Philly Outfest 2011

I had always heard that once you got a bunch of gays or lesbians in large group there will always be some sort of trouble breaking out, but I had never seen it. I thought that was just one of those urban myths that hear about like the existence of Big Foot, or alligators living on the sewers of New York City, or Herman Cain having a chance in hell of becoming President.

You can imagine my surprise when at the Philly Outfest this year not only did I witness gang loads of police rushing into places that I was unable to follow them into, but I saw fights break out between girls on a day that was supposed to celebrating peace and love for all.

The whole purpose of National Coming Out Day is more than an excuse to shake your money maker in public and show those who are lesbian gay bi-sexual trans-gender people, but that the LGBT community is one that consists of people that you know, that you do business with, that are members of your own family. It's a recognition that they are us and that we are you.

October 11th was chosen for NCOD because that was the date of the second demonstration and march in Washington DC in 1986 for lesbian and gay rights which really is a misnomer because those rights are really no different form the rights that many non-gays and lesbians already have.

Anyway, in Philadelphia this day is celebrated as the Philly Outfest, a block party that is always held on the Sunday closest to the 11th in what is known as the Gayborhood. They say that it's the largest event of this kind in the world and that close to 40,000 people attended this year. But you know what people say and what things really are can be two different things.

Here now are some pictures from last Sunday's events.

The GOP Orlando Debates

Is it too early to start thinking about politics and the next presidential elections? I don't think so, nor do I think do the Republicans since they are already debating each other to find who will be the nominee in a race that finds the President becoming more and more vulnerable to defeat next year.

So yesterday I watched the Orlando GOP debates on Youtube, or at least the Foxnews highlight clips of it. There was one clip where former senator from Pennsylvania Rick Santorum was responding to a question from a gay soldier serving somewhere in Iraq. I tried to find the original footage from Fox but for some reason it was taken down. I wonder why?



I actually don't care what the answer was or would be from Santorum because it's pretty much predictable, but really, someone in the audience is booing a member of the armed forces who risking is life and limb for his country and no one says anything?

I think I've said it before but I'll say it again, these TEA Party people scare me.

No more ordinary than Me

He looked kind of ordinary although no more ordinary than me. He was introduced to me and he shook my hand and squeezed it hard.

I hate that. I hate the need for someone to show that they are manlier than you are because they have a little strength in their right hand. I mean what does that really mean that the only way that you can impress someone is by flexing your muscles. We might as well had both whipped our dicks to see who the real man was. I have some size that I’m not ashamed of, but I’ve also been with a few pageant queens who had penises the size of a policeman’s nightstick and knew just as well how to use it. What does it all prove? Nothing!

I looked him straight in the eye and squeezed his hand back giving as good as got if not better and hoped that he didn’t notice the split second delay in pressure. He probably didn’t because he had that air of disinterest about him. Or was it dislike feigned by disinterest? I would have told him not to worry; the Ex was standing next to him and not me. I was a threat to no one.

How similar we must be. But then again I like to think that there is a certain flavor about me and that if I’m going to be replaced by someone, it’s going to be someone with similar attributes to mine. He however was a weak imitation.

Introductions were over and the Ex said something about moving on, probably because he was thinking that I was developing my own story of which nothing good would be said. He and his new friend turned and walked. I turned and realized that even though there were no butterflies in my stomach there was no animosity either. In fact there was no feeling at all. Nothing.

I hate that too.

Fire Island Invasion 2009

On Friday at around 4pm I was at Independence Mall in Philadelphia. There was, as some people may call it, a protest rally by some black owned construction companies. They were demanding that more construction work be opened for black people in the city. They said that the President’s House that George Washington lived in before the White House was built and which John Adams moved into, should be reconstructed on the mall with black labor at the exclusion of others since the first house would have been originally built with slave labor. All very interesting I thought, but not quite the spirit of “Brotherly Love” the city is supposed to have especially when we were supposed to be celebrating the birth of the nation in the city that it all began. I decided to go my gym and come back later for the concert that was being held on the mall with Peter Nero and the Philly Pops.

