god, i love this medium

there was a time, boys and girls, when mkf might've jumped through hoops like this, but that time has long passed.

as is typical when i flatly reject a boy who's used to calling the shots, it took him about three-and-a-half minutes to process his disbelief before coming back with

god, one of those.

i won't bore you with the three more back-and-forths it took me to convince him we weren't a match, but it just goes to show the power of the guttermorality indifference technique--it works even when you don't want it to.

on a lighter note, joey got back in town last night, which made me doubly glad i had hung onto my weekend virginity.

now if you'll excuse me, i gotta go floss.

the guttermorality of homewrecking

i'm not put off by it anymore--i know by now that when he rolls away from me and faces the wall afterwards, it's nothing personal, and that within five minutes or so or whenever it passes, he'll look back over his shoulder with that sheepish smile that just kills me, roll back into the crook of my arm, and we'll talk.

for the longest time it was just generalized post-coital catholic-boy guilt that caused him to do that, but now it's something more specific.  because now he's dating someone--the first guy he's felt something for in a long time.  he's closed his adam account, but he can't figure out why he still needs to keep me (and who knows, maybe one or two others) on rotation.

i ask to see pictures, he grabs his phone, shows me proudly.  guy looks like matt in his prime (either leblanc or dillon, depending on the angle), so god knows looks aren't the problem--i can only imagine the visual these two make as a couple.

i ask him if the guy's withholding and cool, but no--just the opposite.  he's apparently crazy about him, calls and texts him all the time, so affection's not the problem, either.

i ask him if it's the sex, and he says no--it's really good too (i almost ask if it's as good as with me, but stop myself in time).

i know his history--large, close family in mexico, came to LA at 21, met and fell hard for a player, got hurt bad, rebounded into the fast lane, danced and then tended bar at one of the most raging watering holes in weho, met lots of people, got into trouble, came out the other side ok.  now, at 32 and past his weho prime, he's grounded and sane, and still sweet and sexy as hell.  but he tells me he's not the same as he was.

i ask him, "you ever even think about cheating on your first boyfriend, the one you were so crazy about?"  nah, he never even looked at anybody else.

"so what happened between the first one and this one?"  we both know:  weho happened, that's what.

"you think you could be happy in a monogamous relationship at this point?"  he doesn't know--he thinks so, except for when he gets that itch.

"how about him--you think he's seeing anybody on the side?"  he looks away quickly, which answers that question.

"look, you want this to work or not?"  yeah, he thinks he does--he's been lonely a long time.

"then you know what you have to do."  yeah, i guess.

over the months i've known him, i've loved every minute of my time with this boy.  damn shame i have to give him up.

sober update:  sorry about this one, folks--they can't all be winners, right?  i was having a cocktail and waxing a little sentimental last night, but all i really meant to say here was this:  i'm no saint mkf--far from it.  i'll fuck you and your boyfriend too, but only if you're unconflicted about it, and the damage, if any, has already been done.  will this boy be able to make a go of it with his matt dillon-leblanc?  i dunno--i hope so, for his sake--but if not, it won't be because of me.

on psychopathy in high places (or, one of the reasons i drink)

[once again veering wildly from gutter to morality, because that's how we roll here.]

While there are always a certain small portion of the population who [are sociopaths or psychopaths], normally society acts to restrain them and their more vile impulses.

However, from time to time, the small percentage can gain enough power through ruthlessness and deception to foster an atmosphere that not only tolerates their excesses, but actually holds them up as an example for the young as well. When the power of greed in business finds a suitable match in the political arena, that partnership can seem almost unstoppable for a time. It is increasingly difficult to effect reform because so many of the more effective elements of society become corrupted and cynical to the point of apathy.

In a word, the governance of society becomes an organized hypocrisy engaged in systematic destruction, of not only others but also of society itself, especially as the others either resist more effectively or collapse from sheer exhaustion.

