Intertextual

Fucked over on New Year's

2010-01-02T20:51:00.000-08:00

I don't know Alan at all. I didn't know him when I worked for him, and I just ran into him in Vanc*uver that week, talked with him online a few times, and saw him for coffee in [small town]. So I guess it wasn't wise to plan spending New Year's Eve with him.

When I look back at everything, there was some foreshadowing.

I emailed him on the Tuesday before New Year's Eve, asking if we were still getting together. I didn't hear back from him right away, so I also texted him the same question. By 11pm Wednesday evening, I still hadn't heard from him. I had already booked the rental car and I was going to be leaving in the morning. So I called him long distance on my cell phone, and he said, "Yes, I did get your text/email blah blah blah, but hadn't had time to reply." His response made no sense.

The next day before I left to [his city], Alan had texted AND called me regarding the roads. He said, "I was talking to a friend in [my small town] and she said that there was a snowstorm happening, and that the roads were terrible. I'd rather there was NO Intertextual, than a DEAD Intertextual." (I had thought he was concerned about my driving in those conditions. But now I wonder if he was hoping that I couldn't come, and wouldn't come. And was trying to give me reasons not to come. He even told me that there was a weather and highway alert - which there wasn't.)

When I got to Alan's place (the roads were perfectly clear all the way there), he showed me his condo, and sat around pleasantly chatting for a couple of hours. He kept interjecting, "Tonight, we could stay here and fool around like we talked about, or we could go online and see if anyone's into coming over, or go into the city and go to the baths." I told him that I was looking forward to a quiet evening staying in, and he seemed to agree.

When I went out onto the balcony for a cigarette, I could hear him talking extremely loudly in his bedroom to someone on the telephone (I discovered he talks very loudly when he's high and on the phone). I couldn't hear what was said, but when I came back in, he acted like nothing had happened. This also happened when I went for an extended visit to the washroom. I didn't ask about it, I just assumed that a friend had called him.

He had bought some Tina and I could tell he was already very high when I first arrived. He couldn't hear well (I had to speak very loudly and repeat myself) and he was shaking quite a bit. The baggie he showed me was about $70 worth, which is what I gave him when he was in [my small town]. He was also supposed to pick up one E for me and a V. So if we shared $70 T ($35 for me), and if spent had gotten an E and a V ($30), it would almost work out to my $70 contribution.

I was getting pleasantly high, and he was getting higher. We both were online on our laptops looking at guys on Manhunt and Squirt to see if we could find someone to come over and play with us. I thought this was preferable to going to the bathhouse.

I know that much Tina would normally last me and someone else a good long evening. I kept my eye on how much there was. I went out for a cigarette on the balcony, (heard him on the phone) and when I came back in, and filled the pipe again (about half an hour later), it looked like half of it was missing from the baggy). I didn't want to say, "Ah, did you take half the Tina from the baggy while I was out having a cigarette? I kind of ignored it, and hoped he had just put half of it aside for later, for when either a guy came over to party with us or when we went to the baths. I thought maybe he was concerned that we were smoking it too quickly. That's how I justified it to myself.

He said that he got 2 E, and no V, and he had said, "I got 2 E for myself." Meaning he hadn't gotten me any E or V for me. What I should have said at that point was I was going to keep the Tina to myself, since that's what I paid for, but again I didn't want to appear like a rude guest, who was supposed to be staying the night.

We were online from about 8 to 10 pm. I didn't want to go to the bathhouse, but Alan suggested that if we didn't find someone by 10pm, that we should get ready to go there. He wanted to take two cars, so that in the morning I could just go directly to my sister's house. I didn't feel like driving, and asked him if he could drive us both. He said sure, but that he'd rather drive my rental car.

I used the shower (this was the extended trip to the washroom). Before I went in, I clearly noticed how much Tina was left in the bag. And when I came out, the bag was gone. He said he had put the rest of what was in the baggy on the living room coffee table by my pipe. I went to look, because I wanted another drag before leaving, and I picked up the pipe which was on a plate, and looked all over and couldn't see any baggy. Then I saw a tiny bit of Tina on the table top - I guess he had put the "rest" of the Tina into my pipe. There was too much Tina left to use it as one bowl, I thought. It would have been quite huge. Anyway, we checked to see if there was any on the floor that spilled, there didn't appear to be. He didn't look too hard, because he seemed to know there wasn't any more than the tiny amount that he put in my pipe. So again, more missing Tina.

I said, "There was a lot more Tina than that left when I left to take a shower." He said, no there wasn't, he had emptied the bag into my pipe, and threw the baggie out. Alan said, "I certainly didn't take it, I'm not like that, etc." I tried to let this situation go, but it was still pushing at me, bothering me. I decided to speak to him about it very maturely and calmly and warmly, giving him an opportunity to perhaps "find" the rest of it or give me a scenario where he put some aside for us for later. I sat down next to him to talk to him about this, because he couldn't hear very well, and said, "I know there was more than that left, and in fact I noticed most of the Tina going missing when I went out for a cigarette earlier this evening. I thought you had put some aside for us for later when a guy came over, or for the bathhouse."

He became very angry, telling me to get out of his apartment, he's not a thief, get out, etc. I remained calm, and made a decision that I was going to leave. Alan kept going on, being pissed, but as I started to gather my belongings together I realized this was going to be very awkward to explain to my sister and family. I also didn't have enough money to rent a hotel room or go to the baths on my own (Alan had offered to lend me the money if we were going together).

Alan got his wallet out, and counted out $30 and slammed it down on the kitchen counter in front of me. When he did that, a huge load of Tina fell out of the bills and bounced all over the counter. I looked at him, and said, "So there it is - the rest of the Tina WAS in your wallet." He looked at me like he was going to punch me, and said, "What the fuck, why would I have put the Tina in my wallet, with my bills, that's a stupid place to put it, and no I didn't take the Tina and do that."

I looked at him unbelievingly, wondering how he could deny what we just saw and what happened. Again, I said, "The Tina was tangled in your bills and when you slammed them on the counter, the Tina came out - it's now all over the counter." I started gathering it up, glad it had been found.

He was going on, yelling he's not a liar, that he didn't take it, maybe it was there the whole time, blah blah, and then he stopped talking and just started getting ready. I took stock of the situation and I was very disappointed. I thought that maybe if I calmed down, went easy on him, I could salvage the evening, stay friends with him and give him the opportunity to admit it another time, saying it was the drugs that made him act badly. I have seen people do this on drugs many times, and I know that he doesn't have access to it easily in [his city]. I was also very disappointed that this would end our friendship, because I thought we had some things in common. I thought I'd try to salvage our friendship and the evening.

Basically I ended up saying that perhaps the Tina was already on the counter and I hadn't seen it before, that I was very stoned and perhaps a bit paranoid, or that perhaps it had fallen out earlier from one of the pipes, etc. and that I was sorry to have blamed him. I said I had too many bad experiences in Van*ouver with guys taking drugs, and so on. I actually WAY over did it, apologizing. I told him I like him, thought well of him, and thought we had things in common and it was worth maintaining our friendship. Anyway, Alan seemed relieved, said the situation was behind us, it happens to people on drugs (which was going to be my excuse for him).

I gave him the keys to my rental car, I was all ready to go, and then he said, "Oh you forgot your computer bag." I said, "Did you want to bring that to the baths?" Alan said, "Yes, just in case it isn't busy, we can have another option to look online." I said, "Cool, okay." Then he noticed that I hadn't brought my luggage, and he said, "Oh, let's bring your luggage too, in case we get separated and in the morning you're not stranded looking for me to get your belongings back." I thought that was odd, but agreed. He said we were going to pick up Mike, a young guy he had met early this week, and bring him to the tubs with us. This came out of nowhere, I didn't know about it before, but I thought, alright.

On the way into the city I tried to make him feel relaxed, asked him about himself, tried to get him to open up and show me his authentic self. It kind of happened, but he was guarded. Just as we got into the city he called the young Mike and said he had arrived, and he was going to be there in 2 minutes. He said, "Mike is really hot, a great guy. He's going to be my next boyfriend." Wow, that was news to me. He had been talking about him as though he were a guy he had fucked earlier that week, and he asked me if I wanted to do a threesome with him. I didn't realize it was serious. Young Mike was at a nightclub. Alan parked nearby, and before he got out of the car said, "In case for some reason I don't make it back, here are the keys. You can go to the bath house on your own. I said I couldn't afford to go to the bathhouse, I didn't have any money until Monday. So Alan got out the $30 he had originally put on the counter and said, "That's why I gave you the $30 earlier," and gave it to me.

He left, and it was about 11:45. Fifteen minutes before midnight. So I sat in the car texting friends Happy New Year messages until 12:15 when I left to the bathhouse.

I think Alan had planned to meet up with the Young Mike all evening, and was just trying to figure out a way to make it downtown so he could join him later, after Mike's New Year's party was over at the nightclub. I think Alan was hoping the roads were too dangerous, so I wouldn't make it into Calgary.

I won't be seeing or speaking to Alan again. All he had to do was tell me he had made other plans for New Year's Eve, and say, "Would I mind if he cancelled?" I would have gladly said, "No," and spent it with my sister. And stealing drugs from me and acting like nothing happened makes it clear to me he has a drug problem - an addiction.

At the baths, I got the last available room, and totally wasn't in the mood to play or have sex, so I relaxed and occasionally took in the steamroom and hot tub. At 7:30am I got up at, went to the steamroom and warmed up, then sat and watched porn in the public area. A shorter guy, cute and around my age kept checking me out, but since I showed no interest, he left. He came by and did this three times. After the third time I decided to take a shower, and get ready to go for 8:30am. He followed me.

In the shower I noticed he had a great cock - quite long and nice and thick, and super hard. We ended up going back to my room, where he fucked me, professionally. I would have gladly paid for a fuck like that! This guy knew how to use what he was given, in just the right ways. I was totally enjoying it, and so was he. Ten minutes before I had to leave, we were done. I had one of the best fucks I'd had in a long time, and I made check-out too.

New Year's Day was turning out to be a lot better than New Year's Eve! Hopefully it's an omen for 2010 for me.

Support Grindr X - An old way to rip off unsuspecting gays

2009-12-20T23:04:00.000-08:00

I recently signed up to Grindr X. I have the free version of Grindr, and have been using it for quite a while. I've been wanting to purchase the X version for quite some time, because I assumed (wrongly) that it allowed things that the free version doesn't. Things like putting x-rated pictures (X meaning X-rated in my mind) on profiles, and using language not normally allowed on the free version (fuck, cock, blowjobs, etc.). I thought it allowed a place for all of us seeking hook ups, and not just friendship or relationships, a place to hang out and get screwed, blown or whatever our fancy, while wandering around with our iPhones.

I discovered immediately that I was wrong. When I looked more carefully at the specifications, the only difference is that we get 100 more guys on our list. That might be a benefit, except that I live in an area where there aren't 200 gay iPhone users. So I get an additional 100 Grindrs who live too far away from me to hook up with, or even have a relationship/friendship with. Right now I'm in a small town visiting family and friends for the holidays, and I get men showing up who are 140 km away minimum, to 2611.1 km away. What good is that to me, unless I have unlimited airmiles, an unlimited budget or I'm an inflight attendant?

It's the 'Brand Name' that made me assume all of these fabulous benefits of signing up for Grindr X. "X" in the dating world clearly suggests X-rated. Naked pictures of men, cock, asses, chests. Maybe even a couple going at it with each other. I doubt I'm the only person who's been let down and misled by the name. I had hoped I could change my profile to read, "Looking to fuck now" when the urge hit me.

What really irritates me is that Grindr states, "The cost of the download only covers usage for one month. After 30 days you will be asked if you want to continue your subscription to Grindr X for an additional fee. That fee will not exceed the cost of the download. Each subsequent month you will be given the option to renew your subscription - you will never be charged authomatically."

The fact that I'm paying for this version of the application at all is bad enough, but requiring that I pay for it once a month if I wish to continue using it is heresy.

So I don't have to look at advertising with Grindr X - is this really a benefit? I actually really enjoy the advertising on Grindr. It's highly relevant - it often shows apps I am interested in, and it is directed to a gay audience - me. I have clicked on the advertising dozens of times while on the free version of Grindr, and even purchased apps as a result of their advertising. And being very web experienced, like all iPhone users, I can tune out advertising without any effort when I choose to.

Finally, the download link states, "Grindr X - support Grindr." Support Grindr... Why? They are a for-profit company, not a non-profit organization offering important social programs to the GLBT company. In fact, I doubt they would even allow transsexuals to put profiles on the site.

This marketing tactic that suggests "I will be supporting Grindr by paying for useless new features, because it is equivalent to a non-profit GLBT organization that promotes social causes" is what makes me think it is a clever, but not new way to rip off naive gay men, whose pockets actually have limits.

I put the URL of my blog up on the site, to see just how long they will allow me to advertise my opinions. I'll give it two days. So far, it's been up just one. I'll keep you posted.

Chris Pine is sexy, and well hung?

2009-05-12T09:05:00.000-07:00

I couldn't help myself, this guy is sexy.

Underwater

2009-04-18T21:07:00.000-07:00

In memory of Brian:

something fearless in your eyes
something careless about your smile
something fragile when you hold your breath
and when you move
you move right through me

fingertips so gently on my skin
i'm underwater
i feel the flood begin
fingertips so gently on my skin
you're taking over and over again

shed your armour
spin your web
hypnotise me with the longest stare
make your promise
or maybe it's a threat
'cos when you look
you look right through me

we're flesh and bone
together and alone
and we're looking for a home

silver moonlight fills the sky
calling gently to the evening tide
you're unfolding right before my eyes
and when you move
you move right through me

2007-07-14T17:18:00.000-07:00

The Truth Behind Internet Profiles

[Click to see larger version]

2007-05-13T09:48:00.000-07:00

Restaurant Makeover

What never fails to amaze me about HGTV’s Restaurant Makeover is that those who own a restaurant, or pub, or family diner don’t know the basics of how to run a one. I have no intentions of ever owning or operating a restaurant, but even I know that you should use fresh ingredients (no store-bought Caesar salad dressings or frozen lobsters), stick to a food theme (don’t serve hamburgers at a Thai café), or display mass-produced, ugly 3-D caricatures of pigs as your mascot in a barbeque joint. But week after week, such dimwits, whose restaurants are understandably on the verge of going under, appeal to the Restaurant Makeover team to give their babies a new lease on life.

Typically, the show begins with one of their cast of designers and chefs avec attitude, sneering and making catty comments about the restaurant décor and menu away from the owner’s ears. “It’s another one of these,” says the beautiful redhead Meredith Heron to chef David Adjey, while crinkling her pouty mouth and aristocratic nose. When entering Thai Thai café, she adds, “It looks like they threw up condiments all over all the walls,” or something to that effect. Indeed, there are stacks of shelves selling condiments, and the 80s décor is a cross between Mexico and Spain with red and orange colored walls, mosaic tiled floors and a random seating order. She’s right.

When we meet the owners, they’ve got their heartbreaking stories. They haven’t had a vacation in five years, or they may have to send their son who’s studying at University back to Mexico because they can’t afford to pay his tuition anymore [tell him to pay his own way, stupid!], or a single mother who’s spending her five year old daughter’s savings to stop the restaurant from going bankrupt, or all the new trendy pubs on the street are taking the poor shlub’s business away. They’re asked by the Restaurant makeovers to sign checks for $15,000 (which the show will match, dollar-for-dollar). As they put pen to paper, you can see their fear and gut-wrenching nausea, as they put their trust into snotty professionals who haven’t put their soul and sweat into the day-to-day operations of their babies.

They always have their caveats. “You must keep our buffet [aka “market”] for our lunch crowd – they’re what make us stay afloat,” or “Don’t touch my bar, I made it with my own bare hands from the timber of my grandpa’s cabin.” “Whatever you do, don’t change the essence of my restaurant [because after all it’s doing so successfully].” Of course, the makeover team always does anyway.

The owners always tell the chef, “Don’t touch that [dry, frozen] rainbow trout [with the head still on] because our customers love it.” Our customers [alcoholic bar regulars] always come in for the (deep-fried, greasy, overdone) chicken wings, potato skins, and cheese balls.” The chef always changes them.

It never fails that the restaurant cook is one or more of the following:
a. untrained
b. overtrained, but dominated by the bad direction of the owner
c. is of a different ethnic background than the food of the restaurant, so the Thai café ends up serving Chinese food
d. is overly confident and tries to push the makeover chef’s buttons
e. has no personality and barely speaks, so the makeover chef tries to bring them out of themselves.

It all makes for entertaining drama. But my favorite moment is when they introduce the tradesmen: the carpenters, electricians, and painters. The project manager [Igor?] is particularly hot. He’s got a thick Russian accent with a little boy’s face, and a man’s body. He’s always goofing around, pulling faces, making jokes at the expense of the pretensions of the designer. In every episode, there’s a confrontation between him and the designer du jour, wherein he or she tries to assert their authority over the blue collar yokel. He’s so utterly heterosexual he is excellent bait for the gay male designers, who try desperately to get a reaction out of him. “I love you, Igor, you’re such a sweetheart,” they lisp when he agrees to redo the flooring they put up on the wall horizontally, instead of vertically. “Don’t call me sweetheart,” Igor says thickly, pulling a displeased look.

Robin DeGroot, a talented, platinum blond manboy aggressively flirts with him, trying to give Igor a peck on the cheek or wrap his arms around his hunky chest in a ‘friendly’ and team-building hug.

Restaurant Makeover’s token lesbian, Executive Chef Lynn Crawford [that’s an assumption on my part, the lesbian part that is] has forbade Robin to use the word “sexy” when describing his newest design concept. Especially when he’s designing a café that caters to the high school kids across the street.

Cut to scenes of the deconstruction team joyfully swinging mallets to bring down walls, ceilings and bars. Drilling away ceramic flooring. Smashing mirror tiles. They’re like a bunch of teenager gangsters, drunk on testosterone, intent on destruction. You see Igor being rolled up in the middle of a carpet being ripped out, and he’s giggling. [He’s so cute.] Or having the male equivalent of a hissy-fit when he discovers he needs to reroute the plumbing, or re-jig the wiring. “You expect me to do all that in five days?” he says, in angry bewilderment. He looks so put out – his face turns red, he scowls, but eventually gives in to the domineering designer. The viewer is then treated to bent over butt shots from below, while he’s hanging off a ladder sorting twisted wiring. I’m still waiting for the episode where they feature Igor shirtless [hint, hint].

The Restaurant Makeover team then brings in the owners to see the disaster they’ve created. They’re usually led into the restaurant blindfolded, and you can see the designer salivating in expectation of their horrified reactions. Once unblinded, the owners never disappoint, either by being silent with shock, becoming visibly anxious or even breaking down in tears. After a few moments, the designer gently pushes them out, and tells them not to return until “the reveal.”

In about 20 per cent of the episodes, the owner, who’s always an obsessive control freak, breaks the rules and keeps showing up at the renovation site, sometimes stalking the restaurant to see how progress is going. It’s up to the designer, rolling their eyes, to play patient mother while tactfully setting boundaries with their rebellious child.

The show goes on. Things go smoothly, then something goes wrong. Some unexpected budget-fucking problem occurs; the designer finds a solution. Often the blue-collar team works into the wee morning hours to finish the restaurant for the reveal; even the designer ends up painting walls and ruining their manicures. Occasionally the electrician hires an outside contractor to help him without the approval of the designer, or sometimes a plumber, at $500 extra per day. The $3,000 order of wallpaper is missing; so after the designer screams at and blames the supplier, Igor finds it in the back room. The Carrera marble bar counter arrives broken, but the stone tile flooring works just as well. The custom chairs the designer “must have” are way over budget; after a visit to the supplier’s shop and some pleading, they get them at half price. The custom ordered piece never fits; the construction crew always gets the wrong plans; the lighting never arrives on time. But you always know…there’s going to be a happy ending.

There are as few plot twists in the kitchen. The restaurant’s cook prepares three entrees from the existing menu for the makeover chef, who invariably hates two [or more] out of three. Sometimes they refuse to eat them, especially when it’s frozen, pre-packaged and deep-fried. The cook never seems to use local, fresh ingredients; the chef must inspire them by taking them to a local market. Half of their existing menu is crossed out with a permanent black marker by the chef, because one must stick to a food theme and offer something fresh and new. Don’t use dried herbs. Use fresh oil if you’re going to deep fry. Stop poking the steak as it’s grilling. Then, after your food and technique has been trashed, get a good night’s sleep and meet the next day, when the chef will show you how it’s done.

David Adjey, the craggy, but handsome blue-eyed chef, has a unique process. He makes up new entrees on the fly, much to the chagrin of the owners and cooks. He doesn’t have a clue what he’s going to make in advance. After shopping at a local market, he brings the goods back to the kitchen, and throws together some masterpiece that the cook or owner always loves. In a unique episode, the cameraman goes looking for him, because he hasn’t shown up to the restaurant on time. You see the cameraman sneaking into his Toronto studio apartment, complete with brick walls, open living plan, and copper cookware hanging decoratively from a rack in his stainless steel kitchen. The cameraman finds him still in bed sleeping, shirtless, and alone. I suddenly feel sad for him: he’s in his late forties and single without children, living like a young bachelor in a small trendy condo, hung over from a night of drinking. He no longer has the aura of being a famous and successful chef. Then the camera pans out to discover he’s actually been up all night studying Thai cookbooks, pouring over techniques and flavors. I suddenly admire him again. He’s dedicated to his art.

The most huggable chef on the show award goes to Massimo Capra. He looks like a living cartoon of an Italian chef, with his balding head, handlebar moustache that curls up at the ends, and happy Buddha belly. Massimo speaks in a soothing, uplifting Italian accent, and clearly loves his career, and tries to make everyone fall in love with him and food. And everyone does.

Finally, the reveal. After last minute touches such as fresh flowers and hanging new artwork, the least important part of the shows occurs in the last eight minutes. The makeover team shows off their work to the restaurant owners who invariably ooh and awe over their amazing work. Friends and customers come through the door and always say, “Oh my god,” or “Am I in the right place?” Food is served, everyone loves it, and the owner[s] glow with joy and appreciation. At the ending credits, some restaurant critic is quoted, by writing something to the effect of, “A fresh look and taste to an old neighborhood favorite, Restaurant Makeover dishes out a five-star facelift.”

My only complaint is that the blue-collar team aren’t invited to the reveal. Poor Igor is once again ignored, never sharing in the glory. Always the underdog. But the irony is, it’s not the designers or chefs or the makeover that’s the star of the show. It’s Igor. Now if only the producers would make him work with his shirt off.

Update: Executive Chef Lynn Crawford is NOT a lesbian. Sorry girls.

2007-04-06T10:34:00.000-07:00

Professorial Knowledge or Sound Bytes?

Attempting to teach ten years of theory in one 14 week semester introductory course, is futile. Isn't it? One is reduced to summarizing the entire career of a brilliant researcher with...'sound bytes.' 20 years knowledge + experience = 10 minutes lecture time. Usually accompanied by an online video which is 6 minutes in length. When you're attempting to deliver about 50 summaries of theoretical concepts in 14 weeks, you have no choice but to present ridiculously dumbed-down versions that are scintillating within three bullet marks. The Powerpoint presentations must be interesting enough to be memorable and convey the basic concepts.

I thought this teaching dilemma might be a symptom of today's technology/internet-based, ADD/ADHD affected pupil who's watched too much MTV, and is familiar with an equally frenzied teaching styles. Long gone are chalkboards - today's classrooms have dry eraser markers and video projectors connected to several media, including the Internet, video tape and DVD players. Students want to be entertained, not informed. Professors have blogs or class web sites, Web CT is used to deliver class knowledge, present projects and grades. 'Forgetabout' (use a NY accent) true education - it's all about the student. They now have online evaluations for professors, both internally at the university, and externally - in the form of www.ratemyprofessors.com. Careers die and fluorish based on these less than scientific methods of evaluation. If you get a hot tamale, you're more likely to receive tenure. One stupid student's complaint can finish you.

When I think back to my own education as an undergraduate, I realize - nothing's really changed. In art history, we were introduced to entire artist careers within the blink of a slide. Or three. We were given 'sound bytes' by the professor, just as we are today. Art history lectures tend to be introductory courses, so they fall into a different category than 'research' classes.

In most forums today, teaching is about delivering 'sound bytes.' It's up to the students to fill in the blanks. Fortunately, most professors realize this, and offer additional research articles and links regarding the topic (not that introductory students tend to read these.) But, I still pine for the days when professors were allowed to be wholly subjective - they deliver research from their own area of interest, and then try to inspire their students to investigate a similar tangent.

Such professors were hired based upon their own research merits - they have specific knowledge that needs to be imparted. The professors photocopy (not find links on the internet, or provide Google PDFs) articles. They show their own work.

This is the method in which I was taught. I had brilliant professors, with great careers, who shared with us their personal knowledge and direction. It didn't mean that I had to follow in their direction - it meant that I could fashion a direction of my own, based upon my personal subjective directions. It didn't mean they had to present to me 'sound bytes' - they truly offered a professorial direction, one that was based on personal experience.

2007-04-01T11:23:00.000-07:00

Who's Thicke?

I've discovered an enormously talented singer. Robin Thicke. I think he's going to be huge. Actually, he's already huge. He appeals to both young people and older persons, like me!

He's born of the Canadian actor Alan Thicke. Unfortunately, Canada cannot claim Robin as his own, because he was born in California. So he's listed as "American."

There are endless discussions of how Robin has transgressed some existing division between black and white singers. Apparently everyone thinks he is black, from his voice, I guess. But he is totally white. I really hate these racist divisions.

The quality of human beings are not based on their race, they're based on the quality that they bring to the world. I'm not convinced that he's appropriated black culture in his singing. I think that his voice, and vocal affinity has determined the music. Why can't white people sing similar things, if its in their soul?

2007-03-31T19:34:00.000-07:00

White Palms

The title "White Palms" refers to the chalked hands of gymnasts -- but as this striking, deeply felt drama illustrates, sometimes those hands are blistered and bloody.

In an unpromising opening sequence that overdoes the shaky handheld camera, introspective Dongo (Cirque du Soleil member Zoltan Miklos Hajdu) arrives in Calgary to coach Olympic hopefuls. The film then moves back 21 years to 1980 Debrecen, Hungary, where the 10-year-old Dongo withstands a merciless schedule of gymnastics practice. When his parents see a welt on his leg, courtesy of the sadistic coach (Gheorghe Dinica) who brandishes a fencing foil, they insist that he must have deserved it. Their response to such rough handling is a stark contrast to the clamor that erupts among Canadian parents after the adult Dongo slaps a boy who's practicing a dangerous routine. Rather than fire him, the head coach puts him in charge of the gifted but recalcitrant Kyle (Olympic medalist Kyle Shewfelt).

Read the rest of the review here: White Palms

I didn't realize this film existed until now. It looks hot. Kyle Shewfelt is a Calgary gymnast who won an Olympic medal for his floor routine, and works out at the University of Calgary where I once did. And soon, I will be living in the same city. He's probably not gay though, but he sure is cute!

I remember my coaches used to work me out until my palms bled. When you're 12, and develop soft calluses from all the bar work, it takes nothing to rip off 3mm of flesh. Even though they were ripped off, he made me chalk up and do it again. I was very angry at him and tearful because it really hurts. But when you're 12, by the next practice day, they've already healed. Then your body seems to build up an immunity to the calluses (for the most part) and all the bumps on your triceps from parallel bars, your pelvis, etc. It's weird when I think about it now. Even from working out, I love developing hard calluses on my hands. I used to like gliding over my partner's back with my calluses, scratching/tickling him. He didn't like it though - I would have. He used to moisturize his hands obsessively so he never developed them.

He developed white palms though, from stroking his enormous big cock.

On another tangent, I found out my L*thbridge coach who I had a big crush on moved to Las Vegas and is now coaching Cirque du Soleil performers. My parents found an article on him in the local newspaper and showed it to me. Good for him. He gave me many painful months of unresolved sexual fantasies, especially when he undressed in front of me, and put his hands all over me. I've blogged about it somewhere on this site.

Gymnastics really does change the soul of a person, for a life time.

2006-11-16T11:55:00.000-08:00

Brazil vs. Canada - Men's Gymnastics

I recorded this last weekend on videotape, then managed to capture the video, then export it for the web and put it online! Even old dogs can learn new tricks.

The Brazilian is fantastic - I believe he came in second, and the Canadian "Kyle" came in third. Hottie Marian DRAGULESCU came in first - I'm sure you're familiar with him from other gay blogs - he's so gorgeous.

I'm only about 200 km away from Kyle...but I haven't heard any gay rumours, although he appears gay to me. Unlike some famous gold medal Calgary swimmer, who everyone has had sex with..

Enjoy.

2006-11-06T13:39:00.000-08:00

Interview with a Werewolf

* The italicized/underlined dialogue is in a strange, Mediterranean-sounding dialect.

BARRY
Esto demasiado lejos deu nuestras mãos, London. Tremine ist. Ahora.
(translation)
This is too far from our hands, London. End this. Now.

Harris’ eyes flash at the sound of this language.

ADRIAN
Tamentéu. Bórrel.
(translation)
Absolutely. Erase it.

LONDON
Táwn não acontecerá até que nós sabemos tudo. Alguém lo trajo sobre. Esta não era sua niciatriva.

(translation)
It will not happen until we know everything. Someone brought him on. This was not his initiative.

ADRIAN
Es demasiado. Cáigalo cair, fá-loei haré mis.
(translation)
It is too much. Drop him, or I will do it myself.

LONDON
Você não hará ninguna tal coisa. Usted toma uma etapa em seu sentido y yo comeré seu coração.
(translation)
You will do no such thing. You take a step in his direction and I will eat your heart.

BARRY
Esto não é una idéia boa.
(translation)
This is not a good idea.

LONDON
(glaring)
Quando deseo su opinião, você sabrá.
(translation)
When I want your opinion, you will know it.

Last August, I auditioned for a role in an independent film being created here, in L*thbridge. I ended up being cast as "Barry" - second in command to the head werewolf, named London. Apparently the director liked my latin-appearing looks, and my ability to be calm, yet menacing.

All the actors met up last night, during the full moon, to perform two scenes - one of which is mentioned above. We drove for about 40 minutes, through pitch black countryside (only lighted by the moon) until we arrived at a farm house in the middle of nowhere. The lighting and cameras had already been set up. It was quite cold - the northerly wind was blowing, and it was about 2 degrees celsius.

