I always want to start my blog with the title. Today I have none. Today has been shit. God, I’ve been fretting. Fretting about Gaza, Israel, Ferguson, bad white cops, arming black people, traveling, Alcoholics Anonymous.
I’ve been fretting about one beautiful man.
The Alcoholics Anonymous shit is the usual shit. The same characters, the same stories, the same mental illness. I sit in those rooms wondering why I’m there, if I belong to a cult? Yet, I never think about drinking. I mean, I’m not looking for an excuse to drink. That’s the very last thing I want to do.
You see, it was one of those weeks when I heard that someone in AA killed themselves. Someone I heard speak, someone I had spoken to. Someone I had lunch with, someone I had hope for. Then he blew his brains out. No obituary, no news report. Just another recovering alcoholic who couldn’t take it any more. I thought about how we collectively accept the plaudits for keeping each other sober yet when a man kills himself it was his problem. His solution. Never our responsibility. He had a six-year-old son. He dressed very well. Now he’s dead.
Since getting sober 18 years ago I have known many, many men and not so many women to kill themselves in the rooms of AA/NA. It is never easy. Yet, I have become desensitized from these terrible deaths and I hate myself for it. I’m sorry. I really am.
This week, I ate a great deal at Gjelina in Venice and these men graciously served me.
Last week I drove to San Francisco to see my friend Benoit Denizet Lewis read excerpts from his book Travels With Casey. After the reading we had dinner with Armistead Maupin and his charming boyfriend. I told Armistead that I hadn’t read his famous book Tales of the City until I got to The Men’s County Jail. I found a dog eared copy there. It was a first edition.
That night we stayed in an odd 50’s hotel/ex-motel off of trendy Chestnut Street. The following day we drove to Napa and had lunch with Gene. After lunch we wandered the giant redwoods in Muir Woods. On the way back to San Francisco we watched people flying kites on Stinson Beach.
On my way home to Los Angeles I met up with my Whitstable friend Ben Clayton in Berkeley, we ate brunch then sauntered all over the UC Berkeley campus. We talked a great deal about home. We talked about our mothers.
Back in Malibu I picked a huge bunch of bananas from the banana trees at the end of the garden, I harvested (and continue to) an abundance of figs and lemons. I sold the bananas to my friend Nicolle the pie lady at Gjelina who bruleed them.
Yesterday, I went to the Norco Rodeo with Stuart Sandford. Norco is an hour from Los Angeles. It was the whitest event I have ever been to. White people everywhere eating nachos and swilling beer. The men wore cowboy hats. The women screamed when the obedient bulls tossed their riders into the sand.
We wondered if there were other gays there. The nearest gay on-line was 3 miles away. I took pictures of cowboys. I ate tri-tip sandwiches. I was looking for bucking bronco Cody Gaines who I met the day before on Malibu beach. Cody lives in Texas. Cody loves Jesus.
Mostly I have been amusing myself in the garden. I have been sweeping paths and mending lights and restoring order. The dogs have been lazing all over the house during the day, finding patches of sunlight to flop into. At night they spend too much time protecting me from deer and raccoons. Go to sleep!
Michael came to visit from NYC. He was sweet and charming. I met the guy with a beard… and here’s a better picture of Stuart. Stuart Sandford is a very fine artist. He lives and works at the Tom of Finland House in Echo Park. My friend Martin arrived from Provincetown. He’s staying for a few days.
All in all it hasn’t been a bad month. It’s just these past few hours. I needed to sit down and write a gratitude list… and this is it. You see, I woke up today and I’m not a hounded black teen on the streets of any city USA. I’m not a hounded Palestinian in the ever shrinking patch of land they call home. I’m not a fatherless 6 year old… and lastly, I didn’t blow my brains out this week because I couldn’t take it any more… and for that I must be grateful.
Latex bondage wear ready to be washed from the dungeon at The Tom of Finland House, Echo Park.
They had the complexion of wealth, that white complexion that is heightened by the pallor of porcelain, the sheen of satin, the luster of fine furniture, and is kept in perfect condition by a moderate diet of exquisite foods. Those who were beginning to age seemed youthful, while those who were young had a certain look of maturity. Their faces wore that placid expression which comes from the daily gratification of the passions; and beneath their polished manners one could sense the special brutality that comes from half-easy triumphs which test one’s strength and flatter one’s vanity.
We drove from Provincetown yesterday, leaving the pretty streets, the clapboard houses and verdant gardens to Bear Week. Thousands of large, hairy shouldered men smiling and engaging not scowling or isolating like the circuit boys who infested the town two weeks previously during the 4th July celebration.
The past six weeks in Provincetown were, on the whole, a great deal of fun. I met a huge assortment of extraordinary and not so extraordinary people. I saw people I knew from LA and NYC. I met men and women from DC, Nashville and Florida. Mostly enjoying their week off, some of them… not so much. Americans get so few vacations.
The A gays who live in Provincetown were kind and considerate. They have beautiful homes and make them readily available to those they trust.
The extraordinary designer Ken Fulk has restored a perfect gem of a house in The East End where I was privileged to spend the 4th July and then see photographed by famed society doyenne Douglas Friedman for Elle Decor. Editor Robert Ruffino scampering around arranging flowers wearing his Florentine winkle pickers.
The walls are the color of raspberry mousse, the windows frames and architrave painted chocolate-brown.
My birthday dinner: an anonymous donor very kindly paid for.
I really didn’t know anyone very well at my party, except Michael Goff and Michael Cunningham. So when it came to making my speech, after the candle was snuffed, I said: “I don’t know any of you at all… but this delightful group of strangers came together to celebrate the birthday of another stranger… and with such magnanimity it brings tears to my eyes.”
The following day I told someone from the party that I had no intention of making friends with him beyond Provincetown because our friendship could only flourish on the Cape. He looked a little perplexed but one has to be realistic. When we return to the city a tsunami of gay gossip will drown the truth and ones expectations will be dashed.
The utterly adorable Michael Cunningham (who I had known previously through Amelia Rizo) made a necklace for my birthday. We sat in his exquisitely decorated water front home, surrounded by magnificent art, picking out trinkets for a silver chain. I had a moment of unrestrained excitement as I realized that a Pulitzer Prize winning author, writer of The Hours, was making me a birthday present with his bare hands. He continued, throughout my stay, to delight and engage. We discussed Emma Bovary. We… of a certain age, share the same literary starting blocks… but he won the race.
We talked about Neil Bartlett‘s beautiful book Who Was That Man. Required reading for any young gay.
There were many occasions these past weeks when I noticed how relaxed I was, at peace, living in my own body, inhabiting the life I have rather than the life I thought I wanted. There were, of course, other occasions when a face from the past popped into view and caused momentary consternation. The vile, blond publicist/image consultant, owner of Black Frame Brian Phillips who, wether he likes it or not, is in my social orbit but never bothers to be cordial. Or the ex boyfriend Chris Shipman who cycled around town with his thin calves and sad eyes. I ignored the ex and engaged with fey Brian Phillips who sat in his chair as I forcefully reminded him what an evil cunt he can be and how he seems unable to keep and love another man due to his crippling narcissism.
I met Jim Lande, producer of the hit burlesque/freak show Audition and talked about his flawed film: Love is Strange directed by Ira Sachs. Shown at The Provincetown Film Festival this beautifully shot and directed film promises so much but fails to deliver… relying on coincidence and melodrama. The film lacks any real emotion. Two old gay married men separated by circumstance and bad choices. Could have been brilliant but… wasn’t.
I kept away from the drag shows and the theatrical events but I saw Ryan Landry‘s inventive and surreal Pantomime: Snow White and The Seven Bottoms which reminded me of Charles Ludlam. Go see this if you can.
I spent a great deal of time chatting with the adorable Andrew Sullivan and his husband Aaron Tone. The gays, on the whole, are openly hostile to Andrew, they accuse him of being a ‘traitor to the gays’ because he aggressively posits an alternative view. Our politics couldn’t be more different yet we agreed about so much, mainly our loathing of powerful lobby groups like AIPAC, GLAAD and the HRC. I found him to be gracious and engaging.
Andrew told fascinating stories about his private dinners with President Obama, his short-lived stay in NYC, the history of his three-legged dog. We sat outside The Wired Puppy coffee shop on Commercial Street where I witnessed at first hand the disdain the gays show him and the delight straight people have… in equal measure.
The white gays may never understand his POV because by now they think they rule the world.
I spent time with Michael Goff and Andy Towle in town to promote their site towleroad.com, we greeted the first of the bears at the dock with 20 drag Goldilocks who boasted that they had eaten all the porridge. We sat in their charming house and ate whatever they had in their fridge. We took my friend Caroline Reid to a Bear-B-Q, Caroline is cult performer PamAnn. We took her to more bear events where she was the only woman. Her fans adore her.
And that was that. There were other amusing people to play with who I haven’t mentioned. There were less amusing people who I hope I never see again.
Thanks Provincetown and… adieu.
Jay originally sold it to Charles Saatchi for $300,000. Why did Jay Jopling want it back so badly? Sentimental?
The art market remains totally unregulated. An audacious art market ploy, it is an open secret that gallerists operate a cabal that controls bidding at auction, maintaining an artists credibility and in this case artificially inflating Tracey Emin’s waning prices.
This con is not illegal.
Transforming art of questionable value into work of capital value that can be tendered with the Inland Revenue. Money laundering in plain sight until the ‘art work’ has an ersatz value all of its own… independent even of its secondary market value, it can then be offered to the State as an asset by its owner, in place of whatever they owe in taxes. The Lucian Freud estate recently traded 15 million gbp worth of Art in lieu of death duties.
A foot note: Tracy hid in her bed for three days presumably on housing and other benefits. Benefits she received for 30 years. Benefits she, as a Tory, wants to deprive others.
Wanna read about the bed….
A consummate storyteller, Tracey Emin engages the viewer with her candid exploration of universal emotions. Well-known for her confessional art, Tracey Emin reveals intimate details from her life to engage the viewer with her expressions of universal emotions. Her ability to integrate her work and personal life enables Emin to establish an intimacy with the viewer.
Tracey shows us her own bed, in all its embarrassing glory. Empty booze bottles, fag butts, stained sheets, worn panties: the bloody aftermath of a nervous breakdown. By presenting her bed as art, Tracey Emin shares her most personal space, revealing she is as insecure and imperfect as the rest of the world.
Provincetown, for those who have never been, is basically one long Victorian street… Commercial Street. At all times of night and day teeming with pedestrians, bicycles and dogs. Cars edge cautiously amongst the chaos.
Near the Town Hall at town’s center there are bars, candy stores and tourist favorites like The Lobster Pot serving lobster rolls and oysters. Provincetown has become an unlikely hen night/bachelorette party destination. Rowdy, drunk girls dressed in cheap veils patrol the streets screaming raucous songs and hitting men on the head with large dildos… true story.
Drag queens hate Bachelorettes.
During the season (June-September) there are themed entertainment weeks (Saturday to Saturday) for gays, lesbians and trans customers.
Commercial Street is divided into East and West Ends. It’s probably best to work out which end is which within minutes of arriving here. So, facing from the bay where the ferry disgorged… the west will be to your left, the east to your right. I start my day, every day at 7am, after my beach walk with the dogs… unleashed, on the patio at:
Hours: 7:00 am – 7:00 pm
Delicious, fragrant coffee served by an attentive bunch who remember both your name and what you want. Joe’s is a staple breakfast haunt for most of the cool ‘townies’ (locals). It’s common to see straight-backed, imperious Andrew Sullivan arrive with his husband on their bikes or watch John Waters sail elegantly by dressed in Issy Miyake. Try the delicious, freshly baked almond croissant… but get there early to avoid disappointment.
Eavesdrop! Who fucks who? Learn all the local gossip: “They bring their terrible taste from the suburbs…”
A great way to start the day with everyone who works or lives in Provincetown… and a few tourists.
Meet this man drinking coffee and eating his breakfast:
120 Commercial Street Provincetown, Massachusetts 02657 Phone: 508 413-9500
Run by Josh Patner ex Rome based fashion journalist and stylist, this charming haunt is brimming with local and international art. Possibly the chicest most eclectic store in town. Beware! By August almost everything has been sold. Look out for beautiful and reasonably priced ceramics by: Gail S. Browne.
I bought a beautiful vase by Gail Browne and a gorgeous 18th Century throw.
3. Room 68
377 Commercial Street, Provincetown, MA 02657 Phone: 617-942-7425
Room 68 is Eric Portnoy’s 21st century gift shop. Originally out of Boston’s Jamaica Plain – 68 South Street, originating the store’s name. Look for Debra Folz ingenious extending ash table and more of her award-winning work. For those drowning in bad art glass and cat portraits… Room 68 is a welcome high style lifeboat on the choppy sea of capey mediocrity – quite unlike any other found on Commercial Street… or on Cape Cod.
225 Commercial Street, Provincetown, MA 02657 Phone: 508 487-3800
Opened in 2013 Canteen continues its stunning success. This charming restaurant is perfectly situated at the heart of Provincetown, offering a simple, unpretentious menu that capitalizes on local favorites like the ubiquitous Lobster Roll but served in a wholly original way. Like the interior of this nautical themed dining room the food is fresh, clean and authentic. The deep-fried smelt with tartar sauce are not everyone’s cup of tea… but I love them. Order everything with re-fried Brussels sprouts doused in an aromatic balsamic reduction and remember to sit in the newly opened garden overlooking the dunes and the spectacular sunset.
5. Red Inn
15 Commercial St, Provincetown, MA 02657 Phone: 508 487-7334
Away from the madding Provincetown crowd, either a 30 minute walk or a ten minute rickshaw ride is the legendary Red Inn. Consistency, taste and prompt service make this elegant venue an essential but expensive must see. Last night we ate perfectly prepared filet mignon, served by delightfully charming staff at the bar over looking the spectacular bay. Older bearded gay men with their well behaved hounds sit on the terrace and drink cocktails. One eats reasonably priced oysters during happy hour (4pm-5pm) or lounge in the very British country garden: lavender, roses and sweet-william perfume the early evening breeze.