I did go back and since I had my video camera I shot a few scenes of the Pop’s version of the theme from ET and something from Benny Goodman. Then when they started playing “When Johnny Comes Marching Home Again” it was time for me to go home before the South started to rise again. Plus I knew that I would have to get up early to celebrate July 4th, the next day, not by coming back to the mall to listen to speeches or thinking of the Founding Fathers or heading to someone’s horrible barbeque, but to where I seem to go every year now, Fire Island.

The story is that back in 1976 a few drag queens were refused service from a bar in the Pines on Fire Island. The men went back to Cherry Grove on another part of the island and with their friends on the day the country was celebrating the bi-centennial anniversary for independence, they boarded a boat and invaded the Pines in full drag regalia. They and others have been doing that every year since then and organized by Panzi in the yellow. It has become known as the Fire Island Invasion of the Pines.

I have been going for the last 5 or 6 years and I wish I could say that I have been in costume, but I haven’t worn mother’s wig and pearls since I was about 8 and never in public. Usually I just head to the beach, strip down and relax. This time however because of the mass of people this year they ran out of room on the ferry that I usually take so I arrived at Cherry Grove at around 1pm just as the revelers were about to leave the Grove for the Pines. I decided to shoot this video with too much wind noise going on and to steal some pictures from flickr.com and some of the music from Priscilla Queen of the Desert.

I hope you enjoy it just as much as hope you enjoyed your weekend as I did mine.

Philly Pride 2009

Misery o’ misery!

I hadn’t really intended to write anything about Gay Pride this year. If truth be told, I’m not really that much into it, politically that is. Yes, I see the significance placing yourself out there so everyone else can see you and not brush you aside like yesterday’s trash. I realize the need to be heard when I or anyone else wants to state that we are human, we are equal and we deserve the rights that everyone else has in order to exist because our lives are not less than anyone else’s. But I’ve never really seen these events as being that effective.

In fact when President Clinton wanted to ban the ban on gays in the military, video tapes of gay celebration parades were shown to the top brass and the politicians including John McCain and said if gay people acted like this in the street then it would a cold day you know where before they would knowingly allow anyone with homosexual tendencies in their armed services. They thought the parades to be too flamboyant and too drag queeny to have officers and men like those among them. They must not have known that I would do a video that would be as dull as dish water and thrown out all of those fun concepts out.

As usual I decided to go to Philly’s Gay Pride Parade at Penn's Landing this year instead of Odunde, the African-American festival they have in South Philly. I don’t go there anymore because I’m becoming more of a snob as I get older and I realize that those people are really not my sort and there’s also less chance of me losing part of a kidney from gunshots if I stay away completely.

So after arriving after 4pm, less than 2 hours before the event would finish and probably well after any of the good stuff, acts, people and half naked muscle boys (there, I’ve said it), had left and I was wondering why was I there. It looked like I had missed all the fun part of the festival but just in time to sign up for the political stuff which as I said I wasn’t interested in.

Oh well, in order to salvage part of the weekend there is this little video which I realize is edited all wrong but I’m over it and I’m just looking forward to some leather at Folsom St East in NYC this weekend. Hopefully that will bring me out of this misery. I wonder what I will wear.

Friends of Dorothy

I hate clichés and stereotypes and maybe labels, unless of course I’m using them and then I can find a good excuse for bringing them up. At least that’s what I tell myself.

One of the clichés that I have always hated is that if you are a man and you like musicals you were automatically labeled as gay. It is as if under Webster’s or the OED if you are that way inclined, the definition of homosexual is male lover of the musical theatre. How absurd. That would be like saying only women and straight men are interested in sports. By the way is there some sort of basketball thing going on now?

So I’m at the Suzanne Roberts Theatre in Philly tonight to see the Grey Gardens the Tony award winning musical and I notice something. Well I noticed two things actually:
1 I’m the only black person there not working and
2 about 70 percent of the audience consist of all male couples.
It was like I was in an episode of Frazier.