I had a very hard time memorizing my lines, a mixture of Portuguese, Spanish and Italian. I had to look up on the internet how to pronounce latin-type languages. I found out that "i" sounds like "e", and "e" sounds like "a." And of course, "j" sounds like "h." Then, of course, I had an even harder time trying to say a complete sentence, smoothly, while keeping a straight face. I couldn't stop laughing from embarrassment! How was I going to deliver my lines authentically, when I couldn't stop giggling from self-consciousness?

London was a hot young stud, 19 years old, with dark hair, green eyes, about 5'11". He had already been in one horror film. He works as a bartender at one of the upscale club/dining establishments in town. Unfortunately, when he took his jacket off, he had a bit of a paunch...but who cares. He was still hot, and a very nice guy.

Adrian was a guy who the director met at the gym, and asked him to play the part, only because he "looks" the part. Ironically, he was the only one who had his lines down pat, and sounded entirely authentic! I have no idea what age he is - 33? But he's studied practically every type of marshall arts there are. He has a degree in political science, but he's a dedicated kick boxing, jujitsu, karate addict, who's studied everywhere from New York to LA to Vancouver. Not my type... I don't know why, even though he's blond. Maybe if I saw him with his clothes off I'd be more interested. Anyway, he is a natural actor. He put London and myself to shame!

Then there's me. Thank goodness we didn't do the second scene with the latin-sounding language - I couldn't have pulled it off. It was too cold which was distracting, and I'm too much of a perfectionist so I couldn't pull off the accent without sounding like an idiot trying to pronounce every syllable and correct emphasis.

All I had to do was walk into a scene where there were three police, two other werewolves, and one semi-victim who turns into a hero. Basically, I was a model. No lines, just walking in, looking confident and scary. I'm good with that!

It got too late after doing the first scene, that the director decided to postpone the latin-speaking scene, where I'd have to speak... so that scene will be rescheduled, shortly. Before the winter sets in too much. That will give me lots of time to practice. Now all I have to do is find a latin-speaking guy who's willing to give me some lessons!

2006-10-23T02:21:00.000-07:00

Brad Pitt update

(I'll probably get a ton of google hits with that line...just so you know, this post is not really about Bratt Pitt. Just his doppleganger.)

Guess who I saw on Saturday? You guessed right. Brad Pitt. Except that he no longer sports buzzed-short hair - he's got a normal looking, short hairstyle. But he dyed his hair black. Like Angelina.

He said he's been doing good, except for a few relapses. He looks awesome. So even though he's no longer blond, or buzz-cut, there was still this intense sexual energy/chemistry going on, probably only with me, so it probably wasn't shared, but wow, it's intense. I haven't seen him in months, but all that crazy sexual chemistry energy happened instantly.

He's definitely one drug I need to stay away from. For his own sake.

I wonder if this "chapter" in my life in Lethbridge is over now. I'm not sure...

2006-10-21T11:31:00.000-07:00

Gay Parenthood & Purpose?

What struck me about seeing a buck, a female deer and their baby together, prancing through the coulees...the mother and father kindly and gently protecting the cute baby deer...was how, as a gay man, I have little to relate to.

I saw a clear and defined family unit, each with their own proscribed roles and purposes in life. In fact, their genetic destinies gave them meaningful purpose in life.

I have no such proscribed, genetically determined meaning in life. Being both protector and nurturer, top and bottom (versatile), aggressor and passive being, and no babies, my meaning in life is more difficult to ascertain.

I say to myself, "Thank God I'm gay - I don't have to have babies." Is this a defense mechanism, born out of knowing I'm gay, and knowing that the likelihood of me ever having babies is nearly zero per cent? Or is a true sentiment?

My thoughts and opinions are probably like most straight men - they are cute, I love 'em, I'd love to grow up with one...but what is lacking in me is the concept of paternity. I don't feel a drive toward paternity. The concept of me "having my DNA profilgated through my baby, and thus, I live forever," is absolutely and completely missing from my psyche. I think this is such an archaic concept.

As a result of being the only male in my family, my family geneology will not continue through me. Do I care? No, not at all.

On the other hand, if I were married, and had an infant, I would definitely have a purpose in life. It would be to support, protect, nurture and give life to my baby. I would do everything in my power throughout their life to do this. My life would take second place.

I guess I have this option...but remember, I'm older, so it's only been a recent invention in Canadian history. So for most of my life, it's not been an option. So have I justified this absence of options for not wanting a baby? Or getting married? Or do I simply like being absolved of genetic predispositions of fatherhood / motherhood / babyhood?

To be honest, I like being abolved of all related genetic purposes. I need to find my own purpose in life, which is...if someone can tell me I'd appreciate it. But I know it's not to be in a "proper family unit with a baby." Although I do like babies.

What are your own thoughts/experience/feelings on this issue? I'd like to know.

2006-10-20T16:25:00.000-07:00

White-Tailed Deer

Last week I left my office at about 10pm. I saw 8 white-tailed deer walking up the paved pathway, over the coulees. Oddly out of place among concrete, right angled buildings and human beings, they were a welcomed pleasure. Graceful, curious and cautious, their large, muscular bodies daintily tiptoed across the parking lot and back into the curvareous hillsides. It was a full moon, adding to the supernatural quality of the moment.

Today at 5pm, I saw a buck, a female deer and a baby deer, less than 10 feet away from me, as I stepped out onto my office's patio for a breather. Their white behinds were nearly in my face, as they pranced about the hillside edge, eating leaves from a tree. They were nervous, but not scared, apparently used to human presence.

I know there's a metaphor here - I'm working on it. I will update once it's become clear.

2006-10-12T16:29:00.000-07:00

Here's the answer to the tattoo question...

2006-09-29T03:31:00.000-07:00

I finally did it. I got a tattoo.

After years of studying them, I am no longer the Un-Tattooed Other. It felt exactly as I had read. It wasn't painful - it was irritating - it felt nice. Actually, getting fucked up the ass is more painful. But what the two experiences share, is unforgetability.

I thought long and hard about what tattoo to get. The young guy who gave it to me did a decent job. It's not art, but technically it's brilliant. But all who get tattoos feel that way - we justify the permanence.

This means, of course, that I'll have to be cremated. The thought of my tattoo decrepitating along with my body is just not a pretty concept. For now, having a pretty interesting tattoo during my waking life is kind of cool.

Can anyone guess what my tattoo is of?

2006-09-29T03:18:00.000-07:00

Making Room for Spirit
Allow the universe to breathe in you.

Bathe your cells in the essence of your higher self
The relationship with your Higher Self is only just beginning. You begin to experience deeper and deeper levels of your soul. No longer will the experience of your Higher Self be something outside of you. It becomes something you experience as yourself. Gone are the days when you felt you were channeling some distant frequency from far out space. This visualization is no longer useful in the new energy. Instead, you will feel like you are listening to and guiding yourself.

The energies being released on the planet right now are lessening the distance between you and your Higher Self. As each of you lessen the hold on your earth-based egos, you will increasingly identify with your Higher Self. The immense and difficult processes of dealing with your core issues over the last several months and years have been preparing you for this moment. As you begin to lose your false sense of self – aspects of yourself that you once understood as you – you make room for a greater identification with your true self.

Each one of us has a different energy vibration. Each soul of which we are a part has a unique energy signature. As time goes on, you will begin to intimately know the signature of your soul. In your meditations at this time, as you connect with your higher self, you will discover that you can no longer experience this signature as separate from you. Your higher self insists that you identify it as your own. The method of communicating with your higher self will no longer feel like it is coming from above you, or through your upper chakras. Instead, as the vibration increases, you will find that your higher self has taken residence within the center of your body. Look for it here.

In meditation, sit in the energy of your Higher Self, and get to know your essence. Essence signatures always begin in the major key of love. Bathe in the love of your essence, and allow it to penetrate every cell of your body. Because you have made room for a new consciousness in your body, you may now allow the energy and essence of your higher self to move in. The more you allow this, the more you begin the ascendance process and begin to radiate the light and energy of your higher self. You are given more access to the wondrous powers of your greater being. You have greater access to knowledge stored within your memory banks, and to the energies of the universe.

As you identify with your Higher Self, you will begin to feel larger. Your aura and sense of self will extend beyond your usual experience. Your aura will feel immense and encompass bigger areas. This allows an expansion of your awareness. In meditation, became aware of the magnitude of who you are.

Releasing emotional blocks from the body
Your Higher Self desires to penetrate the cells of your body. The essence of your higher self wishes to take residence here. In order for this to occur, it is important for you to release from the cells of your body any past hurt, suffering, fear and anger. The releasing of core issues begins in the cells of your body and out into your mental bodies. Then the thoughts and beliefs that created these blocks must be surrendered to love. Working with the body is helpful at this time. Experience your core issues at a physical and emotional level, not just a mental level, and release them. Make room for your Hgher Self to integrate with your body. You will experience great relief and renewal of your body as this occurs.

The loving energies of the universe are available to assist you with the process. Kundalini and tantric, energies are the healing and nurturing energies of the universe herself. It is important to breathe and bring oxygen to all caverns of the body, thereby bringing renewal and vitality to the cells of your bodies and organs. Breath allows your cells to breathe. On the in-breath inhale the energy of kundalini, and on the out-breath exhale fear and sorrow, held within your cells.

Allow the universe to breathe in you.

Where there are blockages, the energies of the universe caress you with love and pleasure, until you feel joyous and safe enough to release them. When you no longer hold any fear or sorrow in your cells, the kundalini energies feel gently energizing and as normal as breathing. Learn to follow your body's desire to breathe. Breathe with your feelings. Take deep breaths in rhythm with your emotions, and the clearing process takes place.

As you release blocks in your body, you are more comfortable sitting in your body. There is less tension in your body, and your breath reaches oxygen-starved areas of your organs. You feel more at home in the universe, and trust that you are loved and protected by her. In order for ascension to occur, you must fully own your physical body and feel at home in it.

This is a time of creating a relationship with your body, breath and the essence of your Higher Self. The relationship with your higher self brings you greater wholeness, so as you go out into the world, you greet others with your wholeness, and your relationships are aligned with divine will. You open the door to giving and receiving unconditional love.

Go forth, breathe and get intimate with the essence of your higher self.

2006-09-18T17:40:00.000-07:00

Relationships as mirrors

To make up for my inability to post about my own life, here is an old past writing about relationships...

Have you ever noticed how often the qualities that attracted you to your partner or friend turn out to be the same ones you end up hating about him or her?

Why is it that opposites attract? One of the wondrous gifts of complementary or opposite relationships is that they motivate us to greater wholeness and fulfillment, through the laws of mirroring and karma. These laws were formed at the very beginning of our universe.

In the beginning…

Once upon a time, an aspect of The Creator decided out of great love and curiosity, to create a reality in which a part of itself would not remember its true nature. In order to accomplish this, The Creator manifested a body on the third dimensional plane in which to situate an aspect of itself. The Creator gave this body certain limitations, so it wouldn't be able to fully remember who it was. The experiment was to discover if The Creator, when hidden from itself, could remember who it was. In order to assist itself, the human retained, as in all dimensions, the ability to create its own reality according to its beliefs. But because the third dimension is dense, the process of creating reality is slowed down so that it is not as apparent in the higher vibrational realms.

The conditions were so perfectly conceived that when a piece of The Creator contained itself within the body, the density of the third dimension created separation and individuation. The human believed itself to be a separate from all that is, and conceived itself to be individual! This split The Creator's wholeness into complementary pairs, and dualism was born. The human experienced the illusion of self and other, male and female, good and evil, life and death, abundance and poverty.

Dualism also created karma – the law that every action causes a reaction. So whenever the human's actions came from the belief that it was separate, karma ensures that the human has the opportunity to discover that it is not. Until a remembrance of its unity and wholeness is achieved, the human rides the wheel of karma.

In self-love, The Creator (because The Creator is love) provided itself two very important clues to remembering its wholeness: the mirroring nature of reality, and karma. Because wholeness is the fundamental truth of reality, each aspect of reality contains the whole. Therefore every piece of reality contains a holographic mirror of the whole. Reality mirrors one's beliefs, and within that reality is the unity of all that is, and karma allows limitless opportunities to discover this. These gifts allow us, the human – as an individuated piece of The Creator – a path to return home.

The holographic nature of reality is another way of saying, "everything is in relationship." Separateness is an illusion. All things cooperate in relationship to work together. Even the smallest, most invisible and immeasurable particle has consciousness, because it too is a piece of The Creator, and the law of its nature is to cooperate with other particles to create the highest good for all. Relationships are, therefore, another word for cooperation. Your relationship to others, and others' relationships to you, is a cooperation that brings you to remembering your unity and wholeness.

Rediscovering Your Wholeness

The veil between our human selves and our Creator-selves is so effective that it takes us many lifetimes to perceive the relationship between situations, things and ourselves as interconnected. Fortunately, in this new age, mass consciousness is awakening and we have greater opportunity to learn from these relationships, and reclaim our wholeness. The new energy being released into the earth makes us oscillate at a higher vibration, quickening the process, forcing us to confront all the aspects of self that we believe are not whole, and separate from others. The earth plane is becoming less dense, and our beliefs are manifesting our reality at an ever increasing pace, making it clearer that we create our reality.

Because we are master artists at creating our own reality, every relationship we have is reflective of our beliefs. Because reality is a holographic mirror, our relationships give us clear feedback as to what we believe about others, the universe and ourselves. Often our beliefs operate unconsciously, without our awareness. By examining our experience of relationships we may discover our unconscious beliefs, and transform them into beliefs that serve us better.

The Mirroring of Disowned and Shadow Characteristics

One of the primary ways in which relationships serve to remind us of our wholeness is by mirroring aspects of our psyches that we disown. Often we are attracted to people who have complementary or opposite characteristics from ourselves. Whenever we need to acknowledge and develop the other person's characteristics in our own personalities, the complementary characteristics eventually cause conflict in the relationship. Co-dependent relationships form from complementary relationships because we believe we "need" the other person to fulfill aspects in our selves that we are lacking. We also mirror disowned characteristics in the other person – our relationship partner needs to acknowledge and develop the recessive personality characteristics in his or her self, which are dominant in our personalities.

Complementary relationships end up creating conflict between two people because there is a lack of balance between the dominant and recessive aspects of the personalities.

While our partner's dominant characteristics are the basis for our attraction and admiration, the lack of balance between these and opposite characteristics means that these qualities are carried to the extreme. Whenever personality characteristics are carried to the extreme, it suggests they are operating as defensive mechanisms, to protect us from our fear of the opposite characteristic. In complementary relationships, we both need and fear the very characteristics we love in our partner.

I was attracted to Les' qualities of independence, discipline, and confidence. Being a very feeling, expressive, and social person, I was often undisciplined because the flow of my feelings influenced my decisions. I admired how Les' stability allowed the building of financial and material continuity. Likewise, Les admired my expressiveness, creativity, spontaneity and capacity for intimacy. But whenever I pressured Les to display more expressiveness and intimacy, Les would withdraw into greater detachment and coldness. In turn, I would react by becoming more emotional and needy. The positive aspects of our dominant personality characteristics became extreme, revealing themselves as defense mechanisms.

We both feared developing the other's characteristics, because in childhood we had learned that in order to feel safe and loved, we needed to be both unemotional and strong, or emotional and vulnerable. As our conflict heated up, we began to discover the shadow sides of our personalities. The shadow is a part of our selves we believe to be "bad" and "wrong," and deny exists. I discovered I could be raging, volatile, and needy; whereas disassociation, selfishness and abandonment were shadow qualities discovered by Les.

Eventually I couldn't stand the emotionally volatile shadow characteristics I was expressing, so I began to detach and distance myself, taking on Les' defensive reactions. When I no longer allowed myself the verbal outlet, I found myself alone with my feelings of fear, hurt and anger. Taking responsibility for my feelings, I discovered their connection to childhood dramas. Likewise, when I withdrew, Les became more emotionally expressive and volatile.

By taking on my shadow characteristics of detachment and distance, I discovered that my underlying fears and sorrows originated in childhood. I was projecting them onto my relationship with Les. Over time, I made friends with them and began to honor all my feelings, developing greater independence and confidence. Les too discovered that feelings are not to be feared, and became more comfortable expressing them. Though our relationship ended, it allowed us the space to heal and integrate the denied and shadow aspects of ourselves. Having experienced both sides of my shadow, I have developed compassion and understanding for those who feel the need to detach because they fear their emotions and vulnerability. I have also developed the confidence and independence to withdraw to take care of my feelings, when necessary, so that I do not project my issues onto others.

Complementary relationships are karmic contracts agreed to by both souls, as an opportunity to learn that not learned in a past life. These contracts are made out of love, to help one another remember our wholeness. Relationships are an opportunity to heal ourselves by bringing us into confrontation with aspects of ourselves we have disowned, rejected and denied. The mirroring of disowned and shadow characteristics of our personalities also reflects our underlying core beliefs.

The Holographic Mirroring of Core Beliefs

Our relationships holographically mirror our beliefs about others, the universe and ourselves. By examining our relationships, we can discover our unconscious core beliefs. When our relationships cause us suffering, it is our soul's call to heal false core beliefs. These false core beliefs not only affect our experience of relationships, but also limit our experience of all aspects of life.

My relationships mirrored a core belief that affects nearly all of us –
"love is always followed by rejection and abandonment."

Core beliefs influence and affect our life experiences. This particular core issue has its roots in birth. As an infant we are protected, comfortable and surrounded by the love of our mother's womb. Then during birth we sense our mother's psychic pain and understand we are the cause of it; we are forced out of the comfort of the womb, cut from our breathing apparatus (the umbilical cord), slapped, and choking, we gasp for breath. We are born into rejection and guilt.

Just when we begin to recover from the intense shock, we experience abandonment. We are removed from our mother's arms, put in an incubator, away from physical touch and the psychic energy of human nurturing. We have learned not to trust pleasure and love because we have learned it leads to pain and abandonment. This prime belief is reinforced in childhood, to a greater or lesser degree of intensity in all of us, depending on our karma.

The parents we choose reflect our karma, and they reinforce our false core beliefs via emotional patterning in childhood. By looking at our relationships with our primary care givers, we can discover the emotional patterning that took place in childhood, and how it gets re-created in adulthood.

My relationship with Les mirrored my relationship with my father. My father was a loving, kind and generous man who spent a lot of time with me as a child and never outwardly betrayed my trust. But I never felt a heartfelt connection to him. He remained distant and unconnected to me on a heart level, and as a child I felt unloved. I did everything in my power to make him love me from a feeling level. Though I intellectually knew as an adult that he loved me, I never felt the heart-cord connection as a child. This relationship set up the emotional patterning for my relationships. I recreated this relationship with others in order to try to make my father love me. Perhaps if I was successful, I could then believe I was worth loving.

I mirrored my mother by taking on her personality and shadow characteristics. I chose a mother who could be extremely loving, nurturing, intimate and loyal, but when triggered her shadow side would suddenly flare. She would express rage, leading to rejection and some form of abandonment. As a child I lived on eggshells, wondering when her loving and nurturing would suddenly turn to blame. I came to believe that I am responsible for other people's feelings about me, and that I needed to make others happy in order to be loved. Love is something that comes from others, so I am dependent on others to make me feel loved. When my mother was angry, I felt guilty, responsible for her anger, and unlovable.

I manifested these now deeply ingrained beliefs in the rest of my life. I experienced betrayal, rejection and abandonment to a fierce degree in elementary, junior and high school by my peers. But mirroring the childhood experience of my mother, I also experienced great love and appreciation by others – from my teachers and peers at church. I was very popular at church with kids my age, and being the preacher's kid I was treated with honor and respect by the entire congregation. Yet I had no friends in school, and spent many years hiding at recess, or spending lunch alone in a park, several blocks away from school, crying from the loneliness of rejection. I believed I must be truly worthless to be rejected by so many. And I was distrusting of the love I did receive from others because I decided it was based on excelling in school or by my status and position.

Even my understanding of The Creator mirrored my core belief. I was taught that The Creator loves and is kind, and as a child I felt the love of The Creator. But later, when I prayed for help from the constant scorn of my school peers, my prayers were not answered. "The Creator once loved me, and now has abandoned me. Even The Creator thinks I am guilty of punishment and worthy of being hated," I believed.

The volatile emotional swings of my life eventually made me turn to self-destructive behavior – I inflicted self-punishment, even when I wasn't being punished or blamed by anyone. I used drugs and alcohol to escape my self-hatred and guilt. But the pendulum swung in the opposite direct when I turned 20, and with my usual extreme intensity, I began my healing journey.

Although I did much inner work and therapy, and experienced a great deal of healing, the core belief hid like a virus, infecting me on a cellular level, latent, yet subtly influencing every aspect of my life and relationships. As the vibration of the earth increases, our deepest core beliefs manifest and surface to be healed. In relationships, I unconsciously feared being rejected and abandoned from the beginning of feeling loved. And my fear ensured that I created rejection, abandonment and betrayal from others, by provoking it in some manner. Yet I was blind to being the cause of the rejection and later, abandonment.

The people with whom I had relationships shared my core belief, and to a complementary degree of intensity. They would experience their belief of being unlovable as well, because I was blaming and judgmental. My partners experienced that they were unworthy of love. At some point they would abandon me, and I would take on the guilt, and blame (punish) myself.

My relationship with Les mirrored our fears that we are not worthy of being loved.

Our relationships always mirror what we believe we are worthy of receiving.

And were we to be loved, our relationship would end in rejection and abandonment for us both.

Finally, our relationships mirror the relationships of our society, culture and planet. When we surrender our false beliefs and fears, we assist the world in healing.

Such is the wonderful, loving and cooperative nature of relationships, that we are reminded of our core beliefs at every level. And every relationship is an opportunity to discover our wholeness and divinity.

Letting Go of Self-Blame and Punishment

When examining our relationships as mirroring our core beliefs, it is necessary to let go of self-blame and punishment. Because the belief that we are unworthy of love, and deserve to be punished is deeply entrenched in our psyches, we use this knowledge to further punish ourselves and cause ourselves pain. The thought sounds like this: "I am the cause of all my pain, which proves that I am guilty and deserving of punishment. Of course I am unworthy of love." It is only when we begin to realize at an emotional level that we are unconditionally and fully loved by the universe at all times, and it is only our own self-punishment that causes us pain and suffering, that we can transform our beliefs and experiences.

Self-punishment, guilt, the belief in our lack of wholeness and worthiness of love is at the root of all karma and suffering. To step off the karmic wheel, we must surrender guilt, and open to the infinite and unconditional love of The Creator. Then we will remember who we are and that we are one.

2006-09-04T15:33:00.000-07:00

Bugger!

I've been as buggy as a wasp in the dying autumn heat; or as obsessive as a ladybug whose house is on fire; or as dragged out as a dragonfly who has disappeared from the decrepit dunghill prairies in search of new climes. I have reams of stories: from the hot hetero BC firefighter who came onto me, setting new fires; to the ex-Romanian Olympic swimmer named Yuri who fondled my crotch seductively... But I ain't got the time. It's not raining h2o, but it is raining men, out here in the outback. I'll get me brelly out, and tell you all, soon. Hang in there.

2006-08-26T16:54:00.000-07:00

Attracting Relationships

It's time for some more enlightenment. I wrote this article just as I met my boyfriend BC. Sure, our relationship only lasted three years, but it's better to have loved and lost, than to never have loved at all. I dedicate this article to Single in the City, a sweet and humorous blogger I discovered recently, who is celebrating 60 days of sexual and relationship sobriety. I think the one thing he hasn't investigated is the spiritual aspect of relationships: may you find it now.

In our world there exists a miraculous system of interconnections and relationships, all perfectly and effortlessly orchestrated. Everyone in your life mirrors your beliefs, and vice versa. Not everyone is equally meaningful to you at any given point, but those that hold more purpose and meaning are brought to your conscious awareness.

How do you attract conscious, co-creative relationships into your life? I have been exploring the process of co-creating cooperative and harmonious relationships of all kinds. It begins with healing your false core beliefs, via the mirroring and karmic processes, thereby acknowledging and honoring your wholeness. In this article I review some aspects of the healing process, and look at the process of co-creation.

We are all one
In actuality, everyone is one. We are all whole. All who exist are manifestations of the one Creator. We, as the one Creator, have agreed to individuate, in order to explore who it is that we are. Each one of us is simply an aspect of the one. You have agreed to take on certain aspects of the one, which form your characteristics, personality, and beliefs, and explore them. In each incarnation, you carry false core beliefs from your previous lives, about your lack of wholeness, in order to explore these beliefs and give you the opportunity to discover all that you are. You are the one Creator.

You are, and always have been, involved in cooperative and harmonious relationships. Every person in your life right now is cooperating with you in the most harmonious and loving manner to help you to understand your relationship to, and beliefs about, your inner self. Each person mirrors back to you an aspect of your inner self.

If you choose to believe that you are not whole, then you will attract into your life others that also believe they are not whole. This is the basis for complementary relationships. These are the relationships that often bring much pain and drama. Because if you believe that you are not complete, then you believe that you are in need. And you will believe that you need the other who represents the aspect of you that you believe you are lacking. This causes fear because if the person does not give you what you are lacking, or threatens to leave, then you will feel incomplete, abandoned and unloved.

But when you awaken to your wholeness, and realize that you are not lacking anything, then you will attract people who believe the same thing about themselves, and have more harmonious relationships — relationships based on love and not need.

Vibratory resonance

Every belief you hold emits a particular vibratory resonance. This vibratory resonance is an energy pattern that attracts to itself vibratory resonances similar in nature. These vibratory resonances are the fundamental building blocks of matter, and create our personal experience of physical reality. Whatever and whoever vibrates in a similar matter will be drawn into our personal reality. This is because harmony is the nature of the universe. Just as when a certain pitch of sound is emitted into the environment, all objects that are capable of vibrating at this rate will respond by singing in equanimity.

All relationships are an act of co-creation. What you choose to believe and hold in your consciousness about yourself and others is manifested by your higher self in cooperation with the higher selves of all others. You automatically attract to yourself others who resonate with your beliefs. Our higher selves always act as one, for the highest good of all. This is an important concept to understand because once you understand that we are all one, then you feel connected to everyone else.

The universal web
Everyone around you at any given moment is in your personal reality because they in some way share one or more of your beliefs. These include beliefs about yourself, the world, and the universe. In our world there exists a miraculous system of interconnections and relationships, all perfectly and effortlessly orchestrated. Everyone in your life mirrors your beliefs, and vice versa. Not everyone is equally meaningful to you at any given point, but those that hold more purpose and meaning are brought to your conscious awareness.

You know that a person and situation hold meaning for you when it becomes energetically charged. You may perceive the person and situation as more vibrant and having greater clarity, and/or your emotions are stirred and register the significance of the meeting.

When I meditate on the understanding that I am in relationship with everyone around me, I begin to sense that we are all interconnected by a web of energy, and are in constant telepathic communication with one another. This is a multi-dimensional web, that not only extends through space, but also time. When I open myself, I can feel on an intuitive level the connection I have with my neighbor who I've never met. I intuitively sense that we share similar ideas about abundance, and also believe in living peacefully and without drama.

I can also sense my connection to my grandfather, who I never met, and died a couple decades ago. I can feel his presence, and that we are connected to one another via this interrelational web of energy. As I have continued to grow spiritually, I feel that I am even able to have conversations in my mind with him.

When I reflected on who my next romantic partner might be, I imagined they existed exactly as I desired. I also intuited that they lived in the same city, which was important to me. When I focussed on their existence, and tuned into the particular vibration or experience I was looking for, I imagined that I was plucking a string on the web, which lead to them. I would check in to their vibration once in a while, and stir the web that connected us, to say hello. I reminded myself that we would meet when the moment was right, and that our higher selves were coordinating the co-incident that would bring us together.

Allow the relationship to come to you
Trusting in the knowledge that there exists a universal mind, or an energy web which connects us all in relationship, opens you to experiencing it on a subjective level. You develop complete trust that any connection you desire to make with others are accessible and available, no matter where they exist in the world. You cease searching for the connection because you are solid in your knowledge that your connection will be fulfilled, and manifest, when the time is right.

A columnist in a local paper recently ran a series of articles on how people met their partners in places and situations that are normally considered to be highly unlikely places to meet a serious partner. These included the church at which they were about to be wedded to someone else, looking for anonymous sex in a park washroom, or on a chat line.

There is no such place as the 'right' place to meet someone.
The only right place is where you are in any given moment.

He or she will appear wherever it is you are. In contrast to usual advice, you don't need to go out of your way to hang out at special places, or make any special effort to make contacts for business or relationship purposes. Allow the person to come to you. Open yourself to receiving the relationship you desire.

As in all aspects of your life, always act on any gentle inner nudgings. Avoid trying to second guess where these will lead. This can interfere with the process because your expectations may lead to disappointment, which leads to fear and a lack of trust in the process. Instead, trust that your inner guidance is leading you to exactly where it is you need to be, even though you may not understand its purpose in the moment.

The power of saying "No"
While opening yourself to receiving the relationship you desire, it is likely you will have to exercise the power of saying, "No." Whenever core beliefs are changed, there is a period of adjustment, and people and situations may continue to show up that reflect your old beliefs. One of the most powerful choices you have is to say, "No. I do not choose this for myself any more."

Remember that all your relationships mirror, in a holographic manner, our relationship to our inner self. Relationships include friendships, co-workers, clients, family members and relatives, romantic partners and anyone you interact with in the living of your life. None are exempt. For example, if you are working for an employer with whom you have a frustrating, difficult and discordant relationship, then it is important to examine your patterns and choices in this relationship.

As I began my healing process, one of the first relationships that no longer were tolerable for me was with my employer. I came to the point where I could no longer agree to his unreasonable expectations, and the lack of respect I received. Although I had no job to go to, I bravely gave my notice after weeks of contemplation. I felt that for my mental, emotional and spiritual health I needed to deeply trust in my inner guidance and take a step into the unknown.

One of the most difficult relationships I had to let go of was with a friend I had known since childhood. As I grew, our paths diverged, and I no longer found her to treat me as lovingly as I had begun to treat myself. She hadn't changed — only I had. What was once okay for me, no longer was.

After my last romantic relationship, I was determined to never enter into one that was similar, and repeat the same patterns. I decided that I would rather be single for the rest of my life, than have a repeat performance. Because of the work I had done on healing my issues, I became very sensitive to any signs that a similar dynamic was occurring between a romantic interest and me. It had also become very clear as to what I didn't want to experience with a partner. No matter how attracted or lonely I was, or how much we may have had in common, if there were signs of a dynamic I no longer wished to play out, I would trust my perceptions and feelings and say, "No." Sometimes I wondered if I was making the right decisions.