6. Mimere’s Homemade
281 Commercial Street #4, Provincetown, MA 02657 Phone: 917 670-7561
Opened by ex-banker Andrew Hood just this year to sell his vast array of delicious home-made, seasonal jams and jellies using old-fashioned techniques. I bought 6 different flavors including hefeweizen (wheat beer and orange) and red onion preserve. The chunky peach jam is particularly delicious, slathered on crusty toast from the Pain D’Avignon French Bakery found at Provincetown Farmer’s market held every Saturday by the Town Hall.
7. Provincetown Film Festival
Provincetown Town Hall, 260 Commercial Street, Provincetown, MA 02657 Phone: 508 487-7000
This years Provincetown Film Festival, hailed a huge success, attracting viewers from all over the world. I met women from Europe and a couple from Australia who coincided their holiday with the film festival. A well-organized and international feeling festival The Provincetown Film Festival grows in reputation every year. This year I saw Andrew Sullivan rip a new ass hole in the makers of the ghastly Chad Griffin propaganda film: The Case Against 8, at a festival breakfast. I couldn’t think of a better way to spend $25.
As I left the breakfast feeling exhilarated, I bumped into a huge and handsome man, I said, “Did you see that! Andrew Sullivan is my hero!”
He replied, “Me too, that’s why I married him.”
8. Fag Bash at The Governor Bradford
312 Commercial St Provincetown, MA 02657
I’ve already written at length about this wonderful, subversive spectacle. A delightful Wednesday night basement party. Arrive at 11pm, leave at 1am. Wear your finest drag. I expect the ghost of Leigh Bowery to make an appearance at any moment. Remember, most everything closes at 1am in Ptown.
9. John Derian
396 Commercial Street Provincetown, MA 02657 Phone: 508 487-1362
The queen of decoupage Derian runs a tiny showroom a world away from his NYC empire. It is packed with essential nick nacks at the back of his Greek revival Ptown home. Black, $500 paper hollyhocks are not immediately alluring or justified… but… with time… anything is possible. I love the meat dolls by Nathalie Lete and the papier-mache hippo head. At night, as you pass by, envy his candle lit parties for Martha Stuart… and other gorgeous celebrities.
This boy will serve you. His name is Kevin and he is DIVINE.
145 Commercial Street, Provincetown MA Phone: 508 487-5151
Once a week I drop into see the charming, flirtatious Joey to have my hair and beard trimmed. It’s essential whenever you are anywhere for longer than a week to locate a great barber and Joey is he. Very reasonably priced, very funny and he’s… totally gorgeous. In fact, I’m off there, right now to get my neck shaved.
There’s a party thrown every Wednesday night in Provincetown called Fag Bash. I popped in late last night. It’s perhaps the best $5 you can spend in this little town. It seems that everyone (crammed in the tiny dark basement) takes hours applying meticulous makeup and dressing in gorgeous goth/romantic costume. Thick black eye liner, masks and glittering lipstick. Organza capes, knitted horns for devilish girls and boys, a carnival of creative wonder.
This procession begins weaving its way up Commercial Street at 10 o’clock and back again, disheveled and drunken, after the decadent party in the wee hours. It’s so heartening and invigorating to see. Inspiring! I’m going to dress up next week. Count me in. She’ll make an appearance. I promise you.
Thank God for Fag Bash! Earlier, yesterday evening, I had to sit through perhaps the worst gay themed film… ever. Tom Dolby and Tom Williams’s co-directed travesty: Last Weekend.
Billionaire, Tom Dolby is the Dolby sound system heir. In lieu of any real talent he has bought himself a free pass into the film industry. Last Weekend is his debut film made after the crashing disaster of his first novel… I’m assuming another vanity project? Tom embraces the ‘right to fail’. Why not? Tom and his husband and their two surrogate daughters have nothing to worry about. It really doesn’t matter how miserable their artistic endeavors… because money is no object.
Co-Directors Tom and Tom arrived at the opening night screening wearing their crisp navy/cream linen suits, their Hollywood team in tow… their ‘award winning’ producers, their manager; my old friend Danny Halstead and their leading lady Patricia Clarkson. Tom introduces the film with a sullen one liner and so it began… the dirge.
After a confusing opening moment… Clarkson gazing wistfully, maybe perplexed (perhaps she has cataracts) over Lake Tahoe, family members arrive for Memorial Day Weekend. They are served by a phalanx of miserable latino staff. There are bad jokes about celebrity, alcoholism and how ‘crazy’ Clarkson’s character is. The pace is languorous and indulgent, the characters are clichéd and increasingly… unwatchable.
After twenty minutes the roof of The Provincetown Town Hall begins to sag with disappointment. Members of the audience leave. Feet shuffle, somebody drops their change.
Patricia Clarkson is an accomplished actress, yet in Last Weekend she is left flailing, undirected, spewing appalling lines in badly constructed scenes. Left to her own devices… she resorts to pleading hand gestures (elephant’s testicles) and shrill, post menopausal delivery. The director of photography does her no favors with unflattering close-ups and clumsy framing. I felt so sorry for the actors. Trapped in trite scene after trite scene. Forced to act out the life of the writer/director… was it shot in the Dolby family lake house?
Heartless, bereft of emotion, contrived.
My friend, the talented actor Zachary Booth plays a screen writer… obviously Dolby. Yes, another film about a conflicted writer. Why can’t these people have real jobs? Lazy writing by rich, entitled, white gay men. Neither director seems to have any compassion for their characters, just as they had no compassion for the Provincetown audience. This film is terrible and no amount of Dolby gay millions could save it.
These two local events (Fag Bash and The Provincetown Film Festival) serve as a metaphor for gay life in the USA. On the streets and in the bars the club kids are brimming with creative genius, embracing modernity. Wearing their extraordinary costumes they stand in opposition to mediocrity. Last Weekend is what affluent, heteronormative, white gays serve up as ‘gay culture’. My fear is that the obscenely rich and bourgeois Tom Dolby and his terrible film will be used as evidence for what queer life is like now rather than the vibrant party thrown by the disenfranchised in the dingy Fag Bash basement.
As the elderly gray-haired gays tittle-tattle at Joe’s Coffee shop on Commercial Street, making snide comments about those they like and those they don’t… like so many teenage girls, bullying, name calling and whispering. The lesbians remain dignified and polite. They say good morning or make easy conversation. They comment on the weather or ones choice of croissant in such a way that improves the quality of the day.
Not all lesbian are like this of course but my experience here in Provincetown is irrefutable.
We chanced upon a lesbian memorial at Herring Cove a few nights ago, a memorial for a woman who died last October. There were photographs of her set around the fire on sticks. I sat with her wife of 30 years and she reminisced. She told me their story. I wondered how she would cope on her own.
“Oh, you get used to it.” She said.
I didn’t believe her. Dude sat on her lap. She loved Dude and Dude loved her. We ate her Red Velvet gluten free cup cake and sprayed ourselves with insect repellent.
Last night I stopped for a slice of pizza with Brent and Derek, my crime fighting buddies.
We’d had a long day, I was up at 5am. I’d spent an hour or so on the phone with lawyers. I spent time answering emails. I filled in forms and scanned them. I made time to have a pair of sandals made here:
Like most days I walked the dogs in the graveyard with Benoit. I walked the dogs on the beach. I walked the dogs to Joe’s coffee shop. I walked the dogs to the West End and back east again. Dude is still fat. The Little Dog is lithe and eager.
I found a beautiful dusky gray/mauve tamarisk at Captain Jack’s Wharf.
Brent and I poked our noses into John Derian’s home/shop. His little shop of curiosities. He sells French glass cloche and rattan and decoupage. Who buys decoupage? Everyone apparently.
I ordered the slice of Pizza and sat with Derek. It was delicious. As I was leaving, I heard a Northern English accent. Two elderly women from Manchester… eating the largest pizza I have ever seen. They looked embarrassed.
They said, “This is too big for us, d’you want some?”
I overcame my English reserve and sat with them and ate their pizza. They were retired PE teachers from Bolton. They had lived together the past 15 years. They had a small house and garden and took the bus into central Manchester which, they assured me, was very safe and had loads to do.
I wanted to know what they were doing with their retirement.
They said they went to concerts and the theatre and sat outside ‘weather permitting’ enjoying Manchester’s ‘cafe society’. They rode their bikes and looked after their cats. Mostly they travelled, this year they had been to The Galapagos and seen the giant tortoise and snorkel with penguins, they had taken a safari in Africa and showered out doors under the stars. They had visited a brother in Sydney and driven to Melbourne along the coast, like I had with that beautiful boy… all those years ago.
I found myself talking about getting older.
“Old people aren’t the same as when I was growing up.” I wondered. “Yes,” they said, “Not the same at all.”
“They retired and spent time just waiting to die.” I said. “Yes.” They nodded in unison.
I told them about my grandmother who was widowed when she was in her 50’s and at that very moment became an old lady. Cut her hair short, permed it and let it whiten. She died when she was 96. I didn’t cry. My mother did, she sobbed like I sobbed when the big dog was killed. She was inconsolable, as was I about my dog.
I thought a great deal about my grandmother, chatting with these dear old lesbians. I wondered how she could have lived so long feeling so miserable, stuck in one town, complaining about this and that… isolated from all her daughters (how can a mother hate her own daughters?) other than my mother. I remembered just how much she didn’t want to die. She was terrified. I wondered if my uncle Norman killed her. There was little love lost between them and he was with her at the end. She would have been too weak to fight.
We said our goodbyes and good nights. I’m sure I’ll bump into them again. I hope I do. I wish I was an old lady.
The light is beautiful here today. The sea is sparkling. I want for nothing. Happily looking over the Atlantic, the Cape swinging around me teaming with life. Lobsters, basking sharks, oysters, cod and herring. I had fish and chips for lunch yesterday.
Here are my finished sandals:
Gay men in Los Angeles told researchers that they believed a culture that focuses on one-night stands and partying, that emphasizes perfect bodies and good looks, that prizes material possessions, that sees gay men tearing each other down as they compete for attention and that pressures gay men to fit in or conform is bound to create unhappiness, stress and unhealthy behaviors.
The word on the street in gay resort/haven Provincetown? The straights are coming, they are coming thick and fast, young affluent heterosexuals buying property, renting holiday apartments and day tripping. I was reassured by a cool, 31-year-old, straight person yesterday that this was the heterosexual ‘tipping point’. Of course (if true) the reasons are obvious. The older more affluent crowd of gay men and lesbians who bought affordable homes here twenty years ago are simply not that interesting to a less ghettoized younger gay crowd who go to Fire Island or Mykonos where a good gay thumping time is assured, where they can find an affordable share for the summer… anyway, the drag is so much better the closer you get to NYC.
Young straight men and women who used to actively avoid hanging in gay ghettos… or felt uncomfortable no longer have any reservation. This, my dears is one of the more unexpected changes that comes with ‘integration’. Our gay communities, gay clubs and gay bars will dilute as we become more heteronormative.
How do the gays feel about straight people buying into the gay and lesbian ghetto dream? I hear grumblings from some, but what can they say? We can’t restrict straight people from joining the party? Before the great shift, the Obama ‘evolution’, the Blair/Mandleson equality bill I would regularly challenge straight people who came to our clubs and bars, wondering why they were there… if they understood why gays and lesbians created safe spaces for themselves… now apparently we all live in a safe space… together.
If the war is won do we abandon the notion of a safe space, a gay bar, an LGBTQ community? Is that what we were fighting for? As it turns out, gay men are still living shameful and secretive lives… safely hidden from prying eyes. No longer behind the blacked out windows of the gay bar but on the internet where we can fully reinvent ourselves as muscle-bound avatars, 10 years younger than we really are.
The gay bar, meanwhile… becomes a themed experience for enlightened neo-liberal heterosexuals. After all, gay men don’t need to meet one another in real life when we can meet on-line, reducing our interaction before a sexual encounter to the barest possible exchange of relevant facts. Hung? Looking? Party?
The same heterosexual land grab is happening in the Fire Island Pines gay community. Straight people are buying and renting homes at a faster rate than gay people. Of course… the truth is, we never really owned the lions share of Fire Island Pines… it was always owned by straight people. Three heterosexual families who control The Pines real estate market.
In San Francisco‘s iconic gay area The Castro we are facing extinction in our natural habitat, bought out/selling out to silicone valley billions. What are we left with? Our sad LGBT ‘pride’ parade: a blinded corporate-sponsored dinosaur serving only the breweries and distilleries, no longer a political defiance… no longer worth a pilgrimage by those newly out yearning to see gays en masse… the gay parade and all it seeks to celebrate merely adds to our woes, confirming the worst about who we have become.
How long will it take for Provincetown to lose its unique identity and become just another Cape Cod town? The Pines, just another beach community on Fire Island? How long will it take for our history to be lost, forgotten or ignored by apathetic gay white men who have no interest in those who came before? The heroes who fought decades of violent oppression, the ‘gay plague’, who demanded equality… how long will it be until their names are erased?
Do you know who they are? Harvey Milk… and…
The politics of invisibility.
As the quality of our lives collectively ‘improves’, as we ‘integrate’ due to the passing of progressive equality laws why are we still facing a crisis? Why do gay men continue to struggle with life-threatening health problems at alarmingly high rates compared to straight men — alcoholism, drug abuse, depression, suicide, and sexually transmitted diseases.
Gay and bisexual men are still most impacted by HIV/AIDS and syphilis, they suffer higher rates of substance abuse, they are more likely to drink heavily later into life, and they are more likely to commit suicide and suffer major depression and anxiety and bipolar disorders.
Gay men with mental health problems are more likely to use illegal drugs and commit suicide. Or regularly using drugs and alcohol can lead to risky sexual behavior, which increases the likelihood of getting infected by an STD.