Now what’s up with that? It’s not like the theatre had sent out a notice that they were going to do a rousing rendition of some Judy Garland song, Over the Rainbow or something and audience participation was expected.

In case you are unaware of the story, Big and Little Edie Beale were the aunt and cousin Jacquelin Bouvier Kennedy Onassis who lived in a rundown mansion in the Hamptons that was condemned by the Board of Health as being unfit for human habitation. I remember reading part of the story in the NY Times Sunday Magazine in the late 70’s or 80’s before I knew that Jackie O and Jackie Kennedy were one and the same person. Recently I’ve also seen part of the documentary Grey Gardens as well as the HBO movie, but I don't remember anywhere any indication or receive any clarion call that this was the must see theatre for gays around the region.

Although now that I’m thinking about it, it is June which is Gay Pride month and it is the 40th anniversary of the Miss Garland’s death as well the Stonewall Riots.

I can be so slow on the uptake at times, but as Little Edie in the play sings, "da da da da dum."

Folsom Street East 2008

People will often look at me and say they don't believe me when I tell them that most of my free time is spent at home doing absolutely nothing. They tell me that they can't believe that I'm not out partying with the hoi polloi or meeting and greeting with the young and beutiful and the elite. But I don't. Actually, I'm a kind of a reserved person who doesn't mind being myself at times. In fact, I think I'm going to admit, I'm sort of shy. I don't like to draw attention to myself. That is unless a point needs to be made and I need to be the one who does it.


On Sunday in betwee the rains, I wanted to do something different, so I went to New York and attended the Folsom Street East Fair. This was a first time for me and I think by the pictures that I took, I finally proved to myself just how shy I am.




You'll notice that most of the pictures are of people looking away or their backs. I didn't even have the guts to ask anyone to stand, pose and look at me while I took their pictures, and these are people, some of them, who were just walking around begging for attention in a pair of boots and prince alberts hanging from the tip of their dicks. These were the best I could do.


Anyway, I wanted to see if people of color attended big leather events like this and apparently they do. Although, there were not that many women and that sort of saddened me. There could have been more but I only remeber seeing 2 Asian women and 3 black women, of which 2 of them looked like they were more butch than me so I didn't want to bother them so I only got this picture and she was working in a booth.






I wonder what I'll do next year, or even the rest of this year.

Memorial Day

It’s home for the holidays for me. That’s code for not going anywhere. I used to go out on Memorial Day. I used to go somewhere for the holiday weekend. One time was Boston. It was the mid 90’s and I had waited until the Friday before the holiday to think about going somewhere. I was fighting with whoever I was with then as usual and the there was this $25 fare from Philadelphia each way on Trailways, which was a hell of a lot cheaper than the $400 plus the airlines were asking to go to Miami with 1 days notice.

When I moved to South Jersey from North Jersey, I started to head to Washington DC like most people who live and or work in Philly did. When I say most people I guess that should be specific and say most black gay males did that. We were heading for the black gay pride events that were being held in DC. What other people did I don’t know.

I remember that we would head for the clubs on Saturday perhaps. Tracks, was the name of one of the clubs. We would line up outside for about 20 to 30 minutes waiting to get in, waiting for the pat down and crutch grope that we all had to endure. The club itself was large with many dance floors and packed wall to wall with all shades of chocolate brothas grinding on each other, showing and sharing all that they had or all that they were allowed to.

If I didn’t head down there on Saturday, then I would be on I95 on Sunday. We would be passed by hundreds of white dudes on motorcycles. I put it that way because I think, “white dudes” brings up images of the movie Easy Rider and Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild,” people on a mission. I found out later on that the riders were part of the Rolling Thunder, an organization that rode to DC to celebrate and remember veterans or promote campaigns to search for missing Vietnam vets and POW’s. I instead headed to Dupont Circle and then Banneker Field where people would walk around the perimeter of the field for an hour or two, sometimes in the rain looking like lost souls hoping to run into an old friend or a piece du jour for the evenings entertainment. Those were the days when some people wore spandex without underwear. Some men looked kind of sexy and others looked like they had used that penis pump a little too much and should have been seeking medical attention rather than sexual encounters.