As I have mentioned before, in discussing this with some older fellows who have a bit of a broader personal perspective, and in reading deeply in history and its cycles, it seems as though the West entered into such a cycle, in the 1980's. It is merely reaching its full flower today.

The consequences on society as a whole, if history is any guide, will be profound, even moreso than we have seen so far.

the above from jesse, blogger extraordinaire, one of my never-fail daily reads. a clear-eyed, seasoned, successful trader who's lived all over the world, seen it all, made lots of money yet has never lost his humanity, jesse is a philosopher with no apparent ideology other than a humble, non-intrusive christianity (skewing classical-liberal if anything), whose knowledge base is broad and deep, and from which he attempts to put the events of the day into a historical perspective.

one of his strong beliefs is that psychopaths are running the world today; he backs up this contention with all sorts of compelling evidence, two examples of which are featured in his latest post.  from one of the articles he cites therein:

[T]hey seem to be unaffected by the corporate collapses they have created. They present themselves as glibly unbothered by the chaos around them, unconcerned about those who have lost their jobs, savings, and investments, and as lacking any regrets about what they have done.

They cheerfully lie about their involvement in events, are very persuasive in blaming others for what has happened and have no doubts about their own continued worth and value. They are happy to walk away from the economic disaster that they have managed to bring about, with huge payoffs and with new roles advising governments how to prevent such economic disasters.

Many of these people display several of the characteristics of psychopaths and some of them are undoubtedly true psychopaths. Psychopaths are the 1% of people who have no conscience or empathy and who do not care for anyone other than themselves.

while the above article focuses on corporate psychopathy, jesse (and i) believe that this rot has pervaded the realm of government as well (because, after all, the former couldn't thrive without the wholehearted collaboration of the latter, who know they will be richly rewarded for same via campaign funds and upon leaving office).

this goes a long way towards explaining how such luminaries as bill clinton, robert rubin, larry summers, phil gramm (and his wife), hank paulsen, tim geithner, alan greenspan, chris dodd, barney frank, jamie dimon, lloyd blankfein, vikram pandit--i could go on and on--can not only self-righteously deny their clear responsibility for the roles they played in the tragicomedy that is our economic downfall, but brazenly put themselves forward as the voices of reason who can lead us out of it.

[this also explains why, in last night's debate, mitt romney chose not to score a direct hit by slamming his opponent for not only giving the fraudulent banksters who caused this mess a free pass, but elevating many of the worst offenders to positions of power and influence in his administration--because how can he, when he too suckles from that same, pus-filled teat?]

i try to explain this to people sometimes, but they just can't get it--to them, psychopaths are serial killers, or villains in movies, or maybe hitlers and stalins.  this is understandable, i guess; people with consciences find it very difficult to wrap their minds around the idea that perfectly normal-appearing men and women who are possessed of no such constraints can walk among them undetected, and that such people are naturally drawn to positions of power over others.

and it is this collective blindness that allows psychopaths and sociopaths to thrive.  of course, as jesse also points out, a society possessed of a strong, collective sense of right and wrong tends to act as a natural check on the impulses of these monsters.  the problem comes when, through decadence, political correctness, apathy and/or other means, the pathology that takes root in high places begins its inevitable trickle down.

*     *     *     *     *

have you heard this story yet?  seems that last night, a couple decided that, screw the hotel room--they'd just have sex where they were.

"where they were", in case you haven't heard, happened to be at a table on the outdoor patio of a restaurant.

lest you assume that these were two lowlife, drug-addled cretins at some low-down dive, au contraire--we're talking an attractive, well-dressed young couple at a nice, midrange chain restaurant in an upscale area of orlando, at prime dinner hour, surrounded by a large crowd of middle-american tourists including families with small children.

and yet there they were, fucking on the table.

and lest you think that a hail of immediate and vociferous outrage on the part of said families arose and drove these vile corrupters of their precious youth from their midst, au contraire again.

they sat there, and watched.  and they let their children watch.  happiest place on earth, indeed.