After more than three years of saying "No" more often than I would have liked to, I discovered I was making it very clear to my higher self that I was saying, "Yes" to having people in my life who reflected back to me my self love. And I was rewarded with wonderful friendships over time. I was enjoying my life so much, that I did not feel I was lacking anything by not having a romantic relationship. It is not that I didn't think it was possible — I knew that my partner would show up when the time was right, but I was in no hurry for it to happen. I felt more whole than I ever had in my whole life.

Following your passions
The energy I used to devote to finding a romantic partner became diverted to pursuing new interests and passions — such as writing about relationships. I am still surprised that writing brings me so much joy, because it was something I previously never enjoyed doing, or thought I did well. The inner excitement I feel whenever I finish an article, and upload it to the web makes me vibrate with bliss. I can literally feel bolts of energy beam from my body. Over the last few years I have become more focussed on fulfilling myself, instead of looking for someone to do it for me. I have started a new business, began teaching, set fitness goals, traveled, and began fixing up my home.

Doing whatever brings you great joy and excitement helps to attract harmonious relationships, because you are following your inner purpose, which leads to a greater sense of wholeness. It raises the rate of your vibration, intensifying its signal, so you attract more of the same experience.

Defining your relationship desires
In examining your karmic core issues through the mirroring process, relationship patterns become clearer. This is useful, because what you no longer wish to experience in a relationship is defined. It is useful to write these down on paper, and make them concrete. Clarify these as you grow and understand who you are and what your needs and desires are.

For example, I decided that in my next relationship I no longer wished to experience with my partner:
• drama
• intense conflict
• neediness and longing
• invalidation of my feelings and perceptions
• rejection and abandonment
• lack of affection
• emotional detachment
• disregard of boundaries
• controlling behavior
• dishonesty
• denial
• betrayal

It is also important to write what you would like to experience. In my list I included:
• peace
• joy
• love
• effortlessness
• nurturing
• intimacy
• gentleness
• laughter
• respect
• physical attraction
• trust

In knowing myself, I wrote down the characteristics I wished my partner to have:
• ability to communicate their feelings and thoughts
• be at a similar place in awareness of their issues and healing
• be open to and share similar spiritual beliefs
• have creative interests
• be interested in fitness
• enjoy traveling
• have a healthy balance of independence and interdependence
• live in the same city
• be following their own passions and interests
• be financially responsible

I added a few qualities to my list that weren't necessary, but would be bonuses. My partner would:
• be similar in age
• enjoy hiking, camping and outdoor activities
• have friends that I like and get along with well
• have things to teach me
• like gardening and taking care of their home
• be tall in height

In imagining the romantic partner I would like to have, I drew upon positive feelings and experiences I had with previous partners. I would identify the exact feeling I enjoyed the most with other partners, and imagined having this with my next partner. It is difficult to verbalize these feeling experiences, but I felt them as though they were happening now.

Once in a while, whenever the impulse struck me, I would imagine this relationship in meditation. After three years, when I was able to visualize this without attachment, fear or a sense of longing, I met someone with whom I have been able to experience this kind of relationship and meets each one of my needs and desires. Down to the last detail.

Each one of your desires is holy and honored by the universe. Because you are divine, all of your desires are fulfilled automatically through the co-creative process. Becoming conscious of your beliefs and choices awakens you to your wondrous power, and the limitless love of all that is.

******
Wow, reviewing all list made me realize BC nearly fit the requirements perfectly - I think the one thing I forgot to put on my list was "he's not bisexual, but instead is perfectly comfortable with his gay sexuality." Next time...

2006-08-25T00:37:00.000-07:00

A Banal Blowjob

Last week after chatting with half a dozen guys, I ended up meeting none of them. The first "date" didn't show up as planned. When I got home he had emailed me a weak apology, explaining that he got home late from a friend's house where he was helping him pour concrete in his backyard. I didn't bother to reply.

I never heard from the handsome blond bisexual again, nor have I seen him on MSN since.

I was supposed to email the gay couple the afternoon before we were to meet that evening. I did, and didn't hear back from them.

Nor did I hear from the ex-Vancouverite this week - we had suggested going for coffee once he got back from M*edicine Hat.

Apparently cruising in small town L*thbridge isn't that different from cruising in Vancouver, or anywhere else in the world.

I went online this afternoon, feeling horny but not hopeful, when I saw someone new on the chat. I messaged him, and found out he was 6'1", 180 lbs, 42" chest, 31" waist, 7.5" cut cock, blue eyes and light brown hair. A hairy chest. He was 42 according to his profile - just a year older than me, but because his hair was receding, he looked what I normally think of as 42. But he was handsome. He was a runner who enjoyed training for marathons. I found out he lives just a block away from where I work out, so we arranged to meet in front of my gym, and if we were interested, we'd fool around. My attitude was rather blasé about the situation, but I had nothing better to do.

It's been so long since I had sex that I was a little worried that I wouldn't get turned on. After all, his picture didn't convey that he's drop dead sexy. He kind of looked like someone's father. I tried to remember what I used to do to get a hard on, but the memories were faint. In the past in Vancouver I was normally a little drunk when hooking up, but since I don't drink any more, that wasn't an option. Plus I wanted to lift weights afterward.

So I took a thorough shower, got dressed in shorts and a tank top, and hopped on my bike to the gym. I worked up a bit of a sweat - it was hotter outside than I realized, and began worry about being hot, sweaty and sticky. If I were meeting up for sex with an ex-boyfriend I wouldn't be concerned, but with a stranger with whom I have no history or connection, it seemed a little too intimate to introduce personal pheremones and body fluids into the tryst.

I arrived on time, and I saw him at the far end of the parking lot. I parked my bike and walked over to him. He looked a bit younger than his picture, and was a little cuter than I expected. He looked awkward, but I thought, "What the heck, let's give it a try," and after saying hello, asked if I should lock my bike up and come with him.

"Sure," he said.

It was only one short block to his house, and on the way he said hello to two people - L*thbridge is that small. (I told you, everyone knows each other here.) One was to a guy in a car that passed us, and the other was to a guy walking across the street - they had walked their dogs together just a couple of hours ago. Meanwhile, I was trying to think of how I could get turned on - what was there about him or the situation that I could eroticize. I can't even remember what he was wearing - he was that non-descript. I know it was shorts, a t-shirt and sandals because he told me he on the chat he would be wearing these, but I couldn't tell you what colour or style they were. I did like his friendly/nervous manner and blue eyes - he kind of looked like the typical Lethbridge man. Sort of Mormon, sort of Dutch, sort of Caucasian/bland. His voice had a slight "gay" sound to it, but it wasn't overly pronounced.

We entered his house from the backyard. It was a wood paneled home from the 1920s. He had just finished renovating it. As we walked into the back porch, he explained he had a miniature weiner dog (sorry, I can't think of the name of the dog). It's one of those short, but very long dogs with tiny legs. They're really cute. I took off my running shoes in the covered back porch, and walked into an immaculate house, with new wood floors. It was tastefully and modestly painted and decorated. The style was inspired by the prairies - a little barren, but solid. We stood in his kitchen talking for a few minutes, and then he led me upstairs to his bedroom. I wondered if he had an appointment later - everything seemed a bit rushed and impersonal. He didn't give me any real personal details, like what he did for a living. I didn't offer any either.

He took my backpack and explained, "I'll put it in the closet. Not because I want to steal it or anything, but the dog will chew on it if it's left on the floor." Whatever. I asked to use his washroom, and he went to his linen closet and got me a washcloth and matching towel, which I appreciated because I wanted to wipe the dew off my skin. While in the washroom, I realized how weird this situation was. I really didn't feel anything - not excitement, apprehension and especially not sexual arousal.

When I finished in the washroom, I went into his bedroom, and he was standing there talking to his dog, telling it to lie down and be quiet. It always disturbs me when I have sex in front of an animal. I'm a little afraid it will want to join in. He holds me gently by my shoulders and tries kissing me. It was a very non-committal kiss. It was like he didn't want to kiss me, but didn't know what else to do. He's the awful kind of kisser that just flicks his tongue in and out at you. Without any foreplay, he removes my shirt and says, "You've got a nice chest." He nervously touches my chest.

I take off his shirt, and discover that he is hairy - a light brown hair, with a small but very toned chest. Not exactly sexy, but not awful either. We move in toward each other and hug, avoiding our lips touching, and I realize his hairy chest is rather scratchy. It's not silky smooth like BCs was. His body also feels wiry. Like tight little muscles all bunched up in his back and chest and arms. His skin isn't soft - although it doesn't look pimply, it feels like there are hard little bumps, so it's not terribly pleasurable to feel his body or his skin or his hairy chest.

I console myself with the thought that "at least he said he has a 7.5" cock." The next thing I know is that he's removed my shorts, and his own shorts, which he folds neatly and puts on the dresser so his dog doesn't eat them.

He unceremoniously lays down on his bed, so I join him, wondering if I'm going to get an erection. I'm not nervous or turned off - I just feel neutral. Again, he tries kissing me with his snake tongue for about three seconds, then fortunately stops and moves down and begins using his flickering tongue on my nipples. It feels not bad, but he doesn't have a lot of skill in this department. He doesn't realize that he needs to slightly bite them, then flicker his tongue on them, and repeat. I let my hand wander over to his underwear, and grab his package - he's already nearly erect! My dick is as limp as West Coast slug.

After a far too brief time on my nipples, he pulls off my underwear with no warning, and begins sucking on my limp dick. It just feels wet. His weiner dog meanwhile is whining and whimpering on the side of the bed, so he breaks every few seconds to tell the dog to "shoosh, and lay down."

He apologizes to me, and says, "I'm sorry, he's such a good dog though - but he may have to come up on the bed with us. Is that okay?"

I'm thinking, "Fuck, no!" But instead I say, "Well, as long as he doesn't join us," trying to make it sound like I'm joking.

He goes back to mouthing my still limp cock, but gradually it lengthens a little. He stretches it occasionally with his middle finger and thumb. I start playing with my own nipples, close my eyes and make a concerted effort to block out the dog in the room.

I decided to check out his dick, so I sit up and take off his underwear. His cock is fairly hard, and it looks nice. I wouldn't say it was 7.5" - if it is, then so is mine - I may even be larger. Nevertheless, I begin sucking on it, and it's nicely proportioned - not too thin, not too thick, not quite average either. It feels nice in my mouth.

I take a moment to play with his balls, and I noticed that they're not low hangers. They're rather tight against the base of his dick. Not bad though. I continue to suck his dick, easily deep throating it (BC forever changed my sucking technique) and realize that I'm actually enjoying myself. I get hard. He doesn't make a sound while I'm sucking on it, so I don't know if he's enjoying himself or if I'm doing a good job.

After just a few minutes, he puts his hand on his cock as if to stop me. I look up at him, and he says, "I'm close to cumming." I'm surprised - after so short a time? After practically no erotic foreplay or interaction? He gestures to get into a 69 position, so I move around so that my cock is over top of his mouth, and his is below me.

He says, "You've got a nice cock," and I reply, "Thanks, so do you."

The position is a little awkward for me - I need to use my muscles to balance properly, which takes my attention away from any sensation of having my cock sucked. After a few minutes he says, "Do you like being rimmed, or ass play?"

If he was a boyfriend, or I was in the midst of having hot sex with a super hottie, I would have said yes. But I couldn't imagine having my butt played with by his tongue or his finger. It would probably just feel wet and weird. I said, "sometimes, but not right now."

His profile on the chat mentioned that he was a top - I tried to form the mental imagine in my mind of him fucking me, and it just didn't work. Besides, it's not something I do with a stranger.

Meanwhile, my finger is wandering over to his ass, playing with rubbing his hole with saliva from his balls. For the first time he makes a small moaning sound. I momentarily try imagining fucking him, and again, no mental picture forms. The attempt to imagine fucking him begins to turn me off, so I move out of the 69 position, and lay on my back, waiting for him to blow my now mostly erect cock.

He moves on top of me, facing me, and begins sucking my cock properly, and manages to play with my nipples with his hands at the same time. I focus intensely on the sensations, and manage to get into it. It actually feels really good. I'm quite hard now, and he's deep throating me, and I can feel his snake-like tongue flickering the underside of my cockhead. I feel like humping his mouth aggressively, but don't - I'm not sure if he'd like that.

I let him go on and on, until I realize I haven't pleasured him in quite a while, so thinking it's my turn to do him, I sit up, and he lays down on his back. I momentarily imagine climbing onto his face and forcefully sticking my cock in his mouth and fucking it - that always turned BC on. But again, I'm not sure if he likes aggression. So instead I go back to sucking his cock.

After just a few minutes he puts his hand on his cock to stop me, and says, "I'm close, I'm going to cum." I think to myself, "Why the hell not, let's get it over with."

"How would you like me to cum?" he asks me. I look puzzled, so he says, "I mean, on your chest, face or in your mouth?" I find his question a bit odd - I'm not sure how to respond. I really don't care - I don't get particularly excited by cum on my face though. I mean, it could get in my eyes. So I say, "Where do you like it?"

"In my mouth," he answers, quickly.

I said, "I like that too." So I go back to blowing him, and within 30 seconds he cums, without making any noise. I wouldn't have known he'd had an orgasm except that my mouth filled up with his cum. I wasn't sure that I wanted his cum in my mouth, but now it was, and cautiously I tasted it, wondering if I should spit it out in case it tasted gross.

But amazingly, it was probably the best cum I've ever tasted! It tasted completely neutral and clean. It was delicious! I swallowed it, and went back to licking up any traces left on his cock. I became a cum hungry cocksucker for a moment.

He looked completely drained, but I moved onto my back, waiting for him to finish me off. He collected his energy, and went down on me, doing quite a good job. I played with my nipples, which always increases the pleasure of a blow job for me, and within a minute or so came in his mouth. I looked at him, and he had a momentary look as if, "Um, do I want to swallow this?" After looking down at my stomach with his mouth full and wondering if he should spit it out, he decided to swallow it. And then he went back to sucking my dick, which was now overly sensitive and I yelped and hollered like his weiner dog.

I groaned, and he got up and grabbed the towel and washcloth and threw it at me, while he went to clean up. His weiner dog jumps up on the bed and starts chewing on my underwear, growling and flipping it back and forth like he's fighting with it. I pull them out of his mouth and put them on. Within moments, he was back and getting dressed, so I did too. I was still impressed by how delicious his cum was, so without thinking I said, "Are you a vegetarian?"

"What? Why do you ask?" he said.

"Well, it's a little gross, but…your cum tasted fantastic."

He smiled, pleased, and said, "Yeah, I only eat organic fruits and vegetables and some fish."

"I can tell," I said.

My bland but delicious tasting Lethbridge guy said we should get together again, I agreed, and before I knew it, I was out the door and on my way to the gym. In fact, I'd nearly forgotten about the whole blowjob by the time I reached the end of the block. I realized this, and thought - wow, that was so banal.

2006-08-24T08:32:00.000-07:00

GLBT committees: their true colours?

Why is it that GLBT organizations are often so disorganized, dysfunctional and ultimately negative experiences for volunteers and hired contractors? In Vancouver, I worked on a large project for the GLBT community. I'd never been involved before at the organizational level and was excited to meet some of the driving forces and contribute my talents and abilities. After working with them for about six months, I realized I'd never worked with more fucked up, inexperienced and selfish people in my life.

Perhaps it's this way in every volunteer-based, non-profit society? Possibly it's true in every board driven organization? What I discovered is that it's highly political, in the social sense. Those who work on the board as supports tend to walk on egg shells, trying to avoid upsetting the delicate sensitivities of the more powerfully positioned and ego-maniacal personalities of the directors and other power players.

In this instance, there was a gay man who did a lot of the actual work in organizing the association, writing grants and making connections with other people in the community to get work done. He seemed to be working out of the goodness of his heart, because he truly cared about the organization and what it was doing. He appeared to be well balanced, soft spoken and a genuinely kind person. He lived off of disability so he worked as a volunteer. I'm not sure what the disability was for - I think it had something to do with being HIV positive, or possibly having AIDS, but I didn't clarify this with him.

Then there was a transgendered person, a male who lived as a female, who was possibly the most revolting, loud, sleazy, untalented, aggressive and manipulative human being I've ever met. Somehow this awful and corrupt person managed to get an important government job in health services. I honestly think she moved up to a Director position simply because the government has a policy of hiring visible minorities, not because she had any important skills or even a university education. (After getting the Director's job, she went on disability and has been on it for years and years - I'm not sure what it was for, but something to do with stress, depression and transgendered issues. So now she worked in a volunteer, assistant director capacity.) She was disorganized, couldn't write and showed up at meetings to bully people, pushing her personal agendas, and trying to gain power with her very loud voice. When she wanted something from you, she'd be very nice. She also constantly crossed professional/personal boundaries - I can't tell you how many times she aggressively sexually harassed me, and in entirely inappropriate situations. For instance, in a taxi she told me in her loud voice so that the driver could hear, how she'd been fucked last night by a trick, and then went onto tell me that she still had a penis, etc.

We constantly butt heads because she had no experience in the area that I worked, so didn't understand the process of how things are done. Actually, no one on the committee understood my area of expertise, so I was always educating them. For some reason they didn't believe what I told them, so they'd go contact another professional in my industry to make sure I wasn't lying. It would turn out that I was right, but it never seemed to build trust in me - I felt constantly under attack. The campaign turned out fabulous, everyone loved it and it was effective, but getting it accomplished was the biggest nightmare of my career.

Another contractor the association hired was a young gay male, again, professionally inexperienced, but who had a pleasing personality. It was his job to try to organize the campaign, and facilitate all of the competing and conflicting personalities in the association. I secretly called him 'The Politican,' because he was so skilled at being a people-pleaser without saying or doing anything concrete. He gained the support of all the important people and attempted to be the go-between myself and the rest of the organization. He also managed to get all of the public and media recognition from the campaign - he was the public personality and took all of the credit. He also liked to schmooze with Vancouver politicians, and found every opportunity to be photographed with them.

After working with them for a week, I began to hear all the gossip and cutting comments everyone had to say about each other, behind their backs. No one liked the transgendered Assistant Director but everyone was scared of her. The male Director who appeared to be nice, showed his true colours when something didn't go his way - he became unreasonable, irrational and stubborn. Then everyone danced around agreeing with him, even when it was clear that he was wrong. The other committee members were mostly silent, expressing their opinions on a rare occasion, but didn't insist on having their way done. Many of them were very professional and experienced, and I think they looked at the directorship as ridiculous, and avoided getting involved in the constant soap opera.

It seems to me that GLBT organizations tend to attract very screwed up people. I've even noticed it here in L*thbridge. There's always the young people, who are new to coming out, full of passion and anger at society, who act as though they have a chip on their shoulder because no one ever listened to them, and are incapable of working as a team. Someone brings up an idea and if it doesn't fit into their personal agenda, they disagree vehemently and aggressively. The concept of multiple perspectives and needs isn't in their mental framework. These associations also attract older versions of these youngsters, but are additionally motivated by gaining power and position. Why is it that these organizations always tend to attract people with no professional experience in their role? Also, sorry to be politically insensitive, but I've found transgendered people to be the most difficult to deal with it, as well as lesbians.

The GLBT community is likely a more extreme version of most organizations, committees and boards, because those involved have had to deal with negative personal and societal attitudes toward their sexuality. They are constantly battling their internalized self-hatred and externalize it when attempting to work with others. Likely the situation is better in larger cities like San Francisco and New York because there is greater acceptance of gays and lesbians.

Ironically working with them made me feel like an enemy within my own community - something I've never experienced when working with the heterosexual community. It's amazing that anything ever gets accomplished.

2006-08-20T08:29:00.000-07:00

There is Life in L*thbridge

Thursday night I decided to check out gay.com and was amazed to discover that there were actually half a dozen or so guys online from L*thbridge. Usually the chatroom is empty or there's one lurker who's always on. Maybe it's because the post-secondary students are coming back into town, getting ready for the fall term. Anyway, I ended up chatting with a few interesting men.

The first was a young 24 year old couple who moved here from Ontario. Both of them are pretty hot. They wanted me to come over and fool around. In particular, the blond wanted me to "aggressive f*ck" his boyfriend. Unfortunately it was too late for me to travel to the end corner of this town, so I passed. Since then we've been volleying messages back and forth.

Then "L*thbridge bisexual" messaged me. I started chatting with him before I looked at his profile, and oh my goodness, he has to be one of the best looking guys I've ever seen. He's 26, 6'2", 180 lbs, blond, blue eyes and has the most gorgeous lats and smile. After chatting for a while, he wanted to go to MSN because he kept getting messaged by the other guys on gay.com. After chatting for a while, I discovered that he has practically no experience with gay sex, other than at parties where other guys get drunk and fool around a bit. He met one guy out dancing once, and ended up blowing each other in his car. He's a student. Unfortunately I had to take a phone call, so I ended up losing our chat. Nevertheless, it made me feel more positive about this city.

Another handsome guy I chatted with, 33, moved here from Vancouver about four years ago. We had a lot to reminesce about, but he actually likes L*thbridge. He invited me to go for coffee this upcoming week, once he gets back from Medicine Hat.

Then last night I chatting with another bisexual guy, who apparently lives just a few blocks from me. He's closer to my age, 5'7", 165, brown hair and green eyes. He offered to connect me to his web cam, but because MSN doesn't make the most recent version for Mac, I was unable to see him live. Nevertheless, we're going for a hike in the coulees tonight.

I guess I'll be walking under the H*gh Level Bridge - not across it - for now.

2006-08-15T19:56:00.000-07:00

Small Town Celibacy

[Picture: At the bottom of the coulees of Lethbridge]

One thing I really dislike about Lethbridge is that it has put a complete end to my sex life. If there are gay people here, I don't have a clue where to find them. There's a few online, but the majority are unattractive old men. Long gone are the days of going online and hooking up with a hot guy within an hour, like it was in Vancouver.

Apparently there are "gay dances" once a month at the Polish Centre here, but only from September to May, when the university kids are in town for school. I've heard that everyone stands around nervously giggling like at a high school dance. I can't imagine the music would be any good either.

There are no coffee shops or mixed dance clubs in this city to meet other gay men. Apparently the trails down by the coulees are frequented, but again, mostly with older men, and that scene just isn't my style.

Then it seems when you do meet someone for a coffee, or online, you end up knowing their entire social network. It becomes very messy. Long gone are the days of hooking up with someone once or twice, and never running into them, or their friends, again.

It could be my own projection, but I also get the impression that because the gay people here live in a small town, they're a lot more sensitive. They actually have feelings - you can hurt them if you turn them down, or don't want to see them again, or possibly even just have bad sex. And because you know where they work, or who their friends are, or go to the same university, or your sister is married to one of their cousins, or you go to the same church - there's just no getting away from the situation. You have to be accountable for all your actions here. One bad word from some gay guy you meet to another gay guy in Lethbridge, and your reputation is tarnished. People will whisper behind your back. Because people's lives here are so dull, it becomes the discussion du jour around the water cooler.

I met a cute young kid, 20, for a possible hook up the other day. We met for coffee, and after talking for an hour, I realized I just couldn't have sex with him. Not because I didn't want to, or that he was unattractive: it was because I was afraid of hurting his feelings. He tried to put on a good "front" - as though he was casual about sex and hook ups. But part of me didn't buy it. Because there are so few options here, I imagine gay guys fall in love with someone new at the drop of a hat. They're just so relieved to have met someone who shares their sexuality that they're not terribly picky.

In addition, he happened to know quite a few people that I know, and with whom I will have to interact with regularly over the upcoming year. I could imagine that if I had sex with him, then didn't bother to contact him again, how rejected and hurt he'd feel, and how he'd tell all those people we both know.

I can understand why so many gay men in Lethbridge travel to Calgary regularly, just to "get some." I'm going to have to make several trips in the upcoming months.

Another guy I've chatted with online for a few months is bisexual (and he probably reads this, so stop reading now!). Like many bisexual men, he wanted to be assured of complete confidentiality, even down to the fact that if we saw each other around town we wouldn't say hello to one another. That surprised me: while this situation never came about for me in Vancouver (because it's so large) I thought, "What's the big deal with saying hello?" But after talking more, we discovered that we'd be working out at the same gym eventually, and if I saw him, I'd have to pretend I didn't know him. Apparently he is well known in Lethbridge, and doesn't want to risk anyone knowing that he fools around with other men. Not being able to acknowledge one another's presence, even just by saying, "Hello," disturbed me. It didn't sit right with me - especially if we had fooled around together and been intimate. And it pisses me off that he'll be working out at the same gym as myself, meaning that I'll probably have to deal with the situation. So at this point in time, I'm very split as to whether or not we should hook up. We haven't yet.

I really don't know how gay men manage to live in such a small town. I can't wait to leave. Man, do I ever miss getting together with Brad. Not just because of his looks - I felt like we really connected on some level. But I haven't heard or seen from him in over a month. Some guy, the same age as Brad, committed suicide last week by jumping off the High Level Bridge [see image above]. They didn't release his name in the paper - I hope it wasn't Brad.

Who knows, it might be me soon!

2006-08-14T08:32:00.000-07:00

J.C.

[Note: This soccer player looks nothing like J.C., but I haven't been able to find a pic of someone who's as gorgeous and blond as J.C. yet, so this is just eye candy filler.]

"Why don't you go fuckin' nail yourself to the wall, if you can't nail the ball, you fuckin' fuck-up." J.C. said, with perfectly shaped, full lips and a scowl on his flawless face. This said after a team member missed smashing the volleyball into the opponents arena.

He was one of those German/Scandanavians, who's so blond, their long eyelashes are invisible, as are their shapely brows. Nearly albino, his short, but full head of thick blond hair was silvery in sunlight.

Provoked at any real or imagined sleight, this freak of nature would yell in a deep voice, puff up his pectorals, fist his hands and get in yer face. You thought he was about to punch you in any given moment. But he looked like an angel.

He was heard to have said, "I'm the smartest guy around here," and chose a new person to pick on every few days. I used to watch him stretching during warm-ups, in his shorts and tank, marveling at his smooth, small-pored skin and blushed-ivory skin. I drooled over his Men's Fitness body; his shapely thighs that ended in a rounded, fuckable butt. When he leaned back on his arms, I enviously admired his defined triceps and biceps. Doing sit ups I imagined the abs underneath his wife-beater, and the square swell of pectorals with tongue inviting rose-colored nipples.

He liked to loudly proclaim how rich and important his father is, how big their country home is, how many boats and Rvs they owned. Although he gave me many reasons to not like him, I couldn't help it. I saw him as a young kid (23) who simply hadn't grown up yet. J.C. overheard me talking to someone about my history, and after thinking for a while, he came running over to me. He had a habit of standing too close to people, then speaking loudly and gesturing aggressively.

"How old were you when you went to university? 8?" His silvery green eyes looked at me widely. "How old the fuck are you?" His index finger stabbed me in the chest when he made his point.

Immensely complimented, I told him, and he replied, "Holy shit, I thought you were fuckin' just a few years older than me, maybe ten. I didn't realize you could be my fuckin' father!"

After being at the retreat for a week, I never saw J.C. in the weight gym. I realized he didn't work out. He played sports with us, but I never saw him working on his perfect body. I eventually approached him, and said:

"I never see you working out in the weight room - don't you lift weights?"

"No," he said sullenly.

Mirroring his language, I said, "Holy shit, so you look like that without working out?"

J.C. smiled bigly when he realized I was stroking his ego, and said, "Yeah."

I said, "I didn't even know there were people like you…am I ever envious!"

"I guess you and I both have good genes." J.C. said.

Just at that moment, another guy, Cody from Vancouver, came walking up and saw our interaction and said, "What you talking about? Did Intertextual just tell you you're cute?"

It must have been obvious that I was flirting. I was embarrassed, but J.C. seemed non-plussed and laughed, shaking it off.

Cody said, in a joking tone, "Well you are J.C."

As a result, I didn't have to deal with being the object of J.C.s anger management problem during my vacation.

J.C.s bravado must have been masking a very sensitive nature, because he was one of the few guys who broke down and cried when we all said goodbye.

2006-08-12T14:04:00.000-07:00

Co-Dependent?

Kevin explained a co-dependent relationship by 'going off' on a narrative-rant (and it wasn't even directed at me):

"You like to get involved with someone who is less educated, talented and attractive than you, so that you get to feel needed. You believe that this person needs your help, and because you have so much to offer, you get a false sense of security by being with them - you think they won't leave you, because there's no one better for them than you.

But overtime, you actually do help them to feel better about themselves, so that their self-esteem raises and they realize that you're not the right person for them. So they end up leaving you anyway.

You wonder why you're always betrayed. Ironically, you were the one dependent on them."

Kevin's rant was directed at someone else, but it actually impacted me. I'd never heard it described so clearly before. It described each of my relationships! It's really made me reconsider my past decisions...

2006-08-04T04:40:00.000-07:00

Trevor: Unmasked: Part 3
Read Part 2 here.

Trevor's nipples became erect when we entered the air conditioned hospital. He had goosebumps, so he put on his t-shirt.

Because it's a small country hospital, there was no one waiting. Trevor got admitted immediately. There was a mirror on the wall, in which Trevor looked at himself. He made faces at himself, trying to move the muscles on the left side of his face. He looked so cute.

The doctor was cute too. He looked like he was 21. He was short and cute. He used the internet to look up Trevor's problem.

Trevor had a virus, that started eating up the muscular nerves on the left side of his face. In the majority of cases, the nerves heal, but it may take one to three months. What's ironic is that, in therapy, Trevor was working on "unmasking."

"I guess I've only half-unmasked," he said.

He had just taken a workshop in un-masking. Before I met him, he was Mr. Tough Guy. I guess I was meeting the kinder, gentler guy.

2006-07-30T12:42:00.000-07:00

Trevor: Unmasked

Read the first part here.

His right eye wouldn't stop blinking.

"See," Trevor said.

I looked him straight in the face and noticed for the first time how long his dark and thick his eyelashes were. They lined his lids, making the green in his eyes more prominent. He moved his head from side to side, first showing me one eye, then the other. The soft morning light lit his face, and his chiseled jaw and cheekbones cast dramatic shadows. He is a living Caravaggio.

I turned a little red when I gazed at his lips and remembered my early morning fantasy. He blinked twice about once every second.