Nowadays, I believe most people in the Northeast head for warmer get togethers like Miami’s Sizzle events, or the San Juan Brothas Puerto Rico or Cancun gathering. I, on the other hand don’t.

I could give some noble reason like I have gotten to a certain maturity and say that things like that don’t excite me anymore. But that really wouldn’t be true. I think I get bored easily and tired more often and the days of me hopping off a plane after acting like I was in the Golden Calf scene in The 10 Commandments and heading straight to work are long behind me.

This year instead I shall try to remember what Memorial Day is about. No, not the sales. Since no one in my family has ever fought in a war, I shall visit a memorial. Maybe the Vietnam Memorial in Philly which is no where near as dramatic as the DC one, but it has the same sentiment. I shall go there because even though I was too young to understand what Vietnam was about when it was going on, I don’t know how long it will be before I can go to an Iraq Memorial or count the amount of names that will be listed there.

SundayOut

Umbrage is a word that I learned from one of those Dickens novels. Nicholas Nickleby I think. Its a word that means that I have gotten to the point where I have straighten my back, stare into the face of the opposition and ask, “who the fuck do you think you are dealing with?” And I have taken umbrage with some Christians.

This post is not about religion. I don’t know enough about religion to really talk about it. I will leave that to the experts or the people who have a real passion for it. I am not even sure that this will be about my relationship with religion because in point of fact, I have none.

I haven’t been anywhere near religious since I was 11. That was the age that I was to be confirmed a Christian by my church, but I guess I had questions or I got lazy and never completed the thing. That means that I am unable to accept the Holy Communion although I don’t believe they check papers as you go up to the altar. But I’m not sure that I would even want to drink from the same cup that hundreds of others have slapped their lips on and slobbered over. There is something weird and unhealthy about that.

You see I am an Episcopalian, a member of the world wide Anglican Communion. I belong to a church that can be described as one without a true identity, a sort of watered down version of the Catholicism, some of the guilt but missing much of the ritual and splendor, sort of Catholic Lite. We have an openly gay bishop; Gene Robinson of New Hampshire whose presence has now threatened to split the church because of his belief in being true to himself. That has been at odds with the beliefs of many of our community and my church has been fractured.

Of course the revulsion of gay people by Christians is not limited to just my own church. The Catholic Church has placed a ban of gay priests because of the recent controversies, some would say with good cause. Although I would say they should concentrate on getting out the pedophiles, straight and gay before discriminating against people with adult desires directed towards other adults, but that’s not my call. I have seen and have been to Baptist services where gay’s and lesbians were condemned routinely to the fiery depths of hell for their behavior based on the passages from Leviticus or Letters or some other part of the Bible. Well alright, that’s all fine. That’s their house and I’ve lived this long without being upset by it.


But when I attended an Equality Forum Festival, which they had in Philly on Sunday which was geared towards the SGL community, the “Christians” were there as usual protesting with their bull horns and placards spouting their philosophy of hate, screaming of lust and hell and who was about to go there. And I have to wonder and ask myself where was the God of love that I grew up with in all of this, and why are they coming into my house just to make me uncomfortable?


Well all I can say is if they think this is bad, just wait until the Philly Gay Pride Parade during the summer. Then they will see men in leather thongs and things that you’re not sure people should be allowed to wear in the privacy of their own homes let alone on the streets. Then I may scream and protest along side them in unison. But until that time I will say in a clear voice, I take umbrage.

Haircut or Relays?

When I was young, my mother would tell me to finish eating my food because there was starving children in Biafra. Today I still don’t know where Biafra is, Kenya or Tanzania I think but that’s not the point. Starvation has been around with us from since man has stood on two feet. From wars, droughts, disease and now market competition there has always been a shortage of food, and I would get into more of this if I thought more and had more information. Instead I want to talk about something that’s more important to me at this time; getting my hair cut.