oh, and lest you think this story has nothing to do with what the fuck i'm talking about here, may i just say au contraire one last time.

because, gentle readers, i want you to think about this:  if this is where we are as a society--and please don't tell me this incident represents an aberration, because i can give you a thousand more if you want--if we have devolved to the point where our middle classes can so easily and collectively turn a bland eye to corruption when it manifests itself in full view of their children, how can we ever muster the will to even acknowledge it, much less fight it, when it hides behind glossy corporate advertising and well-crafted campaign slogans?

ah, fuck it--it's happy hour somewhere, right?

other than that, mrs. alvarez, how did you like the neighborhood?

johnnie lives with his mother in the westlake district of los angeles, a once-grand neighborhood near downtown that today would be described as sketchy at best. on the way to my place, i asked him by way of conversation how he and his mother liked living there, and he said, "it's not bad--we've been there a long time."

and then he told me by way of conversation about how back when he was in high school, a gang in the neighborhood sent a rival gang member a message by shooting and then garotting the guy's kid brother--a classmate of johnnie's--and then hanging the kid's splayed body by the neck from the front doorknob of their apartment for his mother to find when she came home from work.

"this happened near you?" i asked. "oh yeah," he said. "the building next door."

i thought about that a long minute, asked about the kid's mother. he said, "oh, she moved after that." that wasn't what i meant, but i let it go.

on the drive home after dropping johnnie off, i thought about his ordinary-looking building, the ordinary-looking building next door, the dozens of times i had walked those self-same ordinary streets at all hours secure in the knowledge that my white, middle-class bubble of immunity followed me everywhere.

and it occurred to me, and not for the first time, that after twenty-three years here, i still don't know shit about this city.

well, duh

i remember one night several years ago--pre-obama--the subject of LA's illustrious mayor came up, and i went off, citing a litany of reasons to back up my contention that he was the dumbest, most clearly unfit major officeholder in america (an opinion which, btw, has only been reinforced over the ensuing years).  so caught up was i in my rant that i failed to pick up on the cues from my audience--in this case, a really smart latino with whom i was having an interesting conversation--to which i am usually so attuned, and was thus surprised when, all tight-faced and angry, he cut me off in mid-sentence with

"you know what? you may be right--villaraigosa may be a fool, but he's our fool, and i'm really not comfortable discussing him with your smug white ass, so i'd appreciate it if you'd just shut the fuck up."

oh.

it was a light-bulb moment for my smug, white ass, and i walked away from that little encounter resolved never to make that mistake again (oh, and thankful that i'd saved the talking until after the fucking).

when, a few years later, obama rose to prominence, i looked him over and dismissed him as a lightweight who'd ridden the affirmative-action bullet train straight from high-school slacker to presidential contender with very few stops in between (an opinion which, btw, has only been reinforced over the ensuing years); but, having learned my lesson, have wisely confined the airing of my views on the subject to those of my own kind.

because here's a little hard truth i learned the hard way, bitchez:  deny it as you might, we humans are a very tribal species--it's baked deep into our genes--and the emphasis on that particular human trait tends to rise in any given tribe in direct proportion to the degree of threat or sense of oppression it perceives at the hands of another.

this explains why, among so many blacks and latinos in this PC-benighted country, the emphasis on race first, last and always is seen not only as natural, but healthy--and also why any members of the perceived dominant tribe (i.e., me) who exhibit the same equally-natural impulses are condemned as racist.

or, as one of the sources quoted for the article from which the above headline derives puts it,

It goes both ways. There is racial bias amongst whites, and there is racial bias amongst blacks. But as far as the press is concerned, it only goes one way.

do i begrudge the black folk their fealty to their president?  hell, no--it's been a long time coming, and if i were black, i'd probably suspend my critical faculties and support him too.  objectivity may or may not come in time--or, as a black law professor so succinctly and honestly puts it in that same article,