Our health problems, in other words, are feeding into each other, we’re literally killing ourselves through suicide, substance abuse and HIV/AIDS at higher rates than straight men. Let’s say that again: We are killing ourselves at higher rates than straight men through suicide, substance abuse and HIV/AIDS.
Some gays are quick to point to the stresses of living as a gay man in an overwhelmingly straight world — one that passes anti-gay laws and constantly spews homophobic rhetoric — as a reason for mental health and substance abuse problems. With that argument, they are coming very close to saying that we are powerless victims who have little control over our own lives and choices, that homophobes have more power over us.
That’s a ridiculous notion — lethal and self-defeating.
Since homophobia still exists and is not going away any time soon, the victim theory, if embraced, dooms us to a life of external, homophobic stressors that forces us to drink too much, commit suicide too frequently and get depressed too often.
Go, then! Then go to the moon-you selfish dreamer!
I left Fire Island on Wednesday. Driving north with my Persian friend Iliad. The clouds were low, the air muggy and thick. We took the ferry from Orient Point to New London, there was a British aristocrat on the ferry stitching needle point. Beautiful raspberry and pistachio coloured yarn.
My intention is to return to Fire Island… maybe…. next month. The last couple of days there blighted by torrential rain and chilly winds. Friends came, David visited from NYC for the day and Lorne made an appearance but mainly to fetch his forgotten/lost bag.
May proved to be chillier than I remember. Memorial Day and the biscotti queens came and went. John, the owner of the house arrived and made everything broken… work. I cooked a huge dinner and he and his friends the Scots seemed to love it. Andrew from Dover Street Market swept in wearing incredibly chic pants. John baked Halibut en cocotte.
During the week those of us who stayed were thrown together at the Canteen (I think they call it The Cultured Elephant) and it’s true when they say that one makes gay acquaintances in the city and gay friends on Fire Island. I got to hang with the resort staff who are genuinely the sweetest, most handsome men… see above. They have a grueling season ahead of them, working the bars, the clubs, the hotel and the restaurants. Only the most robust will survive. It’s a tough, unforgiving business serving entitled, demanding gay men. The day before I headed North one of the newbies left the island in tears, torn apart by gay unreasonableness.
I met Joey the little person who is a particularly inspiring soul. I was in awe of his ability to be the hugest man in his little body. He has a captivating story.
Everyone has a Fire Island Pines story. There are love affairs and breakups, tears on the boardwalk and fights in the elegant cedar homes. There are couples and thruples and orgies, there are undignified old men last gasping for their youth. Wide eyed first timers arrive on the ferry, amazed that such a place as Fire Island Pines exists. I remember that day, the first day Joe-Baily brought me to Fire Island 25 years ago. I will never forget it.
Everyone has a story. I was told one hundred times by stick thin youths that they were too fat or not pretty enough to meet the man of their dreams. They told me that boys talk to them in real life like they do on Grindr. “Hung?” as an opening gambit. “Party?” “Looking?” The single word pick up. So lazy and charmless. I did not envy them, these young boys… so far from serenity. Of course, not all young gay boys are wracked with self-doubt. I met young gay men who were comfortable and confident and conquering all… whilst the vulnerable fell by the wayside or let old men blow them at the dick dock.
There’s a degree of gay anarchy on the island. Every one of the local laws are broken every day by almost everyone.
The AA meetings are vile. The recovering alcoholics looking down their nose at those who drink and take drugs. I met a dozen gay men who were once sober who now drink… taken out by a beautiful boy and a meth pipe.
One story particularly moved and disturbed me. A grey eyed, erudite black boy no more than 28 years old who works for a renowned artist. We met on the beach and he described his Fire Island experience. He was embarrassed to tell me that he had encountered a great deal of racism during his time at The Pines. There are few black people on Fire Island and now I know why.
I made it to Ptown. I had dinner with Benoit the night I arrived, we ate fish and chips. The ex-gay story he wrote for the New York Times Magazine is now a film produced by Gus Van Sant, starring James Franco and Zachary Quinto. I am very proud of him. Except… it’s another entirely white cast. Why? Why? Why?
Yesterday, a local fisherman brought two pounds of freshly caught lobster knuckles that we shucked for dinner.
The dogs loved Fire Island. They miss it! Dude and The Little Dog bounding up the boardwalk, chasing rabbits and deer. They are a little more restricted here even though we live directly on the beach and they are allowed to walk unleashed. Today we walked a mile or so to the West End and visited the pier shack where Tennessee Williams wrote The Glass Menagerie on a stolen type writer.
My favorite and the most obviously poignant Tennessee Williams line from The Glass Menagerie:
I didn’t go to the moon, I went much further-for time is the greatest distance between two places.
Which made me think momentarily about Jake Bauman who I kinda owe my love of both Cape Cod and the Catskills. Both of whom he introduced me. If he hadn’t mentioned them with such fondness… I wouldn’t have explored them years later. There are times when I wonder about those crazy few months with Jake. They sure seem indelible. There are brief moments when I wish I could pick up the phone and ask him how he is and what his life is like now. Then I think better of it and let the memory, the moment… the past… slip back into the black, bombazine black water of what was but could never be.
Wow, this immigration thing is getting serious for you brits? I get that you’re feeling uncomfortable in your own country and many of you don’t seem to fully understand why you’re feeling so uncomfortable.
What do you people want? I can hear what you DON’T want. You don’t want foreign languages spoken on YOUR streets. You don’t want Eastern Europeans taking your jobs. You don’t want to do business with Europe. You don’t want to lose the Scots. Some of you don’t want gays to get married.
It seems like a lot of you are drowning in nostalgia, kidding yourselves that you can reclaim some beautiful ideal England. The bucolic lie we tell ourselves England once was: White faces, full employment, strict adherence to the class we were brought up in… Is that what you want? I’d genuinely like to know.
Tell me what you want. Tell me what this great british utopia looks like… once you have kicked out all the Romanians, the eastern Europeans, the muslims, the jews, the homosexuals… once you have purged your cities of indian, chinese and mexican restaurants… once your boarders are iron curtains with strictly regulated tourism… in and out of your country. Is that what you people want? I really have no idea when I hear UKIP and their supporters… what the end game is?
If British people bothered to learn and speak other languages (like the UKIP leader‘s wife learned English) they might feel happier taking advantage of the free movement of labour within the EU. But let’s face it, the basic brit is a retarded xenophobe who blames anyone but himself for his woes.
Oh, and here’s a picture of a foreigner with big tits to grab your attention.
For centuries great artists have been isolated, opportunities withheld for being homosexual, women and people of color. Amazingly, black, gay and female artists are still side lined, deliberately obscured, forgotten. One of them might have been Robert DeNiro‘s gay father, Robert DeNiro Sr. who is currently having his gay moment in the sun… albeit posthumously. His famous son and names sake pledges that he isn’t going to let the establishment forget his father’s name. DeNiro keeps his father’s studio like The British National Trust keep Vita Sackville-West‘s tower. In aspic.
DeNiro cries because he regrets not forming a loving relationship with his father. Why now? Why is DeNiro telling us now about his gay dad? Because he can. DeNiro is rewriting his personal history to include his previously forgotten father. Yet, it turns out that it wasn’t just DeNiro who erased his father’s memory for so long… predictably, so did the arts establishment.
For hundreds of years the male-dominated arts establishment didn’t want women written into art history, as recently as the 1930’s painter Gwen John, the more talented sister of Augustus. Side lined. Ignored. Considered an acquired taste. Black directors of theatre and film… considered inadequate. Gay men passed over for straight directors or their gay films/scripts/stories ignored… often by other gay men in positions of power.
You know, gender/race apartheid still happens in Hollywood. Fine directors, black, women and gay… side lined, excluded and maligned by otherwise ‘liberal’ or ‘forward thinking’ agents managers and studio heads… in favor of straight white men. Most of the decision makers, ironically… are gay white men. Colluding with the status quo.
We all have our Hollywood horror stories, I used to think my Hollywood story was unusual but sadly I share my experience with black directors, women directors and fellow gay and lesbian directors. I used to think it was just me, Duncan Roy… the ‘difficult one’ but I have met some really nice people, some really talented folk who share this Hollywood experience word for word, blow by blow.
I’ll tell you my story. It’s a true story. I have not disguised the names of those I met. Here it goes. Get ready. Ten or so years ago after the initial success of my British Academy nominated film, AKA I found out that old ideas about who should succeed based on gender, sexual orientation and the color of your skin flourished in Hollywood…
I made a feature film.
Making an independent film is difficult. Making a gay, independent film is almost impossible. After shooting the film we had no money to finish it. Margaret Matheson the award winning Producer came to our aid, she took the film to The Briitsh Film Council who reluctantly agreed to finish the film.
I was told by Paul Trijbits at the UK Film Council that “No one will be interested in your film… only you and gay people.” He spat the word gay at me. Paul was a renowned ladies man. He had slept with Gulshan Jaffery the producer of my previous films. Paul could get away with that kind of homophobia ten years ago. Both Margaret Matheson and I were, by that time, used to snide and homophobic remarks from straight men like Paul Trijbits. We learned to ignore them.
After the film was finished we realized that we had a cult gay hit on our hands. AKA travelled the world opening and closing gay and lesbian film festivals winning many awards. We were invited to Outfest, the LA gay and lesbian film festival. They offered us a prime time screening at The Directors Guild if we could provide them with a 35mm print. We agreed. Until that point I had never seen my film on a huge screen. I had never seen it projected on 35mm. I had never experienced it in Dolby surround sound.
The weeks leading up to the screening I was camping at the sprawling, un-renovated home in Santa Monica of writer/actor Brandon Boyce and his Italian child bride Roberto. The film had been winning awards but I did not expect the cynical film industry to respond very well to a gay film told (think Abel Gance Napoleon) on three screens running simultaneously throughout.
Paul Trijbits’ remark lingered like an acrid fart and I wondered the night of our Hollywood screening if Paul’s prophecy would come true. As it turned out, he was completely wrong and completely right.
As Brandon and I arrived for the screening he said, “God, the entire velvet mafia are here.” I had no idea what that meant. I wish I’d asked. The film played to a hushed crowd and after the final credit the audience erupted. Applause like I had never known. In the lobby afterwards I was assaulted by every one who was anyone but I had no idea who anyone was.
That night Jason Weinberg from Untitled took me to dinner at The Chateau Marmont, he said he wanted to be my manager but Stephen Macias from Outfest had already told me that he was my manager and so, not realizing what a terrible mistake I was making, declined Jason’s kind offer. Macias, as it turned out, was going to be one of the worst people I ever let into my life. A more conniving, drunk/drug fucked and foolish man you ever did meet.
During dinner at the Chateau people were coming to our table and congratulating me.
That night I took a taxi home to Santa Monica and even though this had been the most triumphant day of my life I had never felt more alone and uncomfortable. I learned a great lesson that night, for all their foibles Americans believe inherently that they are destined for greatness so when it happens to them… they are prepared. They graciously accept the award, the money and the plaudits. I had, that night, in my greatest hour… only the lingering promise of defeat. Paul and men like him poisoning the moment with their homophobia, their doubt and their jealousy.
During the next few weeks I met everyone who was anyone in Hollywood, Leonardo DiCaprio came to a screening of the movie, Brad Pitt and Jennifer Aniston had a screening at their house and I was invited to meet every major agent, every studio, every independent production company.
The previous year I had been in Cannes and met John Lesher who is now a fine producer with exquisite taste but was at that time an influential agent at Endeavor. So, when it came to choosing an agent I was clear about who I wanted representing me. Brian Swardstrom, Tilda’s agent, had seen the film and had reintroduced me to John. I made the decision and told Steve Macias.
Macias told me that it was Hollywood etiquette to take every meeting. So, I was forced by Macias to go to CAA, William Morris, UTA and ICM even though I had already made a decision to sign with Endeavor. The agents I met were utterly appalling. At every agency I was introduced to the token gay agent and every one of those gay agents told me definitively that if I wanted to make further gay themed films I should kiss my Hollywood career goodbye.
It was like being forced back into the closet.
My favorite line, delivered by lesbian agent Rowena Arguelles at CAA, was said with such gravity I thought it was a joke. I told her that I had already made a decision to go with John Lesher at Endeavor. She told me that Endeavor was going bankrupt, she told me that I would just be another director at Endeavor but if I chose CAA to represent me I would be a star. I laughed out loud. Not because I was being a dick… but because I thought it was a joke. Because nobody had ever spoken to me like that… not seriously.
On the way out Rowena looked scathingly at my Smythsons, black leather diary and thinking it was a bible asked me what chapter I was reading… I opened it and said, August.
As it turned out, my representation at Endeavor was short-lived, deliberately upended by then ICM agent Nicole Clemens. Nicole made a particular nuisance of herself in her attempt to sign me, coming to Brandon’s house in Santa Monica at 7am and calling 24/7 begging for a meeting that my ‘manager’ Stephen Macias insisted I take. After the third unsolicited call to my home Nicole delivered this apocryphal line.
She said it through the letter box.
“You and I have to work together because we have so much in common.” I opened the door. “What,” I asked, “Did we have in common?”
“Well,” she spluttered, “We both love being fucked in the ass.”
I slammed the door. That incident really happened.
I told Stephen Macias but he insisted that I meet with her and her boss at ICM even though I was already represented by Lesher. When I finally met Nicole at her office I told her again that I had signed with Lesher. She tried to persuade me to change my mind. She told me that I would end up like Ken Loach if I didn’t change my attitude. I laughed. I told her I couldn’t think of a better way to end up. I told her I was leaving, she picked up the phone and had her assistant call Swardstrom, she told him I was at ICM taking a meeting with regard to representation.
Brian, understandably, went crazy and that was that. No more Endeavor.
Finally, I signed with Bobby Thompson who had discovered and nurtured Tim Burton… but it was over for me in Hollywood. Between the rabid homophobia, my lack of experience, Macias and Clemens I kissed my Hollywood career goodbye.