"Everyone's going to think I'm winking at them," he joked.

Since he had developed a sore throat two days earlier, I wasn't too concerned for him. Sometimes when I'm coming down with a cold, my eye will twitch, imperceptibly for a few days. True, it didn't blink like Trevor's eye, but perhaps this was just a different manifestation of the same problem.

Leaving the 7-11 the next day, I saw Trevor with a group of other people from the retreat outside, gorging themselves on buffalo wings, corndogs and slurpees. I decided to slip away and go back to camp without saying hello: there were a few obnoxious guys I didn't feel like dealing with.

I turned the corner, thinking I'd successfully avoided them, when I saw Trevor catch my eye. With a smirk on his face he impulsively dashed toward me, and said, "Think you'd get away from me that easily?" He winked at me.

Without warning, he peeled off his t-shirt in a quick, fluid motion. Smooth Hershey milk chocolate skin rippled with taut pecs and abs. A flash of dark hairy armpits. Tufts of silky chest hair danced between his pecs, and trailed from his navel into nether regions.

"Could you do that in slow motion?" I wanted to ask. His nipple was at my eye level, and I was dangerously too close.

"I can't close my left eye now," Trevor said, then sucked on his vanilla slushee.

"What do you mean?" I offered him a piece of my Cadbury Fruit and Nut Bar.

"No thanks, I don't like chocolate," he said. He stopped suddenly, facing me, and I nearly walked mouth first into his pecs. He squinched, but only the right side of his face wrinkled. The left side didn't move.

"See?" he said.

The right side of his mouth curled into a sneer, but the left side remained placid. His blinking right eye and brow scowled, but the left eye remained open and expressionless.

"Holee, when did that happened?" I asked, horrified.

"It started this morning when I woke up," Trevor said. "I think it's gotten worse as the day went on."

"Have you seen a doctor?" I asked.

"No, but do you think I should? Everyone's just been teasing me about it, so I wasn't sure if it was serious."

"So you can't even shut your left eye when you try? How are you going to sleep tonight?" I asked, in horror. "I think we should go to emergency RIGHT NOW!" We started walking at a face pace toward the country hospital, only a few blocks away. I wanted to run there.

"What do you think it is…a stroke?" he wondered, aloud. "Maybe it's a reaction to the antibiotics I'm taking for my sore throat?"

"I don't know, but we definitely need to get it checked out."

2006-07-29T07:12:00.000-07:00

Boreal Bluet

writing without punctuation
is like the dragonfly that
slipstreams cross the surface
of the mirror and is
reflected 423 times two
but doesn't see itself because
it's driven along by the current
it navigates with gossamer wings
and only angels know to where it goes
it distinguishes itself not from the
wind or the water or the waves of grass
it glides glistening a fluorescent blue
a sliver of sky let loose and fluttering
it flies by and by

2006-07-20T17:10:00.000-07:00

Trevor

I saw the back of his neck, first. The chocolate latte skin. And the beautiful shape of his sculptured head, shaved bristle-short. Then he turned around and smiled at me with smoky hazel eyes framed by streamlined brows, an aquiline nose and full, beautifully shaped lips. The corners of his mouth curled upward into a single quotation mark.

I couldn't stop looking at his lips. The way his pearly teeth pressed into them, softly lingering. He looked like a Dolce and Gabbana model: unattainable. But he exuded an earthy, comforting warmth.

He said hello in a voice I wanted to snuggle into. And when he extended his arm in greeting, I noticed his baseball sized bicep and skull tattoo. I was a bit scared, because if you didn’t notice the genuine friendliness in his eyes, you might think he would stick a knife into you.

"Trevor," he said.

He told me that he had been in and out of prison for various reasons, including vehicle thefts, possession of firearms and public mischief. But that’s because he’d been doing crack and crystal meth. Then he spent 8 months in a psychiatric hospital seeing demons while hallucinating, brought on by the drugs. Trevor said it had made him a believer in the spiritual realm.

While in the hospital, another patient wrote him a rap song.

"Do you want to hear it?" Trevor asked me.

He sat down and leaned in closer to me, so his lips nearly touched my ear, and without hesitating spoke the words in rhythm. His cappuccino voice was hypnotic and put me in a spell. I wanted to lay cupped in arms in bed, having him whisper songs in my ear.

He showed me his tattoo: a skull with a cross on its forehead, and a gun-holding hand with the numbers 187 scrawled across the top. Celtic flourishes wrapped around his triceps and down to his forearms. "187", he explained, stood for some gang code. I can't remember what exactly, because when he told me I was mesmerized by his lips forming the words.

Later, at 3am I woke with an erection. I imagined his hazel eyes looking up at me while those soft, luscious lips blew me. I shot my load, and massaged it into a creamy froth on my torso.

2006-07-08T09:35:00.000-07:00

Mason Wyler

I'm not prone to writing about porn stars, but I have to break tradition and mention "Mason Wyler." Unlike some people, I really like porn. I first saw this guy on Randy Blue and completely fell in lust with him. He has to be the sexiest guy I've ever seen. I just wanted to bring him to your attention. What do you think?

2006-07-06T21:50:00.000-07:00

Goodbye Chris Labelle!

Unfortunately Chris was voted off last night. I guess the Canadian audience didn't go for his monopoly money throwing stage antics and red Mohawk. I sure did. I think he's so hot!

So does Ben Mulroney, apparently. You can see him rubbing his hair in the animated image above, and he was so touchy-feely with Chris. I would be too, so I don't blame him.

During Chris' goodbye speech, he joked about wanting to be a tv weatherman, and then said that he would be releasing a CD in January, apparently on his own label. I seriously would go watch this guy perform - I'll have to see if I can get him to Southern Alberta.

There's an interview with him on the Canadian Idol site here - scroll to the bottom and click on "Chris Labelle." He reminds me a lot of Brad, in the way he talks in a stream of consciousness. Best wishes to him.

2006-07-05T22:27:00.000-07:00

Gender, Sex & Sexuality: Moving Toward an Omnisexuality

As we enter into a new millennium, one of the most important challenges facing humanity is to transform our understanding of gender, sex, and sexuality. While much work has been done in the last few decades, there is still much suffering in the world surrounding these issues. The spiritual meaning and purpose of gender, sex, and sexuality are difficult topics to discuss because our culture has many false beliefs about them. Discussion brings these false beliefs, which need to be examined and surrendered, to our awareness which triggers inner struggles. But the challenges they involve are one of their many gifts. Understanding these gifts brings a greater awareness of our wholeness and divinity so we may experience the ecstasy of our true nature.

In this article, I give you my thoughts on the dance of passion between the Shakti and Shiva energies within us, and how our relationship to each gives rise to our experience of sexuality. I avoid giving Shiva and Shakti a gender, because I believe that our culture's myths about male and female qualities are based upon false beliefs. These false beliefs result in karmic core issues, which are played out in human sexuality, and ask for our healing.

The diversity of human sexuality is truly remarkable, and each manifestation of it requires us to deconstruct our false beliefs about power and the meanings of gender, so that we become truly empowered. Learning to love the unique expressions of our divinity, through the expression of our human sexual selves, allows us to get closer to experiencing the erotic and passionate nature of the universe.

The ecstatic love of Shakti and Shiva

Each one of us carries within equal amounts of the complementary energies of the Creator. There are many names for these energies, but in this article I will identify them as the Vedic notions of Shiva and Shakti.

Shiva is the aspect of God within that is pure consciousness and potential power. It is like the dark matter described by Kryon that makes up the universe - it is infinite, aware, potential energy. It is invisible and silent. It is unlimited creative potential. It is omnipresent and the source of all that is. Shiva may be thought of as conceptual and intellectual. Shiva speaks to us through knowing - without words or feelings. Shiva is love.

Shakti is the aspect of God within that is creative power in action. Shakti is the will or desire that brings Shiva's potential into motion, and manifests it. It passionately triggers the potential creativity of Shiva, and actualizes it. Shakti is expressive and speaks to us through our senses. It is inspiration. Shakti is the verb form of love - loving.

Shiva and Shakti are not separate or distinct, and always work together as one. They are two sides of the indivisible Creator. In myth, Shakti's love for Shiva makes Shakti dance passionately and bring Shiva's creative potential into existence. They exist together in eternal ecstasy. It is their dance of intimacy that creates us and allows us to know and experience love. It is the source and force behind everything, including our relationships. It is the drive behind passionate love for each other and ourselves. We are Shiva and Shakti. When we are conscious of these universal forces of God within - when we acknowledge them as cooperative aspects of love, we experience ecstasy, wholeness, and a divine love for all that is.

When we fall in love, we are recognizing through the Shakti and Shiva within, the divinity of the other.

Shakti and Shiva are unrelated to gender

I wish to avoid applying gender specificity to these two energies by calling Shiva 'masculine' energy and Shakti 'feminine' energy. This confuses the nature of God because in our culture, male power has nothing to do with the characteristics of Shiva. Aggression, competition, domination and other abuses of power are the result of denying awareness of Shiva and misapplying the energies of Shakti. Aggression is Shakti energy without the awareness of love. It is fear in action. And where there is fear, love is hidden and denied.

Likewise, our culture has a very distorted understanding of 'feminine' power,' and so confuses our understanding of Shakti. Females in our culture have not been associated with power, but instead with passivity and receptivity. Even creativity is, at times, associated with weakness in North American culture. Yet Shakti empowers all action and creation.

The power associated with men and women in our culture is not the result of 'masculine' and 'feminine' energies - they are the result of Shiva and Shakti operating together to create imbalanced manifestations of power.

'Masculine' and 'feminine' qualities are based on myths. This is a false belief that has arisen over centuries of human evolution to the point that our genetic code has been affected to some degree and seems to provide "proof" that there is an essential difference.

Gender is neutral in meaning

It is like the color of your eyes or skin. We have applied beliefs to a neutral characteristic of our human bodies over the thousands of years that we have walked the earth. These beliefs are the result of an imbalance in Shiva and Shakti energies. Our false beliefs about gender are one of the most important gifts that sexuality brings to our awareness to be healed.

Falling in love

When we fall in love, Shiva gives us an inner knowing that the object of our affection can help to make us aware of our wholeness. Shakti inspires us to act and the union of the two energies within us causes us to experience passionate, sensual, and erotic love. We are driven to unite with the other, to explore the nature of our loved one, because we see a reflection of our wholeness in him or her. Sex is the act that mirrors the union of Shiva and Shakti within us - we desire to merge into wholeness with ourself.

For example, when I have met my romantic partners, I have known from the beginning that we would get involved in a relationship. A wordless, silent part of me knows and acknowledges that we have an important connection. This is the Shiva aspect of my being. The silent knowing of Shiva starts bubbling around inside me, stirring my emotions and passions and joyfully moves me to act on the knowing, so that I will see this person again. My feelings and desire to act is the Shakti energy working inside of me.

Shiva and Shakti energies must work cooperatively in us in order for us to fall in love, and on a deeper level, realize our divinity. There are individuals who never seem to meet a romantic partner. He or she may hold a false core belief that they are not worthy of love and therefore shut out the knowingness of Shiva. Or he or she may hear the wordless voice of Shiva, but doubt negates it, and therefore does not act on it and initiate Shakti's powers. At the root is fear. Where there is fear, there is a karmic core issue to heal, and until it is surrendered, we will not hear the wordless voice of Shiva's love. Where there is fear, we will not trust our inner guidance and act upon it in a loving, self-affirming manner.

When Shiva and Shakti energies are imbalanced, they create suffering, obsession, control issues and other forms of powerlessness. There are many variations of this. Some people always seem to be pining for someone who never appears or is unavailable. Others get involved with people who they can control, or who control them. Love does not involve pining or loss, and neither does it involve control. Only fear creates these situations, which are based on a false core belief of powerless and unworthiness of love.

Fear shuts down the guidance of Shiva, and uses Shakti in ways that we experience as non-loving and abusive. All relationships and sexual practices that are based on control, power over another, and powerlessness, are the result of Shakti energies being used in ways that are fear-based. The paradox is that even in fear-based uses of Shakti there is only love. Shiva only allows Shakti Shiva's power, and Shakti only acts and brings Shiva's potential into actuality because within everything and every experience is love. As long as any situation is needed for a spiritual purpose, both Shiva and Shakti allow it into creation. But the abuse of Shakti's power is not the easiest way to learn to heal our false core beliefs.

Complementary Relationships

Complementary relationships are manifested by our need to recognize in ourselves what we see in others. When we deny that the qualities we see in the other do not exist within ourselves, we become dependent on the other to give us a sense of completion or reject them because they reflect shadow qualities we wish to deny in ourselves.

Our dependence on another is not stable, because our fears become triggered. The ecstasy of falling in love usually lasts for only a few months, because we begin to fear that the wholeness we experience with another will be taken away. Our fear silences the voice of Shiva within. Our security is threatened, and our fears cause us to behave in defensive ways. We attempt to manipulate the other into giving us what we need by being demanding, threatening (we'll withdraw our love and affection until we get what we want or in extreme cases react with emotional and physical abuse), by trying to make the other feel guilty and acquiesce to our expectations, or by trying to please the other and denying our true feelings and needs. We misuse our Shakti energies.

Those in the relationship begin to experience conflict and drama. Each person is attempting to find wholeness in the other, instead of recognizing his or her wholeness within.

What do we see in another that makes us believe we will find wholeness in him or her? Ask yourself, "If my partner were to leave me, what would I feel missing?" Is it his or her independence, self-control, discipline, intellect and reason, competitiveness, or assertiveness? Is it his or her spontaneity, warmth, humor, honesty, passion, intuition, spirituality, cooperativeness, loyalty, protection, trustworthiness, ability to surrender or nurture? These are qualities we must recognize and honor within ourselves.

On the other hand, ask yourself, "What do I dislike most about my partner?" Is it their selfishness, detachment, rudeness, or dependence? Each of these mirror qualities we need to acknowledge, accept and love within ourselves, and thereby bring wholeness to our psyches. For example, if we experience our partner as selfish, then perhaps we need to be more selfish and honor our own needs by setting boundaries about what is acceptable behavior toward us.

Once we work through our false core beliefs, fears and accept ourselves with love, we bring Shiva and Shakti back into balance and again may experience the ecstasy of their cooperative union in others, the world and ourselves.

Deconstructing the myths of gender

One of the most important spiritual purposes of sexual attraction is to help us to deconstruct false core beliefs about gender. The limitless creativity of Shiva and Shakti has come up with many twists and turns in the experience and practice of sexuality. I will attempt to explain some of these and unwind some myths about gender.

Many thousands of years ago, when humans began to believe that we are separate from God, the loving guidance of Shiva became difficult to hear. Our belief in separateness of God triggered fears and insecurities, because we lost touch with our divinity. Our human selves took over, and tried achieving a sense of power and security by controlling others, or allowing ourselves to be controlled. We misused our Shakti energies. Through controlling others, or being controlled, we gained a sense of power, but it was illusory. Yet it brought certain gratifications for a creature that had forgotten its true divine nature.

In many cultures myths evolved about the nature of strength and power, and how these are related to male defensive behaviors such as aggression, domination and control. Women were relegated to serving men, and taught to be submissive, supportive and powerless. While there were always cultures that differed in beliefs regarding the imbalance of power between men and women, these expectations dominated world cultures. In the early twenty-first century, we are still attempting to usurp these myths.

We are all familiar with them. A man is aggressive, dominating, competitive, logical, physically strong, tough, unemotional, rational, territorial and independent. A woman is supposed to be passive, nurturing, cooperative, emotional, weak, compliant and dependent. Both of these are based upon an imbalance between Shiva and Shakti energies.

If we deviate from these cultural norms, we are ostracized, threatened, punished and rejected. Most of us have spent a lot of energy denying aspects of who we are in order to be accepted by others and our culture. This has lead to greater self-hatred and suffering. The truth is that we are all capable of all these qualities. Fortunately there have always been individuals who honored themselves and lived to be exceptions and examples to others.

There are many women throughout history who have exhibited qualities usually associated with men, and were very successful. In spite of our culture's beliefs, they achieved power or self-actualization in a male-dominated world. Feminism opened the doors on a large scale to begin examining, and deconstructing cultural myths about femininity, masculinity and gender.

Likewise, many men have had qualities usually associated with women in our culture. In various times and ages they were known as artistic, creative, sensitive, emotional, peaceful and nurturing beings. Sometimes they were relegated to positions of artist, fop, philosopher or holy man. Today there is a greater awareness of the many variations and combinations of masculine and feminine qualities within every male and female individual, and in some areas of the world, greater acceptance. The gender revolution keeps evolving.

Before incorporating, we choose specific combinations of gender and personal characteristics for many reasons. Women with strong 'male' characteristics may help other females to claim their own. And men with strong 'female' characteristics also challenge cultural norms and pervading societal beliefs. Our higher selves plan these variations from cultural norms with wisdom, in order to teach us about our society's limiting beliefs about gender. Each is an opportunity to learn become free of these limiting beliefs by validating and loving our own expression of divinity and those in others.

Sexual attraction variations

Other than gender and individual variations from cultural norms, there is also the variation of sexual attraction preferences. Sexual preferences, I believe, are chosen prior to incorporating in order to challenge individual and societal myths about gender, and give us opportunities to learn specific spiritual lessons.

I believe that sexual preference exists in the coding of our DNA as energy patterns, just as our personality, innate talents and abilities, physical appearance, and karmic core beliefs do. Sexual preferences may remain consistent over a person's life, or they may go through a sudden change. Some people, identified as bisexuals, experience a greater fluidity and freedom of choice in their sexual preference.

It's important not to confuse 'masculine' and 'feminine' characteristics with sexual preference. Sexual preference is a feature of our human selves that is a separate phenomenon.

While there are gay men and lesbians who clearly exhibit culturally defined 'feminine' and 'masculine' characteristics not peculiar to their gender, there are others who are perfect examples of our society's stereotypes of gender. Being gay does not mean that you are 'feminine.' And being lesbian does not mean that you are "butch." And like heterosexual men and women, most fall somewhere in-between.

Gays and lesbians — challenging patriarchal society

Our Western culture may be homophobic because sexual relationships between two men threaten our society's cultural/gender norms, and the foundation upon which male dominance is built — heterosexuality.

In the most extreme and dysfunctional examples of patriarchal culture, where a male and female attempt to experience power within its myths of gender, sexual relationships are eroticized as acts of domination and submission. The sexual dynamic may not be as obvious as sadomasochism, but instead involve subtle psychological control maneuvers. In the old energy, most sexual relationships involve the eroticization of power to some degree.

In this situation, a man uses the sexual passion of Shakti to eroticize his physical domination of a female, thereby giving himself an illusory sense of power. A woman too, uses the passion of Shakti to allow herself to eroticize the act of submitting to the physical domination of a male. Within passivity there is also the illusion of control, though it is more challenging to perceive because it is non-assertive.

Both individuals are attempting to experience power, either through domination or submission, and simultaneously they uphold the values of their culture — men are dominating, women are submissive.

In this model it is suggested that homosexual acts are paradoxical. According to this theory of sexuality, the men involved eroticize one another's symbols of masculine power, such as their physical structure, clothing and behavior. Yet the masculine power is simultaneously defiled, because the men engage in sexual acts that dominate or submit to another man. When a man allows himself to be dominated by another man, then the power of masculinity is defiled in a patriarchal society. Male power is based upon domination — not submission.

These are interpretations and experiences of human sexuality without the loving awareness that Shiva brings. Without love, sexuality becomes a forum of attempting to achieve a false sense of power. The individual who believes they are powerlessness attempts to regain a sense of power through his or her sexuality.

Sex, when practiced in this manner, is not about tenderness, intimacy, or communion with another individual. Without awareness of Shiva and Shakti together, there is only the impulse toward a false and fleeting sense of power and security. Where there is a balance of Shiva and Shakti, there is true intimacy, communion and love. True power — the power of love — comes from within each individual and is shared.

Gay sexuality

Gay sexual attraction is modeled upon the same template as heterosexual attraction. Within each man, or woman, are qualities denied in self, and in need of acknowledgement and acceptance. Gender plays very little part in this.

Other than challenging society's myths about gender, my sexuality provided other spiritual challenges. When I consider the meanings and spiritual purposes of being a gay male, many complex, interwoven reasons emerge.

When I was a child, I had qualities, and identified with interests that are usually associated with females. This did not make me gay, and it is not to say that I didn't feel male — I did, and do, and enjoy being male. But the things that interested most men — such as competitive team sports, and aggressive play-fighting — didn't appeal to me. My father modeled for me a gentle, non-aggressive demeanor, but he was disappointed when I couldn't share his excitement in playing hockey or baseball. I was naturally more attracted to creative and expressive endeavors.

My personality indicates that I am created with a greater propensity for culturally defined 'female' characteristics and interests. Not that I am effeminate or in any way less than other men. None of this has anything to do with sexual preference — it is important to recognize that heterosexual men may have similar characteristics to myself, and many gay men have identical interests and characteristics to our society's description of a typical heterosexual male.

I was aware of sexual feelings towards other males even before puberty, though I hadn't developed a discourse around these feelings. In puberty I showed a mild sexual interest in girls my age, but it was other males that I felt most strongly about. This caused several problems for me, from which I learned many important lessons.

The most important lesson was self-validation, on many levels. My family, peers and entire culture considered being gay an abomination, or a perversion. It set up a conundrum — either I could deny my sexual desires, thoughts and feelings in order to please others, but end up in self-hatred; or I could affirm my feelings, thoughts and desires, work through the fears of being rejected and hated by my family, friends and society, but honor myself.

Being gay made me become more independent and learn to honor and trust my inner self in a deeper way. I learned over many years that how I feel about myself is more important than what others think of me. I found that as I loved and accepted myself more, others accepted and loved me for who I am. Being gay made me risk losing my family's love and support by acting on what I knew to be essential to my wellbeing. It also made me question the core beliefs on which our world is formed, and challenge these when it conflicted with my inner truth.

These lessons involve core issues we all must face on their spiritual journey at some point our soul's evolution. Each one of us takes a different route.

Whenever I examine the many variations of sexual expression, there are two main core issues that emerge:
• The importance of honoring the self, even when it contradicts cultural and societal expectations. Even when we face possible rejection by our families, peers, friends and society. We must learn to love who we are, regardless of others' opinions.
• The importance of rejecting and living outside of societal/cultural gender expectations. We all exist outside of them. By doing so, we begin to own all aspects of who we are and awaken to our wholeness.

By accepting and validating who we are with love, we deconstruct the core belief that we are not worthy of love and are powerless. We begin to awaken to our wholeness and true power and step outside the use of sex to gain a sense of illusionary power.

The existence of gay and lesbian sexuality, and other deviations from heterosexuality, challenges everyone's beliefs about gender and makes us question the deeper meanings and purposes of sexuality. Consider these creative expressions of sexuality and the challenges not only for the individuals involved, but for our society's understanding of sexuality and gender:
• A heterosexual male who likes to wear panties, nylons, makeup and other accoutrements of 'female' garb in order to make him feel sexually aroused with a female.
• A lesbian, who on the outside appears to exemplify our society's expectations of femininity and female beauty, but inside, feels male. She has told me that she feels like a "male inside a perfect female body."
• A heterosexual man discovers after being married for 15 years that his sexual preference is now sliding over to the gay end of the spectrum.
• A lesbian who spent years accepting her sexuality and becoming empowered, suddenly finds herself attracted only to men, and has to go through the difficult process of coming out as a heterosexual and faces losing the friendship and support of her lesbian community.

Whenever we own our sexuality and unique divine expression, we own our true power. The second chakra governs the arenas of sexuality and power, so these two energies are intimately related. Whenever we bring healing to one, we experience new challenges, opportunities and healing in the other. When our true sense of power is restored at a core level, our sexuality shifts, temporarily ungrounding us and requires further integration of our wholeness and power. How our sexuality shifts depends upon the unique spiritual challenges we have committed to individually.

Sex and sexuality in the new millennium

As humanity continues to ascend, what will happen to our sexuality, and what purpose will it have? This is a complex and challenging question, and there are as many answers as there are individual souls. There are many paths, and each allows us to explore our wholeness and power. But I am willing to offer some possibilities.

Many of us may experience greater freedom in sexual preference, as we extricate ourselves from karmic core issues. As our beliefs about gender begin to break down, exposing the illusions involved, then it is possible that we will begin to experience men and women as spiritual beings, outside of gender. Gender may no longer be the focus of sexual attraction — instead our erotic attraction is based upon the inner qualities of the individual. Some may move toward an omnisexuality.

Omnisexuality is a term that describes the eros and passion in all creation. Literally, we become involved in an erotic relationship with all that is. We experience the divine nature of all that is, within everything and everyone. As we heal the fears of our core issues, and surrender to our divinity, the Shiva and Shakti energies within us are reunited.

The union of Shiva and Shakti within

I have been fortunate enough to experience this phenomenon to some degree. Last spring, I could feel a powerful surge of energy trying to work its way through my body, but it was blocked by tension in my hip area. I felt afraid of the power of this energy — I was experiencing it as a highly aggressive energy and as primal in nature. I was having a difficult time staying grounded in it. At the time I believed it was some kind of 'masculine' energy.

My guidance led me to a specific massage therapist, who specialized in tantric massage. He was familiar with a wide range of massage techniques. Because of some holding pattern in my body, the muscles surrounding my hips were contracted, tilting them to the right. I intuitively knew that I needed to work with my breath and allowed myself to breathe in sync with an ebb and flow of energy within me. In order to release the tension, the massage therapist pressed his entire body weight with his elbow into my hip, which caused extreme pain for a few moments.

Suddenly I felt the tension release, and the powerful energy that was trying to work its way through my body surged through the bottom of my feet, up my legs, through my hip, and up my spine. The energy flowed back and forth rhythmically, and my breathing synchronized with it. I felt as though I had completely surrendered my whole being into the energies of the universe. As the energy moved through my body, it kissed every cell of my body with the most amazing passion and love. It was deeply erotic, though not in the usual sexual sense.

The massage therapist intuitively knew what was happening to me, and worked with the energy to move it through my body. At one point, as I was taking a deep breath in, he moved a strong stream of energy up my legs and spine and it suddenly focussed in one great mass in the center of my head. I lost awareness of myself as an individual. I merged, it seemed, with all that is, for a split second. The experience was ecstatic. Suddenly the energy poured out of the top of my head, and it felt like, well… an orgasm!

I felt like the universe had just made love to me. It was the most nurturing and deeply loving emotional and physical experience I had ever had. My inner guidance was also fully awake, and giving me wordless insights about it and many other things. These include:
• The entire fabric of the universe is love.
• The experience of this love is available whenever we surrender to it.
• Aggression is not the result of 'male' energies, but the result of fear blocking the energy of Shakti, so the expression of her power is distorted. Behind this fear is love.

When I got off the table I felt like a baby trying to take his first steps. It was as though I had never been in a physical body before, and each movement through the ether of our physical universe was erotic and ecstatic. When I left the office and went onto the street, I felt so open, alive and full of love. I had a beautific smile on my face and had to stop myself from embracing everyone I saw on the street. I experienced the spiritual beauty of people around me, and saw the fear that held them back from experiencing it.

Perhaps the path of human sexuality in this new age is one that may lead us to omnisexuality. An erotic, sexual relationship with life itself — the most fulfilling and satisfying sexual experience imaginable.

2006-07-04T18:08:00.000-07:00

Chris Labelle and Brad Update

----Update to my update: The Canadian Idol/CTV people must have discovered the clips on YouTube and removed them. So I've deleted the videos. Too bad! They were very fun.

I emailed someone on YouTube who had uploaded a couple of Canadian Idol Videos and asked her if she had Chris Labelle's performance and she did! And very kindly uploaded it for me. Here he is... He's so cute. I especially love: his motorcycle gag at the beginning of the video; the way he arches his back when he stands up from sitting; his funny walk; and his laugh.

On yesterday's show he dyed his Mohawk red for Canada Day. He toned his performance down a little.

On the message boards of Canadian Idol, everyone is comparing Chris Labelle to last season's contestant Jacob. Can you honestly see anything similar? Here is Jacob singing David Bowie. Canadian's tend to like singers/musicians who are a bit weird.

I like one judge's comment that you wouldn't find a performance like this on most Idol programs, other than in Canada.

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Also, it turns out that Brad did end up taking the money I gave him and using crack for a day or so, but now he's safely back at his home, and doing well. I'm glad he didn't do it longer than he did, and he feels very disgusted with himself.

I also think his sponsor has told him not to talk to me, because of the whole "I'm attracted to him" thing, or perhaps he just made up his own mind, but he's distancing himself from me. Oh well, it's probably for the best. I mean, I was really looking forward to some cuddling, and I haven't written off the possibility...if it's meant to be, it'll be. Too bad, he was about the most interesting thing happening in my life. It probably isn't right, anyway, from a moral point of view.*

Next week I'm going off for a retreat for a few weeks, so I'll be away. I'm going to be following a strict and healthy diet and working out a couple hours a day. I'm sure I'll meet some people to distract myself with too. I'm not sure if I'll have internet access, but if I do, I'll post about it.

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*By the way, some of the pics I used were actually of my Brad, not Brad Pitt. Can you pick out which ones? I'll never tell.

2006-07-03T09:43:00.000-07:00

Camera Obscura

I just realized in my last post about Brad, I used a metaphor which perfectly describes him, my relationship to him, and really, about everything. Pardon me while I spell it out:

The problem with trying to take a picture of Brad [metaphor for trying to understand oneself or the other] though is he can't stay still [our identities are constantly in flux and in development, both internally and externally]. He's constantly moving, and his facial expressions constantly change from moment to moment, so he's like the worst model ["model" represents the impossibility of simplifying or objectifying oneself or the other to a defined and closed system of ideas] you can hope for. Plus my camera's shutter speed isn't fast enough to capture him - by the time the moment is right, and I press the button, and the shutter clicks, he's already moved and emoted several more things, so I never get a good picture. I was afraid too that another guy would come into the room and see me taking pictures of this practically naked stud [this suggests various things: how our interactions with others points of views/projections instantly changes our own, and our personalities change with the introduction of the third in a closed, two-people system]. So, I let it go.

I think this is some kind of nihilistic philosophy, possibly post-structural, but I'm not knowledgeable enough about philosophies to figure it out. Anyway, I guess that's how I'm feeling about life, people and myself right now. :)

2006-07-01T19:49:00.000-07:00

Sade-ness: not an Enigma

Procedamus in pace

This song, and many of Enigma's songs are about the conflict between the physical (body, sexuality, corporeal) and the spiritual (meaning of life, spiritual evolution, values and morals). This is immediately made clear in the music itself - the contrast between the ethereality of much of the spiritual/religious music such as Gregorian chants and others that they sample, with their grinding, techno, primitive and sexy beats.