There should not be this resistance to pride over the first black president. If we get to the fifth one, I'll be with you.

yeah?  we'll see.

since you asked--the sober version

[and the navel-gazing continues . . .]


not satisfied with my answer, huh?  well, i'm not really, either, so lemme try again.

as you know, back when i first hit town i began my gay career by attending the wednesday-night group rap sessions at the LA gay & lesbian center.  in retrospect, probably a mistake--mostly a buncha lonely misfit-types sitting around talking about their misfit loneliness, interspersed with a few clueless newbies like myself.  not exactly the best introduction to the life, but what the hell did i know?  i had no steve kuzi to guide me this time.

anyway, that very first night, in response to my introduction, one of the guys--a fat, loud, outspoken mid-fifties new-yorker named art, cut through all the murmured greetings and socializing suggestions by saying, "screw these guys--if i were your age and looked like you, i'd be out sucking and fucking every goddam night."  i tucked this little pearl of wisdom away for future examination.

a couple weeks later, i hooked up for the very first time with one of the guys in the group, a shy, sweet latin boy who told me afterwards, "i'm so glad i caught you now."  when i asked what he meant, he said, "you know--you're all new, at the height of your studliness (i never forgot that phrase).  you've got your whole gay life in front of you.  you're gonna play around for a little while with a lotta cute guys, and then you're gonna meet the one, settle down and make some lucky guy a great husband."

didn't quite turn out that way, did it?

i spend a lot of time second-guessing the choices i've made in my life--for instance, i wonder sometimes how differently things mighta turned out for me if my first gay housemates had been a couple high-minded ph.d's instead of royce and paul--but for the most part, and in the end, i think destiny wins out, and we end up who we were meant to be.

the kid was half-right; i possessed one of the components for gay success--i was new, cute and studly--but i was sorely lacking in the other.  to put it bluntly, i was not, and am not, much fun to be around.  i don't care for most people, nor they for me.  crowds make me nervous, and i really don't enjoy going out and doing things.  i'm depressive and negative and overly-critical, i don't think like the herd, and most guys i meet aren't willing put up with me for more than about five minutes unless my dick is up their ass.

and don't tell me i'm wrong, rob--hell, even you, my best and oldest friend in LA, can only take me in small doses up-close-and-personal these days.  before guttermorality came along and revived our relationship, i saw you once a year for maybe an hour, tops--and that's if i was lucky.  now, thanks to the blog and email, we spend long stretches together like we did when we first met, if only at digital arms-length.  i've always appreciated the irony in that; i wonder if you ever do.

and speaking of this goddam blog, that's another thing.  what started out as a drunken lark very quickly became a personal daily referendum--a self-worth test, as it were.  if i couldn't suck people in with my personal magnetism, could i maybe do it with my words?  even as my writing has exponentially improved, the answer to that question, as has been clearly demonstrated by my stats and comment count over lo these past four-plus years, has remained a resounding and unmistakeable "fuck no."  i'm becoming bitter about this, it ain't a good look on me, it's starting to bleed into my writing, and if i don't get some interaction going here pretty soon, i'm taking this sucker private, extending invitations to the chosen few, and all the lurkers--and yeah, you know who you are--can go fuck themselves and feast on their trainwrecks elsewhere.

they say there's a lid out there for every pot, and for awhile i thought i'd found mine in v--he loved everything about me everybody else doesn't, he put up with my shit, he could keep up with me, and he stuck around through thick and thin.  and i loved him back as best i could, and i really tried (or so i tell myself), but in the end, i could never give my heart to an overgrown kid who'd joyously spend $200 on an authentic, george lucas-authorized light saber when he could barely make his rent.  he's gone now, who knows where--finally gave up on the lost cause, i guess.  the good half of me hopes he's found someone fun who deserves his sweet, sexy, eternally irresponsible ass--when the bad half isn't damning him to hell for abandoning me, that is.

so here i sit--crabby, middle-aged and alone.  is that the worst thing in the world?  i dunno; for me, probably not.