During the next few months I met all the above again, firstly at Sundance where the film played to enthusiastic audiences and at the British Academy Awards where I was nominated for a best new comer award. I didn’t win. I stayed in the UK. A very long way from Hollywood and the homophobia, conniving and lies of the people I met there.
At Sundance I bumped into Paul Trijbits, he looked sheepishly at me over a dinner that was thrown by my agent for me and Tilda Swinton. He was wrong that nobody was interested in the film… but he was right that at that time gay product was worthless. Ten years later all of that has changed. I, of course, was in the gay film making vanguard. I often wondered if I stumbled so young gay directors could flourish?
No. That hasn’t happened. Gay directors are still sidelined by gay agents and gay studio executives. Gay projects hijacked by established straight directors… Liberace, Dallas Buyers Club, Brokeback Mountain… to name but three gay themed films made by straight directors and producers. The work we all put into changing attitudes toward gay film making and gay story telling worked… but not for gay directors.
Homophobic people like Nicole Clemens who may very well have ‘evolved’ since then… put the kibosh on that.
The 35mm print shown that extraordinary night now rests peacefully in the vault at UCLA as part of the Outfest Legacy Project.
The HBO film adaptation of Larry Kramer’s stage play The Normal Heart is being hailed as life changing and inspirational… by some. Others are doubting its genius. Some are challenging Larry Kramer’s revisionism, lesbians and people of color are wondering where they were whilst the war against aids was being fought by these heroic white gay men.
There is no mention of lesbians, save one scene, in which a woman enters the offices of the Gay Men’s Health Crisis (GMHC) and cries about the loss of her best friend, a gay man named Harvey. She says that she wants to help the GMHC in any way possible, “even though,” she says to Jim Parsons‘ character, Tommy Boatwright, “all my lesbians friends say ‘What have you guys done for us?'”
This is a spectacular inversion of resentment from the original playtext. Instead of gay men scoffing at the idea of lesbians being included in the movement (“I don’t believe in lesbians”), you have a woman who is only indirectly identified as a lesbian describing her lesbian friends’ disdain for gay men. The disdain is made exponentially worse by the fact of it being reactionary (“What have you guys done for us?”), as if lesbians are inherently heartless misandrists.
Both Kramer and Director Ryan Murphy perpetuate ideas about the uselessness of women for gay men. Of course, my acquaintances who love and count women amongst their best friends will accuse me of gender myopia.
They will tell me that was how it was and not how it is.
At the London Gay and Lesbian Film Festival Director of hit film GBF gay white Darren Stein maligned lesbians during a Q&A telling the audience that lesbian stories were not worth telling and lesbians are ‘not funny’.
This weekend on Fire Island I had to endure friends of others. Jacques Correia the Ralph Lauren accessories designer and his very young, red headed spanish boyfriend David who rarely smiled during the three days we shared a space but found time to tell me at very great length about the bi yearly concept publication he wants to start, apparently it will have no online presence at all and will be a ‘classic’ like The World of Interiors… but with fashion… you know, a Chanel frock in a Chanel interior. Blegh.
Within minutes of their arrival David swept the yard, Jacques filled the fridge with $500 worth of food from the overpriced local store The Pantry. Food I would ultimately have to pay for. They scoffed at how little food was in the fridge. He followed meticulous online recipes from which he would not deviate. Worst of all… Jacques was not prepared to share the kitchen with anyone else.
He prepared a nice but forgettable curry with over cooked basmati rice. The following day he concocted a ‘soup’ which was more like a stew and had far too many ingredients. I politely told him how wonderful everything was. I ate it. I had diarrhea.
Jacques is the kind of person who adores Lee McQueen and Issy Blow and Hamish Bowles. He hates conversation unless it is about him or his insular Ralph Lauren world. I can only imagine what his home is like. Small black pebbles placed artfully on chipped mirrors.
Jacques and David ‘hate’ the internet but can’t keep away from their phones. They think they have style. They think they are funny, educated, entertaining and open-minded.
The day after Jacques and David arrive Jacques Indian ‘friend’ Basher pitches up. Ralph Lauren menswear designer, annoying but charming. He realizes immediately that three against one is not very fair.
To Jacque’s horror I offer to cook dinner on Sunday night. I ignore Jacques endless rhubarb crumble suggestions… he wants to put coconut flakes in the crumble. I refuse. To punish me for commandeering the kitchen, for this impertinence, they were late for dinner, they were very drunk when they arrived for dinner and were incredibly rude to the other guests. Jacques whispered jokes to his friend Basher all the way through dinner and refused to join in with any conversation other than his own. When he finally engaged it was to malign lesbians, particularly masculine lesbians whose bodies and sexuality he found hysterically funny.
His friends boasted that they knew no lesbians because knowing lesbians would be a ‘waste of time’.
The following day, using ingredients that I paid for, Jacques baked delicious looking biscotti. Tons of them. They sat on the stove wrapped in tin foil. I was not offered a biscotti.
Lady Rizo, Rob Roth and Rizo’s friend film director Gill arrived at the house. The loud, rude women pulled off their clothes, revealing wide white hips and full breasts and long hairless legs. The gay men in the house looked appalled. Real women behaving like gay men.
Jacques left with the biscotti within hours of their arrival. He wasn’t going to let lesbians eat his biscotti.
What a CUNT.
A letter from Fire Island Pines.
More power gays maligning others today. Something they do very well. Today it’s TV producer Fenton Bailey and Noah Michelson. Both tiny gay men with Napoleon complexes…
The Sicilian Mafia was known as Cosa Nostra or… in English “Our Thing”
The gay mafia, like the Sicilian mafia… like any mafia… is corrupt: intellectually, culturally and aesthetically. The gay mafia is rife with cronyism, anointing the chosen few to control a largely white gay male message.
The gays are in a constant state of justified anger/indignation about anything they claim is homophobic. They hate comics who make inappropriate jokes, they hate politicians who disagree, they hate mothers who may or may not be anti gay christians… they oust people from their jobs for once being homophobic… they have TV shows cancelled and they bully those with opposing opinions into cruel submission.
This week Huff Post DON Noah Michelson spent time gushing over a ‘brilliant’ Huffington Post interview with gay man Michael Alig who murdered and dismembered another gay man but has ‘paid his debt to society’… then, without catching his breath, specifically maligned and targeted reality star Michelle Duggar for having nineteen children:
After a life-threatening bout of preeclampsia in 2010, followed by a miscarriage at 19 weeks in 2011, this has been the longest stretch of time that Michelle Duggar has been not-pregnant in 27 years. So the 47-year-old went to a high-risk pregnancy doctor to see if she’s able to have any more kids.
Jim Bob and Michelle don’t practice birth control, choosing instead to leave the size of their family “up to God.” But on tonight’s episode of the family’s TLC show, 19 Kids and Counting, the Duggars—who are now grandparents—are interested in a little bit of medical intervention to see “if there are things physically I need to know, that I need to do, health-wise just to be ready to catch a baby if God saw fit to give us one.”
I have published what is now left of the comment thread. There were many more comments (since removed) that were either misogynistic or described the vagina in a way I have only heard gay men describe them. When I suggested that a gay man’s anus multiply fucked by nameless men several times a day might be equally ragged… I was called a hater by a well-trained female fan.
Noah, you will see, rounded up some impressive female support… but mostly gay men agreed with his anti large family, anti women, anti reproductive rights stance. This comes as no great surprise. Women who count gay men amongst their friends would be appalled if they could hear the way they and their vagina are described behind their backs. The gays, when on their own, make inappropriate jokes about other gays, people of color and fat people. But their most corrosive vitriol is reserved for women and the vagina.
Gay men, like straight men… talk shit about women behind their backs. Rather than straight subjugation and objectification, gay men simply don’t see the point of women unless they are entertaining us like circus freaks.
I may very well not like Michelle Druggar and her husband for the choices they have made. My point in support of Michelle Druggar is this: she is entitled to use her body the way she sees fit. As a liberal I have to honor her decisions like I would honor her if she was having an abortion. This is at the heart of the pro-choice movement. That we do not control the reproductive rights of women.
My sister-in-law had many miscarriages, there is a history of sudden infant death syndrome in my family. As you will read, Noah suggests that one’s body is ‘telling’ you something if this is happening? Like AIDS was telling the gay community, Noah?
Noah, like so many of the neo-liberal gay men on this thread (who have no interest in women’s bodies unless they are commodifying them) lacks compassion, calls the mother of 19 an asshole… he alleges that she is a christian who hates gays, suggests that her choices will lead to child abuse, that she is making money from her baby hoarding.
You will note too that Mr. Druggar is not mentioned by either the gay men or the women in this thread.
If Michelle had been less red neck, less Christian, less fat, less of an ‘asshole’ more liberal, had claimed in a short weepy YouTube video she wanted 10% of her children to be LGBTQ Noah would have hailed her a modern hero, like those women on Ellen who adopt or foster many children but never get accused of kiddy hoarding, or the women who have endless kids for gay couples… who never get their vagina maligned by gay men or their sympathetic women friends… in public.
Here is Noah Michelson’s thread. I warn you. It gets vile… and stupid.
In reaction to the above article in italics about Michelle Druggar and her husband after Noah Michelson (public figure) published a picture of them on his Facebook page entitled #assholes.
Ivor Pine and they don’t pay taxes either!
May 20 at 6:26pm · Like · 2
Christian Gabriel #meatcurtains
May 20 at 6:28pm · Like · 6
Dan Avery her ovaries hopped out of her body and slapped her face
May 20 at 6:30pm · Like · 3
D.j. Jeschke Have they thought of collecting seashells instead? Psssh. So not fair to the kids on several levels. After how many kids should people like this be required to get psychological evaluation before having any more?
May 20 at 6:32pm · Like · 3
Michelle Knight Tague seriously?! how has her uterus not fallen out yet!!??
May 20 at 6:37pm · Like · 4
Cate Crowe Clown car vagina.
May 20 at 6:41pm · Like · 5
Duncan Roy Excuse me! My grandmother was one of 19, I am one of 12. These abusive, mind numbing comments are so fucking offensive. Just because you were probably only children or have JUST a couple of siblings.
May 20 at 6:41pm · Like · 1
Duncan Roy Yes, that’s right. There must be something wrong with people who want large families. How can those dumb cunts even remember their names? In between scrounging off the state and probably abusing them sexually. What evil people.
May 20 at 6:43pm · Like
Duncan Roy This just looks like an excuse for misogynistic gays to insult vagina. Let’s put it this way, this woman having babies from her vagina is less likely to be as ruined as gay men who get fucked in the ass by multiple partners day after day…
May 20 at 6:48pm · Like · 1
Alicia Paintner I don’t think having a big family is inherently evil but why can’t they adopt some children! Foster care? There are so many needy children out there all ready. Why so they think their genes are so superior.
May 20 at 6:49pm · Like · 5
Alicia Paintner Ok I was willing to accept you had a different perspective but as some one that has a vagina you just went way the hell over the line. Some one turn this ugly hater in please!
May 20 at 6:50pm · Like · 3
Tom Gualtieri Interestingly, Duncan, just as many women have made crass comments about her vagina as men. My point is in agreement with Alicia’s. Why not adopt? After 20 children, there are millions and millions who have no parents and need loving families. If this is an example of a good, Christian, family, why not help the needy instead of bringing more children into an overcrowded world?
May 20 at 6:50pm · Like · 3
Duncan Roy I am a gay man Alicia.
May 20 at 6:50pm · Like
Duncan Roy I used to remember when people hated the ideas of us gays having children. Now we hate straight people for having too many?
May 20 at 6:52pm · Like
Duncan Roy Alicia, let’s get one thing straight. As a gay man I know many men who
Have multiple partners every day and get fucked in the ass. I can’t imagine how their Anus is holding up. That’s not homophobic. It’s the truth you ignorant bitch
May 20 at 6:53pm · Like
Honey Nut Queerio NOT ONE OF THOSE KIDS IS ADOPTED. SPAY AND NEUTER YOUR REDNECKS, PEOPLE.
May 20 at 6:54pm · Like · 6
Duncan Roy If that was said about gays you all would be having a FIT
May 20 at 6:55pm · Like
Duncan Roy Interestingly Tom, do you know anything at all about adoption?
May 20 at 6:56pm · Like
Adrian Martel Chances are that at least two of their kids are gay…poor kids.
May 20 at 6:57pm · Like · 3
Duncan Roy Why poor kids ? They will have twenty loving siblings? Large families are amazingly supportive
May 20 at 6:59pm · Like · 2
Honey Nut Queerio A society that accepts this hoarding behavior, but makes it almost impossible for single parents and gay folks to adopt!
May 20 at 6:59pm · Like · 6
Unzipped Nready they keep having them while the siblings have to raise them….. tie ur tubes honey!
May 20 at 7:03pm · Like · 3
Duncan Roy Unzipped and ready has an opinion about fertility. Lol
May 20 at 7:05pm · Like
Unzipped Nready yep…… bend over
May 20 at 7:06pm · Like · 3
Duncan Roy Hear that Alicia?
May 20 at 7:06pm · Like
Cate Crowe Oh, how lovely to see a man explaining misogyny to a woman. And, managing to slut shame gay men at the same time. Wonders never cease.
May 20 at 7:14pm · Like · 15
Duncan Roy I can slut shame my own Cate. Just as you would shame this mother. I wouldn’t be surprised if you’d be happy if she went to jail.
May 20 at 7:21pm · Edited · Like
Cate Crowe Excellent typo, Duncan. Slur instead of slut. Well played.
May 20 at 7:22pm · Like · 2
Michael Haynes WOW lil right wingers populating the earth with brainwashed stupidity.
May 20 at 7:22pm · Like
Duncan Roy Slur and slut. It’s all the same.