Enigma is not at all Christian in their theology - they offer absolutely no solutions, but only bring the ideas into question. Enigma uses religious music from many different cultures including Christianity, Islam, Hindu, and native peoples, etc. which suggest they are much more easily classified as New Age - a belief that all religions share common spiritual beliefs, but there is no true theology or discipline behind New Age: it is based on personal exploration and it is "situation-specific."

If you were to listen to all of Enigma's music, some of it is explicitly New Age, especially the concept behind the name of one of their albums, "The Screen Behind the Mirror."

The Marquis de Sade may be the writer who others later used as a historical figure in the term sadism or the practice and beliefs of sado-masochism, but contemporary sado-masochism is entirely different than what the Marquis described or practiced.

I see this song as clearly playing with (not coming to any conclusions about) the idea of sadism as a sexual/spiritual practice - it believes there is a spiritual release into Oneness, through the techniques of domination of submission through sexual practices that include pain and humiliation. Practitioners describe a religious ecstasy when certain thresholds are crossed.

The Marquis de Sade is referred to as a representative of the practice of sado-masochism. In a sense, the questioner is conflicted between her Christian beliefs that sex, domination, submission, pain and humiliation are evil, while she herself is tempted by them, or perhaps has experienced them.

She asks:
Sade, tell me
Sade, give it to me ("give it to me" is a sexual reference)
Let us come in peace (a play on the word "come")
In the name of Christ, Amen (a teasing sacrilegious reference in this context).

Sado-masochism is a paradox, because it promotes a powerful pleasure to its practitioners, and a type of spiritual experience that feels "divine" while using techniques that are generally considered evil.

Ironically, some interpretations of Christianity, particularly as practiced the Medieval era, promoted submission and domination by the Catholic Church, including self-flagellation and the punishment of the body (the corporeal) to achieve the incorporeal (spiritual awakening).

Keep in mind that Michael and Sandra Cretu also live on the Spanish island of Ibiza, reknown for its wild, rave and party scene, and are highly involved in the dance club music industry.

Finally, in many of Enigma's videos, there are explicit references to the celebration of the body and sexuality, and references to sado-masochism.

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Lyrics for: Sadeness (Part One)

Procedamus in pace
In nomine Christi, Amen
Cum angelis et pueris, fideles inveniamur
Attollite portas, principes, vestras,
Et elevamini, portae aeternales,
Et introibit Rex gloriae.
Quis est iste Rex gloriae?

Sade, dis-moi...
Sade, donnes-moi...
Procedamus in pace
In nomine Christi, Amen

Sade, dis-moi, qu'est-ce que tu vas chercher?
Le bien par le mal? La vertue par le vice?
Sade, dis-moi, pourquoi l'û?vangile du mal?
Quelle est ta relûÙgû?on? Ou sont tes fidû´les?
Si tu es contre Dieu, tu es contre l'homme
Sade, es-tu diabolique, ou divin?

Sade, dis-moi... Hosanna
Sade, donnes-moi... Hosanna
Sade, dis-moi... Hosanna
Sade, donnes-moi... Hosanna

In nomine Christi, Amen

---------------------------------

Translation of French and Latin

Let us come in peace
In the name of Christ, Amen
In the company of angels and children, we will find the believer
Raise the poles of your glorious doors
And once they are elevated,
The Glorious King will arrive
Who is this Glorious King?

Sade, tell me
Sade, give it to me
Let us come in peace
In the name of Christ, Amen

Sade, tell me
What are you looking for?
The good or the bad
Virtue or vice
Sade, why the gospel of evil?

What is your religion and the religion of your followers?
If you are against God, you are against man
Sade, are you diabolic or divine?

Sade, say to me, Hosanna
Sade, give to me, Hosanna
Sade, say to me, Hosanna
Sade, give to me, Hosanna

In the name of Christ, Amen

2006-06-30T09:41:00.000-07:00

Back to Brad: Drunk with Lust

It was a flawless, summer day. At noon it was 30 degrees Celsius, the humidity was low, and the heat beat down upon my exposed skin. I went looking for Brad.

I took a break from seeing him after writing my last post on him: I got my mind in order about the situation. Like most people, he's unable to be reduced down to an oversimplification. While it's important to keep in mind some of his less savoury characteristics, I came to a more balanced view. He's been able to stay sober and has been working hard to get his life into order.

The next time I saw Brad he was on his way to court for some charges he received in Calgary while he was using: he stole a $12 sandwich, and had 3 fines for using the C-Train without providing a receipt of proof. He was looking fantastic - dressed in black suit pants and a dress shirt, glowing with health.

I noticed how handsome he looks in black - it's such a dramatic contrast to his wheat blond hair and white skin. It emphasizes the angles and planes in his face. At times when I looked at him I didn't recognize him - he looked like a European model. Edgy, rather than boy-next-door. It's of course one of my big attractions - what I call "the 'dark' blond." The colour black brings out the intensity in him.

I offered to go with him. He was nervous. The judge was reasonable, and fined him appropriately. We had to wait a couple of hours for the court to produce the tickets, so I got to hear more of his growing desires for having a normal life and his relationship with his family. Brad was genuinely glad that I had gone with him to court. He's just a kid who needs support from a mature friend who can help guide in him the right way, who's not going to take advantage of him. Unfortunately there's been a lot of people who have.

It's now a few days later after the court date when I went to get him. I thought he was probably still sleeping, so I called his name outside of his window. He responded immediately, and I replied, "Get your ass out here." Then laughed.

A few seconds later he exited the side door, and… Brad was naked except for a pair of shorts. This completely shocked me. I hadn't seen him shirtless before, and I wasn't expecting to ever. It totally fucked me up in an instant. All of my available testosterone rushed into my blood stream, making me feel flushed. I must have looked completely taken aback, and I caught myself staring at his body for far too long.

Staring isn't even the right word. I was using the most intense, observant gaze, trying to memorize every detail. I must have an entire portion of my brain dedicated, cellularly, to Brad now. He has light blond hair on his chest and it all twirls and descends in an intricate pattern into the waste of his shorts. It looked soft. I noticed how it twirled around his surprisingly large nipples. Not small, not large - medium sized nipples. I'm used to seeing small nipples, especially on blond Caucasians, so I was taken aback by this detail. His nipples looked lush and highly erotic. They were an unusual colour too - more beige than pink.

He was unshaved and still trying to push aside his sleepiness, but had a bounce in his step and was happy to see me.

Time stood still for an unspecified amount of time while I was in rapt attention of his nakedness. I only broke out of my spell when my gaze moved up from his stomach to caress his shoulders and arms (he has a tattoo I didn't know about), and happened to notice he was looking at me, bemused.

I pulled myself together: I consciously reminded myself he's straight, I'm not going to come onto him and told myself to stop seeing him like a sexual object. But it was too late, and Brad knew it.

Before you think that I'm some silly horned up gay guy who goes around looking at other guys this way all the time, I can tell you that's not true. It must be a few years since I've had this reaction to anyone. And that was my ex. This reaction was profound, emotionally encompassing and energetically dense. I'm sure every thought registered on my face. In fact, I know it did, because of what happened later.

Meanwhile the sun's heat is still burning onto my skin, intensified by all the concrete around us in the alley, and I'm feeling drunk with lust. Without thinking, I said something (I don't know what) and then my eyes stupidly went back to looking at his body. I was like an out-of-control 13 year old boy.

When I looked back up at Brad, I could see his own thought process (or maybe I was projecting it). I could see him think, "Ha ha, what is this guy looking at, oh yeah, I'm practically naked, and that's right, he hasn't seen me with my shirt off and is that lust in his eyes? I nearly forgot he's gay."

He laughed it off and said he'd get us a couple of chairs to sit outside and have a cigarette. He disappeared back into the building, which gave me more time to recover.

We sat outside, talking. I was probably radiating intense sexual energy and attraction and the funny part is, Brad seemed to like it. We decided to go for coffee, and he wanted to get some clothes on so we went through the front door of his building, where he told me to wait in the sitting room.

I'm thinking, "Fuck, he's going to put his shirt on, and I'll probably never get an opportunity to see him shirtless again, so I'd better step up and do something about it." I said something to him about wanting to photograph him - I just blurted it with no context or lead up, and I said, "Let me take a couple of pictures before you get dressed."

Brad said, "Sure, I love to be photographed."

With shaking hands I dug into my bag and got my digital camera out, and simultaneously scoped out the sitting area. I noticed that the couch was black leather, and even had metallic studs stapling the material to the frame. I joked, "Why don't you sit on this black leather couch, it has an S&M feel to it."

He threw himself onto the couch in such a natural way - there was no posing or posturing. He had his arm stretched out across the back of the couch, exposing his arm pits, and I squelched the impulse to bound over to him like a wild train wreck, trap his arms above his head and start aggressively licking and slobbering him from head to toe.

Seeing his white blond body laid out on the couch, and his black shorts hiked up exposing a nice package, I think I muttered, "Fuck." And I rarely use this word.

The problem with trying to take a picture of Brad though is he can't stay still. He's constantly moving, and his facial expressions constantly change from moment to moment, so he's like the worst model you can hope for. Plus my camera's shutter speed isn't fast enough to capture him - by the time the moment is right, and I press the button, and the shutter clicks, he's already moved and emoted several more things, so I never get a good picture. I was afraid too that another guy would come into the room and see me taking pictures of this practically naked stud. So, I let it go.

I can't even tell you what he wore, because now the only image I have in my mind is Brad shirtless, so that's all I see when I look at him. My eyes must have digitized him like a Cruse Synchron Table Scanner. All I can think about is that blond fuzzy hair hiding underneath.

We went for coffee, and I'm stumbling, mumbling, saying all kinds of verbiose garbage, trying to sound normal, when out of nowhere he says to me, "You're attracted to me aren't you."

It was like a breath of fresh air, for someone to finally mention it. But I went into rationalization mode and said, "Well, yes, it's kind of complicated. When I first met you I thought you looked like a nice kid, not my type. But then I got to know you more and realized I like your personality. So I find you attractive - not just your looks but also your personality. But I wouldn't ever come onto you or anything, I respect you too much as a friend."

Brad paused, then said quietly, "We could cuddle together."

I felt like a bomb had just dropped. I was speechless. I think he was nervous having just said that, so he looked away. I managed to say, "Yes, I think that would be very nice."

Brad turned back to look at me with those baby blue eyes and said, "I think so too."

I totally dropped the whole direction of this conversation with him for fear of having a spontaneous orgasm while my brain's background mental processes are generating thousands of cuddling scenarios with him.

Later, Brad saw a guy coming down the street and said, "Oh no, it's the weird gay guy." He introduced us. He was quite tall, a bit goofy looking - I wasn't really paying attention to him. He seemed to be high on something. I don't know how we got on the topic any more - I think I was too shocked about what went on so the details are sketchy - but Brad said, "You should see this guy, he's hugely endowed."

The guy smiled proudly, and drew attention down to his crotch. I noticed that his red boxer underwear was sticking out of the top of his jeans. Several questions went through my mind, like, "How did Brad know this? How does he know him?" I think the story was the last time Brad was in Lethbridge five months ago, he was using crack with him and he exposed himself to Brad. But there was some general discussion about the size of Brad's cock, and the gay guy seemed to have knowledge about it. Brad was uncomfortable with the discussion and situation, and so was I, so I didn't interrogate them.

I have no idea why, but I said to the weird gay guy, "Oh yeah, why don't you show it to me then. Right here," challenging him in a flirtatious but passive-aggressive manner. Maybe it was some weird kind of jealousy I was feeling, that this guy had already gotten intimate with Brad, so I was trying to humiliate him. He said, "Sure, I'd have no problem showing you, any time…"

"No, right here," I said, looking at his crotch, looking at him, egging him. It looked like he thought about it, and nearly did it, but instead asked for my phone number, and I said, "No, that's alright." He left, saying, "If you change your mind…"

This of course is now fuelling all my fantasies even more of Brad, making me think that he plays a little bit more than he's entirely admitted to. Disturbing too, having images of the weird gay guy and Brad having that kind of interaction…I don't want to go there in my mind.

We talk some more, and things are friendly and comfortable, and then I did something really awful. Don't worry, I didn't freak out at him or come on to him or anything. I decided to leave and go back home, leaving him by himself and to his own devices. The terrible part is that I left him with money and possibly at a vulnerable moment. I just hope that he's okay and has managed to stay clean. I tried to find him that evening - I called but he wasn't home. I then stopped by where he's living, called his name, got the dormitory supervisor to check by knocking on his door to no available. I went the next morning to see if he was back, but he hadn't been home all evening. I haven't checked today, but I'm hoping he's all right. So I feel immensely guilty for having left him in that situation and for not protecting him.

I'm afraid I wasn't a very good friend to him in that moment. If you're reading this, help me do a collective prayer for him and his safety. And one for me too.

2006-06-27T20:13:00.000-07:00

Chris Labelle Update

Unfortunately I missed Canadian Idol last night, so I didn't get to see Chris Labelle. I'm so disappointed. I even emailed CTV to ask for downloadable video footage of Chris Labelle, but the nice guy who's the contact there couldn't give it to me because I'm not a Media person. I tried convincing him, saying that Bloggers and Media cross boundaries, but he couldn't budge, legally. I even searched "YouTube" and there's no footage. If anyone happens to have it, please let me know - send me a link.

Anyway, the entire Men's competition is full of extremely talented singers this year. It further convinces me that Canada is full of far more talented people than the U.S. Each one sounds equally incredible, and unfortunately Chris' voice just doesn't stand out. But the judges all commented on his incredible charisma. I hope he has a chance to improve and isn't voted off too quickly. He sang the same song he did at audition - perhaps that's a smart move. He knows he does it well, plus it gives him room to grow. Anyway, that's my Chris Labelle update, I'm out.... Enjoy the pics.

2006-06-23T22:29:00.000-07:00

Rewriting History | Identity

I spent most of the day adding pictures and links, and editing, deleting and rewriting many of my blog entries. Some people think you shouldn't rewrite your history; that once you make an entry you should keep it as is: a record of where you're at in a given moment. But leaving it untouched may be even more artificial than the process of rewriting it.

I rarely look back at my entries, but I decided to review what I'd written because I knew that someone, whose writing and character I admire, was going to start reading it from the beginning. I wasn't surprised to discover that several were created under inebriated conditions, so they needed to be tossed into hyperspace, or at the very least rewritten.

I didn't change facts. Deleted entries contained little of historical importance. Often my writing was lazy because I didn't take the time to rework it until it communicated my original messages; or it was unnecessarily self-indulgent, narcissistic or just plain rude. Other times hyperlinked web sites and pictures were out of order so needed replacing.

I endeavoured to keep much of the raw data and personality of the original entries - I haven't housecleaned to the extent that I idealized my personality or perfected my writing style. I still need to tidy up the empty bottles of vodka and pizza boxes strewn across my home on the net.

Research reveals that rewriting our history is a common occurrence that relates to the operations of our brain. "Memory's errors are as fascinating as they are important. They can be divided into seven fundamental transgressions or 'sins,' which I call transience, absentmindedness, blocking, misattribution, suggestibility, bias and persistence. Just like the ancient seven deadly sins -- the memory sins occur frequently in everyday life and can have serious consequences for all of us."

Our constructions, subversions and reconstructions of identity are an ongoing and daily process, to which no one is precluded. History and identity behave more like verbs than nouns, and are contingent on subjective - not objective - conditions. While rereading the entries, I discovered events that I had forgotten altogether, and in another case I had joined together three separate incidences into one event in my memory. My sense of continuity was disjointed and my timeline twisted.

History and identity are remarkably fluid, especially in the age of the internet. One's body is merely virtual: digitized into electromagnetic pulses that are easily assimilated by others. Words are a particularly flimsy and transparent medium, easily manipulated and misinterpreted by both parties according to conscious and unconscious agendas.

Where does reality end and fiction begin? Are we not who we believe we are in any given moment, or is there an intrinsic, essential and unchanging aspect to our nature?

It's a miracle that we ever know ourselves, or understand the other. Perhaps it's only fleeting: as soon as we grasp it, it slips away. Knowing ourselves and others is an ongoing effort; one that's constantly being pursued by bloggers across our lonely planet.

Here's a couple newly reconstructed entries from the past:

Celine Dion & Quebec Canada - The English-Speaking Canadian's Perspective

I explain why English-Speaking Canadians do not like Celine Dion or the Quebecois. Our identity is based on self-flagellation and on not being American. Included is a video link to our national anthem: Molson Canadian's "I am Canadian." You'll see why this beer commercial brings on such a heart-felt, tear-jerking patriotism to our sadly lacking national identity.

Shaved

Part 1 of a supernatural thriller, describing the events that lead up to meeting Les, my second relationship partner. I've referred to some of the spooky, incorporeal situations we experienced together in other writings about our relationship (see Ghost and Leaving), but I have yet to tell them all. The details are so nearly unbelievable - hauntings, possessions, impossible synchronicities - that I haven't gotten the nerve finish the story. This section explains how I "just happened" to shave my head the day before meeting Les, making me look nearly identical to his ex-partner of 20 years who had died recently.

2006-06-22T19:50:00.000-07:00

Introducing Chris Labelle

Canadian Idol has begun its fourth season, and already I have a crush on one of the contestants - Chris Labelle. Sometimes there's nothing sexier than a guy that can make me bend over and … laugh!

We're first introduced to this comically funny guy when they're interviewing contestants who are waiting in line in Ottawa, Ontario. The question asked is, "How do you prepare for the audition?" Most people answered thoughtfully, such as "I worked with my voice teacher to select the best song for my voice," or "I looked through my collection, and tried out my favourites on my friends and got their opinions."

When the interviewer asked Chris, who is wearing a black cap and t-shirt, he swiftly responded, "How do I prepare for the audition? I like to say the word 'kitty cat.' K-I-T-T-Y C-A-T." He repeated this word a half a dozen different ways with various inflections, as though it's a vocal warm-up exercise. All the while wearing a huge magnetic smile on his cherubic face.

See the video by clicking here. Once it loads, click on the link "Behind the scenes of the Ottawa auditions" under More Vide Clips. Move the play arrow about 2/3 across. The video section with Chris begins at about 4min | 50 secs.

The next time Chris is shown is at his first audition for the judges. According to one interviewer, the 24-year-old busboy came straight from his shift at an Elgin Street pub to sing the Temptations' "Ain't Too Proud to Beg." Chris Labelle never got to sleep.

"I was there all night -- 6 p.m. to 5 a.m. -- then I came here and got in line," he said, flashing a giant grin. "I was drunk at the start.* Now I'm wired. I just did it. I'm so excited -- from all-night shift to Canadian Idol."

When Chris is seen walking on stage, he's bursting with energy. Every feeling flashes nakedly across his face - and as one writer puts it, the " Ottawa busboy steals 'Idol' show."

The chatty and energetic Chris LaBelle started off the show, bursting onto the Ottawa audition stage like a ball of bald energy. Not that he wanted anyone to notice -- the 24-year-old LaBelle only revealed his hairstyle, which consisted of a super-blond ring around the sides and back and nothing at all on top, when prompted by the panel.

"It's not going to change your decision is it?" asked the Ottawa resident before sheepishly removing his black toque. "I wanted to bleach it for Canadian Idol. The beauty salon bleached it for an hour and a half and ruined my hair. I look like I'm 80."

As another writer puts it:

Chris Labelle, 24 from Ottawa, ON is the first to face the judges. He's wearing a hat that they ask him to take off only to discover that he is balding and has bleached his remaining hair so it is snowy white.

Or…

A ham of a busboy...stole last night's Canadian Idol episode, part of which focused on Ottawa auditions.

"I'm 24 years old," he said, telling the incredulous judges his hair fell out at the salon from too much bleach. "I look like I'm 80."

and…

One fellow to step up to the judges is 24 year old Chris Labelle. Continuing with the theme from the first episode, he’s asked to remove his hat. When he complies, the judges are shocked, not with his bleached blond hair, but his lack of it. That’s right, he’s kind of bald. Chris explains that it was a dye-job gone wrong…

Chris immediately launches into "I Ain't Too Proud To Beg." Everyone's unsure if he's joking (is he begging them to take him in spite of his hair?) or if he's actually auditioning. So one of the judges says, "Okay," said a smiling Zack Werner, "but you can't really sing, right? That's just what you do." Without skipping a beat, Chris launches into "I'll Be (Your Crying Shoulder) and moves frentically around the stage. At one point he stops in front of Sass Jordan, the female judge, does a "hip thrust" and flirts with her. He's so hilarious and spontaneous - I don't think he even knows what he's doing. Here's what the journalists said:

He's full of energy and sings Ain't Too Proud to Beg. Zack doesn't believe he can sing so he launches into I'll Be (Your Crying Shoulder) and has Jake saying at least he sings it honestly. He's getting a golden ticket and heading to Toronto making this a great start to the day.

and…

Labelle immediately switched gears and launched into Edwin McCain's "I'll Be," earning impressed looks from judges Sass Jordan and Jake Gold, who stopped him mid-note and told him he was moving on.

"Thank you," said Labelle, grabbing his ticket before bursting out of the audition room.

Fortunately for the hip-shaking soul singer, his I.D. proved he was young enough to be eligibile for the Top 200 and he was sent on his way to Toronto.

"You are probably the most entertaining person we've seen so far," said judge Farley Flex, before handing Chris Labelle his gold ticket to Toronto.

or…

Labelle, who was delivering food just this past weekend on the job at popular Elgin St. watering hole Lieutenant's Pump, pelvic and hip thrust his way to a spot in the Top 212. He bleached his hair, shaved off the top to look like an aging bald man, then donned a toque and mugged while singing The Temptations' Ain't Too Proud to Beg.

...and when his snazzy performance of “Ain’t Too Proud To Beg” doesn’t convince the judges of his actual singing talent, he breaks into Edwin McCain’s “I’ll Be”. The second performance displays his versatility and the judges decide hair or no hair, he’s going to Toronto.

After getting his gold ticket, Chris still had the energy to race around the room giving fellow competitors high fives.

You can listen to his audition by clicking here. Note the judges laughing in the background as he races around the stage.

To be honest, I don't think he's such a great singer. But he charms the pants off me - he's so much fun to watch.

The next time I think I see him is during the next round when contestants are called up on stage and asked, "Why do you want to be the next Canadian Idol." I could be mistaken, but I think it was Chris who said, "I've always loved singing. I do it everywhere. In the shower, in the bathroom…" He's got a huge and sincere smile on his face, and you can tell he's just working on the hyper energy of his nerves. "And I'd just like to make Canada my …bathroom," he finishes.. He didn't know where he was going in his statement, and kind of forced himself into a corner.

Even my father laughed at that one.

As the competition winds down and the judges must choose the top 22, Chris steps up to deliver his final solo performance. There must have been a few weeks in between because now he's sporting a tuft of hair on top of his head, and the sides are shaven (he looks much cuter). Before he walks on stage, he says to the camera:

“I’d like to see an established artist try and go through what we competitors go through,” he said. “This competition is no joke. I wish people could see behind-the-scenes because [the pace] is nuts.”

Again, you can tell he's a bundle of nerves and hyperactivity, and just throws himself into the song and movement. He works the stage like a pro - but more like a comedian than a serious singer. He manages to put in his patented hip-thrust at Sass Jordan, and then runs embarrassedly off the stage, blushing.

The cameras watch him come off stage, and the interviewer says, "How did it go?" Chris answers, trying to be brave, "I think I did okay, yeah, it went good, I think." But you can see his confidence sliding off of him as he sinks into his embarrassment. He runs around the corner, away from the cameras and disappears. A few seconds later the camera finds him, sunk into a corner, crying, tears coming down his cheeks. The stress and emotions have overcome him, and he's trying to have a private moment. He pulls his shirt up, trying to cover his face, dropping it a little with his sad eyes looking over top … he looks so vulnerable and emotionally authentic.

You can see every thought expressed on his face, as he tries to pull himself together for the camera. He stands up, forcing a confident posture, and says something like, "I'm strong, I can pull myself together." After a few tries he does, and then beams his gorgeous smile.

As one writer puts it:

Chris Labelle decides it’s time to get serious, and his number is “That’s Why They Call It The Blues.” He was OK, no better… mostly, he’s glad to be done. The emotions hit and he briefly breaks down, but he’s far too tough to weep for long.

I totally fell in love with this guy after watching this scene unfold.

Chris didn't make it to the top 22.

But by some fate, one of the top 22 men dropped out, and Chris was asked to replace him:

A 24-year-old server at the Lieutenant’s Pump, Chris Labelle became a surprise addition to the Canadian Idol Top 22 when Phil King withdrew for family reasons. “The best day of my life was when I got the call telling me that I was in the Top 22 and that I would perform in front of millions of people,” he said.

So I'll have the pleasure of ~~jerking-off~~ watching him some more in this competition.

__________________________
*In his bio on the web site for Canadian Idol, it states:

A server at the Lieutenant's Pump in Ottawa, Chris is most proud of the fact that at age 24, he has never drank, smoked or done drugs, "I've always told everyone if I were to sign a record deal then that's when I will have my first shot and I'll probably be smashed," he says.

That's in opposition to what one journalist reports him as saying - "I was drunk at the start," when waiting in line to audition.

2006-06-20T10:43:00.000-07:00

The semiotics of tighty-whiteys

Photo Credit: Aussie Bum

The post below is a response to the article "Tighty-whities: the semantics." Read it first at the brilliant Language Log blog. [Those straight linguists are so clueless sometimes.]

***

I enjoyed your writing on "tighty-whiteys" and thought I could give you some informed insights on the evaluative aspects of the term from a homoerotic perspective.

"Tighty-whiteys" do refer to fly front, white briefs produced by such brands as Jockey, Calvin Klein and AussieBum. I don't have any proof, but I thought it was a term coined by gay culture, and used in a derogatory manner by heterosexuals, as well as some gay men. Tight-whiteys have come to represent "gay sexuality" or even "metrosexuality." He who wears them is considered to be a more feminized version of masculinity: one that is more self-conscious of itself as a sexual object and thus emphasizes the phallus.

In North America, "tighty-whiteys" are considered by the majority of heteorsexual men (and some gay males) to be more effeminate than boxers. Because boxers are looser fitting and do not emphasize the phallus of the wearer, they are considered more heterosexual.

There is a homophobic response to the representation and revealing of male genitalia in heterosexual North American culture, especially when compared with European attitudes. For instance, the typical North American heterosexual woman (and man) would prefer to see a man in long surfer shorts at the beach, rather than a bikini swimsuit. The material hangs looser and does not mold itself to the contours of the male genitalia. It is not uncommon to hear derogatory comments, sometimes of repulsion, regarding bold and obvious displays of the penis in North America. Whereas in Europe, bikini swimsuits are common at the beach, and there is greater acceptance of frontal nudity in media.

While it may seem logical that gay men may prefer tighty-whiteys because of the more obvious display of sexual genitalia, the symbol for some is less erotic. Those who find boxers sexier tend to eroticize the displays and codes of (North American) heterosexuality. Boxers represent to them a more true "masculinity."

Tighty-whiteys on men represent a more feminized, self-conscious and preening symbol of gay sexuality. Therefore "tighty-whiteys" is generally used as a "negative, dismissive label" by heterosexuals about men who wear them.

Gay men who eroticize boxers are also more likely to eroticize hairy men (those who do not trim, shave or wax their bodies), facial hair and more natural appearing bodies, because these are signs of heterosexual masculinity.

On the other hand, gay men who prefer tighty-whiteys eroticize the emphasis on the phallic, as long as the body of the wearer approaches either a Greek ideal (or a hypermasculinity conveyed by the bodies of bodybuilders), or the athletic, toned bodies of athletes or youthful men (eroticization of youthfulness and innocence). If the man wearing tighty-whiteys is overweight and overly hirsute, then tighty-whiteys are considered erotically repulsive.

Tighty-whiteys are also representative of youth because they are commonly worn by boys and male teenagers, and thus convey "immature development" - those who wear them are not quite yet a 'man.'

The hybrid tighty-whitey/boxer known as a "boxer brief" is a compromise between the competing and dualistic gay eroticizations, making both camps of 'fetishists' happy.

White bikini briefs, sans fly, eliminate any reference to the penis and thus masculinity and therefore are considered even more effiminate and akin to panties.

Colour adds another layer of meaning: white equals innocence, purity and youthfulness, black and grey add a touch of masculinity, and red is worn by rebels such as punks, goths and fringe artists. Silk is associated with European males, blue with boyscouts, and fluorescent oranges and lime greens with psychedelic ravers.

I'm sure this is more information than you wanted to know, but since you brought it up...

2006-06-15T12:22:00.000-07:00

Absolut-ly Potent

Image credit: Adbusters

Alcoholism is often considered a moral issue; but it has a very real physiological basis that may lead to addiction. There are varying theories as to its cause.

I'm not a biochemist, but my understanding is that when alcohol is consumed, through a complicated process it turns into the opioid neuropeptides known as endorphins and enkephalins. They resemble opiates in their abilities to produce analgesia and a sense of well-being. In other words, they might work as "natural pain killers." The good feeling one gets from an orgasm is partially attributed to the release of endorphins. The common understanding that intense exercise such as the "runner's high" is caused by the release of endorphins is questionable:

"Another widely publicized effect of endorphin production is the so-called "runner's high", which is said to occur when strenuous exercise takes a person over a threshold that activates endorphin production…. However, some scientists question the mechanisms at work, their research possibly demonstrating the high comes from completing a challenge rather than as a result of exertion. (Klosterman) (Altman) There is some recent evidence that endogenous cannabinoids are responsible for "runner's high", rather than endorphins. (Endocannabinoids and exercise, by A Dietrich and W F McDaniel, May 4, 2004 bjsportsmed.com)"

In addition, there is a substance (neurochemical?) produced called Tetrahydroisoquinoline or THIQ, which is normally found in the brains of heroin users.

Tetrahydroisoquinoline compounds (THIQ): Precursor of morphine found in the opium poppy and in mammalian tissues after exposure to ethanol. Development may be dependent on aldehyde concentrations. Enzymes controlling the production of this substance may be genetically determined.

There is genetic evidence that there are ethnic groups with increased risk of developing alcoholism. These include: Irish Catholic (Brad fits this category), American Indians, Scandinavians (I fit this category).

