tommy

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he'd gotten into a fight with some random guy in some club on sunset, and, in addition to the eye (which would be totally black by morning), the guy had fucked up his perfect smile.

he came home literally bouncing off the walls with rage, tearing off his shirt in shreds, adrenaline oozing from every pore.

my response was to laugh, grab my camera and call out, "strike a pose, tommy."

and, ever the model, he did as he was told.

* * * * *

i still feel bad about tommy; he came into my life at a time when i had neither the time nor the patience for him, and our relationship ended badly.

ivy league-educated, having modeled in milan and new york, tommy came to LA convinced he'd be the next new singer-songwriter (at which, pretty and talented as he was, he mighta had a reasonable shot had he hit town at 21 instead of 25, but that's another story altogether).

i didn't care about any of that; preoccupied as i was at the time with simultaneously remodeling two houses (neither of which i could afford, and either of which i coulda lost at any time), i just wanted a stable roommate who'd (a) give me some steady cash flow, (b) deal with the primitive under-construction living conditions in exchange for rock-bottom 90210 rent, and (c) shut the fuck up about anything else.

ultimately, i ended up unceremoniously throwing him out, mainly due to his tiresome insistence on such unreasonable amenities as reliable hot water and a working kitchen. hell, in the face of such wild demands, what would you have done?

* * * * *

apologies, tommy--all i can say in my defense is, at the time all that shit happened i was far crazier than you, but i'm better now. if you should find your way across this post, hit me up--i owe you dinner, at the very least.

if she wants it, it's a baby; if she doesn't, it's not

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with those twelve words, laura schlessinger many years ago distilled (for me, anyway) the situational ethics of the pro-choice side of the "where does life begin?" debate to its essence.

what else is there to say, really?

[this brought on by a post (and my resultant comment) over at federalist paupers re barack's recent stem-cell pronouncement (and yeah, unlike most pro-choicers i actually recognize the moral ambiguity of my position)]

reason no. 143 why you never let 'em come to you

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[here's the thing: i dash shit off when i'm drunk and then tuck it away in places that i just know i'll remember later--you know, so i can come back, polish it up and publish it--except i almost never do.

until a year or so later when i find myself at precisely that same stage of drunkenness and i all-of-a-sudden remember not only what i wrote but where the fuck i actually stuck it.

this would be one of those posts--and, because i know myself and my tendency to drunk-rewrite, i'm warning you now that this may become a two-parter.]


i live in a remote, secluded corner of the city i'd bet most current angelenos have never even heard of--great when it comes to getting away from it all, but inconvenient as hell when you wanna get laid.

in other words, if i want sex i'm generally forced to travel out. and for the most part--and despite the considerable inconvenience involved--this is almost always fine with me.

why, you ask? well, before i launch into my story, let's talk about that a minute.

i'll never forget back when, during the heidi fleiss hooker-scandal of the late 90's, some vapid interviewer or other cornered one of heidi's more prominent clients--namely, one charlie sheen--and asked him why, when his famous movie-star ass could obviously have any goddam girl he wanted for free--why in god's name he would resort to paying prostitutes for sex.

and even though i could never stand the arrogant prick, his answer to this question endeared him to me for all time: instead of being even the slightest bit embarrassed, he brazenly cocked his head in that way of his, looked that bitch straight in the eye and said, "you don't understand--i don't pay girls for sex; i pay 'em to go away afterwards."

and i remember sitting there shaking my head in admiration, thinking, "charley ol' boy, you've summed it up exactly."

because, see, even though charlie and i couldn't have been more different (he being a famous movie star and all, and me just being a rapidly-drying-up old faggot), we each understood a universal truth: when it comes to hooking up, it's not lining up the trick that matters--hell, anybody can do that--it's all about the getaway.

and when it comes to the getaway, let's face it--when push comes to shove, you can always walk away from them. getting them to walk away from you? often another story altogether.

case in point: it's four o'clock on a monday afternoon, i'm trolling the internet, feeling a little compulsive, there've been no meaningful nibbles all day, the traffic window has now closed (i.e., if you haven't hooked up by four in l.a., you might as well hang it up until at least eight)--an intolerable situation in my present state of horniness, lemme tell ya.

so when all of a sudden the phone rings and it turns out to be somebody named jay telling me how much he enjoyed last time and offering to come over again, i'm more receptive than i might've been otherwise.

"what's your name?"

"i already told you--jay."

"no, no--what's your name?"

he finally gets it and gives me his manhunt screenname. i cradle the phone on my shoulder, tab over to manhunt and quickly look him up: vaguely familiar--cute guy, nice tight body but for some reason i'm getting a negative vibe.

i quickly search my mental database for what happened last time--what was it about this guy that's telling me to say 'no?'

can't come up with anything concrete, and since--as we've already established--it's late, i tell him, "what the fuck--you know the way; come on."

what can it hurt, right?

little did i know i was about to get yet one more lesson in trusting one's instincts.

[part 2 to come--and if you insist on a preview, all i can tell you now is that it involves cum, clowns and gasoline. that's enough to suck you in, right?]

sober update: i now remember why this post never saw the light of day. there's nothing new here; it's just one more tired example of banal, by-the-numbers gay-hookup sex, and god knows if i haven't made my point about that subject by now, i never will. so, sorry--there will be no part 2 to this little tale (and trust me, you're not missing much).

a most unusual day

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so today i get a hair up my ass for a particular book, but before i reflexively head off to borders i figure what the fuck, we're in the middle of a recession--let's see if the library has it.

i go on the l.a. public library website without much hope--turns out it's very well organized--and to my surprise find not only the book, but even an available copy of the audiobook version at a remote branch out in the hinterlands.

before i drive all the way out there, i call said branch via the number provided--and holy shit, a real, live person answers--and, again, without much real hope, ask if someone could go so far as to actually check to see if the computer is telling the truth and the audiobook is really, truly there.

to my astonishment, somebody readily volunteers to actually walk their fat, civil-service ass over to the stacks and do just that. i give 'em the title and call number, they put me on hold, and within a minute, they're back not only with said audiobook in hand, but even asking me if i'd like 'em to hold it for me.

when i get my voice back, i meekly reply, "uh, yes, that'd be great." and then, knowing i'm pushing it, ask, "it's a little far for me to drive today--could you possibly hold it for me until friday?"

and this is where it gets fuckin' surreal: bitch says, cheerfully, "would you like me to transfer the audiobook to a branch close to you so you don't have to drive so far?"

this really was too much; i gasped, "you mean you can actually DO that?!"

"of course, sir."

"um...how much will it cost me?"

laughter. "it's totally free, sir--we'll even email you when it gets there, so you can swing by and pick it up at your convenience."

well, as you can imagine, by this time i'm falling all over myself, slobbering my gratitude to this librarian for her extraordinary kindness.

it's only later, when i come to my senses, that i realize this was the first time in my twenty years of highly-taxed california existence that--even though i'd been paying through the nose for years and fuckin' years--i've ever gotten any sort of "service" from any california governmental entity for "free."

and it wasn't even this that bothered me so much--it was more my pathetic, groveling gratitude that freaked me out.

"good god," i realized, "even i, mkf, have become a sheep--simultaneously paying some of the highest taxes in the country and grateful for any small favor the government chooses to grant me."

i ask you--what the fucking hell has happened to us, the piss-poor descendants of the proud, strong, self-sufficient people who made this country?

a trillion here, a trillion there--pretty soon we're talkin' real money

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as a potentially pivotal week is poised to commence, here's a timely little quote i've been saving for awhile that i want you all to ponder for a minute:

We are spending more money than we have ever spent before and it does not work. . . . We have never made good on our promises. I say after eight years of this administration we have just as much unemployment as when we started and an enormous debt to boot.

when and by whom was this statement made, you ask? well, i'll tell ya: it was made by fdr's treasury secretary, the venerable henry morgenthau, in may 1939--you know, after almost two full terms of the "new deal" that was supposed to fix the great depression.

why is it that we never learn from history?

have ya seen this story?

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i dunno if your adolescent daydreams were anything like mine--more often than not, i'd find myself sitting in class as the teacher droned on, slumped in my chair and casting surreptitious glances around the room, thinking, "i'd do him...and him...and him...oh, definitely him...and him...and him...damn, i wonder what he looks like naked?....oh, and please, god, him..."

anyway, you get the idea. sometimes i'd even construct elaborate scenarios in which the guys in question were forced in some exotic way or another to submit to my will. it was fun, passed the time, but that's all it ever was--hell, i knew the closest i'd ever come to having sex with all the guys i lusted after in high school was in my own mind.

can anybody relate? i'd be more than willing to bet the answer to that question is "yes."

now, let me ask you another question: what if, back in those horny, hormonal days of your youth, you had come up with a way to make those fantasies come true--would you have done it?

well, tony stancl sure as hell did--and if he hadn't been stupid, he probably woulda gotten away with it.