May 20 at 7:23pm · Like
Duncan Roy Of course, in cates world only women get to cry misogyny. Lol
May 20 at 7:24pm · Like
Duncan Roy Most white gay men are right wingers. Not that Americans would know a left winger if it slapped them in the ruined anus.
May 20 at 7:25pm · Like
Duncan Roy Great, a British socialist with 12 siblings gets to defend a womans right to choose over those so called liberals who want to control her reproductive rights. Ironic
May 20 at 7:27pm · Like · 1
Cate Crowe You called a woman an “ignorant bitch,” Duncan. That’s “ironic.”
May 20 at 7:32pm · Like · 1
Duncan Roy I was being ironic because look what she called the mother! You people. No
May 20 at 7:35pm · Like
Duncan Roy I know another mother in Portland who has had 18 babies. Disgusting? No, because she had them for childless couples.,, a surrogate. So, it’s ok as long as she does not keep them. I wonder if she has a ruined vagina? I’m guessing that she may have a heroes vagina to this crowd.
May 20 at 7:38pm · Like · 2
Duncan Roy Cate, let’s face it. You want to control this woman’s reproductive rights. Go on.. You do
May 20 at 7:40pm · Like
Cate Crowe Don’t get into a gun fight with a spoon in your hand, Duncan. It’s time to walk away, sweetheart.
May 20 at 7:42pm · Like · 3
Martin Sims Camardella Disgraceful
May 20 at 7:55pm · Like
Annie Van Wie Noah Noah Michelson you know I love you always, but as a person who crusades so beautifully for acceptance of your “differences” (I hate that word but lack one that is better) I am very surprised to see you judging other people for theirs. Who are any of us to judge someone else’s lifestyle choices?
May 20 at 8:00pm · Unlike · 2
Annie Van Wie And btw I still love and adore you!!!! Xo
May 20 at 8:01pm · Like · 1
Kevin Maloney #clowncar
May 20 at 8:03pm · Like · 1
Åbreu Llyod like the world needs more people
May 20 at 8:05pm · Like
Jason Merrell Do you know these people?
May 20 at 8:05pm · Like
Sharon Stephens Duncan – Cate can outclass and outplay you. Listen and learn about what she has to say.
May 20 at 8:06pm · Edited · Unlike · 1
Honey Nut Queerio Noah Michelson has the ‘right to judge’ whatever and whomever he wants. Thinking people have opinions. They also have gut instincts and passions which aren’t always rational. This is a completely appropriate venue for sharing those thoughts and feelings. It is also appropriate to call someone out for the content of their comments. But not for simply having and expressing a negative opinion.
May 20 at 8:23pm · Like · 1
Brandi Boatright They have the most well behaved, loving well mannered children I have ever seen but maybe it’s time to hang up the pregnancy apron.
May 20 at 8:26pm · Like
Duncan Roy Oh wow, we are playing the out class game . I defer to her class. Thx
May 20 at 8:26pm · Like
Duncan Roy Cate, I haven’t heard one salient point. You are a fraud. Both politically and as a feminist. Give it your best shot. I’ll be ready with my spoon
May 20 at 8:28pm · Like
Duncan Roy I’m waiting for the wise womyn of the west to tell me how wrong I am to defend this woman and her right to a large family. I am waiting for cate to justify the misogyny and and the classist comments. I’m waiting fir cate. Bring it on.
May 20 at 8:42pm · Like · 1
Katy Bourne Human puppy mill.
May 20 at 8:48pm · Like · 3
Julian Damiani This isn’t about choice. How is it fair to make children raise other children? You think they raise 20 kids alone? No. They have to force their older children to become parents. How is that fairness or personal choice/responsibility?
May 20 at 8:51pm · Like · 5
David Ninh Ugh!!!
May 20 at 8:54pm · Like · 1
Cole Robertson My prediction: next season shows her spitting out 12 clear jellyfish babies.
May 20 at 8:56pm · Like · 2
Cate Crowe You’ll be waiting a long time, Duncan.
May 20 at 9:06pm · Unlike · 1
Kieran Keller Honestly Michelle roll a stone over that cave already.
May 20 at 9:08pm · Like · 3
Noah Michelson wow. when the cat’s away the mice will play, eh?
i want to apologize for simply writing “assholes” and not explaining WHY they’re assholes.
1. i have always said that people should be able to do whatever they want to do as long as they’re not hurting anyone else or themselves. well folks, that certainly doesn’t apply here. let’s look at the last two times (that we know of) michelle duggar got pregnant:
“Michelle most recently gave birth in 2010 [it was actually december 2009], following a life-threatening bout of preeclampsia. The next year, she got pregnant again — only to suffer a miscarriage at 19 weeks.”
about her birth in 2009:
“On December 10, 2009, Michelle gave birth via emergency Caesarean section to Josie Brooklyn, three months prematurely. Michelle was rushed to the hospital for gallstones and it was there that doctors discovered she had pre-eclampsia and performed an emergency delivery. Josie weighed 1 lb, 6oz at birth.”
obviously her body does not want to be having children. not only is she putting herself in harm’s way — she’s also putting her un/born child’s life in danger.
2. these people have made thousands and thousands of dollars off of having kids. it’s a modern day freakshow and their kids’ best interests are not being put first by any means. as someone else noted, they have so many children they can’t even take care of all of them — and their other children are forced to raise and care for their brothers and sisters. i find that offensive.
3. this family is anti-gay — in fact — josh, the eldest is (or was as recently as 2013) working for the family research council, which has been designated as a hate group by the southern poverty law center.
i never said people shouldn’t be able to choose how many kids they want to have. i never said that that she’s a woman so she doesn’t know what she’s doing. i said these people are assholes — and they are — and i see very little here to celebrate.
May 20 at 9:08pm · Edited · Like · 32
Angella Guth Kelemen I can’t wait till one of their kids comes out. I hope they will be loving and supportive.
May 20 at 9:38pm · Like
Jeremy Adkison I completely agree with you Noah. This sort of behavior is disgraceful and a cultish obsession with having more children, and more children. It is, as you put it, a freak show. There are various reasons why this is so unsavory, and I think Noah hit them all fairly square.
May 20 at 10:16pm · Like · 3
Annie Van Wie For the record…I don’t like them either. Just needed to weigh in. Also…just to clarify, I had pre-eclampsia with Elsa and every Dr out there said I could have perfectly healthy pregnancies after that. .
May 20 at 11:42pm · Like · 1
Jeremy Adkison Did you have 18 kids before? lol.
Yesterday at 12:07am · Like · 3
Duncan Roy Oh sorry, I had dinner, theatre and stuff to do.
Yesterday at 1:38am · Like
Duncan Roy “I don’t like them either” pretty much sums up what stinks about this thread. If they were liberal and pro gay we might just cut her some slack. Because she is anti gay and makes money (huh? This is America ) we demonize every decision she makes,
Yesterday at 1:42am · Like
Duncan Roy Your comments about her medical complications stink. As I told you earlier my brother and his wife had multiple miscarriages . Was her body trying to tell her something ? Was the cot death of her baby trying to tell her something? Perhaps aids was trying to tell us something?
Yesterday at 1:46am · Like · 1
Jeremy Adkison Did she have a nonstop obsession with having children, endlessly, that she can’t even take care of on her own or with her husband? Let’s not compare a large family to a family with two heads of house who have a heterophilia like obsession with making babies.
Yesterday at 1:47am · Like · 2
Duncan Roy Do gay men have a non stop obsession with getting laid ?
Yesterday at 1:48am · Like
Duncan Roy I thought she made thousands of dollars from a tv show ?
Yesterday at 1:49am · Like
Duncan Roy Let’s not have compassion for this woman because she doesn’t like gays
Yesterday at 1:50am · Like
Jeremy Adkison What compassion is there? Compassion to a women with a heterophilia like obsession in fucking and making babies she can’t even raise? An obsession with having children that may kill her, and leave her husband to care for 19+ kids, or to be more truthful for her children to care for her kids? It’s selfishness. As to her anti-gay beliefs, this has nothing to do with them, but I find your obsession with defending people that demean your very dignity to be… teling.
Yesterday at 1:57am · Like · 2
Duncan Roy Telling… Hmmm. You are obviously incapable of compassion. I do not need this woman to validate me when I am already on the winning side . She does not demean me. You do. As I mentioned earlier , there are many women making many babies they can’t raise fir money. They are called surrogates and make babies for gay men. A practice outlawed all over the world.
Yesterday at 2:03am · Like
Duncan Roy You don’t care about this woman or her health or the health of her children. You care that she allegedly hates gays .
Yesterday at 2:04am · Like
Kate Blair I care that the planet’s human capacity is around 350%, too many people, to few resources….thinking China might be onto something with child limits.
Yesterday at 2:30am · Like · 2
Jacob Michelson Josia?
Yesterday at 3:07am · Like · 1
Jeremy Adkison I don’t care that she hates gays on this subject. I care that she is a deranged and dangerous women who would potentially rob her children of a mother to have more children she does. Not. Need. To. Have.
Yesterday at 3:14am · Like · 4
Eric Ball are they looking for a 20th season? Must not have been a bumper tax season for them either–bump up the dependents!
Yesterday at 3:54am · Edited · Like · 2
Noah Michelson Annie Van Wie you didn’t have 18 kids before your issues. Not the same thing. This woman does not need — and shouldn’t be — seeking more children. It’s irresponsible to say the least.
Yesterday at 6:29am · Edited · Like · 2
Duncan Roy Noah Michelson how many children should a woman have before she becomes deranged? I mean, I’ve seen whole Ellen shows devoted to women who adopt many many children. Are they hoarders or heroes? Are they deranged? Are they irresponsible? Noah, have you any idea what the miscarriage rate in this country is? Did you know that the USA has the highest infant mortality rate in the developed world? Again, you hate this women because she allegedly hates gays.
Yesterday at 6:44am · Like · 1
Noah Michelson Dude — how is someone who has had 19 kids and is seeking to physically give birth to more after needlessly putting herself and her kids in danger the same as some one who adopts?
And I never said someone who has a miscarriage is irresponsible or shouldn’t try to have kids after.
I’m talking SPECIFICALLY ABOUT MICHELLE DUGGAR. Not anyone else.
I get you obviously have a personal connection to these issues but take a step back and get a grip on what and who I’m talking about. You’re grasping at things that aren’t there and it’s getting embarrassing.
Yesterday at 6:48am · Edited · Like · 4
Duncan Roy Embarrassing? Lol. I’m not embarrassed. You should be embarrassed for needlessly attacking a mother. I mean, if she were a liberal… You would be hailing her as a hero. You suggested that a miscarriage was ‘your body trying to tell you something ‘ . Tell that to women who have them. After many many miscarriages. And yes, I do have a personal connection… Because I believe in large families. I believe women should be able to choose and control what they do with their bodies. You do not. You should be embarrassed by that.
Yesterday at 6:57am · Like · 1
Leah McElrath Has anyone read the short article? It appears they are not seeking assistance w fertility (not their issue, clearly) but rather with seeing if there is anything they can do to prevent future miscarriages or premature births. Which, given their no birth control stance and the inherent risks of pregnancy and childbirth (especially for a 47 year old woman) strikes me as an ethical use of medical care. More ethical would be for them to stop trying to conceive or to use birth control so that the mother of 19 children won’t be put at risk. But that’s their choice.
Yesterday at 7:12am · Unlike · 1
Leah McElrath And I, as a feminist and anti-misogynist, appreciate Duncan, as a gay man, taking on the nasty vagina and labia related comments. Thank you.
Yesterday at 7:15am · Like · 4
Leah McElrath Btw, I agree w Noah that they are assholes and don’t agree with their choices or religious views, but that’s another issue.
Yesterday at 7:21am · Like · 3
Duncan Roy They may very well be assholes whose choices and religiosity I disagree but this thread reveals the ease with which we condemn and malign women using old ideas about the way women use their bodies and the latent disgust some gay men have for the vagina. I would never have bothered defending these people had I not read the kind of hate speak I only usually read when I bother to read comments posted by the rabid right about abortion. Wether you choose to have twenty abortions or twenty children the same rational should apply.
Yesterday at 7:30am · Like · 2
Cate Crowe I think it’s time to do another fourth step, Duncan.
23 hours ago · Like · 2
Noah Michelson i’m not condemning women and i’m not maligning women. i’m condemning and maligning michelle duggar. just her. just her irresponsible, dangerous and immoral approach to having children. i have no problem with vaginas — i don’t particularly want to be in one anytime soon, but they’re a-ok by me.
22 hours ago · Like · 6
Duncan Roy Cate, thx. I’m actually doing one right now. I tend to revisit the steps from 1 to 10 every three years. You don’t make my inventory. Sorry.
22 hours ago · Like
Cate Crowe You’re welcome, hun.
22 hours ago · Like
Ricky Marson This Huffpo-level comment war is fucking hilarious.
22 hours ago · Like · 5
Noah Michelson welcome to my facebook page, Ricky. these kind of threads are the norm.
22 hours ago · Like · 2
Duncan Roy Yeah Ricky, Noah is so fucking controversial.
22 hours ago · Like
Noah Michelson hey duncan — if you’re not happy here, no one is making you stay. i rarely use the block button but i’m not against using it in special cases.
21 hours ago · Like · 7
Eric Ball Oh Christ..Duncan, while you’re hanging people for not having compassion or hating vaginas, the Duggars just made another 5 k off this morally corrupt social experiment.
21 hours ago · Like · 4
Michael Rogers This is funny. Noah Michelson, SURELY Duncan Roy is kidding around. No sane person would defend this woman’s decision.
21 hours ago · Like · 4
Cate Crowe Or, exhibit such rage and contempt in doing so, Michael.
21 hours ago · Like · 2
Carrie Bechill I’ve been reading this thread and I’d like to point out that while many women birthed several children several decades ago – it’s not the 1940’s anymore. We know that this world is overpopulated and have scientific proof that humans are doing grave damage to the earth and its resources. Michelle Duggar is acting irresponsibly and selfishly.