The trouble with working with women is that they will be the first ones to let you know when you have a touch of the Wolf Man about you and I have reached that time again.


For the last 10 or more years I have gotten my hair cut in West Philly. It’s not really because I’m in love with the service but I go to a shop that I’m comfortable with and I see someone that I’m relaxed with touching my hair. But this weekend, is the weekend of the Penn Relays. That means that everyone and their unwed sister will be out and about trying to hook up with someone. Girls will be out shaking behinds or their boobs trying to get some dick or entertainment for the evening. And because it’s also the weekend Black Gay Pride, the men will be out shaking their behinds trying to get dick or entertainment for the evening as well. What does this mean for me?

Well I’d like to think that those days are well behind me, but I know that the barber shop will be packed with people trying to get that last minute fade. It will be packed by people trying to look cool and as attractive as they can be just to set the weekend off right. It means that I should be prepared to spend at least 2 hours waiting for a 15 minute haircut. It’s happened before.

Well, maybe I’ll just take my camera along and see how it works since the stadium, Franklin Field, is only 4 blocks away and there is usually more action going on outside the fields than inside. Maybe I’ll make it an event of it for myself.

Anyway, after that I may give my thoughts on how GM crops, farm subsidies and the interests in bio-fuels will send us and the rest of the world into a mass of confused hunger and strife. It depends on how I feel about my hair.

Keyon & Teyon

Pornucopia is one of those HBO programs shown late at night because of the subject matter. It’s not just about sex, but about the porn industry and the advantages of being involved in it. I haven’t seen all of the episodes but they seem to stress the good points of the business, lots of sex, lots of money and apparently no consequences. It’s late night so you have to suspend your sense of logic and disbelief.

The big money makers are white women, especially the stars, followed by white men who do gay porn. Gay for pay is what they call it. This is where men, gay or straight, will perform in a gay movie because the money is that much more than what they would get doing a straight movie. In fact, Jeff Stryker gay movie icon, said that he wouldn’t even take his shoes off for the money a straight movie would pay him.

The show doesn’t say this, but at the bottom of the porn hierarchal system are black men who do gay movies. These men are known to be the least paid performers and are usually found to be young, scarred and less educated than their peers. So I wasn’t really shocked when I met Keyon at Six Flags Great Adventure last September. After all, an amusement park isn’t known to be millionaire’s row.

Keyon, is the screen name of a brother who works with his twin Teyon. They are porn actors, models whose pictures and movies can be seen on the web. I had seen pictures of them before and recognized him. My friends introduced me to Keyon and I was surprised that he was taller than me by about half an inch. He was also skinny and I noticed his plastic pectoral implants sticking up through his chest and over the edge of his tank top. He was dressed in clothes that were inexpensive but clean and his skin seemed smooth but with some acne that young people are prone to. He had about him a sense of youth and false confidence that made him attractive and would appeal to people of his own age. I watched him go as he was surrounded by a group of three or four people who were dressed similarly to him and I got the impression that none of them had any money. Although, I guess that was about to change.

I saw on the local news this week that they had caught the rooftop burglars who had plagued towns in South Jersey, Delaware and the city of Philadelphia. It was believed that there were about 35 convenience stores broken into. The culprits had climbed on to the rooftops of these stores and cut holes in them. They had then lowered themselves in the stores. Stolen cigarettes and beer and broken into the stores’ ATMs. The TV showed the pictures of the people who were arrested, and there was Keyon and his brother.


Of course everyone is innocent until proven guilty, but the porn industry really must not pay its black performers if they have to turn to crime in order to make a living. It’s just like the scene out of Boogie Nights with Mark Wahlberg. I guess the positions in front of the camera must not be full time positions where you feed your family and build up your 401k for the days when you can no longer get up an erection.