i had my shot, rob--i was a hot commodity there for a precious little while, and you would probably say that instead of investing my limited capital wisely for long-term growth, i blew it all on short-term, rapidly-depreciating assets.  and while that's probably true, even back in my glory days--when cute, hot, desirable guys were asking me for dates instead of just dick--i couldn't in my wildest dreams imagine myself being shackled to even the best of 'em.

i really don't know how to end this post except to fall back on those words my widowed, one-man-woman mother--and now i--live by:  the only thing worse than being alone is wishing you were.

as v would say if he were here, "true dat."

since you asked

the following is a long, rambling answer to a short, pointed question.  i'm posting it here because this is where i keep such things now, secure in the knowledge that nobody'll ever find 'em.

as for the old drivers license above, i found it when i was packing to move, remembered how much i hated that photo--the ugly boy with the w.c. fields nose.  god, we can be so dumb when we're young.



did i ever tell you about st. patrick's day 1985, rob?  i spent that evening at hall's in austin, steve kuzi by my side; by that time we were a fixture in the place--the buff, burly protector and the scared-wabbit newbie.  that night would be different, though; towards midnight, drunk off my ass, i broke away from kuzi for the first time ever, wandered off on my own, found a cute boy who had tried unsuccessfully for weeks to catch my eye, walked up to him and asked his disbelieving ass if he wanted to give me my first gay kiss.

the next two hours were a happy blur; word spread quickly that the new guy was off his leash--i must've gotten two or three dozen first gay kisses that night.  it was probably the most fun i've ever had in a gay crowd (with the possible exception of that time at sunset street fair when your friend jonathan and i drunkenly three-way made out with that really hot guy at detour that i ended up going home with--you remember that, right?).

next time i walked into halls, i was back to my usual sober, shut-down self, welded at the hip to kuzi, not looking left or right.  people eventually got the message, left me alone.

paulo murillo, that perennial weho man-about-town (check out his blog--it's a hoot), opines that there are basically two kindsa fags:  those who are invited to the party and those who aren't, and that most fag-bitchy bitterness originates from those who are wrecked to find themselves in the latter group.

while i think there is much truth there, being the social type that he is, ol' paulo could never understand someone who would trash his invitation unopened.

*     *     *     *     *

i've always been that way;  while there are many things i would change about my high-school years if i could, joining a clique would not be one of 'em.  while in college, my idle fantasies about hanging with those intoxicatingly-cute fraternity boys in their polo shirts and tony lamas evaporated the first time i attended one of their parties.

and you remember my first and only circuit event--white party 1993, right?  i enjoyed the drive to palm springs with you, and throwing back a few with your friends in our suite, but as for the actual party itself, lemme just say that as soon as that godawful music started pounding and those shirtless, manicured, meth-addled faggots started writhing, i couldn't cut one outta the herd and drag his tweaking ass back to his room fast enough.

my heart has always been a lonely hunter, rob, and now here i find myself, having put in twenty-three boy-chasing years in a city that's never been home, sitting here by myself.

your question--why, at my age, i'm still "fetishizing youth"--misses the point; i could never fall in love with any of the boys i sleep with, nor most of 'em with me. my heart, if it ever falls, will fall for an equal.  i don't seek out the young; i seek out the unruined--which, in this town, anyway, seem to be one and the same.  i'd love to find a man who could challenge me to give it up for him, but i've never let myself learn how; in the solitary circles in which i run, most of the guys anywhere near my age are far more fucked up than i am.

i've often wondered how differently things might've turned out for the boy in that picture up there if the coin had landed tails instead of heads, and he had ended up on the east coast instead--maybe he'd have found that fabled faggot algonquin round table, which is the only clique to which he's ever wanted to belong.

or maybe that's just a cop-out--whatever; i gotta take my vitamins, catch some zzzzz's.  

it's gonna be a busy week.

luv, 

me