21 hours ago · Like · 1
Nathan Garrett Seems to me that working with a fertility doctor would be going against God’s Will, which I assume is a big deal w them. Sort of like birth control in reverse.
21 hours ago · Like · 1
Leah McElrath Again, if you read the article, it’s clear she is NOT seeking fertility treatment. They went to a reproductive endocrinologist to find out if there was anything to do to prevent future miscarriages or premature births. Personally, I think the most ethical choice in this situation is birth control or sterilization, so she doesn’t die and leave her other 19 children orphans. But their pursuit of this information is an ethical use of medical resources, even if I disagree with their choice.
21 hours ago · Like
Leah McElrath Never mind. I don’t know why I bother. People clearly don’t care about the facts. They just want to mock and rant. So carry on.
21 hours ago · Like
Noah Michelson the very fact that she is in a doctor’s office trying to find out how / if she can have more kids — with or without outside help — is ridiculous. it’s a parade for the reality tv cameras and it’s sick. so yah — she may not be going in to get IVF but she shouldn’t being having kids at all. (and let’s not even get started on her family’s thoughts on birth control and abstinence — or sex and sexuality in general…)
21 hours ago · Edited · Like · 3
Leah McElrath Since they do NOT use birth control as a result of her religious beliefs and since she is clearly fertile, it is NOT ridiculous to seek input on how to prevent future miscarriages or premature births. You may not agree with their choices, Noah – I do not agree with them either – but it is not ridiculous to seek information that might help her save her own life or that of another fetus if she gets pregnant again.
21 hours ago · Like · 1
Leah McElrath But again, never mind. This thread disgusts me almost as much as the Duggars do. I’m out.
21 hours ago · Like
Noah Michelson oh come on. i am not saying that it’s ridiculous that she would seek information on how to save her own life or her fetus’s life. i’m saying it’s ridiculous that she would even remotely consider THINKING about having another child. those are two very different things.
21 hours ago · Like · 2
Leah McElrath Thank you for the clarification. I agree with you on that point. For better and worse, we all have the freedom to make ridiculous choices.
21 hours ago · Like · 1
Noah Michelson yes. we do. and — happily — we all have the freedom to call out and judge those ridiculous choices.
21 hours ago · Like · 2
Kate Blair I also couldn’t give a shit about who she may or may not hate, unless she says something hateful on TV. But I sure as hell hope she’s not on any kind of public assistance.
21 hours ago · Like
Cole Robertson They are on public assistance; they don’t pay taxes.
21 hours ago · Like
Terrance Heath People shouldn’t be famous just for reproducing. It doesn’t take talent or skill, after all.
21 hours ago · Like · 3
Tom John Jackson There’s already way to many people in the world, and plenty of kids who need a home. These people are assholes.
21 hours ago · Like · 2
Shawn Shirey In this day and age it is NOT responsible to litter the world with your children. Maybe in the 50’s that was an OK thing to do, but not now. My ass is in tiptop shape, just sayin’.
21 hours ago · Like · 1
Alfonso Munoz In defense of Duncan… there are benefits to big families and religious belief aside, i sat down and watched this program. I couldn’t fathom the concept at this level but I gave them kudos for a few things… they have a system and many aspects of the upbringing are to be observed and adopted. This mother focuses on the new born and so does the rest of the kids by helping and learning responsibilities. She has an aproach that is all about showering the baby with love. Most studies indicate that giving a baby up to the age of 2 constant touching and play will make them very independent, stable adults. So these kids have their shores and it is fascinating how happy they feel to help, a very good quality to have as an adult. Human’s and others species live in large families. The modern small model of family is a very new thing. It is difficult nowadays because gone are the cousins, aunts, uncles, grandmothers that use to be a far greater presence in the growth of a child. As for adoption, my childhood ended when my parents adopted a 30 day old baby from the projects. All the love in the world does not prepare you to raise a mentally ill person. It is a commitment that does not ends with college. they are less likely to deal with this possibility.
21 hours ago · Edited · Like · 1
Jamie Casertano I give it up to Noah Michelson for being willing to read all these tedious responses. I could give birth to my 30th child in the time it takes to do that!
20 hours ago · Like · 3
Alfonso Munoz LOL
20 hours ago · Like
Nathan Garrett I can’t wait for the library full of tell-all books written by the kids that will surely come out over the next 30 years!
20 hours ago · Like · 4
Christo Max This really bothers me. Thankfully more people are choosing to have only one or two children than two fucking baseball teams worth of them.
Could you imagine if everyone were this selfish?
20 hours ago · Edited · Like · 3
Michael Rogers Sorry, Leah McElrath… This woman no longer cares about her family as much as she cares about fame.
19 hours ago · Like · 3
Kevin Maloney Let’s be clear- in many/most Western historical contexts, the size of a family was hardly a woman’s “choice.” It was usually the father’s choice and often influenced by the Church as well. My grandmother was one of ten (though her mother had 13 pregnancies). She grew up with very little, but her father kept pushing for more children, because the Catholic Church was in a population war with the Protestant Church in Quebec at the time. My grandmother loved all of her siblings, but she thinks back to the way she grew up and acknowledges it was absolutely ridiculous to have that many kids because the Church said to. The boys went to work instead of high school and the girls helped raise the little ones. Maybe this was an ok set up for some families. There’s certainly room for alternatives to the nuclear family prototype. However, in the first half of the century, these large families were often associated with poverty, and the children had very little ability themselves for upward economic mobility. I’m not saying that large families are automatically going to be in this situation – there are certainly a variety of other factors involved – but having many mouths to feed and bodies to clothe is inherently an economic stress on a family, not to mention a time sink. By all means, make your own choices in life, but also realize that there are some very valid criticisms of these choices. This is not the same thing as being intolerant.
19 hours ago · Like · 5
Michael Sharkey Noah, I spent an entire day with the whole family. Can’t believe I made it out alive! Remind me to tell you about when you come to dinner.
19 hours ago · Like · 2
Duncan Roy I note that most of the anti family haters are gay men. As for : It is not ‘responsible’ to litter the world with children. How vile of you. God you people are so prescriptive and judgmental. Just like I remember people being about us the lgbtq community. Shawn is unlikely to have children thank god
18 hours ago · Like
Christo Max False equivalency runs freeeee! Yaaaay!
17 hours ago · Like · 2
Keith Lutman If you’re seeing a fertility doctor, you are no longer “leaving it up to God.” Also, you’re addicted to being pregnant
16 hours ago · Like · 2
Terrance Heath For the record, I don’t care how many children these people have. It’s their business. I’m just tired of people becoming celebrities for reproducing. (Or making sex tapes.)
15 hours ago · Like · 1
Patrick Reynolds Coooooor! what an interesting dialogue…i haven’t read anything so good for a long time. My tuppence-worth…addictive, repetitive behaviour is at play. But I am not one to judge otherwise i would be throwing stones from inside my greenhouse.
13 hours ago · Edited · Like
Michael Rogers Duncan Roy WTF does someone’s sexual orientation have to do with this? Someone is desperate.
10 hours ago · Like
Duncan Roy Read the thread you moron
10 hours ago · Like
Nehemiah Saycsar Fleurima And the more she has kids the less likely they’ll come put strong and healthy.
7 hours ago · Like
After the Solange/Jay-Z/Beyonce/Bodyguard family fight in the elevator of The Standard Hotel (after the very glamorous Met Ball) I hear, from a friend who works at the hotel, that a perfectly innocent person was accused of selling the video to TMZ … and fired.
A statement made by all persons in the elevator during the inciting incident explained that it was a private ‘family matter’ and would remain so.
Then, amazingly Whoopi Goldberg… who has become a kind of wise, day-time-TV Maya Angelou lite sage (speaking slowly to underline the import of everything she says) wades balls deep into the soupy narrative. Her conclusion? That if you get hit by anyone you should be able to hit them back.
I wondered why Whoopi wasn’t commending Jay-Z for his dignity and restraint? Because one thing is certain… if Jay-Z had hit Solange in the face and broken her jaw Whoopie would be leading the deafening chorus of disdain for those men who hit women.
So, Whoopi, if Jay-Z had retaliated… how hard should he have hit Solange? I’m wondering what the appropriate retaliation would be for a man hitting an angry woman whilst she is being held by his bodyguard? Knock her out maybe? So she no longer poses a threat?
Whoopi thinks STAND YOUR GROUND is a very good idea. Well, we all know where that leads. Trayvon Martin.
Let’s remind Whoopi what we are supposed to do if we are attacked… Whoopi, we don’t smack them in the face… we call the police… that’s what they’re there for. That’s why we pay our taxes .
Didn’t Whoopi learn anything from The Color Purple?
I wonder if Michael Alig hated the movie Party Monster as much as I did?
I wonder if someone at Fenton Baily’s World of Wonder who filmed Alig’s ‘reactions’ whilst he watched the docudrama about himself… paid him? I can’t imagine that he won’t be on Fenton’s payroll before the year is out, just like his friend and the gay douche James St. James… who I was once bored to meet in LA with Ian Drew.
Meanwhile, the soggy Michael Musto pretends Alig is a very bad man yet seems secretly in awe, unable to stop writing about him. There are articles about Alig everywhere in the gay press. Of course, The Gay Voices section in The Huffington Post want his ‘opinion’ about EVERYTHING.
The gay frenzy around Alig’s release from prison is beyond macabre. What does Michael Alig think about the progression of gay rights? What does Alig think about the overturn of DOMA? Does he have an opinion about the end of Don’t Ask Don’t Tell?
Am I crazy? This murderer gets out of jail. A murderer who dismembers another gay man and we ask his opinion about DOMA?
For those of you who don’t know Michael Alig… and there are many… Michael Alig (born South Bend, Indiana, April 29, 1966) is the co-founding member of the Club Kids, a group of young club goers led by Alig and his long-time best friend James St. James in the late 1980s and early 1990s. In 1996, Alig pleaded guilty to the manslaughter of Andre “Angel” Melendez in a confrontation over a drug debt.
If Michael were a straight, white guy getting out of jail for killing and dismembering another man… would other straight people be fascinated by what he had to say about… the Affordable Care Act? Mind you, if he was a black man… we wouldn’t ever hear his opinion about anything… because he would still be in jail, convicted of first degree murder rather than the white man’s sop… manslaughter.
It’s so exciting to have him home in New York City! Let’s read more about Michael Alig in Vanity Fair! Imagine what it must be like to be free after 17 years! Everything’s so incredibly different! Here… play with this. It’s called a smart phone. These are ‘apps’.
Michael Alig tweet his fans. Michael looks at Manhattan as he crosses an unnamed bridge into the city and has a moment of trepidation . Did he remember dumping Angel’s body into the East River? Alig drinks Starbucks and eats Arctic Char. He scarcely seems like a man who would murder and dismember another gay man as he eloquently discusses fish seasoning.
Later, Michael forgets to take a shower because no one is telling him to wash. It’s ‘amusing’ to see Michael use Grindr for the first time and wonder if and when he hooks up… will he tell his on-line fancy… the truth? Will he conceal his true identity? The truth about his murdering and dismembering past… huh? Are you kidding? Nobody tells the truth on Grindr. A world of wonder… indeed.
“Michael you’re my hero.” The young gays squeal on social media. ‘We still love you!’ ‘You helped me become the man I am today.’ The elder ones tweet: ‘You made me true to myself.’
Michael Alig has become our best, brightest and newest gay celebrity. Hankering for a second chance in a country that loathes giving second chances to anyone. He will become a living legend, his gay apotheosis assured by Fenton Baily and Michael Musto who may make fortunes from Alig’s gruesome celebrity. Nor must we forget Ramon Fernandez, director of the upcoming documentary Glory Daze: The Life and Times of Michael Alig, he too expects to win big riding on Alig’s murder and mayhem.
No doubt Alig will be invited to GLAAD events, his crimes diminished by celebrity and pithy comments about hetero normative gay life… he will champion individuality, he will sit at The World of Wonder table with Ru Paul. He will work tirelessly for the HRC.
Michael Alig will be loathed and loved in equal measure when in fact… he should be totally ignored.
Meanwhile, a truly talented filmmaker kills himself. Malik Bendjelloul, director of Oscar winning film Searching for Sugar Man. When I heard it, your personal story moved me. It’s tough to be a star. I know what you went through. I was there for a moment too. Same age. It’s very disconcerting, all that attention after years of solitude. Making art in a vacuum… then Hollywood comes calling with their lies and false promises.
Two different tales, different intentions. Two very different filmmakers.
Fenton Baily and Ramon Fernandez add a miserable, self indulgent post script to a stark and soulless documentary making themselves more money from the death and dismemberment of a brown man… no doubt delighting other soulless white people… whist you dear Malik made an inspiring documentary that touched the hearts of many and was so deserving of the international acclaim it received.
Sometimes it seems like a shit, shit world. A world where people like a gay drug addict and murderer Michael Alig get all the attention on exactly the same day a brilliant man like Malik Bendjelloul ends his own life.
Rest in Peace.
Arrived on Fire Island. I’m here for the next few weeks… until I decamp (via Martha’s Vineyard) to Provincetown for a month or so… then it’s LA for the rest of the summer. Nobody wants to be on the East Coast for August. Not when one has Malibu… everyone agrees that Southern California is gorgeous in August.
I finally found an affordable and rather beautiful house near Whitstable to buy. Just far enough to be close to those I love… yet out of harms way. There’s so much on the market. Everything in my old home town seems for sale. Everything.
I’m staying, as usual, in The Pines… a guest in the most gorgeous house. I stayed here last year. So many pretty things to look at, art to admire and crisp white linen to drown in at night. A fancy cooks kitchen, every utensil one could possibly wish for.
As I was winding down last night I noticed that the house is loaded with alcohol, bottles and bottles… and I am all alone. It’s odd isn’t it? What keeps me, and those who want it badly enough, away from the booze. Sober. Nobody would ever know if I took a huge gulp of something before I went to bed. Only me.