Of course you don’t have to do porn to commit a crime, but if the boys should be sent to prison, will the good times really begin there and if they do, who will enjoy it more, the boys or their fellow inmates?

Travelling by Air

Now I believe in equality and democracy and the American way and everything… that is until I don't get my way and then everyone has to suffer, but why do I always have to be put in the GLBT section of the plane whenever I fly? I mean, take my last trip for example.

It was bad enough that I was in the last row of coach. You know they really should call it steerage because they treat you like an illegal alien getting ready to sneak aboard the Titanic and you know what happened to those people when they asked, "Excuse me sir but does anyone know where the life boats are?" Never heard of again. At any rate, it was Boeing 7 something 7 and I was seated in the row just in front of the only coach toilets, an aisle seat to be exact, when these two young women, they could have been in their mid thirties, but when you reach a certain age, everyone seems to be so young; well they excused themselves and informed me that they had the window and middle row seats. I guess they thought they were being helpful and that I couldn't figure out that information for myself since it was the last row in the airplane.

How thoughtful, I must remember to send cards next year.

Well they sat down and larger of the two in the window seat immediately asked the stewardess for a glass of water for her friend. I should have known then there might be trouble. The water came and the friend took out a pill and swallowed it down. Then they started cooing and petting with each other and I realized I’d seen this stage show before, but never quite so close up. You see I’ve been travelling since the days of when the airlines would provide you with hot towels, meals and clean seats, and the passengers would dress for air travel and behave only in certain manners. Now here I was looking rough sitting next to Riff and Raff making out in the back row. My, how times have changed.

Anyway, I am not a particularly large person, bigger than a lot but smaller than a lot more. So I took up much room as I needed without encroaching on anyone else’s space but grabbing both armrests for myself; trying to get comfortable for the 2 hours plus journey.

The plane was eventually pushed away from the gate when window girl, unexpectedly closed the shade. I turned my head flustered that I would not be able to look out of the window like I normally do. The plane started to taxi onto the runway, we were number one and ready for take-off. In just a few seconds we would up and in the sky.

We started to gather speed as the plane rolled down the runway when all of a sudden; I felt what I can only describe as the Nazi death camp grip on my right wrist. Middle row girl was almost in a trance with her back pressed against the back of her seat, had grabbed a hold of me with a clutch that would have made Darth Vader proud and was shaking, no vibrating as her knees spread apart and pressed against me and her partner on the other side. At least I think she was vibrating, it could have been me trying to get some blood flowing in my arm before she made it wither away.

After a minute or two when we were up in the air and no longer being buffeted by the wind, she relaxed her grip turned to her friend and they rested their heads against each other. No “pardon me,” no “excuse me for the inconvenience.” Well what can you do? Young love. Young dykes.

A quick digression - I decided to go to the bathroom piss and put on a sweater as soon as I could. When I got there, I did what I had to do, but I struggled to put on the sweater. I looked about the small enclosure and wondered how my Ex could have said he was a member of the mile high club and I couldn’t even find room to take a fart. What acrobatics he must have performed there. I should have known earlier not to walk away like others told me to, but to run.

I’m back – Well, so on my return trip to back to Philadelphia, I had the window seat this time and not so far back in the fuselage. I sat next to a young white man and young Asian man. Now I know they were gay, because you never see a white guy and an Asian guy together unless they are fucking or doing business. Although in some parts of the world there would be no distinguishing between the two. They both shared a head phone set and watched Ocean’s 12 or something on their computer. When the Chinese looking fellow wasn’t watching the movie he would rest his head against the other ones shoulder. Ahh, young love...again.

I decided not to go to the bathroom this time because I remembered Brad Pitt’s dilemma in “Fight Club.” What should I give them, the ass view or the dick view as I passed by them? Either one I‘m sure, they would have been happy with, but I decided to hold it until the airport.



So back to my question, out of an airplane that can carry up to 150 or more people, why do I always seem to be sitting in the gay section? Can anyone tell me?