It is theorized that some people are genetically predisposed to alcoholism due to the genetic and biochemical make-up of their brain. Alcoholics tend to love the rush of opiate-related biopeptides that rush through their brain. Some research shows that in alcoholics, a brain function related to hunger-control is triggered, causing the experience of famishment. One drink literally causes the feeling of an insatiable, intense hunger for alcohol.

Unfortunately, for those who are genetically predisposed to alcoholism, there is a progression of the disease. The brain chemistry becomes irrevocably altered, and retains a biochemical memory of sorts. Relapse (use of alcohol) returns the users back to the stage at which they stopped drinking alcohol. The brain biochemistry does not return to normal or heal - the stage of alcoholism continues where the person left off, even decades after their last drink.

The physical dependence to alcohol is caused by the withdrawal of the opioid neuropeptides. The chemical structure of the ethanol-derived opioids mimics the shape of the brain's naturally generated endorphins and enkephalins. Imibing alcohol floods the brain with an excess of these foreign neuropeptides, causing the brain to decrease its natural production of them. The brain to go into neuroadaptation - it stops production of these essential neurotransmitters and the cessation of alcohol use causes the physical symptoms of withdrawal. Withdrawal symptoms from alcohol are exactly like those from the withdrawal of opiates - morphine, codeine and thebaine. In long-term, constant users of alcohol, there is the threat of experiencing delerium tremens which may lead to death.

Photo credit: Adbuster/Alcohol Spoof Ads

From a personal perspective, I definitely have crossed the line from occasional social use, to occasional binges, to regular binges. The binges went from a few times a year to once a week over a period of about 9 years (I didn't drink from age 20 - 32). Now it seems like when I drink, I stay drunk for a few days, not one evening like before. It definitely seems progressive, and that I start where I leave off from my last drinking pattern.

I definitely love the rush of opiate-endorphins I get from alcohol. I can easily drink a mickey of vodka in 20 minutes. Even after feeling the warm, pleasant buzz, I begin to crave more. . .even after 24 ounces. But after the initial few hours of pleasant drunkenness, I tend to pass out, and then the binge experience becomes blurry and generally unpleasant. The last two times I got drunk I ended up experiencing painful withdrawal, in contrast to rarely even getting a noticeable hangover.

I think that alcoholism is far more common than generally acknowledged, especially in gay culture. The abuse of alcohol definitely impacts one's moral character negatively; but more on that another time.

2006-06-14T18:38:00.000-07:00

[Updated] The Law of Attraction?

My infatuation with Brad has ended - I don't think I'll continue writing the story. Immediately after finishing Part 3 of "Hanging With Brad" and posting it to Blogger, I had an epiphany: Brad is a slithery little bastard. Writing down the details gave me a more objective perspective on him and our 'friendship.' I was obviously blinded by his beautiful exterior and the desire to get in his skivvies. Although I don't purport to be much better, we really don't share the same values, or at least aspire to the same ones. I realized from writing it down that he left out a lot of information about his experience with his S&M buddies [for instance, he did admit he gave Dave a hand-job, but what else?]. And his attitude toward women and relationships is appalling [I didn't get to finish writing about some of the things he told me, but trust me, it's pretty disgusting].

Earlier that day Brad and I went for coffee, and he told me that a new guy moved into his half-way house over the weekend, who he knew from the drug scene. This guy is apparently 6'4", built huge, and a major crack addict who wants to get back into dealing. He confessed to Brad that he's gay [no one else knows], and the two of them "hung out" together all weekend while I was out of town. He wants Brad to move into an apartment with him near the university. I didn't think much about it at the time. Brad and I arranged to meet up later that evening.

I was looking forward to seeing him, and since I had a car I thought we could drive out to do a hike together or something fun. So I called him at the pre-arranged time, but he wasn't home. That's when I decided to start writing Part 3 of my story, to fill my time until I got a hold of Brad. I tried an hour later. . . still not home. I tried once more an hour later, and when unsuccessful at reaching him, I finished writing.

I realize that I've been sugar-coating my perceptions about him - in reality, I don't think he's interested in improving his values. I'm not sure that he wants to stay clean either. He might still be using if he had enough money to buy some crack, or had the right connections. Having lived on the streets with other crack addicts for so long, he's learned how to survive, which means: charming the pants off people, saying what you want to hear while cleverly using you for money, company and entertainment. I don't sense any real commitment or depth in his offer of friendship.

In reality, I didn't have much to say to him. I was just getting off on hearing "exotic" stories of street life from a criminal who happens to look like Brad Pitt. My attraction was mostly physical, and hanging out with him held the allure of getting sexually intimate with him. Pretty stupid when I look at it now.

He of course didn't call me, nor did I see him the following day. I saw him today at the meeting, but I was in a hurry to get home so I just said, "hello, I've got to get going." I think I'll keep a distance for a while until my hormones regulate.

It's probably not good for either of us to "hang out" right now. My intentions were less than honourable too, and I was making the same mistake of treating him like he treats others. Ouch! I guess it's true - one is often attracted to others of like mind!

***

Insider's Joke

Guy 1
"I got lucky last night at an AA meeting."

Guy 2
"You did?"

Guy 1
"Yeah, I went home alone."

2006-06-13T19:43:00.000-07:00

Hanging with Brad (Part 3)
Read Part 2 here

[I've searched the internet for pictures of Brad Pitt that most remind me of 'my' Brad. I bought a digital camera this weekend so I can start taking my own pics of him!]

Brad's getting blood tests and an x-ray today to check his liver functioning.

"How long do you think you'll be?" I ask. I'm being a little manipulative in my question - I hope to hang out with Brad all day but don't want to simply ask him if he wants to. It's important to not appear too eager.

"It shouldn't take more than 30 minutes," he says.

"I'll wait for you then," I say.

I let Brad off at the front door and tell him I'll meet him in the atrium after I find a parking space.

I've always loved the efficiency and sterility of hospital atriums. I haven't been in them often, but when I find myself in one I enjoy the focused purpose, the organized busyness, the muffled voices inside its cavernous spaces. Hospitals are a world within the world: they remind me of science fiction utopias where its citizens maintain carefully controlled emotions. I find a seat across from the coffee shop so I can watch the handsome doctor on coffee break.

Half an hour later I see Brad walking through the main avenue of the atrium. He looks out of place with his ball cap, skater shorts and t-shirt, and quick shuffling movements. When he sees me he appears more animated.

"Oh man, the urine test has to be taken exactly at 10:30, so they won't see me until then. Maybe they can take the x-ray first. Do you mind waiting?"

Not at all. Brad asks me to come with him to the waiting room.

"Are you sure? I can just stay here and do some work. I've got my laptop with me," I say.

Brad looks disappointed. "Oh, you want to work? Nah, come with me." He grabs my hand to help me stand, and heads toward the admitting desk.
The nurse directs us to another floor, so we take the elevator. Inside, he says to me, "I get claustrophobic inside elevators. I never used to be, but it's from using crack so long. It's part of the paranoia."

I feel more like the paranoid one between us. I'm self-conscious of being older and gay, and I wonder what people think when they see us together. It's probably all in my head - I haven't seen anyone give any indication that they find us an unusual couple. And Brad hasn't shown the slightest concern about it himself.

I'm also unsure of how to act. I'm not used to being friends with a straight guy, especially one who's younger and attractive. I've been keeping a distance, trying not to show too much interest, in order to make Brad feel comfortable with me. I don't want him to think I'm just trying to get into his pants. Because I'm not [I think].

Younger guys have different kinds of friendships than older men do with each other. It's more common for guys in their late teens and early twenties to get together and call one another on a daily basis. To lean on one another more, and share more personal experiences and feelings. The unwritten rules of friendship are quite different within my age group.

Brad gets to see the nurse much sooner than the other dozen people in the waiting room. I notice how the nurses flirt with him: When one nurse calls his name, she walks right into the room and looks around expectantly for him with a huge smile on her face. She shares knowing smirks with two other nurses next to her.

Brad returns shortly with a band-aid on his arm, holding a large plastic container with measurement lines on its side. "I'm supposed to piss in this over the next 24 hours," he explains, "and keep it refrigerated until I bring it back for tests."

In the car, I ask, carefully, "I don't know if you have plans for today, but you're welcome to hang out with me at my sister's house. She lives just outside of Lethbridge. You can watch some tv or use one of their computers."

"Yeah, that would be great," Brad says. "I'll take any opportunity to get out of town and do something different."

On the highway I remember a quaint country restaurant that serves home-grown, organic vegetables from their greenhouses and a healthy menu. It looks like a farmhouse, and is surrounded by acres of farmland. "I'll buy you lunch, if you're interested," I say to Brad.

Over a Cajun Chicken Caesar Salad and a whole wheat BLT wrap with organic tomato soup served on the outdoor veranda, Brad tells me about the last time he had eight months of sobriety.

"I was really getting my shit together. I even was an extra for that movie…what's its name? It was filmed in Fort MacLeod."

"Brokeback Mountain?"

"Yeah, did you see it?"

"Yes, it was quite good," I said.

"I think I was even in the movie. I was in the scene where one of the characters was at a fair, and gets into a fight with two other cowboys." Brad says. "I haven't seen it myself though."

"The one where Heath Ledger is at a fair with his wife and kids, and two cowboys sitting behind them are using foul language, so he tells them to watch their language?" I don't remember the scene very vividly, but this is what I recall.

"Yeah, you should be able to see me walking past them in a cowboy hat, just before the fight scene. I had to redo that scene several times, and the director handpicked me to be the guy who walks past them before the fight breaks out."

"Cool." I'm now beginning to have Brokeback fantasies starring Brad in a cowboy hat. "We'll have to rent the movie to see if you make the cut," I suggest.

***
An hour later we're sitting in my sister's kitchen, drinking coffee. Brad is sitting next to my sister's "prayer board" - a dry erase marker board where her family lists people to pray for each evening after dinner. Brad is telling me more details about his last slip, when he went on a 3 month crack binge in Calgary.

"I ended up spending a couple of weeks with a couple of gay guys who were really into S&M," he says. "I sold [drugs] to a lot of guys in the areas around the gay clubs. I got along with them because they were friendly to me and non-dangerous.

I never did tricks like a lot of crack addicts out there do. Well, okay, maybe about four times I let a guy suck my dick when I was really broke and desperate. But I've never been fucked. It's just not my thing.

I met a gay couple named [Mark] and [Dave]. Mark has a big condo in one of the high-rises downtown. He's some kind of stockbroker. His partner Dave is an up-and-coming musical theatre actor. Both are good looking guys, but Dave is a lot younger."

I'm speechless from Brad's confession. So I just nod, listening, trying not to look shocked.

"These guys had been doing Crystal Meth for about three months straight, and were totally insane. They'd basically lost hold of reality, and were inviting strangers they met on the internet up to their apartment for group sex and orgies, and getting really into S&M shit. He had turned his apartment into a dungeon - his livingroom had a sling and harness hanging from the fucking ceiling! They both were HIV+ and had unprotected sex with other guys, and were really proud of their fisting skills." Brad pauses to check out my reaction to this information.

"Yeah, I know about that kind of thing," I say. "I've run into guys who are into that stuff, although it's not something I've ever participated in."

"Me neither. I used to hide in another room while these guys had orgies going on. I was afraid to fall asleep in case I awoke and found myself tied up in the sling. It was my greatest fear while I was staying with them," says Brad. "I was afraid they'd get on the internet and sell tickets for a thousand dollars a pop at my virgin ass."

I'm both shocked and upset that Brad put himself in such a potentially dangerous situation, while also trying to push aside images of him tied up in a sling with his white ass spread ready to be entered. "Oh, I doubt they would've gone that far, would they?" I say.

"You never know. Remember, they were hallucinating after using Meth for months, and not getting any sleep. Once we were on an internet chat and they made plans to get together with a guy who wants to be dominated by the two of them. So we all get dressed up: they were wearing full leather gear and Dave had on a mask that covered his entire head. They put me in some leather pants, and I had a chain around my neck, and we piled in the car to go over to his house. Except we were so high that we got lost for three hours."

Brad both laughs and acts horrified as he explains the rest of the story: "Here we are, stoned out of our minds driving around Calgary. I'm freaking out that we're going to get stopped by the cops, and they'll think we're some kind of psycho killers. We finally find the address somewhere in the suburbs of Calgary, three hours late, and we get out of the car in full leather gear and walk up to a house and ring the door bell.

It turns out that we were at the wrong house! We were at his next door neighbour's house. Fuck! I was afraid he was going to call 911 after seeing us."

I'm still trying to get my head around Brad's revelation. I feel disoriented from the amount of information he's confided, and I'm trying to imagine him being in these scenarios. "Uh, you went with them, and you were in leather and chains as well?" I ask him.

"Yeah, I mean, I wasn't going to join them in sex," says Brad, backtracking. "I was just along for the experience. Anyway, the guy had changed his mind once we showed up."

I can't put my finger on it, but his story and his role in the situation doesn't quite mesh for me. Intuitively, I feel like he's leaving some details out, but that he's being honest about it, overall. I don't want to interrogate him so that he feels uncomfortable, so I let it go. Instead, I move sideways with the conversation.

"Wow. That's pretty crazy," I say, "In graduate school I had to study sadomasochism because it related to an area of study I did for my thesis. So I know about it from a theoretical perspective. As well, I knew some artists who dealt with it specifically in their work."

"Yeah, one of my ex-girlfriends, the one from New York who was a topless dancer and whore, loved to have me dominate her, verbally. Basically humiliate her…" Brad adds.

I pause, trying to think of how to respond. "How did you feel about being put in that role?" I ask, neutrally.

"At first I was uncomfortable, but she really got off on it," Brad says. "She loved me to talk dirty to her: 'Yo, bitch, get on your knees and lick my boots,' kind of thing. I guess I got off on dominating her after a while.

I laugh, nervously. Mostly from uncertainty of how to react. "Really? I couldn't do that. I'm too vanilla for that kind of thing." I say.

I'm beginning to realize that blond, blue-eyed Brad is less Vanilla and a little more Ice.

[To be continued…in Part 4 Brad comes with me for dinner at my parents house.]

2006-06-09T08:54:00.000-07:00

Hanging with Brad [Part 2]
Read Part 1 here

"Let me buy you a coffee," I say, after ordering myself an iced Americano.

"Oh, thanks, man," Brad says. "I only get $10 a day from the caretaker at my house, and he wasn't around this morning when I got up, so I haven't got any money."

Brad holds his head down in embarrassment and shrugs. "It's so depressing to be so broke, but that's where I'm at right now," he says.

"No problem, I'm happy to get you one," I say.

He orders a grande Americano with four shots of espresso.

I show him the web site I'm designing right now on my PowerBook G4, and tell him a little about my education and experience. My parents don't have Internet so I'm using the wireless at the cafe.

"Ho-lee, man, you're talented!" Brad says. "You've really got it together, don't ya?"

He says it in such a cute and exaggerated way, I laugh. I'm warming up to this guy more and more. I discover he doesn't really know how to use the internet very well, and isn't sure what to click, but he tries his hardest to come up with something intelligent to say about the home page I show him.

"Yeah, that's really awesome, I like the graphics and it looks easy to navigate."

I want to hug him. He's a big kid trying hard to be liked.

I soon notice that Brad is a major *chick-magnet.* Women from 14 to 40 years old do a double-take when they're within eye-sight of him, and go out of their way to get his attention. We're sitting outside looking down the street toward the crosswalk when Brad notices that there's a beautiful 40-something woman at the other end. She obviously puts a lot of time and care into her appearance – she's wearing a tight tank top and clam-digger pants showing off her toned and shapely body. He says casually, "That woman's giving me the eye."

"Where? Which one?" I ask.

"Over there, on the crosswalk."

Without thinking, I very obviously lean forward in my seat and scan the sidewalk, with a big smile on my face. "Where?" I ask Brad.

"The one with the short dark hair, she's crossing right now."

I finally notice her, and this woman knows she's being cruised by 'us.' She looks flushed from the attention, and walks confidently down the crosswalk, her shoulders back, breasts firm, and when she gets close enough, gives Brad a huge smile. I'm watching this, flabbergasted, that she's being so bold, and that there's all this sexual energy between her and this young man who looks maybe 21.

"Hi," she says in a low voice, flirting with Brad.

"Hi," he smiles back.

Just as she goes to open the coffee shop door, a couple walk out, causing her to swing it open for them, allowing her to brush against Brad, her breast within licking distance from his face. She lingers a few seconds longer than necessary, holding the door.

I'm shocked by her brazen display. Brad looks non-plussed, as if this happens to him all the time. Once she goes inside, I say to him, "I can't believe what I just saw. This 40 year old woman was very aggressively flirting with you."

Brad says, casually, "I know. I often get hit on by 'cougars.'* My last girlfriend was 39 years old. I like older women – they know what they want." He smiles wickedly.

Teenage girls suddenly stop talking as we pass by, only to giggle nervously and whisper to one another once Brad is out of their eye-line. The servers at the coffee shop become very attentive and start joking with him when he orders coffee. I get a sense of what it's like to hang out with a movie star.

"So, wadda you up to today, Doug?" Brad asks me.

"My name's [Intertextual], not Doug," I remind him.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry. You remind me so much of this gay lawyer I met, who's from Vancouver, named Doug," he explains. "I met him in a treatment centre. A really cool guy, very intelligent, sophisticated, about your age. We became really good friends, 'though he kept trying to grab my ass and get into my pants. He was always teasing me."

"What did he look like," I ask. "I know a few gay lawyers in Vancouver."

"He's about your height, with dark hair, good looking. You're way more attractive though, and you've got all your hair. You also look younger although you're around the same age," he says, flatteringly.

I tell him that I should do a couple hours of work, then we could meet up after lunch and go check out the art gallery and museum. Brad is excited.

"That would be so cool, man. I haven't done anything since I got here, except wander the streets listening to tunes. I haven't really connected with anyone, and I've been so lonely. It's so great to make friends with you," he says.

***

I'm finishing up my work on the upper level of the coffee shop when I see him, coming up the stairs. Brad's changed into shorts and an army camouflage t-shirt, made of long-underwear-type cotton. He has a huge smile on his face when he sees me, and I notice all the women in the room turn to stare at him. I can't help but smile unguardedly back.

"Hey buddy, how's it going?" he greets me.

***

We have an enjoyable afternoon, visiting the art gallery and museum. We sit on a bench overlooking the coulees and High Level Bridge.

"I haven't had such a good time in. . . months," Brad tells me.

He does most of the talking, reminiscing about his past, telling me stories about all the horrors and tragedies he's experienced, yet doing so in a humorous and engaging way. He's been charged for armed robbery [the can of peas he threw at the shopkeeper who came after him with a machetti was considered a 'weapon'], spent a year in medium-security prison, mainlined heroin and crack, attempted rehabilitation countless times, been in five highly dysfunctional relationships, contracted hepatitis A, had a psychiatric breakdown, lived on the streets in Nanaimo, BC and downtown Montreal. He's lived too much life for too young an age.

I'm torn between several mixed feelings. Brad definitely pulls at my heartstrings, making me want to take care of him like a younger brother. The enlightened "higher part" of me wants to protect and nurture him in the kindest way.

I'm also aware that I'm being played by him, perhaps unconsciously. He knows what buttons to push, how to entertain me and stroke my ego. He knows how to subtly flirt with me, by telling me how good looking and intelligent I am, by confiding personal stories with me, and also by constantly rearranging his dick while standing in front of my face. I also end up paying for everything: museum entrance fee, coffees, a late lunch.

Every once in a while my 'carnal self' goes off on a sexual tangent. . . what does his body look like naked? What would his cock look like erect – the one he keeps playing with? He keeps telling me how horny he is [he hasn't had sex in four months]. He shows me the callous on his palm he developed by breaking crack crystals into smaller pieces as a dealer, then turns over his hand, showing me his long, beautifully shaped fingers, holding them there for me to stare at, unnecessarily too long. He points out the scar on his thigh from an accident on his all-terrain vehicle. He shows me the tattoo on his forearm, letting my eyes linger, noticing how strong they look and how the blond hairs softly grow in a straight direction toward his wrists. He tantalizes me by repeatedly taking off his ball cap and running his hands through his scalp and wheat blond military cut.

Brad tells me that he put up some pictures in his room, arranging objects in a superstitious manner to protect himself from the other men in the house. "You should come see my room. . ." he says.

He must have seen the flicker in my eyes as I imagined being invited into his bedroom, alone with him, because he then adds, seductively, while looking me in the eye, ". . .and sit on my bed. [Long pause.] You know, to see if you can figure out the pattern in the way I arranged things."

I consider the internal conflict I have, between protecting him or seducing him. Between being used and using him. The false intimacy being created between us. In reality we're no more than strangers, sharing the intensity created by our addictions and attempts at sobriety. An attraction caused by the extreme differences in our age, education and experiences. We see one another as the exotic "other," both of us a mix of bad and good in differing but parallel combinations.

I know when I'm sober I won't take advantage of him. I stop myself from grabbing his butt, making suggestive comments, and repress my impulses to mentally undress him. That's why I have the occasional illicit fantasies about getting drunk with him, cracking some cocaine and taking off to a cabin somewhere alone with him. The alcohol and drugs allow me to act on these impulses that I keep controlled when clear minded. This may even be the main reason why I drink – a release from the darker and forbidden desires I keep locked up. I present myself to the world, sober, as a man grounded in high values and appropriate behaviour. Drunk, I have permission to be like "everyone else."

***

"Good night, buddy, thanks for the great day! I'll see you tomorrow," Brad says warmly.

I watch him walk home alone, to the half-way house where he lives with violent criminals just out from jail. A place where only two of the twenty residents are trying to stay sober – the rest are still using. A place where he tries to stay sober, without the support and care of his family and friends. He carries the burden of a wasted young life full of pain, self-loathing and wasted talents. And he has no clear vision for his future.

***

A couple days later I arrive at the morning AADAC meeting in my sister's car. I'm staying at her place while she and her family go camping. I'm hoping Brad will show up today and I'll invite him to drive around with me, and invite him back for lunch.

Maybe it's just a coincidence, but I've started taking a little more care in my appearance. I went out and bought a whole new summer wardrobe the day before, so I'm feeling. . . well, sexy. I see Brad at the opposite end of the table when I walk in, raise my hand in greeting, and he gives me a warm smile.

After the meeting Brad is bubbling over with energy and words, talking to everyone including me, trying to connect. When the crowd disperses I say, as casually as possible, "I've got a car today, is there any place you want to go?"

"You do?" Brad says, his eyes lit up. "Yeah, I have to go to the hospital to get some tests done today, are you heading that way?"

"Sure, I'll give you a ride."

His hyperactive mind continues to churn out a babbling stream of consciousness, and he jumps from topic to topic. Brad has a hilarious monologue he turns on occasionally, in which he talks and acts like an Italian mobster, but through the character of an Alcoholic Anonymous member. His script is a remarkably complex parody of AA, the organization, and a certain type of AA member who is gung-ho into the program and is constantly trying to make others conform to it.

"Mario, wadda ya mean you missed the 12 step meetin' last night? You want me to come afta ya, track ya down and drag ya there? You know who you're dealin' with here? I'll take ya down man, cut ya down to size if you don't show up to make the deal man. I'll get somma my men to come-a with me, and we gotta the machine guns, and we'll a kidnap you from your familee, tie you up and dump ya in the trunk and take you to the Old Timer's meetin'," Brad says, his hands and face gesturing in a comic imitation of Michael Carlioni. "I know AA preaches Live and Let Live, but I'm gonna murder ya if ya fuck up again."

I'm laughing hysterically. It's like watching a Saturday Night Live comedy sketch, in person. Brad gets so into the character he has difficulty switching back to his own personality.

He also does 'gangsta rapper' and 'blond chick' monologues.

To be continued...

_________________________
*I've noticed that in Southern Alberta a 'cougar' is thought of as any older woman (attractive or not) who likes having sex with younger guys. My understanding of the term from Vancouver is that a 'cougar' is a sexy older woman who likes taking care of a younger guy, like a man with a mistress, and using him for wild sex.

2006-06-08T13:26:00.002-07:00

Hanging with Brad

Flash forward. I'll continue with the Detox story Part 3 soon, but in the meantime, here's a glance forward.

I'm out of detox for two days, feeling great and positive about the future. My health and sanity have returned, and I'm heading into an internet cafe in downtown Lethbridge when a young guy walks up to me and says, "Hey, how's it going?"

He's wearing long white shorts and a white t-shirt and a ball cap. I immediately recognize him as a kid who was at the Detox Centre, [who I'll call] Brad. He's easy to recognize because he looks like Brad Pitt. In fact, he's practically his doppelganger.

I talked with Brad a few times before he left Detox. His parents drove him to Fort Macleod from Calgary to get sober and stop using crack. He looks about 19 or 20, but is actually 25. He's got buzzed blond hair and beautiful blue eyes, white straight teeth. He's about 5'10 or 11 and slim. He's hot, but not my type. I find Brad Pitt attractive, but not fuckable.

Brad is agitated and talking fast. Checking behind him, he says, "Did you see that fat gay guy behind me? He's been following me for several blocks now."

I check behind him and the street is empty - there's not a single person within sight in this ghost of a town. "Uh, it doesn't look like anyone's around."

Brad throws himself into a chair at one of the outdoor tables outside of the Internet cafe and lights a cigarette. "Man," he says, "I fucking hate the place I'm staying at. It's full of criminals who just got out of jail, and they've got cameras all over the place, in the hallways and rooms, and the guys who live there hide knives all over the place." He takes a drag of his cigarette, holding it between his middle finger and thumb.

Brad had mentioned to me at the Detox centre that he was going to a halfway house in Lethbridge once he left. It's located downtown, and you get your own room, but share the washrooms, kitchen and living areas with other guys staying there. His parents had arranged this to get him away from Calgary and all his crack-smoking friends and dealers, and told him if he stayed clean and sober for 60 days, they would allow him back home.

Brad's father is the owner of a large energy-related company that develops huge projects, such as the windmill farms they're building in Southern Alberta. His mother is the President of the Catholic Women's League. He comes from a very wealthy family, and he has 3 sisters and 2 brothers, all older. Brad is the baby of the family, fully ten years younger than the next in line.

Brad started using crack at 14, when an Asian guy gave him an ounce of it and told him to go sell it for him at school. Brad was an all-star athlete - he had played hockey for eight years and was a fly-fishing aficionado who has designed and patented his own bait. His family has a 40-acre estate in the Crowsnest Pass, where he was spoiled with two four-wheel terrain vehicles, the latest computer technologies, a 4,000 sq. ft. house and trips around the world. But once he discovered crack cocaine, his life became a nightmare. His parents have sent him to five treatment centres all over Canada, some costing up to $20,000 per stay.

His most recent binge started in January, after he was kicked out of yet another treatment centre. His parents picked him up and rented him a motel room in Calgary, and told him to clean up. Instead, Brad took to the street, sold crack to make a living, used it several times a day for the next three months until he ended up in Fort Macleod Detox for his 5th time.

Now he's sitting in front of me, telling me what I think is a paranoid hallucination common to crack users [i.e. video cameras, people following you and hidden knives all over the halfway house] and I think to myself, "Oh no, he's using again."

Somehow it doesn't show on him - he's still got perfect clear skin and clear blue eyes. He's gorgeous to look at, even with the ball cap hiding his blond buzzcut. Even though I was feeling strong, healthy and confident about living sober just seconds before running into Brad, a whole scenario runs through my mind within seconds, that goes something like this...

Ah, here's the cute guy I met at Detox, and he's using. Maybe he can hook me up with some crack, and we can go party together. I've only used crack once and it didn't do anything for me, and I have had no interest in using it again. So, it should be okay, after all, it's not alcohol. Also, I have no idea where to get crack on my own - even in Vancouver when I went looking for drugs to buy, no one ever approached me. Even when I started asking people where I might get some. People said they probably thought I looked like an undercover cop. Plus, I think Brad may play both sides, maybe I can play around with him a little sexually.

I get lost in my momentary fantasy when Brad says, "So how are you doing, man? When did you get back?"

"Just a couple of days ago, I'm doing good."

"You look good." Brad looks me over more carefully. "Yeah, man, you look great, your skin is tanned and your eyes look clear."

I appreciate the comment, enjoying his attention. "How are you doing?" I ask.

"I had a slip a few days ago, my only one since coming back, but I've been clean for three days now," he says.

"Yeah, right," I think to myself. Brad looks and acts so similarly to Brad Pitt in the 12 Monkeys - a little off, a little crazy, but with great charisma and charm. I can tell his brain works really fast - it's on speed, after all - plus he's creative, so I find him very engaging.

We chat for a while and before he leaves, I ask him if I'll see him at the AADAC [Alberta Alcohol and Drug Abuse Commission] meeting tomorrow morning at 8:30am.

"Yeah, I guess I'll go. It depends if I wake up on time. I don't have an alarm clock right now, and the fucking caretaker always forgets to knock on my door to get me up." Brad stands and extends his hand.

"It was good to see you bud, take care of yourself," he says shaking my hand. He's off with a flash of his star-quality smile.

Brad isn't at the meeting the next morning, of course, and I don't see him for the next week. I'm disappointed and a little saddened, thinking that he's gone out using; wasting all his talents and gifts. I'm over my "party and sex" fantasy with him, and know that I wouldn't do anything to endanger him or encourage his addictions. He's just a kid dealing with a very bad and dangerous drug addiction. He needs support and encouragement.

***

I'd nearly forgotten about Brad altogether when he shows up one morning at the AADAC meeting, ten minutes late. He's wearing a black t-shirt with Old English characters on the back that says, "Only God can judge me." He's got a ball cap on and earphones dangling from his perfectly shaped ears. He shuffles in, head down and plops himself unceremoniously in one of the large oversize chairs around the oval table to join us.

The counselor who runs the meeting asks him a question at one point, to which he responds in his unique choppy and incomprehensible manner. Brad tends to talk in short form - squeezing tons of information and experience into byte-sized blurbs that give you a sense of what he mans, but lacking in clarity. What he says usually ends up being humorous, so everyone laughs, and then he blushes and smiles his bazillion-watt movie-star smile at everyone, while rearranging the ball cap on head.

When the meeting ends, everyone is talking to one another except Brad, who is trying to sneak out the door without making eye contact with anyone. I wait for him, and as he approaches I say, "Hey Brad, you made it!" sounding happy to see him.

