The Usual Whine

Cute boys can be so predictable sometimes. I mean it wasn’t SO long ago that we had our tongues down each other’s mouths and our hands and whatnot on each other’s privates, and it was all very friendly and fun. Would it have been such a big breech of protocol to even say “Hi” when we unexpectedly run into each other while hanging with friends at the local watering hole? (Seriously, just a little local watering hole, not even a gay bar where this sorta nonsense is so common.) I wasn’t even trying to be all cruisy, just neighborly. Yeesh!

More support for my pet theory that all the fun, smart, goofy, polite, cute, clever, sexy guys who I’d actually get along with are having a swinging good time in some kind of hipster homo orgy commune somewhere without me. And without the usual handful of like minds I know of scattered about the place. I say we put together a search party. Who’s with me?

East Side Ecstasy

If you watch any documentary before you die, you really ought to watch East Side Story, an incredible look at communist musicals in East Germany and the soviet Union. Man, it’ll get your heart pumping to watch those men sing about the glories of their tractors, or watch textile-mill ballet sequence. Of course, now that I think about it, you also should make sure that before you die you see such other incredible documentaries as Grey Gardens, Crumb, and Trekkies. Any of those will be a great reminder that reality can be so much more fascinating than fiction.

On a totally different pop-culture note, I’ve found myself talking with lots of guys recently about how they also always thought that Aquaman was totally hot. So it’s not just me. It’s almost weird how often this has been happening, like some great pent-up surge of homosexual zeitgeist blowing a gasket. A friend spontaneously got me a totally hot Aquaman poster by Alex Ross for my birthday. Another announced he’s planning on fulfilling a lifelong dream and getting an Aquaman tattoo. Various other guys, when I’ve started to mention who the hottest superfriend was, beat me to the punch by screaming out, “Aquaman!” This has been even more startling than the realization a few years back that the homos all seemed to have a thing for Boba Fett.

2001: A Spark’s Odyssey

This new year came in quietly but wonderfully, as I stayed home, huddled away from the cold, opting to curl up on the couch with some movies and a cute boy who knows how to kiss rather than give in to the pressure to go out and par-tay with the drunken revellers in the cold. It was a good note to start things off with. It was also nice to have a totally pleasant and relaxing night in the wake of the last horrible month.

I feel some sort of nebulous obligation to do a year-end wrap-up, but frankly that would be dull and redundant considering how thoroughly I’ve documented the year here. All in all, it was OK, with the usual amount of ups, downs, and change that I’ve come to expect in my life. If nothing else, I don’t sit still or settle into routine for very long.

Rather than dwell on the last year — there’s no point, seeing as I still don’t have a rocket car or a sleek pod-home on the moon — let’s think about the next. I don’t like the idea of resolutions, since they’re so easily broken. I like Andy’s idea of using a slogan as a guiding principle for the year, but it’s his schtick, and he already used the best one for this last year: “Less talk, more rock.” I guess the best thing for me, eternally bogged down by an endless list of projects to think about, would be to make an effort to reorder my long-term to-do list. so here, as of Janury 1, 2001, are the things that I would like to make higher priorities on the list:

  • Draw more. And draw to work out ideas rather than just doodle. I hate that I’ve all but stopped drawing. I’ve given up on the one activity that made my entire educational career tolerable. The new UltraSparky backgrounds will hopefully be a good reminder that I should work on more material.
  • Read more comic books. Related to the desire to draw more. Comic books have always been profoundly important to me, but I gave up following them years ago when I was a poor student. Their place in my life became primarily one of nostalgia. Dave and Andy and others have helped me keep up, though, and I’ve discovered another generation of books that really get me excited, and speak to a lot of ideas that I’ve pondered on my own over the years. The superhero genre is still pretty dear to me, and it’s exciting to see the kind of excitement, big ideas, and maturity shown in books like The Invisibles or The Authority.
  • Learn more programming and scripting. I like the stuff, but I’ve been dicking around without actually just learning to write usefull things like PERL or PHP. What kind of nerd am I without that stuff? A poseur nerd, that’s what.
  • Work more, and more efficiently. Who knows, maybe I’ll even look for a regular job that would be a good fit for me. As busy as I usually am, I wind up wasting a fuck of a lot of time, and squandering hours that could be better spent making myself more solvent. (Or drawing more.) I need to get my act together.
  • Stop sleeping around so much. The opposite of one of last year’s goals. Guess how I’ve squandered a lot of that time I mentioned? I got a lot out of my system, and I had an awful lot of fun, but I’ve been really feeling the need to focus again and shoot for quality instead of quantity. (I suppose this is more of a resolution than a reprioritization, but it’s been on my mind lately.)

Wish me luck, kids, and stay on my case if you catch me slacking off.