What’s stopping me from taking a drink from the well stocked bar? Even if it’s just me? I suppose… I would know and God would know. The power of ones conscience. I’d lose the only thing I’ve ever worked really hard to keep.
I realize that many people don’t get sobriety. The disease, the god part, the endless AA meetings. During the past 17 years it’s been a struggle to remain interested or focused. There’s so much to put you off. Sober people can be a big pain in the butt. The endless revolving door of people you meet who commit to sobriety then drink again, the deaths, the drama, the fucking rules… but I tell you, if this is a cult (and many say it is) I’m a happy member.
I’m cooking a very old-fashioned coq au vin. A hearty treat for a chilly May evening on Fire island.
Hiding behind the wheel of her huge (and not so huge) car she can charge at other cars like a wild bull, she can intimidate like a boxer facing off before the big fight, she can insult anyone she pleases like a street drunk after midnight. Stop at a stop light however and scream at her in the real world for her appalling behavior, stripped of her super powers… she apologizes, looks horrified.
We delude ourselves that we are protected by our big car… or the anonymity of the internet.
The internet. From time to time… the hating trolls can’t help themselves. In their haste to leave vile, anonymous messages the stupid ones forget the trail of evidence they leave behind in their rush to insult and malign.
The most recent hater? Ohaiman. This particularly stupid troll lives on Elm Avenue in Norwood, a suburb of Cincinnati. With Google street view I opened a window into his sad life. I stood outside his shabby apartment building, I wondered which one of the beaten up cars parked in his parking lot was his. I wandered dolefully up his treeless, ugly street. I flew over his nondescript building in my google plane.
I felt like the NSA.
Not realizing that I already knew too much about him I engaged in a long conversation with Ohaiman… this vicious troll. He had opinions about every aspect of my life. The life of my boyfriend… apparently my bf is in the closet. He told me who I should be dating… someone over 50. He let me know how much money he thought I had. There was no limit to the reach he thought he had into my life.
Can you imagine what it must be like to have real celebrity? What chaos these trolls cause?
After he unravelled more than enough rope to hang himself… I revealed that I knew exactly where he lived. Like rolling down my window at the stop light… He balked. He apologized. He was ‘just joking’, he didn’t mean what he said.
Understandably, I haven’t heard from him since.
I don’t care what people write about me in that secret space created by the internet where foolish men believe they are the kings and the queens, ‘super users’ addicted to outrage and poorly formed opinion… mostly without consequence.
Here is petulant Zac Bissonnette, shaking down a pig for Glamour magazine. His new book, Good Advice From Bad People, is a collection of poorly collated quotes by people we would rather forget.
Gay Benoit is a brilliant writer, why he lauds Zac Bissonnette is a mystery to me. Unless… of course… Gay Zac’s flaxen hair and youthful spirit and perfect teeth… no… that just couldn’t be.
Anyway, I read the essay by Zac that Benoit posted on his ‘wall’ and frankly… it wasn’t very good. So. I said. Under the post… in the comments section: ‘this isn’t very good’.
Zac, in-between reading Facebook, counting the money that will keep him from moving in with his parents if everything fails, moisturizing his perfect creamy skin, preening his immaculate coiffeur and appropriating Bernie Madoff quotes… found the time to have an old-fashioned shit fit. Apparently, not uncommon for Zac.
It turns out he is the Veruca Salt of financial self-help. You remember her? The demanding, selfish little kid from Charlie and the Chocolate Factory who wants an Oompa Loompa but ends up with an ever lasting gob stopper.
Like most arrogant, entitled white american gays Zac didn’t take my mild criticism very well. Within an hour or two Zac had sifted through the internet declaring me bankrupt, running a bad business and a bunch of other ‘designed to shame’ comments. The one that pissed me off… you know, after having been abused for so many years, was his unsubstantiated accusation that I could be a child molester.
So. This is who we are dealing with. Zac gets some mild criticism and decides to accuse me of fucking children.
He is typical of his generation: young, white gay men. I meet them all the time. Prone to tantrums, relying on their good looks and minimal talent. When challenged they accuse anyone over 40 of pedophilia. They have run out of credible insults. Accusing a gay man of pedophilia masks two horrible truths. Firstly, people like Zac are terminally ageist. Secondly, puerile Zac feels ‘abused’ by anyone he considers stupid enough to challenge his ideal self.
He accuses me of pedophilia because he thinks of himself as an innocent little boy. He feels my criticism like he imagines a child feels a rapists penis. He suffers from crippling denial, like many gay men, denial that he is no longer a child and terrified that he will become an old man. After all, what is he without his youth? This particular denial runs rampant throughout his poorly educated, right-wing generation.
Not taking his pedophile accusations very well I challenged Zac on twitter to say publicly what he had accused me of privately. He rather wisely refused. He told me I was harassing him… even though he had contacted me! Then, after a change of heart, he told me that he wanted to talk to me. He said, “I think it’s better by phone. . . I promise I’m really nice on the phone.” He gave me his home phone number but told me not to call him at 3am. Here is his number for those of you who might want to get to know Zac better… lolz… do you dare me?
I’m not going to call Zac Bissonnette… because he is an idiot. How much of an idiot? Check his ‘financial advice’ in Glamour magazine. Advice so moronic and condescending only a man in a tight gray tee-shirt could have gotten away with it. Perhaps the folk at Glamour thought Zac’s pecs would distract women from what he had written?
My good advice to you, Zac? From this bad person? Grow the fuck up.
Between oysters and pizza at Gjelina and sultry nights in Hollywood the whole gay world went cray cray…
In less time than it takes to come up on Bath Salts the sex lives of some very powerful gay men in Hollywood changed dramatically. The unfettered and often illegal activities those Peter Pan like older men were so used to getting away with… ceased… forever.
During the week hundreds of lurid photographs surfaced of a puffy faced Bryan Singer and his friends holding onto young boys at restaurants, in private jets and at clubs. I wagged my finger at my lap top. I told you so! It was only a matter of time before Bryan’s life exploded like a ripe zit all over the internet. Times they are a’changing.
Written by outsiders the Singer scenario seems absurd. Bryan’s friends have names like second rate gangsters or third rate porn stars: Wayne Castro and Tommy Johnson. Brazenly, flagrantly, indiscreetly photographing themselves with boys and more boys… willow thin, pale and hairless. Funneling boys into Bryan’s world: club promoters, model agents and studio executives.
The scale of Bryan’s boy network, his boy compulsion can only be guessed at. It is without doubt an addiction over which he is powerless… his life unmanageable. Yet, to many… perfectly normal. An addict amongst addicts.
He says, “I don’t see the point of knowing anyone unless I’m going to have sex with them.”
After the premiere I am invited to the Ritz in New York. When I get to the room they’re there… it’s one of those parties… the men and the boys. Snorting coke, drinking beer, young boys sitting on the laps of those revolting, sour men. It makes me sad and angry. When I write about their party the following day they are outraged, they tell me to take it down… I mean, I’ve been to straight parties and met trafficked eastern european girls… hookers. I feel the same sadness. They are a long way from home. They sit with me until they realize I am useless to them.
A young, straight actor/waiter tells me proudly that Bryan takes him to an apartment, gives him drugs and alcohol, hires a pretty girl prostitute and throws himself into the mix as the boy fucks the girl. The boy tells me that Bryan tapes the encounter. He has a big smile on his face, this was the role of his lifetime.
By mid week the Singer scandal gains traction and the true colors of the gay community reveal themselves… unsurprisingly they were not the colors of the rainbow flag.
The first reaction from the gays, found in anonymous comments all over the gay online press, was more favorable toward Bryan rather than Michael Egan his accuser. The gays huffed and puffed about Egan having taken so long to come forward, that he must have known what he was getting himself into and generally blaming the victim for his pubescent naivety.
My Bryan Singer blog piece went viral and Egan (who alleges rape) named three other predators… one of them being Garth Ancier who was once a Facebook friend. During the press conference Egan’s mother sits by her terrified son. She is crying. She blames herself for not doing more.
I realized that even though ‘everyone knew’ about Bryan and his hedonistic mates indulging in the joys of trafficking young flesh… it turns out that this lifestyle is in fact a fantasy that many Hollywood gays aspire.
They want what Bryan has: the parties, the money, the drugs and the sex. Bryan, they concluded, was living the gay dream.
I spoke with Lucas John who writes the well read blog WeHo Confidential.
Even though Lucas has written terrible things about the gays and their behavior in his blog (he boasts that the gay mafia live in fear of photographs of their parties ending up on his site) he reassured me that WeHo Confidential wasn’t meant to be taken seriously, it was ‘a game’. Lucas was shocked that anyone was taking Michael Egan seriously, that the wider world might now have a negative opinion about his ‘friend Bryan’.
Lucas vehemently stands by Bryan Singer. This strident support is not unusual amongst the gays. The support Bryan receives from the gays sounds like the support Sandusky received initially from Penn State, the support pedophile priests garnered from their reeling congregation and the Vatican.
The opinion from the ‘wider world’, as it turns out, is mixed. Many news outlets are covering the story tentatively. Why the caution? They don’t want to be accused of homophobia. They don’t want to get it wrong or upset their homo-collegues. Gay news proprietors like Nick Denton at Gawker are trying to treat this gay tabloid story as they would a straight tabloid story but their readers think him a traitor.
LA gays are shocked and confused that their sex conduct could be considered somehow… wrong. Those rules, they squealed, don’t apply to us. Fucking a persistent, consenting 15-year-old wasn’t pedophilia, they scoffed. It’s fun! Don’t shame us! Without a hint of irony they argue that the victim ‘could have said no’.
The victim could have said no. The predator could have said no? No. The logic of the gays.
The truth is: many gay men willingly had sex with older men (in lieu of our peers) when we were teenagers. We liked it, we wanted more. Most gays can’t understand why Egan is complaining. After all, he got to hang with celebrities, taken on a private jet and all the drugs he could manage.
Gay men can’t get their heads around the reality of man/man rape. It’s a total mystery to them. Rape is what happens in porn films or to women or closeted straight men who can’t face the truth about their first anal experience.
Some gay men can’t make a connection between the girl held down and raped by the lacrosse team and the boy held under water and raped by the studio executive and his friends. There is a disconnect for most gay men between these two narratives.
The gays operated, until very recently, in the shadow of heterosexual society, where they evolved their own rules, their own standards, their own language. The gays must now learn to live in the light and dance to a different tune. For some this is a hard transition. Facing the responsibilities equality affords us. Like willful children holding onto old ideas.
Gays: It’s time to grow the fuck up.
On Wednesday I was hounded by Buzzfeed to tell what I knew about Bryan but generally I kept myself to my blog. The comments section on Gawker lit up with the usual kind of screaming homo hate I have long been used to. They claimed I was a hypocrite for ‘discrediting’ Bryan when I have a hairy 25-year-old boyfriend. The difference? My boyfriend and I have monogamous, consensual sex and have done for the past 8 months.
In other news, my old buddy the teen loving Dustin Lance Black hit the headlines again this week because his former college in Pasadena thought it inappropriate for an ex student who took pictures of himself having anal sex (with a porn star without a condom) lecture their students. Black cries Homophobia! and Shame! Yet another entitled white gay men who lives beyond the consequences of his actions.
I mentioned this to one of the bone fide journalists I met with this week. I explained what I had seen, innocent boys being trafficked from model agencies in New York to the hot tubs of Hollywood. He asked why I wanted to get involved… why I wanted to share my own story of gay Hollywood, knowing how unpopular my opinions are to my fellow tribe members.
I told him this:
When I was 8 years old I ran away from home, away from my abusive father. When the police caught up with me I told them what was going on. They took me home and told me if I ever repeated those allegations against my powerful and well-respected father they would fall on me ‘like a ton of bricks’. This terrible injustice shaped my view of authority. After the policeman left I suffered 6 more years of merciless brutality… in silence.
The gays have no sympathy for the abused because they have always felt abused, they say: Suck it up, stop complaining, boo hoo. They have learned to forget their miserable past, their bullies, their abusive parents. They have learned to ignore what I refuse to ignore… that things must change… and the only way that is going to happen?
We talk about the abuse/rape/pedophilia… we go on talking about it until it stops.
Until we can learn to say no without shame.
There is a moment when you know it’s over. That his proximity disgusts you. That no amount of love can disguise what was or what could be. These photographs were taken at the moment, the moment I knew for sure. The fast train to Paris from Cannes. A beautiful boy sat opposite me and I wanted to ravish him. I couldn’t wait to say goodbye to the loved one. Yet, I knew, the moment we parted I would not stop thinking of him. From the moment I woke up to the moment I fell into a fitful sleep. Gone, the door slammed. He was dead to me long before I made it impossible for him to do anything but take drastic measures. It was the worst kind of grief because nobody died…
Most of you know there is little love lost between me and gay Hollywood… the gay establishment, our unelected leaders, our taste makers and moral guides… or lack of them. From Chad Griffin (who now claims to be the Rosa Parks of marriage equality) at the HRC to the bullying tactics of gay mafia org Glaad I have made my voice heard and paid the price.
During the last year I have had death threats and put up with the gay rumor mill distorting facts about me. So, today, old acquaintance Bryan Singer finds himself in my world… the shadowy world of innuendo, accusations, smears, allegations and (unlike me) the hard to remove stains of rape and pedophilia.
The gays are springing to his defense. The boy was 17. Old enough to know better. Old enough to say no. Well, as we all know, whether it is Jerry Sandusky or Bryan Singer power and prestige can be very alluring to a damaged soul and let’s face it… many young gays are very damaged. It’s difficult to say no if you think saying yes will change… everything.
Dorian Gray was a damaged soul. Just a boy. Would he give in to love… or power and prestige? We all know the answer.
I first met Bryan on Fire Island 20 years ago. He stayed at our house with Brandon Boyce and some eager young twink. Latterly I stayed with him in Hollywood, and we have kept friendly but distant ever since. When I was arrested he (and his friends) delighted in my jail time* and made snide comments about me getting into trouble. Their arrogance, like most sexually unmanageable people, was legion.