He looks at me, bursts into a big a big smile and shakes my hand enthusiastically. He's clearly happy to see me, and have someone talk to. It occurs to me that Brad may be a little shy at times. We go outside where he lights a cigarette and fills me in on what he's been up to.

"Man, I'm glad to see you. I haven't really made any friends with anyone in the NA groups around town yet. I think they all think I'm still using crack, and don't want to go near me," he says. "But it's just the way I talk."

I think, "I'm not sure if you're using or not but that doesn't mean we can't be friends." Besides, I'm too bedazzled by him to care.

"I'm heading to the Internet cafe to do some work," I say. "Wanna go for a coffee?"

Brad has a mountain bike with him, a small, low to the ground black model that looks [to me] like it's made for a kid. He pedals it while I walk beside him.

"I bought it with a welfare cheque I got last week, from a second hand sports store. It probably looks dumb, like I'm a kid or something, but it's nice to get around town with it," he says.

"No, it's a great idea, I need to get one myself," I say.

"I feel like, now that I'm sober again, like I'm reliving my childhood again. I guess I never really had one, starting drugs at so young an age," Brad says.

He yaps on, amusing me with little stories. He often has me laughing at loud, because he has such a nutty way of saying things. I've known many artists who talk like him: in abbreviated, short form. It's funny how much artists and crack addicts have in common.

[Brad just showed up while I'm writing this..I'll continue the story next time.]

2006-06-03T20:25:00.000-07:00

Detox (Part 2)
(Read Part 1 here)

I'm quiet when my mother and father pick me up. I know I should keep my mouth shut (I have a tendency to say things I wouldn't normally when I've been drinking, especially for five+ days straight). Fort Macleod Detox Centre is 40 minutes away from Lethbridge, in a tiny town mostly known for its turn of the century architecture, which was used as the town in Brokeback Mountain.

As we drive out of the valley of coulees and onto the flat, treeless prairies, farmland takes over. Monotony is broken only by occasional patches of cows. Restless skies of swirling clouds provide the only drama to the landscape. Fort Macleod, in the near distance, has a fairly well known musical theatre where I watched friends from art school perform during the summer season. But this time I wasn't going to Fort Macleod for superficial entertainment.

I have no idea what to expect from a detox centre. The only images that come to mind are from Hollywood. It's where street people are thrown when the cops pick them up, passed out on the street. Rough, nasty, mean and brain-damaged red-necks going through delerium tremens. It's not a place where well educated, well spoken, well dressed gay men go after a binge. I'm still wearing the black dress pants and black long sleeved leatherette shirt from a few days ago – I'm sure I stink like booze and tobacco, although I think I look alright. But in the motel bathroom mirror my skin colour looked strange – it almost appears as though I have an orange spray-on tan.*

Although I'm quiet, my brain is on speed. Several lines of thought run through my mind, simultaneously . I can feel my heart beating irregularly. Fortunately I'm still drunk enough that panic isn't overwhelming me. I run through possible scenarios in my mind: "What if one of the drunks in there starts calling me a fag, or gets physically abusive with me?" I'm not the most masculine guy you've ever met, but I haven't been bothered by anyone since high school with taunting and teasing. I'm definitely not a fighter, but if pushed I'd be willing to throw myself into kicking the shit out of a guy. I'd probably lose, but I refuse to get pushed around.

"I'm doing the right thing, aren't I?" I ask my parents, looking for a much needed 'pep talk.'

"Yes, yes," they say, encouragingly, their heads bobbing up and down in unison, with comforting grins.

We pull up to a non-descript, tiny looking, one level brown house with a gravel driveway. “We're here already? This is it?” I ask.

"Yes," they say, already out of the car and emptying the trunk of my luggage.

As soon as I stand up, I feel more drunk. Giddy drunk. I stumble four steps backward. Maybe the several ounces of rye I drank before leaving are finally hitting my blood stream. As they press the buzzer at the front door to admit me, I begin acting silly, trying to make my parents laugh.

"Well, this sure isn't Betty Ford, that's for sure." The 1970s shit-brown paint peels from the exterior wood paneling, and a tumbleweed rotates down the unpaved driveway and dandelion landscaped yard. "Here I go, into the observation room…." I said, mock-grimacing, trying to make light of this nightmarish scenario.

A stocky native woman in her mid-thirties opens the locked front door, and welcomes us. My parents take over for me, explaining things to her. As we walk down a linoleum hallway to the office, I peek into one of the rooms and see a dormitory of about 20 beds, side-by-side, each with horrifically mismatched bedding. Brown hand-knitted comforters with patchwork quilts of many colours lie on top of white, pink, blue and beige sheets. Banged up, hospital-green gym lockers line the opposite wall. I'm aesthetically horrified, and knowing my mother would be too, I grab her arm and said, "You've got to see this…" with an exaggerated sense of horror and playfulness.

She looks in the room, and suppresses her desire to make a face. “Oh my,” is all she says, and I laugh.

We sit in metal chairs in a small office, with a large window that looks into the observation room – the "dry-out" room where I'm about to spend the next 24 hours before being allowed the 'comforts' of the dormitory. Thin mats with a blanket are provided, but privacy is kept to a minimum - even the washroom door has been removed.
___________________________
*Alcoholics often have an orange or yellow toned skin colour because liver function is compromised by excessive and toxic levels of alcohol in the blood system for ongoing periods.

To be continued...

2006-05-29T07:43:00.000-07:00

Detox (Part 1)

I wake up in the motel room on top of the covers, the television is blaring "Good Morning America" and I reach for the square bottle of rye whiskey on the floor next to me, positioned just above my hand. I take a big swig, chugging, while trying not to taste it. I hate rye whiskey. It always makes me feel sick.

I sit up, drunkenly light a cigarette, and take another taste. Like vodka, it burns in a good way on my anestheticized throat, but finishes with an awful taste of brown poison. There's still a quarter of the 500 mL bottle left. The half case of beer sits untouched at the end of the bed - I don't like beer either. I try to remember how many days I've been here in this motel room, drinking my face off. Five, I think.

I wouldn't normally buy rye whiskey or beer, but when I called a taxi at 4am a few hours earlier, I had no vodka left. And there were no liquor stores open. I was hungry, having not eaten for a couple of days, so I thought I'd go to the 7-11 and get something full of carbs to eat. Plus I was beginning to get the shakes.

The taxi guy drove me to the 7-11, which was surprisingly busy for 4am, and I picked up a burrito and some more smokes. On the way back to the motel room my mind schemed on a way to get some more alcohol. From my experiences in Vancouver, taxi drivers were a sleazy bunch, and usually knew where to get anything if you asked. I looked him over - about 40, looking a little beat up himself, a guy's guy. So I asked him, "Do you know where to get any alcohol at this time of morning?"

I'm one of those drunks who doesn't slur or appear as drunk as I am. Unfortunately it lets me get away with a lot more than those who show it.

"At this time? Ah, no." He said, sounding surprised, but not disgusted with my question.

"That's too bad. I could use some," I replied.

He was silent for a while, then said, "I guess I've got a bottle of rye whiskey at home."

"Oh yeah," I replied, interested. I'm hoping he wasn't inviting me over to drink it with him. I stayed silent.

"A buddy gave it to me a few months ago and I haven't touched it. It's a really good quality one."

"Sounds good," I say, then hand him a $50 bill.

Within minutes we stopped at his place, and he came back with the whiskey and also half a dozen beers. What a nice guy! I thought. But isn't it obvious to him I'm an alcoholic and its 4am, and what the fuck is he doing supplying me with all that booze? I wouldn't do it if the positions were reversed, no matter how much money someone offered me. Even in my state I'm seething inside at what a lack of morals he demonstrates, but thankful for them at the same time.

Because everything's 12 minutes away in this small town, I was back in my motel room within 30 minutes of leaving, bottle of rye in hand, trying not to throw up as I poured enough in me until I felt that Glow, and my hands stopped shaking.

I hadn't drank rye since I was a teenager, and worked as a busboy at the Four Seasons. Because it was my job to fill up the flambe carte for the servers, I had access to the cheap rye whiskey they used to make the steak flambe. I drank bottles and bottles of it, until I used to puke my guts up. I remember meeting some gay friends for breakfast one morning after drinking the night away with this cheap rye, still drunk, eating an omlette and puking it up before I reached the toilet, while everyone in the restaurant watched the vomit splash all over the washroom door. No more rye whiskey for me until now.

I'm a confirmed vodka drinker.

It's now 8am, and I look down at the rye, wondering how I'm going to finish it. I'm feeling very sick...not like I'm going to throw up, but more like...poisoned at the cellular level. I crack a beer, sip it, and then smoke a cigarette while trying to get the rest of it down.

I try to remember what I've been doing for the last five days, and when and where I ate last. I seem to be lucid at the moment, but the last several days have been a blur. I search my memories nervously, hoping not to run into anything too embarrassing.

I remember a few trips to the liquor store. There's one a few blocks away, next to the 7-11. The Alberta government privitized all the liquor stores several years back, so now there's one every few blocks, all with huge neon sizes advertising "beer, wine, liquor." I'm always nervous when I walk into one - particularly when I'm drunk. I'm afraid they'll realize I'm drunk and won't let me buy another bottle...but so far that's never happened in my entire life. I remember going in on a Saturday night, and the store was full of early 20-somethings, all full of laughter and party-energy, their parked SUVs out front blasting music. Cute guys, cute girls.

I remember going to the motel's restaurant on the second night and eating something. Maybe it was lunch. I remember going to the lounge that evening. I had just had my hair cut, and I was wearing a nice black shirt and pants, and looked pretty decent. I barely remember talking with a group of young people, in their 20s, buying each other drinks, and them showing me how to use the gambling machine. I'd never used one before, and didn't find it very exciting. (Fortunately I don't have the gambling addiction.) I remember sitting with three other people at a booth - I'm not sure if it was that evening or another evening. I remember the girl telling me that I could pass for 33 years old.

When I tried going to the lounge another evening, the door person told me they wouldn't serve me, because I had offended a couple of their customers. I don't have a clue what I did, but I politely apologized and left quietly. I wonder if I asked one of the guys to come up to my motel room and have sex? I don't know, but it sounds familiar.

I remember watching my favourite shows on Monday night, but I see moments of scenes, that actually look blurred in my mind. I couldn't tell you what happened.

I'm not drunk enough, I think. I go back to the rye, trying to swallow it. I do, but I realize I feel so ill that I simply cannot drink any more. I lie down, feeling pain all over my body. It's not in any specific place - it's all over my body. I realize I've never felt this sick before from drinking, hell, I've rarely ever had a hangover - at least not a debilitating one. I'm scared. I wonder if I've got alcohol poisoning. I know it's from that stupid rye - it always does me in.

I realize I've gone too far with this drinking bit. I sit up, get the yellow pages, and look up "detox centres." I've never gone to one, and it frightens the fuck out of me, but I know I need help. I call one, and they tell me they have room. Apparently I'll have to spend the day and night in their "observation room" on a mattress on the floor until I'm no longer drunk.

I then call my parents and tell them, "I'm ready to go into detox, they have room."

My mother is so relieved, and says she'll be there in 10 minutes. I glide my way over to the washroom, wash my face, comb my hair and brush my teeth. I throw together the few things I have, and wait downstairs for my parents to arrive. I'm not looking forward to it - I'll be there for 7 days, but I'm afraid that if I continue drinking I'll die.

To be continued...

2006-05-28T15:31:00.000-07:00

The Sergeants and other stories from rural Australia

I came across the excellent writing of Simon, a guy living in a small town Australia, who has a blog called Homefront Radio. Originally started to document his songwriting process, the blog has developed into a remarkable depot of fascinating and deeply moving short stories about his past relationships, childhood and reflections on Australian culture and society at large. There are too many stories to list that deeply affected me, but here are two with which to start:

The Sarge Series

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 1

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 2

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 3

The Sarge Opts Out (Masculinity Redefined) Part 4

The Other Sgt. Series

The Most Appalling Thing I’ve Ever Done (The Other Sarge) Part 1

The Most Appalling Thing I’ve Ever Done (The Other Sarge) Part 2

I hope you enjoy them as much as I do. Simon's writing has re-inspired me to continue writing, so I shall be posting soon.

2006-01-20T18:10:00.000-08:00

Update to last post: Life gets weirder.

After the big discussion with my family regarding Dr. P., and then my brother-in-law "coming out to me" and my sister trying to convert me to religion to get over being gay, I found out another shocker. I was telling my sister G. about the event, when she told me my 15 year old niece is a lesbian, and she's known for a couple years already. Hmmm. I didn't know that. I guess my sister M. and her children are always "testifying" about the Lord's grace to her, and it drives her nuts. Anyway, I'm glad to know I'm not the only gay one in our family.

The other thing I didn't mention is, because it's so creepy and illicit, is that I find my brother-in-law "Trevor." very attractive, and have for a while. As I've mentioned previously, my ex-boyfriend B.C. is Dutch, and tall, and well hung. So is Trevor. I know Trevor is well hung because my sister M. who is married to him, told my sister G. So that just adds to my fantasies whenever I look at him. Then having him intimately confess to me he's obsessed about gay sex just fuels my very wrong fantasies about him even more...of course, I wouldn't act on them, but it's quite uncomfortable. Nevetheless I can't help noticing his beautiful blue eyes, perfect skin (it's so polished and perfect - you can't see any pores on him), his super long legs, athletic body, etc.

I also don't know if I mentioned that my sister G. is divorcing her husband who has admitted to being bisexual, and he was always overly interested in me and when visiting me in Vancouver wanted me to take him to a gay bar. Hmmm.

Anyway...I've been hired by an advertising agency here in Lethbridge. I've become its new creative director. It's been keeping me very busy. I'm in the process of designing stuff for a new company, so I went with the marketing director to a printing shop in town to check out their facilities and to get a quote.

I was there for about half an hour talking with the owner about his equipment and our needs for printing. He's quite tall, and blond (of course), and I also noticed that he appeared to be well hung. There was a sizeable, hefty and heavy looking bulge between his legs, even though he was wearing big, shapeless jeans. He looked to be about my age. I didn't recognize him at all. Just before leaving, I picked up his business card from the counter with his name on it, and I freaked out. I recognized his last name. It's an unusual last name, and the only family in town with this last name. I had a conniption because I used to work for his parents when I lived in Lethbridge, and I caused a scandal because I got caught having sex with one of their sons in the backroom at work. I was only about 23 at the time. But I remember the son as being very good looking back then, very tall, and being hugely hung.

The details are very rusty - I think I've blocked out the incident. I've got a flash of trying to choke down the guy's gargantuan cock in his car on a date, a flash of doing him in the backroom at work, and a memory of his entire family - all his brothers and sisters and parents - finding out that we were having sex.

Let's say the printer's name is "Jake." The son I remember having sex with was named "Blake," according to my poor memory. So I wasn't sure if it was this guy that I'd had sex with. I said to him, "Uh, I think I must know you. I worked for your parents a LONG time ago." Jake said he didn't recognize me, and I said I didn't recognize him either. Then it became very awkward and I left with the marketing director.

Later, I looked up "Jake" and "Blake" on the internet, and fortunately found his brother "Blake" living in Calgary. So it wasn't the printing shop owner I had fooled around with, it was his twin brother "Blake." I really hope there aren't any Lethbridge guys reading htis blog (other than you, Brian, and I hope you keep this confidential) because Lethbridge is so small, anyone who lived here would know all that I'm talking about. Actually, I'm going to change some details here so it makes it more difficult.

There were only two guys I ever had sex with in Lethbridge. Blake, and my first partner Ed. So it was an unusual situation.

I'm sure my blog has become incredibly uninteresting since I've moved from Vancouver, and I've been celebate in the last while. So let me fill it in with a sexual fantasy I had last night.

The job I hired Jake for is complete, and he asks me to come and take a look at a printer's proof for approval and sign-off. Even though it's already nearly 5pm, he wants me to come down tonight, because they're running the 40,000 copies first thing in the morning. I'm irritated because I've had a long day dealing with deadlines and clients, and the last thing I want to do is jump in my car and go down to the industrial area (even though it's only 12 minutes away) to proof the work.

It's already dark outside, and I pull into the large parking lot. The building looks dark, except for some outside lights. There's only one other car in the lot. I get out of my car and ring the doorbell outside. I'm wearing my new pants from Wal-Mart. They feel like a light brushed suede, are dark blue, and I'm wearing a tight, white, long sleeved t-shirt from Vancouver. Even though I haven't worked out in a while, it does show off my nice chest, perma-erect nipples and rounded biceps. It's only about 5 degrees celsius outside.

Jake opens the door, says hello, and I walk in. We chat for a while. I notice that he's still wearing those baggy, formless jeans from the other day, and some other ratty, non-descript t-shirt. It's dark blue, so it plays off his blue eyes, which sparkle. He never really looks me in the eye very long - instead, he glances at me, talks, then looks away from me, almost shyly. While I notice the resemblance between him and his twin brother, he's not quite as handsome. He's more rough at the edges, less polished.

He leads me down a maze of hallways that veer off into offices, and we finally get to the warehouse that contains the large printing machines. A special fluorescent light illuminates a station, on which my documents sit, printed, ready for approval. I look through them carefully, and see that the colour is fine, and everything is ready to go. Jake asks me to sign some papers, leaning over, accidentally touching my arm, and hands me a pen. There is a silence, while I sign the papers. The silence lasts a little longer than it should. I look at him, and say, "I thought I knew you, but I realize it was your twin brother, Blake."

Jake looks away from my eye contact. He looks down. He's embarassed. Silence. He doesn't say anything.

I'm silent also, because I don't know how to deal with this situation. I'm so bloody horny, and yes, I'd like to unzip those baggy jeans of his and give him an excellent blow job on his huge and majorly hung dick. I don't know what to say. I'm in a dangerous situation. I'm with some straight guy, and I've had sex with his twin brother, and he's my printer, and, and, and... Even though this guy isn't Vancouver-beautiful, not well dressed, his haircut is awful, his clothing from a farm, I am so horned out, and he looks so hot to me. And plus, the poor Lethbridge guy deserves a good blow job.

I don't say anything. I hesitate, then go for it. I unzip his baggy, formless jeans, furtively. I'm too afraid to look at his face. And thank God, he doesn't stop me. And "boing" - just like his twin brother Blake, he's already semi-hard, huge, thick and hung. My mouth envelopes his semi-hard dick. The interesting thing with very large guys is that when they're semi-hard, their dick still has weight. I wrap my lips around the head of his cock, then pull forward, to draw more of his semi-hard cock into my mouth. I do this a few times, until he gets harder. He's big. He's as long as BC, but not quite as thick, but almost.

Choking on his big dick, I give him my expert blow job (see previous posts). He's no longer "Jake" - he's not even "Blake" - he's a big fat honking pre-cum leaking fucking hot stud.

So I blew him, the twin brother. I knew I'd done something bad, so I feel deeply guilty. Yet I felt so good.

So that's my fantasy. Iis it real? I'll leave that up to you, readers.

2006-01-09T10:01:00.000-08:00

Culture Shock

The first impressions I've had about Lethbridge, after 5 years of absence:

1. Britney Spears. Nearly all the women are blond in Lethbridge, and they all have Britney Spears hairstyles. After sleeping poorly for a day after arriving, I was forced to go to Park Place Mall with my mother and sister G. to go shopping at "Winners" - a discount store that carries everything from men and women's clothing to housewares. I'd never been to one before. Having been in Vancouver for so long, I'd completely forgotten how homogenized Lethbridge is. There are few ethnic people here but they are rare, and when they appear, they stand out as if they are holding blazing neon signs that flash "I'm ethnic." So going to the mall was very strange. I felt like I was in the United States in some backward town in Ohio.

There are so many blond people here, all with the same colour of blond and same hairstyles that I'm unable to differentiate them from one another. The reason I kept noticing blond women is that they all looked like one of my three sisters - who are all blond with blue or green eyes. In Vancouver, my sisters would stand out, because they're so blond. In Lethbridge, everyone looks like them! So I kept thinking - "Oh, there's G. Oh, there's M. Oh, there's J." But they were just one of hundreds of blond girls that look like my sisters, with the same haircuts.

The hairstylists in Lethbridge obviously learn the same techniques and use the same bleach and haircolouring on every blond Dutch, German, Scandanavian and Mormon girl in Southern Alberta! They all have long blond hair, permed (I don't think anyone in Vancouver gets a perm - please let me know. I was of the impression that perms died out about 10-20 years ago?) Then, if they have their hair permed, they use straightening formulas and gadgets if they want a different look.

Normally don't notice hairstyles or hair colours or hair on women whatsoever! I could care less. But in Lethbridge, seeing the same thing on every female made me aware of female hair. On New Year's Eve, I was at my sister G.'s house, and she was using a flattening curling iron on her highlighted bleached blond hair, and asked me to get the back of it with the iron. I just don't get it. I never had any blond girlfriends in Vancouver, and I doubt that any of them ever got their hair permed. It was totally creepy. It's almost as if every female has been inducted into some kind of blond, permed, Britney Spears cult. When I lived in Vancouver, I thought Britney Spears was cute. But imagine an entire city of Britney Spears, and you'll understand my shock of Lethbridge.

2. Gigantism. The blond, bleached, Britney Spears females of Lethbridge are also exceedingly tall. I'm not joking. I think there's something weird going on here, and scientists need to check it out. I've never seen so many 6 feet plus females with blond hair anywhere! And they're all 14 years old. My niece is 6' tall and 14. My other niece who's 15 is 6' plus. My parents took me to the All-You-Can-Eat Pizza Hut luncheon special (another very un-Vancouver type restaurant), and we were served by a pretty blond 16 year-old Amazon, at least 6'3". I'm teaching two 13 year olds, who are 6' (female) and 6"2" (male). My brother-in-law grew 5" from ages 20-24, and he is Dutch, blond and so therefore my very tall. My niece and nephews are likely to grow super tall too. I asked my sister "M." why do the Dutch people grow so tall here? She joked, "It's from all the hormones in the Alberta beef."

Some of the men in Lethbridge are hot. I saw this one stud at Winners - only "stud" can fully capture his sexiness. He was a young guy, maybe 23-25, wearing these completely unfashionable tight levis jeans with a bootleg cut. He was wearing cowboy boots. Please! He's not even at a fetish-wear party or a rodeo. But the way his jeans and cowboy boots hugged his sexy big muscular butt and thighs. Holy fuck! And he was walking around proudly, like a buff gay man at a country-western disco party, down the "Winners" aisles. He had a fresh, flawless face, with short blond hair. I bet he was a virgin. That's the thing about Lethbridge - there's so much religion going on, that a lot of these sexy guys are virgins and don't even comprehend the sex-energy they're giving off. And the guy who installed my high speed internet was extremely gorgeous - short buzzed blond hair, tall, athletic. Obviously Dutch (and you know what that means!). But I wouldn't dare come onto anyone here because Lethbridge is such a religious hot bed.

3. Gossip. Everyone here knows everyone else, and everyone loves to gossip. Most conversations people have in Lethbridge are based on gossip. Because the city is so small, and so many people are related to each other (those Dutch and German families here are huge and have hundreds of relatives). Even my parents gossip non-stop. We were driving past a restaurant, and my parents told me the story of the woman who used to go to their church who owned the restaurant with her husband. She worked for a bank, and somehow managed to embezzle like $40,000 from it. She got caught and was charged, and her husband left her and her daughter. This is typical of the stories I hear daily from everyone.

Ever since I arrived, my mother has been complaining about my father's doctor. She can't stand him - he thinks he's a huge narcissist and not a good doctor. I guess he's made some mistakes in treating my father, including renewing prescriptions for him that were incorrect. It didn't make sense to me why she was so angry about him, and why she doesn't like him so much.

So yesterday afternoon after church, she was complaining about my father's doctor again, and she mentioned that after 18 years of marriage, the doctor left his family - his wife and two daughters I believe - and my mother was saying how sad she felt for her daughters - one of them is university age. I asked my mother what his name was. She told me "Dr. P. " Anyway, that name didn't sound familiar to me.

Then my mom said that he and his family used to go to our church. Apparently his wife and kids still do. And that he had caused a huge scandal when he left because he came out as gay.

I nearly dropped my plate when she told me this. I asked her what he looked like and my mom said, "Oh, he's old, and has baggy eyes."

I told her that I think I had heard about Dr. P. from my friend A., because he's dating A.'s boss. I got to hear all about Dr. P. and A.'s boss and their scandalous relationship from A.

Anyway, this freaked her out, and me. It also bothered me because I realized one of the main reasons she doesn't like him is that because he came out as gay and it hurt his family.

Anyway, last night my sister M. and her husband of 20 years came over and we had this huge discussion regarding Dr. P. coming out, and me being gay. I explained to them that no one enjoys coming out, and that I'm sure it was very difficult for him.

At one point M.'s husband asked my mother, sister and father to leave while he shared something with me. He told me at one time in his marriage he started to have thoughts about being with men all the time - sexual thoughts. He was really worried and concerned about it, but then he prayed about it and gave his life up to God, and it hasn't been a problem since.

I nearly shit myself! I kind of think he was making it up, and I told him so. He was serious though. He was suggesting that all I had to do was "give myself up to God" and it may help me too.

I live in such a crazy family! I'm not sure what to think about T.s confession to me. Maybe it's normal for some straight men to go through a period of fantasizing about gay sex?

2005-12-30T22:35:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year/New Life

The 10 metre diameter pumpkin glowed bright orange in the night. It was the only thing visible, for miles. An anomaly, yes; but even a tree would have been unusual in this flat and barren landscape. It had a stupid, grinning mouth, drawn in black. "Happy Halloween," it said to me.

"No kidding," I think. I'm not only about to don a new costume, I'm about to wear a new life.

I'm a passenger in a brand new Mercedes-Benz G500, driving along a dirt backroad in the middle of nowhere, located just off the main highway. I'm in Southern Alberta. I'm 1200 kilometres east of Vancouver. I'm a few miles north of Lethbridge – my new home for the next several months.

We left the lushly landscaped Pacific Ocean, drove through the arid vineyards of Central BC, passed through the death-defying curves and zero incline cliffs of the Rocky Mountains, and now we're in the flat, treeless plains of the Bible Belt. The place where religion grows unfettered but nary a bush blossoms.

My two sisters caught a plane to Vancouver, rented the Mercedes, helped me finish packing, and drove me home. It was my rich, but crazy sister G. who insisted on renting the Mercedes-Benz G500. She loves driving and wanted the best. She drove the whole way, except for the last one hour, when my sister M. took over. Unfortunately M. nearly fell asleep at the wheel, and she stopped at a church in this off-road, dirt-road place to walk outside and get some air. But we still made it home safely, to…

(Add a red-necked, blue collar twang to the following…) Lethbridge. A city of 77, 202 people. It's one of the sunniest and warmest cities in Canada with close to 2400 hours of sunlight a year. It's also the frequent beneficiary of a phenomenon called the chinook, a warm west wind providing above freezing breaks throughout the year.

(my voice) The place I lived before moving to Vancouver 14 years ago.

(twang voice) It's also home to folks of every religious persuasian. We've got lots a Mormons, Hutterites, Lutherans, Dutch Reformed. Just 'bout everythin' you can imagine here, in Lethbridge.

(my voice) So here's the plot. Gay male son of retired Lutheran minister father, who escaped Lethbridge 14 years ago to "make it" in Vancouver, returns to small town, and lives with his religious parents, and close to his two religious sisters. His third sister, G. who lives in a suburb near Lethbridge, isn't religious, but is a bit crazy, in the medical terminology way. She's the rich one.

Due to events beyond my control, I've given up everything I own, and my life in Vancouver, and have moved back to Lethbridge. My plan is to totally redesign my life. A fresh start. I'll tell you how I try to achieve this, in upcoming blogs. It's not going to be easy, believe me! But I intend to make my new life everything I imagined.

2005-09-11T21:36:00.000-07:00

Roommate returned today, alive

My new roomie returned today at around 5pm, thank goodness. I guess he decided after camping in Kamloops to "camp" in a friend's room at UBC while finishing his last paper for his Graduate Degree. It seems a bit odd to me, but oh well. He told me he "is like that" and not to worry if he doesn't show up for a while.

I'm thinking he's an Aquarian. He's totally into intellectual things, and yet freedom is his major thing. I'll try to ask him soon...to check out my theory.

I was sure he was abducted by aliens, in Kamloops, or some similar form of life that lives there.

2005-09-10T15:00:00.000-07:00

Missing

I seriously need your help and opinions and advice. Am I just freaking out?

I got a new roommate on August 31st. He moved in his stuff and we talked for about an hour. He then slept over at his old place at the University over night, then dropped by for 30 minutes with more of his stuff the next day. It was a Friday, I think, and he told me he was going away for the weekend to Kamloops.

It's now been 10 days and I haven't heard from him or seen him since. Did he just extend his time in Kamloops with his friend? Or should I be concerned?

Since I don't know him, I don't know any of his friends, and I don't know his family, and I don't know who to call. He doesn't have a cell phone. I used to have his email address, but since I changed over to my old computer, I don't have it anymore.

I actually called the police last night to report it, and they said that since he's 25 or older, they won't take a missing person's report, nor will they release any information they have on him.

Perhaps he'll be back on Sunday?

I'm just freaking out, right? I've watched too many CSI episodes? What would you think?

2005-09-03T16:41:00.000-07:00

MacFucked

I've been trying to sell my G4 Powerbook for the last week - it's an older model, but has a 15" screen, 644 megahertz with an airport and a rewriteable CD drive. It's been great for me - I don't find it slow, but then I don't do video editing with my Powerbook. I've used 1.14 megahertz and find it slightly faster, but for the work I do, it's not enough to get all excited over.

I've only had this computer since January of this year. I bought it used for $1500 CDN - I realize now that I was majorly ripped off. I wasn't knowledgeable about Powerbooks and iBooks until I tried to sell this one.

First, I tried to sell it for $1500 - the price I paid for it. I put in "or best offer" in the ad. I had a flurry of Mac geeks email me and ask for more information...at that point I didn't even know about processor speeds and stuff, so they thought I was offering them a major deal. After talking with about six of the Mac geeks, I learned that my Mac isn't worth that amount of money. Especially because it has an older version of the input thing - it's not a DDI.

So I lowered my price to $1350, then $1300, then $1200 and $1100. Throughout this I had people call me or email me and say, "I'm totally interested, blah blah blah." Then I'd get an email from them the next day saying, "I found a Powerbook with identical specs as yours, and I only paid $950 for it." So I called a used Mac retailer, and they told me my model tends to go for $995. But if I sold it through them, they'd take a 20% fee.