* * * * *

picture it: tiny little town of new berlin, wisconsin. kid emails a bomb threat to his high school and is almost immediately caught. as the authorities go through his computer, they come across a folder in which are nested thirty-nine subfolders, each (a) bearing the name of one of his fellow male students, and (b) containing still images and/or video of said student, naked.

as said nakedly-depicted students are questioned, a pattern emerges. seems ol' tony had set himself up a fake facebook account, posing as a luscious young female, complete with pictures. he then, in the guise of said female, contacted the objects of his desire, expressed interest, and promised 'em nude photos of "herself"--if only they'd send nude photos and/or video of themselves first.

amazing how many of these boys--ranging in age from 15-18--fell all over themselves doing just that.

at which point it got interesting--once he had the incriminating photos, our boy contacted the marks, revealed the scam and told 'em that if they didn't have sex with him, he'd broadcast their nude photos to the whole student body and/or their parents.

at least seven (and, the authorities suspect, many more) of the boys did exactly as they were told.

* * * * *

you know, sometimes i just sit here, sip my cocktail and shake my head.

how bout a little heresy with your coffee?

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[something to keep in mind while reading the following post: if all the faggots i'm about to rail against were like me, we would probably all still be hiding behind our closet doors--don't think i don't know that, ok?

as always, i seek the elusive middle ground.]


until now i've been uncharacteristically silent on the issue of prop 8 (the california proposition to strip gays of their judicially-granted right to marry), not because i don't have an opinion, but more because (1) i see things different; (2) like not being able to get married should be my biggest goddam problem; and (3) having been preoccupied with other, more pressing things, i haven't been in a sufficiently shit-stirring mood since the whole thing came up to comment.

this has changed. in the aftermath of the election, i have sat and watched in disgust as self-righteous gays-on-the-warpath have (a) characterized any position other than theirs as nothing less than "hate" and "homophobia;" and (b) undertaken a witch-hunt to flush out and attempt to ruin the lives of anyone who dared contribute even a dime to the passage of prop 8 [and jesus god, spare us all if these seekers of "tolerance" and "diversity" ever fully gain the reins of power, because their recent actions make it clear that anybody who doesn't fall into perfect lock-step with their views will be burned at the stake--and this no doubt includes me].

in other words, here's the new thing: anyone who objects to any aspect of the gay agenda, for whatever reason, is now routinely branded a homophobe and a hater, whether it's true or not.

and you know what? this is one faggot who is goddam sick and tired of it.

when prop 8 failed, i wasn't angered, nor was i in the least surprised--in fact, i wish it hadn't come up at all, because the last time this issue reared its ugly head, it put george fuckin' bush in the white house for a second undeserved term.

simply put, this is an issue whose time has not yet come.

a little history: faggots have spent the last 40 years rubbing in straight america's face the fact that they're here, they're queer, and to hell with tradition; it's their right to fuck anybody and everybody they want whenever and wherever they want, and if strait-laced straight america doesn't like it, they can eat shit and die--oh, and while we're at it, how dare you straight homophobic assholes imply that AIDS is a behavorial disease?

and then, all of a sudden, a left turn: now we wanna go all traditional on your ass and get married just like you (not monogamous like you, of course--we still reserve the right to fuck anybody and everybody we want--we just want the perks). and we wonder why joe and ethel in toledo (or in this case, temecula) have a problem with this scenario.

do you see what i just did? i just compressed the entire post-stonewall history of the gay movement in america up 'til now into a couple poorly-written paragraphs--a bit jarring to read that way, isn't it?

well, just imagine how jarring it would be to live, especially if you're a clueless traditional-values straight person born, say, pre-1964, who doesn't understand any of this shit--i mean, what the fuck do you do?

what do you do? hell, you do pretty much exactly what i (and any rational, thinking person) would've expected you to do--you vote "yes."

does your "yes" vote on 8 automatically mean you're a loathsome, disgusting, homophobic hater, as the leftist-faggots would have the world believe? maybe--but the more likely explanation is, you're just some schlub who can't wrap his/her mind around this much radical change in his/her lifetime this fast; i.e., you're human.

look at it this way--can you imagine if the civil rights act of 1964 had come up for a vote in, say, 1904 (i.e., 40 years after the emancipation proclamation)? of course not, because it wouldn't have happened--and if it had happened, not only would it have not stood a chance, but nobody woulda been surprised at its failure.

understand: social shifts of the swiftness and magnitude we've undergone in america in the 20th century are unprecedented in the history of mankind--shit like this has never happened this fast before.

and if it took a mere 100 years for america to grant constitutional parity to black folk (and another couple generations for it to actually start to take), are you faggots really expecting it to happen for us in a mere 40, especially with the way we're carrying on?

bottom line: at least one generation of old people--maybe two--will have to die off and be replaced before gay marriage will be readily accepted in america. and it doesn't necessarily mean they're evil; it just means they were born in a different time and place, and have different values than you do.

deal with it and shut the fuck up, ok?


sober update: pugnacious last night, wasn't i?