Getting Involved

OK, I’m a lot calmer now, thanks. No more undignified outbursts for a little while more, at least. (By the way, thanks for all the love, gang. It helped more than you may ever realize.) Yesterday was a pretty damn stressful day, spent worrying and panicking and running around trying to figure out what is going on with this big crackdown on artists’ lofts here in Brooklyn. There was a big community meeting about it last night (which I missed) and another one tonight (which I damn well won’t miss), so people are up in arms and on top of the situation, which is good. The people in my building met last night and we got ourselves organized so we can avert catastrophe by making a preemptive strike at getting things up to snuff around here before any inspectors come by and try to claim it’s not safe here. We even coined a plucky name (EWAC! The East Williamsburg Artists Coalition), set up a web page and an listserv, and started imagining how fun it would be to weld artwork to the outside of the building to baricade ourselves in if the bastards try to kick us out. Never say that activism doesn’t have room for a little goofiness.

The meeting really helped calm me down and realize that there are steps we can take to avert gettin’ the boot. Now that they’ve evacuated a few buildings and created such a fuss, the city agencies involved say that they would only evacuate buildings in imminent danger (a very sketchy evaluation, from the sound of it), and try to fine or warn the rest on the list of 121 targeted loft buildings. Presumably the political pressure now is for them to avoid kicking anyone else out into the streets around Christmas, so we’re counting on the inspectors to look favorably on anyone’s attempts to make sure their buildings comply with the fire code. That’s why we’re springing into action to make sure our building is OK before anyone gets in to look around. My building isn’t as raw as it looks, so things may not be so tenuous. The thing is, we want to know for sure before we take any chances. That’s why we’re all springing into action today — keeping exits clear, getting smoke detectors and fire extinguishers, taking care of any flammable materials we may have around our pads.

These aren’t all temporary measures to avert this catastrophe, even if that’s what has sprung us into action. We want the building to be safe. One of the things you can’t take for granted when you live in an artist’s loft is that everything is safe and honky-dory all the time (especially when the owner is a notorious loft slumlord). Also, we want to pull together as a building and a neighborhood of people with the same concerns about the life we’re trying to carve out here in the hinterlands of Brooklyn. So this organization of ours will hopefully live on past this dilemma and allow us to continue and improve our lot in life. Besides, why waste the snappy acronym?

Also, I’m glad that something has spurred me to getting to know my neighbors after living here for well over a year. One of the problems of life in New York, and this neighborhood in particular, is that it’s really easy to just hole up in your cave and never get many chances to know the people living mere feet away from you. It’s worse around here where there are no public places to congregate and mingle. I’ve said hello to plenty of the folks around here, but I now realize that I actually like everyone. Pretty much everyone in my building is really good-looking and hip, too, so that helps.

And, Dori, this is SO not Bushwick out here. I’ve lived in Bushwick, so trust me. I’m very happy to be on the East Williamsburg side of Flushing Ave., where it’s at least 20 percent less bleak.

Domestic Disturbance

Imminent ThreatHow much god-damned shittiness am I supposed to put up with in one month? I apologize if that’s not the most articulate, informative way to express the extreme aggravation, frustration, loneliness, disappointment, and despair that have been swirling around these last few weeks. Lots of things have sucked — family trauma, financial strains, work nonsense, regular holiday crap, and plenty of guy trouble — and now this fucking article comes along to let me know that I may be suddenly evicted at any point. A threat like this wouldn’t be welcome under the best of circumstances: It really sucks ass right now. It’s not perfect, but I really adore my bachelor pad, and I really don’t wanna get kicked out to the curb just when winter is setting in and my bank account is perpetually overdrawn as I deal with piles of various bills. I can’t even afford to live anywhere but here, much less put together the scratch to actually find a place and haul me and all my crap there.

You know, I was going to write a fun little entry about my sexy new cell phone (’cuz I lost mine this weekend) and how size envy with electronics is all about being small instead of big and what an incredible paradigm shift that is for luxury items. Maybe I was going to gripe a little bit about how demoralizing it is when guys you really like wind up with one another instead of being interested in you, but no. Now this last straw onto the camel’s back is provoking the crying jag that’s been building up the last couple of weeks. So rather than figure out what the fuck I should do right now, I think I’ll go cry myself to sleep like some fucking baby and prepare for the humiliating ritual of tucking my poor, loser tail between my legs and asking my parents for help.

Merry Christmas kids!

Insecure Freak

God, I can be such an insecure freak sometimes. This isn’t helped by my occasional inability to make sense of a situation when I like a guy. Usually, it’s no problem for me to figure out the who-likes-who dynamics of a situation, but with this one I’m just lost. It’s happened before: I know I have an interest in things working out, so I just can’t make heads or tails out of the situation if it doesn’t all happen easily. Good grief. Just when I was convinced that he was trying to butter me up for the brush off (the infamous “You’re the nicest guy ever” remark was my tip-off), he calls all happy to talk to me and asks me to dinner.

Now, the big question is: How much of this is a reflection of my own fears about the risks of sleeping with him some more? Is it pathetically passive-aggressive of me to assume he’s being a jerk so I don’t have to figure out how comfortable I can be dating someone who’s positive?

Speaking of which, it’s high time I get tested again. It’s been a long time since my last test, and I’ve been a bigger slut during that time than ever before. As fastidious as I am, I know I’ve slipped a couple of times out of those dozens and dozens. Between this one (who still hasn’t actually mentioned anything about it to me) and my sister’s bout with a brain tumor, you can imagine how thoughts of mortality are darting around in my head.

If I Had a Hammer…

…And a staple gun, and a few other choice tidbits, I could handle almost anything. Of course, I love hardware stores far too much to keep myself from picking up all sorts of specialty tools as the need arises, but I assure you that having a few key items around will make you much less dependent upon the kindness of strangers in an emergency.

All of this stuff costs only a few dollars for a serviceable version of each, and it’ll be an investment that will make up for itself in no time at all. Not only will you earn valuable brownie points with that cute college boy working at the local True Value for the summer, but you’ll also save a small fortune in dumb repair bills, and a lot of headaches from exasperated superintendents.

Hammer Time!Never, NEVER underestimate the importance of having a good, full-size hammer around the house. In a pinch, even a decent ball-pean hammer will do. Some day you’ll need to hang a picture, loosen an old valve on a water pipe, pull out a nail where a picture used to hang, or something else that will require something more efficient than the heel of your shoe.

There are basically two tricks to using a hammer. The most important is to swing it from your elbow, not your wrist. Little, limp-wristed, girly wrist-hammering will hurt you and it won’t do a damn thing. Hold the hammer firmly in your hand, and let the momentum of your whole forearm do the bulk of the work. The second trick it to know how much force is needed, and USE IT. If a sticky valve or tiny picture nail just need a tap or two, just give ’em a good, firm tap. If you have to drive big nail into a block of wood, tap once or twice for position and then swing like the mighty Thor — it’ll feel very cathartic, and there’ll be less chance of screwing up the nail or the angle of approach if you can drive the nail in with just two or three whacks.

Screw Me!Screw You!
The other most useful thing you can have around the house is a Phillips head screwdriver. That’s the one with the x-shaped tip, in case you’re wondering. A flat-head screw driver will also be handy to have around. If you’re worried about having too packed a toolbox, you can always get a screwdriver handle with a reversible bit, Phillips on one side and flat-head on the other. But if you’ve managed to get this far in your life without owning a screwdriver, I assure you your streak of good luck won’t last forever.

Someday you’ll have to open the back of that computer, or attach that shelf to the wall, or tighten that table leg, or hang those curtain rods, or chip that ice out of the freezer (which is, of course, a foolish and dangerous use for a screwdriver, but a use nonetheless). The screwdriver is your friend, believe me.

Pinch me, I’m dreamingSlip-joint pliers are universally handy. Purists will say that everything they’re useful for is the wrong way to use them, but that’s all horsecrap. Got a bolt to tighten or loosen? Plier it, baby. Missing a knob on the stove? Fire it up with your friendly pliers. That showerhead leaking again? You know what to do. You can tell if you’re using pliers for the wrong thing if it seems like it takes too much hand strength to get a grip on something, but the beauty of pliers is that they’ll still get the job done if you work at it. And get a pair that can also be used as a wirecutter.

Monkey BusinessOf course, we can’t forget our trusty friend the adjustable monkey wrench. This is the one that you should be using all those times when pliers don’t seem to work well. If you have a bike, for instance, you probably already know that a monkey wrench and one or two Allen wrenches (see below) are your magic best friends at tune-up time. You can think of this as a hardcore pair of pliers. If pliers can grab it, a monkey wrench can grab it better, and give you more leverage. I suspect that when I eventually start to learn car repair, I’ll develop a whole new appreciation for the monkey wrench.

Stick 'em upNo party would be complete without the amazing staple gun. Maybe Martha Stewart can work wonders with a hot-glue gun, but trust me — it’s the staple-gun that can really hold the world together. Do curtain rods and drapery hooks seem too labor-intensive? A few well-placed staples behind a fold will hold things up until Mom’s next visit. Is that phone cord tripping all your dates when they come by to pick you up? Secure that baby up against the baseboard and show it who’s boss. Found the perfect kitchen chair at the Salvation Army and then discovered the upholstery’s rotting away? That’s right — a staple gun and a piece of fabric (and a hammer or screwdriver, depending on how the seat’s attached) is all you need to raise it from the dead. And any staples you use are removed in seconds flat with your trusty flat-head screwdriver. See how it all comes together?