Bryan and I have discussed his boy obsessions and sex tourism. We have discussed his prescription drug addiction. We have discussed his drinking problem. We have discussed his point that it is useless to know anyone socially unless there is a sexual point.
Today Bryan finds himself at the center of a roiling sex scandal. It is of his own making. Everyone one knew… but no one said a word. Young boys on his arm, on his set, at dinner with equally vile boy obsessed Hollywood grandees… the lamentable Adam Press, the teen dating Dustin Lance Black.
If you want to get on in Hollywood straight or gay… you better learn how to please the directors and producers you meet at drug fueled, drink sodden gay parties.
Of course, when someone cries foul, the gays think it is the victims ‘fault’. They have played victim for so long.
Somebody suggested to me this morning that it was ‘homophobic’ of those accusing Bryan of rape. No, it’s not homophobic to accuse someone of rape, it’s homophobic to forcibly sodomise someone.
Bryan’s close friends include Guy Shalem (Jane Lynch’s red carpet plus one), Transformers Producer Tom DeSanto and Teen Wolf director Toby Wilkins. Finding themselves on private jets, at Elton John’s Oscar party and vast Hollywood mansions overlooking Los Angeles. They are surrounded by a stable of beautiful young boys. They are delighted to be included. It’s always so much fun. Bryan can make anything happen. He has so many cool toys.
Bryan films a group of eastern european ‘barely legal’ porn performers ejaculating over him… then shows the video to who ever wants to see. Many do. Bryan audaciously dresses as a catholic priest for Halloween, amusing his friends with his ‘ironic’ choice of costume. Bryan loses his Ferrari in The Beverly Center parking lot and has a panic attack. He drives with the parking attendant in a golf buggy until he locates the car.
Amy Berg, the Oscar nominated documentary maker has been researching predators like Bryan for the past two years. Her explosive documentary about sexual misconduct in Hollywood will blow the lid off those who perpetrate these heinous sex crimes and those in power (sex therapists, law enforcement, prosecutors and the judiciary) who collude with wealthy pedophiles and rapists to keep their sex crimes secret.
This story is no longer just one lone victim brave enough to tell the truth about Bryan Singer.
I like Bryan Singer and rather than sneer at him (as he did me) I am hopeful that someone is keeping a seat warm for him at a Sex Addict meeting where he will find solace and understanding from many other ‘important’ Hollywood men who have fallen from grace whilst arrogantly thinking they could get away with what ever they pleased, when ever they wanted, regardless of price or consequences.
As we shall see. There are always consequences. Even for Bryan Singer… and his ilk.
From an earlier blog:
“So, this beautiful teenager arrives at a party I’m at last week in the Hollywood Hills. Fresh off the boat. He’s beautiful. He has a fresh, open face…his pale skin is flawless.
He hadn’t been in Hollywood for longer than a month but already he’s on the arm (unwittingly) of a so called LA ‘producer‘ who, it seems, has immediately pimped the boy out to the head of programming for a popular music network. The no name, no hope LA producer pimping the boy out… so that he might curry favor with the TV grandee. Just to be clear… the same LA producer hires young boys to ‘read scripts’ so he has access to their young boy world.
The whores and the pimps and the fairies…
The network head ain’t no beauty. He looks like Dobby from Harry Potter.
So the good looking kid arrives and he tells me that he’s working in NYC with an equally scummy NYC ‘producer’ who always has some starstruck kid on his arm. The NYC producer looks like he has downs syndrome, he looks like his teeth are too big for his fat, useless head. He looks like he’s wearing a wig but the fringe ain’t deep enough to cover the alcohol bloat, the never was visage. He was a bullied kid at the expensive school his mother sent him to… signed him up the moment she heard the sperm had hit the egg.
Both of these producers have one thing in common: they have loads of inherited money and never produced anything.
They might have their names attached to invisible projects, they might have inveigled their way into the production meeting of some meaningless movie, thrown a little cash behind an artless indi. But, they ain’t never winning no awards, they ain’t never been invited to no Sundance, Berlin or Cannes. They’ll go anyway, keeping their mouths shut to those who matter and lying to those who don’t.
Should I tell you who they are?
So I’m keeping my head down. I’m not saying a word. I’m instagramming the bar man, I’m already elsewhere…waiting for something real to happen. Dobby (the music TV network head) shows the man I’m standing with his very smart, smart phone. He’s so excited. There are hi def pictures and video of the same wide eyed teenager at Dobby’s huge house wearing just…a towel. Yes. The kid is wearing a towel around his waist, his perfectly sculpted body on full view and standing beside him is another, equally cut young teen.
Two young boys.
The inference? You don’t need me to explain this to you do you?
So I take this kid to one side and I ask him if he’s gay? He’s not. I ask him what he thinks of the network head showing everybody his new naked body to anyone the network head needs to impress.
‘They are good guys.’ he reassures me.
No, I say…they are anything but good guys.
You know, all he wants (this kid) is a job, a chance, an opportunity, the dream of celebrity…freedom. He can almost taste it. He knows that these men make all the difference.
His desire for a better life is palpable. He’ll drink the drinks. Undress, get into the hot tub.
You know, I love beauty. I love it. Look, I’m surrounded with beauty. My ex-friend might say, oh your just jealous. You’re just jaded because you want what they’ve got, Believe me, I do just fine. But on terms that do not compromise my integrity.
Would I show random strangers the body of some boy who stands feet from me? Knowing that those artless, semi pornographic images suggest that we are more than just…innocent friends? The network head winks, smiling…dribbling over the screen on the smart phone. Dobby’s nose is dripping from undisclosed snorting.
He says, without saying anything: That teen boy…the boy with the perfect abs. He’ll do anything..because he thinks I’m going to get him a role, find him an agent…make him the next teen sensation. LOL.
LAUGHING OUT LOUD!
He lets seasoned Hollywood gays believe that this boy will do just about anything to get on. Dobby wants you to believe he fucked the boy. Dobby is powerful. Dobby can get whatever he wants. Even the virgin ass of a young boy fresh off the boat. Particularly… the young ass of the boy standing feet away from us, oblivious that he is now the victim of rank objectification and intrigue.
Proud to be gay? Not today.
So I wrote a short email to the NYC ‘producer’ guy. I told him what was going on with his protege. He wrote back immediately…he thought it was hilarious. I reminded the fat, vodka marinated, creep…that the boy…has parents.“
* For those of you who want to know why I was in jail and why I am currently suing LA County: my civil rights lawsuit arises from the fact that I was unlawfully held in the Los Angeles County jail for 85 days, in violation of my constitutional right to post bail. (I was a pretrial detainee and eligible to post bail yet the jail did not allow me to post bail). I was denied the opportunity to post bail because U.S. Immigration and Customs Enforcement (ICE) had issued an immigration hold (sometimes referred to as an “ICE hold”). An immigration hold is a request from ICE to hold a detainee so that ICE can look into their immigration status; it doesn’t mean the person has violated immigration laws or even that ICE has probable cause to believe they’ve violated immigration laws. At the time of my arrest, the Los Angeles Sheriff’s department routinely denied bail to pretrial detainees with immigration holds, which is illegal under California and federal constitutional standards. Since the filing of my lawsuit, the Los Angeles Sheriff’s Department discontinued this practice and now permits pretrial detainees with ICE holds to post bail.
Monday morning. Brooklyn. The end of this particularly hard winter is nowhere in sight. In LA the sun shines over the glittering sea, in London my friends post pictures of balmy evenings in St James Park. I run from our place to sit in crowded coffee shops. I’m writing under a pseudonym nowadays for publications that love paying him/her but would never pay me. Funny. Doing what writers have always done: assuming different names for different opinions, different styles, different genres. Consequently, I don’t get to write my blog very often… as I traverse the continent once a month. From sea to shining sea. No one understands why I love driving 2,800 miles twice over once a month… but I do. The last trip was short and sweet. I stayed in LA a few days then drove back over the Rockies and into a 50 car wreck on the i80 a hundred miles east of Chicago on the Ohio Turnpike. Trapped on the side of the road for ten hours with two patient dogs and so many bad christian radio stations. Badly educated, right-wing bigots on the radio. Wondering out loud how they will roll back the rights of women and gays and undocumented workers, how they will keep hold of their white America. The America their ancestors battled to tame. I think about those early Americans very often as I drive over the Rockies, the hardship they suffered, the dreams they had… the cruelty they inflicted on those who lived on the land they took and the slaves they owned.
I tried sleeping in the car. Minus 6 degrees. Occasionally fellow travelers would stop by to see if we were okay. They offered cookies and consolation.
I’ve been with my boy for 8 months. We cook at home and watch bad make over TV. Every day our situation gets stronger as we over come our own and the prejudices of others. I realized that most of my male gay friends are single, even the ones with the best pedigrees. The ones who are good-looking and sweet and a ‘good catch’. I, of course, am none of those things. I am the bullet you need to dodge. That’s what they say. But the gays are eager to diss all of their friends burgeoning relationships. They are disparaging about anyone who may not be ‘ideal’. This ideal that keeps them single and lonely. They look at me sadly when they find out how old L is as if I am deluding myself that my relationship could ever work. Did I think it would work? Well, not in some fairy tale way, not the way gay writers write the perfect arrangement… the ideal. We muddle through, we miss each other when we are apart, we fight occasionally but not as much as we did when we first met. All in all, I’m happy and feel love from him and let my love flow… to him. That’s occasionally a very confusing and baffling thing for me. To let myself be loved.
In Des Moines, I met Kookie Kardashian… the morbidly obese (500lb), hirsute… older sister of Kim Kardashian and Kourtney Kardashian. She is the least known of the KKK Klan. Drinking alone in a dump of a hotel bar, reruns of KUWTK playing on the flickering TV above the tequila selection, staring absently into a soupy pina colada. Text messages remained unanswered as she pulls at her thin mustache. I introduce myself, she says she appreciates the company. Apparently, when the cameras are in her Calabasas house Kris makes her leave with the undocumented servants. Kris pokes her with a stick. Kookie said that Ryan Seacrest called her a ‘fat cunt’, that if she wanted to be on the show she should ‘get a fucking lap band’. Kookie, blinded by grief, drinks herself regularly into a blackout. She commandeered Kanye’s jet and took it to Iowa. Her brushed denim and patent leather Fendi bag stuffed with cash. If she loses the weight… Kris promised her that she and Rob can have their own show.
She told me she misses her dad.
Has anyone been watching the OWN Lindsay Lohan ‘documentary’? That girl is OUT OF HER MIND. A world without consequence will do that to you. A world where nobody has the guts to confront an addict and her worst defects. A world where she believes she is still important or relevant, a world where no one will tell her that death is imminent… like Heath, Phil, River… living in a room stuffed with clothes, jewelry… evidence of active addiction.
Despicably, this tragedy is being manipulated by entertainment industry matriarch Oprah Winfrey… the disingenuous bad mum who knew all along that her little girl would let her down. Oprah’s fake outrage is utterly disgusting.
So, Ellen Page ‘comes out‘ with Chad at her side and (as scripted) is immediately hailed as ‘brave’ by the neo liberal media for telling her truth. Big fucking deal. Did Ellen Page come out in Uganda, risking her life? Did Ellen Page use her power and prestige to help those less fortunate lesbians in other parts of the world who risk being imprisoned or worse for the luxury of telling their truth? No, she talked about how hard it was for her to crash stereotypes.
Poor Ellen. My heart bleeds for you.
As more and more celebrities come out it is no longer good enough to expect and prepare for fanfare without their truth becoming a political gesture. It is not good enough for a celebrity in the free world to expect a ‘small gesture’ toward acceptance to be adequate.
Small gestures need to get bigger. It is the responsibility of every lgbtq celebrity who comes out to address the disparity between their free lives and their oppressed brothers and sisters else where. For Ellen Page not to mention Uganda, Russia etc. was willful and selfish.
After all, what did she expect… a fucking medal? No, all she was doing was safeguarding her job and her position and her fame and fortune.
Party last night at Jacob Brown‘s East Village duplex. Celebrating his birthday were cute thin people, two old farts… me and the perfectly adorable producer Hunter Hill. Crowd included (amongst others) the delectable poet Andrew Durbin and former MOCA head honcho Ari Wiseman.
I loved that my controversial green fur hat found favor with this cool, queer crowd.
Valentine’s Day, enjoying my burgeoning relationship.
We popped in at lunch time to make our reservation and the young lady maitre’d dutifully jotted it down, took names and numbers and the promise of a two top.
At 8pm we arrived at Isa. The booking was lost, we were given the end of a community table under a loud speaker playing the most intrusive music, the waiters seemed to be very eager to process EVERYONE in and out very quickly.
We were asked by 4 separate people if we were sure we didn’t want alcohol.
Anyway, I ordered the rustic tomato soup and the skirt steak. The soup was ok but served in very small dish. The skirt steak entree was ghastly. It was like chewing through a shoe. A rubber shoe. I sent it back and the duck special was whisked to our table in its place. The duck was ok, not very well seasoned, the polenta was soupy and badly prepared and $30. The tiny dish of $7 brussels sprouts were tepid and badly flash fried leaving most of them untouched by the pan… temperature issues at Isa became an irritating theme.
Our coffee was also cold so I left it.
The staff were the kind of people who try to shame you for making a complaint. Condescending young people who are used to old people putting up and shutting up. “Do you think you’ll like the duck better.” He asked after I sent back the inedible steak… he asked as if I had some sort of learning disability. No, I’m just past 45 years old. I can hear and understand just fine.
We attempted to leisurely enjoy our dinner but the waiter was eager to snatch our unfinished dishes, “Still working on that?” they pestered. YES!! Leave us alone I wanted to scream but I didn’t. This was obviously the worst choice for a Valentines dinner. A total waste of time and money.
Here are some recent moments: