beers, when I notice some hair that I recognize. Danny still has his big 80's hair, the freak. I get his attention, introduce him, he sits down. I hadn't seen him in maybe a year or more at this point, I ask him what's going on. "I'm living in Paris with Jacques, (I'm totally making up the name, as I have no recollection of what his name is, but Danny says it like I'd remember, and Danny would never say "boyfriend") been there since the beginning of the year, learning French. I've sold a few paintings, in fact. And I come back to the States every 3 months to see the doctor, have my meds refilled, he takes a few tests, etc." We talk more about other stuff, he doesn't stay long, we exchange addresses. I can't explain why this all came back to me this week. Probably those grim statistics, and the numbness. 5 million new infections, 3 million deaths - this year? I sat in bed after reading those numbers, and it was too big. It makes no sense; and worse, it's so huge, it's nearly meaningless. How can this be? And for the past few days, I'm thinking of one person. One person who got his life back. And that was what, 8 years ago; how can it be worse now? We don't know less, we don't have less powerful drugs, we don't know less about prevention. But one thing has stayed the same. The wrong people have it, the wrong people are still getting it, and whogivesafuck? |
I had many beers, several shots of some surprisingly smooth tequila, and took lots of pics of co-workers. The man to the right here is not a co-worker, he just happened to be walking by the restaurant during our party selling tacky Santa Hats (notice mine doesn't have flashing lit up stars on the brim - mine is quite, well, untacky). Somehow, around 2:30 my bike managed to get me home safely, even though I took a wrong turn and wound up at The Cock, but somehow sensible enough to know not to pay 5 bucks cover for a Monday night (I think it was their anniversary party, and may well have been worth it if I wasn't already one of those stumbling drunks we all know to avoid).