The Big LThis may seem a little more special-interest, but a set of Allen wrenches will make you very happy if you own a bike or any piece of do-it-yourself furniture from Ikea. They’re those black, L-shaped doohickies with the hexagonal ends that often end up in people’s junk drawers. Those babies are the keys to the kingdom if you ever have any intention of taking apart that Sufflör bookshelf or Krokshult table that’s taking up space in the corner, or putting that new bottle holder on your mountain bike once and for all. There couldn’t be anything easier to use — just find the right-size end that fits in the bolt, and twist a few times using the other side of the wrench as a handle. Bolts that require Allen wrenches usually only require a twist or two since they’re flat don’t get knocked around a lot. But there’s no way to grab ’em at all unless you have the right wrench.

Star-Fucking

so I said to Madonna...It’s not everyday that you find yourself sitting around with a group of friends gabbing when you come in on a conversation midstream to hear a woman you know say, “So I said to Madonna, ‘You gotta get out!’” True story. Apparently Madonna had sublet a room in Mimi’s apartment back in the early days when they were both struggling dancers, and Madonna had this thing for wandering around the place naked after she showered. Mimi asked her to knock it off while her mother, who was freaked enough about her daughter living on the mean streets of New York, was in town. Well, Madonna still let it hang loose — hairy pits and all — so Mimi decided to give her the old heave-ho (so to speak).

Kiki & HerbIt was a moment of jaded, insane name-dropping that could have come directly from Kiki & Herb, whose brilliant, terrifying, hilarious new Christmas show we had just seen at the Fez. I always enjoy bringing people to see Kiki & Herb for the first time, and I hope that you, friend, are also someday able to experience the jaw-dropping display of blasphemy, psychosis, and musical acuity that makes them so special. Read the clips on the website to get a better idea of what their act is like, but suffice to say I think you’d be hard-pressed to find another cabaret/drag act that mixes Radiohead, Sarah Vaughn, Britney Spears, Belle & Sebastian, Christmas Classics, Kate Bush, and Styx into one show. This time around, they even did a song that Stephen Merritt wrote just for them (so Kiki claims — you can never know for sure). Oh, such treats!

Soapbox

I’m not participating in A Day Without Weblogs. This is not because I don’t think AIDS awareness is important, or because I think it’s a hollow gesture to remove your weblog for a day. On the contrary, I think any effort to shock people out of any complacency is vitally important. I think, though, that I would rather participate in World AIDS Day by taking a moment in this forum to make a call for continued dialogue and continued openness about the issue.

People I love have been deeply affected by AIDS and HIV. It’s touched my family and my friends, and it’s been the cause of grief, anger, and fear. The fear is the worst part, I fear, in terms of how our society on the whole deals with the presence of AIDS in our lives. When people react, ond overreact with fear, it breeds a climate that punishes the sufferers rather than battles the disease itself. I don’t want to live in a world where peope are ostracized and feared because of a health condition, especially one which is preventable and containable. I don’t want to live in a world where compassion and understanding and lucidity are shoved aside by hysteria, suspicion, intolerance, and moral indignation. Screw that.

I have friends with HIV, and it doesn’t freak me out. I have a brother with HIV, and it doesn’t freak me out. I’ve even dated guys with HIV, also: sometimes I’ve known about it, and sometimes I haven’t at the time. Either way, I’ve discovered that it doesn’t freak me out as much as I once thought it would. I’m grateful to know so that I have a chance to be a voice of reason rather than fear. What I’ve discovered each time I’ve learned about it is that it doesn’t change who that person may be, or how I feel about that person. The presence of HIV in their lives and mine may sadden me or make me angry sometimes, but it’s not the carrier I mind, it’s the virus. And it’s the way people react to it.

Don’t fear HIV. Don’t fear AIDS. Learn about them. Be smart and compassionate and careful. Prevent the spread of the virus. Don’t make martyrs or victims or pariahs or villains out of the people who have it. It’s not a judgement, it’s a disease. People get it, and that’s a tragedy, but pretending the tragedy doesn’t exist in your world will never ensure that it won’t.

Sorta Second Dates

Twice in the last week I have run into (ahem) cute, smart, attractive guys with whom I hit it off like gangbusters. With each one, we realized at some point while hanging out that we have had completely tawdry, anonymous sex with each other at some point in the previous year. And each time, I had wished that I had gotten more of a chance to follow up and get to know the fella in question. sometimes, serendipity sends a nice curve ball just when you could use a little cheering up.