Yesterday I had an Australian woman named Catherine (her real name) who lives in Whistler call me, extremely excited and interested, and she thought $1100 was a great deal (partly because I've got every graphic design program known to humankind on my computer). She said she'd call me back because she just saw my ad online, but would get back to me later that day.

The next day, she calls me, and says, "I can't go into Vancouver until next week, but my friend is coming into town, and he said he'd pick it up for me."

I said "great!" She said she'd call me later to tell me when he'd come by on Saturday (today).

Catherine calls me later on Friday evening, at like 10pm, and says, "I just went to the bank, and can only withdraw $1000 unless I use my credit card - would you accept $950 for it?" She needed the extra $50 to party that evening.

She sounded so cute and excited that I agreed. I wanted my computer to be used by someone who would appreciate it. Although the price suddenly went down from $1100 to $950, I thought, "What the heck. I need the money."

So today, she calls me at 10am, and explains that her friend Rob (his real name, and he lives in Whistler, and is English and owns a shop) would be in town and would meet me at 11:30am to pick up the computer. Rob wanted to see a receipt though, to make sure it wasn't stolen. Catherine said, "I trust you, but he's so anal, you know?"

I said sure, "I'll show you the receipt I was given when I paid for it." Catherine also gave me Rob's long distance phone number in case he didn't show up.

So it's now 1:00 and Rob hasn't called. So I call him and said, "Hi, blah blah blah, I thought you were supposed to be coming by at 11:30, are you still showing up?"

Rob says, "Oh, I'm behind, I'm sorry. What kind of computer are you selling again? And do you have a receipt from the person you bought it from before?"

I said, "Yes, I have a receipt, explained my Powerbook's specifications all over again (fuck him, he already knew them, I felt like he was testing me and treating me like I'm some fucking thief)."

Rob then said, "Oh, Catherine asked me to stop by the bank to withdraw the money for the computer, but I'm not sure if I can withdraw $950 at once - isn't the maximum $500? And I may not get there until 2pm."

I can tell Rob is playing some fucking game with me. And I realize that Catherine is also. I'm getting pissed off. So I tell Rob, in my serious professional voice, "Really? When I spoke with Catherine last night, she told me she was on the way home from the bank, after having withdrawn the money for the computer, and that she would give it to you when you came by on Saturday. Plus, I've been waiting since 11:30am for you to call me and drop by, and now you won't be here until 2pm, and I've got things to do today. This is inconveniencing me, and I'm also getting two different versions of the story." In the meantime I've had two phone calls from other interested people, but I tell them that the computer has been sold!

Rob apologized in that irritating English manner, and promised he would be here by 2pm.

Rob shows up at 2:15pm, and immediately begins picking at the computer. He is anal. There are some scuff marks on the edge of the computer - where you rest your hand while typing. So he calls Catherine, and complains about the computer not being "perfect." He said, "Isn't the Powerbook supposed to be made of Titanium?"

I told him, "I think that refers to the colour, not the material."

He said, "Well, scuff marks indicate how well the computer has been taken care of. I can see that this computer has been in and out of back packs, etc." blah blah blah

Then he examines the keyboard and says, "I see there is some snuffies (in that English uptight anal accent) in there. I supposed they could be vacuumed out."

I wanted to say to Rob, "You're fucking buying a used computer. It's not new."

So after Rob bitches and complains about my Powerbook to Catherine, Catherine decides to "think about it" and she'll call back right away. She calls back 10 minutes later, and says, "I just called such and such used Mac retailer, and they've got the same Powerbook for $700, without a CD rewrite drive, but they can put one in for $150, so I'll offer $850."

A part of me knew this would happen, this morning at 7:30am when I went for my morning walk. I had intuitional "alerts." This couple knew how to screw people.

I said, "No deal." I was thinking...fine, let Catherine buy that other machine, and try to get all the software I'm offering in addition to this machine. Meanwhile, I've paid for 2 long distance calls to Whistler, waited my day, let go of two possible clients, and been manipulated by two assholes.

Other points I wish to make here in my rant:
1. Macs don't work like PCs. When you start up an application or do an operation, it does seem slower. I call it "more fluid." There is a zen-like quality to working with a Mac. It's fluid. It's more user-friendly. When you click on the scroll bar, it doesn't "zip" like high-hell to the end of a document, like a steroid PC does. As a lifelong Mac user, I know this.
2. Rob has never used a Mac. He knows nothing about them. He's a PC user.

One of the callers about my Powerbook this morning, while I was dealing with Rob and Catherine, was really interested in my Powerbook. He told me he was buying it for his 16 year old son, who has learning challenges, and dropped out of school. His educational counsellors recommended buying his son a Mac to do his graphic design stuff, which he has a talent for. I ended up telling him that for his needs, he should buy a new iBook. I am not a barter/negotiation slut. I am an honest person, who offers a good, honest deal, without all that game playing shit.

Yes, I've learned a lot in the process about what my Powerbook is worth. But I realize it. And I'm not about to go MacFuck someone else. I really hope that Catherine is MacFucked though...I'm not that ethical.

2005-08-21T21:30:00.000-07:00

9 to 5 - no thanks.I stole this image. I ripped it off from Jason's Room. It just so works for my blog, and I have no idea how he finds such fantastic images. Sorry Jason! Perhaps you could tell me how you find such relevant and beautiful images, so I don't need to rip-you-off!

Since I've had financial problems since a certain client screwed me over for a very LARGE contract, I've been considering going back to work for a company. I've been freelancing for 6 years now, and it suits me best. The last job for which I worked 9 to 5, for paltry money that didn't cover my basic living expenses, drove me nearly insane. Since then I've made a good living teaching, and doing my own freelance work. But since I quit teaching last year, and since my contracts are thinning out at the moment, I'm thinking of:

a. finding a full time job
b. finding a part time job to supplement my freelance work
c. selling my body

I think that selling my body is far preferable to finding a full time job - at least I'd work for myself. My preference would be a part time job, but even better is getting some new contracts in, and fast.

After having gone to school for over 10 years, and being used to setting my own schedules, as soon as I'm put into a cubicle from 9am to 5pm, I feel like I'm in jail. I start hyperventilating.

Actually, another option is:
d. go to jail

Except that options:
a. and d. sound the same to me.

I've never worked full time for more than a year in my entire life. Scholarships, part time jobs, student loans, work on the side have been my entire life.

I've got personality problems that prevent me from doing the reasonable 9 to 5 thing. The first is impatience. I have very minimal skills when it comes to dealing with incompetent and unproductive people. I'm very gentle and supportive the first 3-5 times that I tell someone how to do something, but if they're still uncooperative, I begin to think they're doing it to spite me, or that they simply haven't done therapy. After that, my blood pressure begins to boil, and I often lash out at him or her. Or, if I have an incompetent supervisor, who doesn't listen to my rational complaints or is less intelligent than me, I usually end up telling them so, and thereby breaking the rule of "thy shall not be insubordinant."

I've gotten worse too, the longer I work for myself, and the better I've gotten at my work.

I don't think of myself as a perfectionist - it's taken me years to become one, but I think many people think of me as such. So, I get along best with people who are passionate, smart and into improving their work, which is rare in the 9 to 5 world. I know I'm know I'm not the best either, and if I discover someone who knows more than me in a certain area, I'm a total, gushing, ass-kisser to learn what they know.

Since I work intensely, when I do work, I need a few minutes or an hour, here and there, to go for a walk, make myself some food, clean the dishes, trim my nose hairs, or whatever, in the middle of the work day. When you work in the 9 to 5 prison, you're not allowed to. You're expected to be in the cubicle. So if the manager or boss walks by, and you're not there, it's bad.

The other thing that makes me the angriest is that I am working for a low salary (i.e. under $50/hour) making the company richer, and I'm not sharing that profit. I would belong best in those upstart companies, who share the ownership of the company.

I'm willing to work more than 9 - 5, but only for myself. Unless I'm getting over $50/hour, I'm not. I refuse to be owned. In the past week, I actually worked a couple of 18 hour days. That's fine. Because I'm doing it for myself and on my own terms.

The other personality disorder I have is that I cannot deal with office politics. I just can't. I can't kiss ass just because someone is considered to be more important than me. It's against my nature, and would ruin my creativity and very soul.

So, I may be doomed...unless I can pull it together, very soon.

Wish me luck.

2005-08-21T14:52:00.000-07:00

A petition for ancient practices

I've had a nightmarish week. I don't want to get into details, but it involves the lack of money, working 16 hour days and doing a ton of free work. But I happened to turn on the television this morning, and managed to catch the last 45 minutes of the Visa U.S. Men's Gymnastics Championships, which almost made up for my lousy week. Todd Thornton, who happens to share the last name of one of my ex's, won the event (see picture above). What was amazing is that the television cameras managed to catch several gymnasts walk off their event, then pull their body suit down to expose their amazing chests and abs. Normally coverage has been far more homophobic, and they avoid such shots. I wish they'd return to the ancient Roman tradition of competing naked. The competition was good - some outstanding performances - and the gymnastics was good too. David Durante came in third or fourth, but for his show off the competition floor, definitely deserved first or second place (see picture).

Then I went for a walk through Kitsilano to get a coffee, and it seemed to be a day that all the most gorgeous, beautiful men decided to parade down Broadway, sit in cafes, and sun themselves on benches. I really need to "lose my computer" for a while and get out of the house more often.

2005-08-11T15:56:00.000-07:00

Finding a new roommate is hard work

I haven't blogged in a while because I've been preoccupied with finding a new roommate, and new contract work. It's been an interesting experience. In the past, I've advertised my room for rent, and it's gone with the first or second person. This time around, I've had to email, talk to, and show the room to dozens of people before finding the right person (well, only 8 people). But I've finally found him.

It's been a great experience. I've met so many fascinating and interesting people, who are truly international and have tons of education and travel stories. All of them were attractive (as people), except for three gay guys, who saw my ad at the gay book store in the West End. All three of them ended up being lonely guys, living alone, looking for someone to connect with. Eww! Sorry, I'm not the guy for you. Instead, I met fascinating straight men and women, who were comfortable living with a gay man.

So my new roommate is a straight man, 28 (I think), with tons of education. He just finished his graduate degree at UBC. He also speaks Japanese, Norweigan and Spanish. He's nice looking, not my type (which is fortunate) and we can talk about many things. He's lived in Japan for four years, has travelled around the world, and originates from Minnesota. He also wears very nice socks and running shoes. He's got these shortened socks - I don't know what they're called (I'm no longer that trendy, but believe me, I'm going to get some) and his running shoes are way cool.

I also met a fabulous international woman, who has lived in Europe, Toronto, Los Angeles, etc. and has decided to live in Vancouver. She's got degrees in both Finance and Visual Arts. I met an even better looking guy than Chris. He was 6'6", dark brown hair, emerald green eyes, and studying geo-chemistry at UBC. He had to almost duck under the doorway when he came into my home. I met a sweet Japanese girl, named Reiko (ray-ko). I met a sexy Vancouverite who was straight, and also very cool and creative. I met a young, nervous Middle Eastern guy, who seemed nice, but unusually nervous (don't know why). And I met an incredibly charismatic French Canadian, Ph.D. student at UBC, who is pure fun and lightness, gorgeous, with a brilliant mind. He may still end up living with me for half a month in August (I can't wait to party with him). I also was trying to sell my car, and met a beautiful blond middle European guy - his name he spelled as "Andrey" - I'm not sure where he's from. But I think it begins with an "A." He had a strong hand and strong handshake. (I was willing to make a deal with him, if you know what I mean, but it didn't happen.)

So, it's been a positive experience, except for the gay guys. The gay guys were all desperate. The straight people weren't. Isn't that icky? Any comments or insights on that? Is it because I'm so darn good looking that I attract icky gay men, even though they haven't seen what I look like? Whereas intelligent, international, educated, multi-lingual straight men and women could give a shit about my sexuality or looks? Je ne sais pas.

Au revoir.

2005-08-01T14:58:00.000-07:00

Looking for a Roommate

I decided I wanted to rent out my second bedroom again. It's been five months since I had a roommate. So I started advertising quite late in July, hoping for someone August 1st. I advertised on two online sites, and put some posters up at a local college and at the gay bookstore downtown.

Yesterday I showed my place to a young guy named Chris. He told me he was moving here from Calgary, to study acting. When I answered the door, standing before me was a 6'2", blond, blue-eyed gorgeous man, wearing a muscle shirt that showed off his amazing physique. I was so shocked, I nearly forgot to say hello. Then he moved aside and introduced me to his parents. I was so nervous that his mom and dad would see me drooling over their gorgeous baby son. I didn't know they were coming. They had driven him to Vancouver with a few of his furnishings, and were helping him to find a place.

All of them were very nice - in that Southern Alberta, small Christian town kind of way. Chris was just bouncing with enthusiasm. He told me he worked at Gold's Gym, in their supplements department before moving out here. His mother told me he cooks very healthy, using his special wok. Anyway, they were all complimentary, and told me they would call me today if they were interested. So far I haven't heard from them and it's already 3pm. So I'm afraid he won't be my new roomy. It's probably for the best - I might start obsessing about him. I'm certain he's straight.

At 4:30pm, a young 21 year old girl, who's coming here from Washington to study ballet is visiting with her parents. It seems freaky to me to have such a young little girl stay with me. I'm going to feel like a father or uncle or something. I'd rather not live with a female, but we'll see how it goes. She said she's gay-friendly (obviously, being in ballet).

Another guy named Nick called me last night, saying he saw my notice at the gay bookstore. He was creepy right away - he kept giggling and trying to say funny and suggestive things to whatever I said. It felt like he was flirting with me, but at first I just put it down to him being friendly. So after telling him about my place, he told me that he was living in Richmond in a 3600 sq. ft. home. He had 3 bedrooms, 3 bathrooms, a jacuzzi, etc. I asked him why he'd want to move into a 900 sq. ft. place with an 8' x 9' bedroom. He said he was lonely, and that he worked at home all day at a stock trader, and it would be wonderful to have someone to hang out with and talk with, especially since I work from home.

I could tell that this guy was desperate. I told him I'd prefer a roommate that wasn't home all the time since I am. He then asked me if I went to the gay parade, and I said no, I went to the beach. He asked, "Was it a nude beach?" I said, "No." He asked, "Do you like to go to the gay nude beach at Wreck?" Now I was totally revolted by this sleazy creep, who doesn't even know me, and is asking me personal and inappropriate questions. I quickly said, "I don't think this accommodation will work out for you, and good luck," before hanging up. Gross! He was using for rent ads as a dating service.

I'll let you know what happens with my roommate situation. I hope something positive works out.

2005-07-30T21:20:00.000-07:00

Vancouver Gay Pride Weekend

I won't say much about this weekend's Gay Pride in Vancouver. I personally don't enjoy it at all. I do appreciate that many people love the event, and it does serve an important purpose for social and political purposes. I've never found parades to be that interesting in the first place. But I find that the rest of the events are basically an excuse to party, spend money, get drunk, meet people and have sex. Not that there's anything wrong with that - I can do that any day of the week.

I realized that if I were going to Montreal's Gay Pride, or Toronto's, I'd probably enjoy Pride a lot more. It would be a new experience again, and there would be thousands of people I've never met before. I'm sure there are thousands of gay men I haven't met here either, but having lived in Vancouver for 17 years, it all seems so familiar. Plus I'd have to run into: 1. People I was once friends with and no longer am friendly with; 2. Ex-lovers; 3. People who have been rude to me and have hurt my feelings; 4. People who have slept with my ex-lovers; 5. People paying attention to me that I'd rather they didn't; 6. People who I've slept with and no longer remember their names.

I've also never had a good time at any Pride events in the past - even the expensive, big parties at special venues. I'm glad I did it. But that's just it - I've been there and done that.

2005-07-29T12:44:00.000-07:00

Soccer Guy

It was Shigeki's fault. I was chatting with him during the afternoon, when he mentioned that he decided to have a couple of drinks of Scotch after work. I haven't drank in quite a long time, and it sounded like a nice idea. So I ran some errands, picked up a bottle of Vodka, and had a couple. At about midnight, I was feeling good, and decided to get something to eat at a pub just a block away. It's a pretty cool place...it always has interesting people, and their food is good. I sat at the bar, because all the tables were taken, and ordered the Shepherd's Pie. I had nothing on my brain except to chow into the the pie.

I didn't even notice anyone around me. But the guy sitting next to me to my left, said hello. I looked at him, and was stunned by how good looking he was. Dark brown hair, smokey eyes, a well-trimmed goatee, and a deep voice with a beautiful British accent. We got to talking, and I found out he is a professional soccer player from England, and was here to play a game. I know nothing about soccer, so I didn't think to ask him what team he played with, what position he played, etc. Anyway, we hit it off, and were soon talking about all kinds of deep and interesting things. I loved listening to him talk in his deep, sultry British accent. He's married, and I believe he told me that his wife is from Vancouver. I don't remember clearly because he kept buying me beer after beer, and offering me Guitanes cigarettes (they're good!). I was surprised at how 'deep' and serious he could be, so I asked him his astrological sign, and of course, it was Scorpio.

At one point he asked me if I was gay, and I said, "yes." He seemed totally comfortable with that. Finally the bar closed at 2am, and I asked him if he wanted to go down to the beach and hang out for a while. He said, "Sure, sounds great."

I stopped by my house first (it's only a block away from the pub) and picked up the rest of my bottle of vodka. So we went down to the beach, in a very private area (often there are people partying, with a fire going). Anyway, no one was around. We sat and drank and talked. A guy walked past, and we invited him to sit with us and have a few swigs of vodka. He hung around for a while, and then he left.

Soccer guy suddenly decided to tear off all his clothes, and run into the ocean! I couldn't believe it - the ocean is cold (and probably dirty). I noticed what an amazing body he has. At one point he dove under water, and I didn't see him come up for almost a minute. So I ran into the ocean, up to my crotch in water, yelling, "Hey, are you okay?" I was thinking I'd better rescue him. But finally he surfaced, and was fine.

Believe it or not, but I didn't even have sex on my mind. But he came out of the water, naked, and sat on the log. He was shivering, and I rubbed his back trying to warm him up (he didn't seem to mind). In hindsight today, I realized he probably wanted me to make a move on him - after all he's hanging out with a gay guy, naked, drunk, and on the beach at 4am with no one around. But it honestly didn't even occur to me at the time! I wasn't thinking of him as a sexual object, like I do with most handsome, sexy, hot men. Also, by this time I was totally drunk and not thinking very well.

Anyway, that's the whole story. He put on his clothes, and we both went our separate ways. It was a great evening. I probably won't see him again, which is probably good. Because next time, I'd do a lot more than just talk.

2005-07-27T13:52:00.000-07:00

More on Canadian Idol

Canadian Idol continues every Tuesday and Wednesday nights. It's such a different experience than American Idol. There's definitely a different cultural taste in music and singers, and much more creativity and originality.

Vanguard went to a concert in which one of the singers he saw (and loved) was from a previous Canadian Idol. He says, "Who would've thought this woman had begun as one of the losers on the 2003 season of Canadian Idol, which seriously seems like an oxymoron to me, eh. I mean Canadian and Idol in the same sentence?" I'm not sure what he means, but I think there's a lot to idolize about Canadians. Not just our laws - such as same-sex marriage, absence of the death penalty and health-care system, but also our embrace of a multi-cultural society, not participating in the Iraq war, and lack of guns - and so much more. We also have, for a small country, an amazing number of world-wide reknown talents in all endeavours - especially music.

Here's a review of a few of my favourites in the remaining 8 contestants. My favourite is Rex Goudie. He was born in Dawson Creek, BC, but now lives in Burlington, Newfoundland - a tiny farm town in the middle of nowhere, and works as a mechanic. He is so hot! Not normally my type, but he's so natural and comfortable on stage, and exudes charisma. Completely unaffected. He also sings rock, which I mostly don't care for, but he does it so well. For such a laid-back guy, he puts his entire body and soul into singing. The judges never have a bad word to say about him. After singing his song, he sat next to the host and put on these round, bottle thick nerd glasses. Very funny.

Amber Fleury is my second most favourite. She's from Calgary, Alberta, and is 26. I was surprised she made it, simply because she doesn't look like Britney Spears or other skinny, pretty pop stars. But Canada doesn't care about those things - she's in the top 8. Her voice is unbelievable - it makes you shiver. As one of the hosts said, "Your voice is as close to being holy as is possible." She nearly makes KD Lang sound hoarse.

Suzie Rawn is from Kamloops, BC. She's another rocker. Again, I don't care for that kind of singing, normally, but she does it well. The main thing is she's already a well-produced product. She's got her style worked out, tons of stage presence and looks ready for the big time. While she has that irritating rocker chic attitude, it's tempered with a sweetness and sincerity that makes her likable.

There are two extremely affected guys, who make my point - that Canadian Idol is so different than American Idol. One is Jeff Palmer, from Saskatoon, Saskatchewan. He's creepy, like Michael Jackson and Prince. His vocal stylings are inimitable. But he's interesting to watch, and manages to pull off his weird, jerky movements and extremely fey mannerisms. I hate his fashion sense - wearing a winter scarf in the middle of July? Another time he wore what appeared to be a Michael Jackson military suit jacket with metal hooks up the front. His hair is awful, his teeth need to be bleached and fixed, but he has a charm and rather beautiful green eyes. I simultaneously like him, and yet feel creeped out. I'd like to see him make it to the top 8 in the U.S.!

Another strange guy is Daryl Brunt, 16, of Sudbury, Ontario. The poor kid is so awkward, and appears so typically gay, I feel sorry for him. He's also so skinny it's painful to look at him. But his singing is excellent (although the judges mostly don't like his singing because it does sound very pop and lacks soul). But he reminds me of a better sounding Pet Shop Boys or Simply Red. He does the high ranges fluidly, with perfect tone.

The rest on the Canadian Idol team are mostly gorgeous female pop singers, who are remarkably classy. There is a Rueben-like fellow named Aaron Walpole, who is quite good and the judges love him, but he does nothing for me.

I think Canadian Idol is a bit of a national obsession, which is very unusual for Canadians. I guess we're proud of our talent, and our differences.

2005-07-26T14:34:00.000-07:00

The Annual HSBC Celebration of Light

Every year in Vancouver, we have the Celebration of Light fireworks competition. It's down at English Bay in the heart of the West End (the gay area). It's a perfect place, because you can see the fireworks from English Bay, or across the bay from Jericho Beach and Kits Beach, or even from the East End near Science World (that's the lit dome you see in this picture on the left side). It's the most well attended event in Vancouver - an estimated 1.4 million pour into the city to watch it. All of the streets in the West End and surroundings are cut off to cars, so everyone pours, en mass, into the streets, and it's very festive. Hundreds of boats and yachts gather in the bay to watch from the water. The fireworks are unbelievable and are set to music by each country participating. You can tune in your radio and listen and watch the fireworks at the same time. It happens on Wednesday and Saturday nights, until the finale, where all three countries put on a display.

Even where I live, in Kitsilano, people gather all along the beaches, and parking is impossible (and if you park improperly you'll definitely get towed).

My favourite memory of the fireworks is when I met Les, my second boyfriend (and most favourite). We were attending a fireworks party at someone's penthouse in the West End and had the most perfect view from the balcony. This happened just after we had met each other, and both of us were feeling the strong pull of intense attraction, but neither of us knew if we felt the same way. We were on the balcony together, watching the fireworks, with the music going, and at one point it became so moving that tears came to our eyes - it was a nice moment. Very intimate. I wanted to press my body against his and start humping. I remember the electricity that flowed between us whenever we were close to each other - especially in the elevator on the way out.

Another time I was invited to another fireworks party, at another penthouse, and met the hottest and cutest guy. Very intelligent, buff body, blond. We totally got into each other and there was a strong chemistry. Then I found out he was leaving the next day to go to school in the UK! Shite! Nothing happened and we were both disappointed. But it seems like that often happens - you meet someone, just as one of you are leaving. It must be a spiritual test, or just bad luck!

The fireworks is one of those events that just invites romance, and a feeling of togetherness in the city.

2005-07-25T14:00:00.000-07:00

Jericho Beach

Just ten blocks away from me is Jericho Beach - just one of the dozens of beaches that wrap around Vancouver. It is my favourite beach. I took this picture of it last April, on a cool day. It looks as though you're miles away from the city, while in fact you're in the midst of it. The mountains you see in the distance include North Vancouver, and if I panned East, you'd see downtown Vancouver. If I looked West, you'd see open Pacific Ocean, with a few islands. That's what's so fantastic about Vancouver - you're never far from the ocean or the outdoors, even in the city.

Here's what it looks like in the summer looking East - you can see downtown Vancouver. I like Jericho because it's so large that it's rarely crowded - you can always find a space to yourself. I prefer it to Kits Beach. Kits Beach is only a few blocks away but it is the "beautiful people" beach, full of 20 year olds strutting around looking gorgeous. I go there when I need eye candy. Otherwise I like the more adult environment of Jericho. In some parts the water is quite shallow so it becomes as warm as bath water. You can also watch people do sailing and sailboards.

I didn't go to Jericho last year, because I didn't want to run into my ex, BC. It's his favourite beach too. In fact, he has to drive about 6 km from the East side of Vancouver to get to Jericho. When we ended seeing each other, I asked him if he would go to a different beach since Jericho was my beach, and I didn't want to see him. He said, "No." So I avoided it last year. Fortunately I haven't seen him. He's probably hanging out now at Wreck Beach - the nude beach at the University of BC, where he can get into all kinds of slutty action.

2005-07-24T11:07:00.000-07:00

Bags are the new blog

I discovered that Trent of Pink is the New Blog happened to do his own "What's in your bag?" blog. He saw a magazine story on "What's in Joel Madden's LV Bag" and created his own photo essay, "The 4 Things in Trent's Bag." It's all Louis Vuitton baggage - I'm not sure if he was being honest, or fantasizing. Nevertheless, there's an obvious synchronicity happening. Check out his blog (scroll down to nearly the bottom of his entry), and spread the meme!

2005-07-23T13:37:00.001-07:00

What’s your baggage? The CSI.

(Click on image to see it larger. I just discovered I can upload photos for free with Blogger - duh!) Possibly the only thing more interesting than reading another person’s “diary/blog” is seeing what they carry around in their bag, purse, wallet, coat pockets or your car's trunk. Shigeki of Tokio Bleu, started a meme, based on his entry "My goodies."

My digital camera was stolen, so I used Photoshop to make a collage what I usually carry in my work bag when I meet with a client. Not very interesting is it? I bought the The Modele Collagen Lip Enhancer after reading about it - it's supposed to make your lips fuller. I haven't used it regularly enough to find out if it works, because it's packaged in a gold lipstick container, and I'm too embarrassed to take it out in public and use it. After staring at a screen all day my eyes are usually red, so I bring along Visine to get the red out, so that I don't look like I'm suffering from a hangover. "Was he born that way, or is it Maybelline?" The coverstick I hate using, but if I've had too many late nights, it hides those undereye circles. I don't usually get blemishes anymore (thank goodness) but I'm prepared if I do. The Kleenex is a bit of a lie - I usually stuff paper towels I steal from bathrooms in my bag to wipe my sweaty face before a meeting. It's just that Kleenex looks nicer. Unfortunately we don't have those hi-tech Japanese wipes here. I left out the muffin crumbs, loose change and lint.

Here's Shigeki's call to action: Links and Meme. I'd like to tag someone, but I doubt anyone reads my site! If you do one, let me know.

2005-07-15T18:44:00.000-07:00

A Great Chef

I feel so thrilled – a local bistro chef asked me for my opinion on their new entry! And the chef listened to me!

I’ve lived here for nearly 3 years, and have gone to her bistro for about the same time. She honestly serves the best food, for a bistro, in town. It’s French (and many other cultures), down-to—earth, simple and yet so delicious, it can make you HIGH just tasting it. I think they’re the best kept secret, in terms of a bistro, in the city. And they’re only a hop-skip-jump away from me.

Their most fabulous secret is their breakfasts. (They serve the best eggs and baked potatoes you’ve ever tasted or seen – they’re perfect technically). My favourite is their baked garlic with pesto scrambled eggs. Secondly are their fresh-baked breads (do I want their sour dough, their French bread, their honey wheat bread, or their full grain bread? I can’t decide). Thirdly is their yummy food, that ranges from Mac and Cheese to blah-blah-blah-blah-blah! I don’t know the names, they’re too complicated for me. Often it contains that purple egg-shaped vegetable…you know what I mean. (Egg-plant) Nevertheless, everything I’ve tasted in the last three years has been perfect!

Recently they’ve introduced pasta to their menu – it’s only available from 3-9pm. So I thought I’d try it tonight.

When I first walked in, I saw the owner, and she said hello. We know each other because I’ve been there so often. I ordered a pasta – some pollo con something with wine, and the pasta was my favourite shape – the penne. Remember, I’m not a food expert at all. It included a little chicken and broccoli (very little) and some dried red tomatoes. But lots of wine and spices.

When it came to my table, and I ate a couple of spoonfuls, and she pulled up a chair to find out my opinion! I was so pleased and complimented. I told her that it tasted too “acidic” at the moment. I offered her food from my plate to taste. She realized that it was due to too much wine, so she called one of her waiters, and got some more freshly grated parmesian cheese. After adding three teaspoons, the dish tasted perfect, and entirely cut down on the acidity!

Where else can you get that type of service? I only ate half of it because I was so full, and was so perfectly satiated. The waiter packaged up the rest for me.

I could go on and on about her and her food. I’m wondering…where else could you get such service, other than in Kitsilano, Vancouver? Have you ever had the chef sit at your table and taste your food with you, and correct it and make it taste better?

I don’t know…it meant so much to me, that she listened to my opinion and actually sat down with me, and cared about my dinner so much that she heard me and made my dinner taste much better. I’ve never had that happen before.

I love her.

2005-07-04T18:55:00.000-07:00

The Screen Behind the Mirror Part 2

“The Screen behind the Mirror:” I’m not certain where this phrase came from. I assumed it was Buddhist, but I can’t find any reference to it on the internet, except for one from the so-named Enigma album. There are two concepts suggested in the phrase: projection (screen) and reflection (mirror).

Projection, on a micro-level, involves the Freudian concept of projection, although it doesn’t necessarily include its corresponding concept of neurosis. The most basic formula for the concept of Freudian projection is: “Individual A assumes that B sees the colour red as he does, until informed that B is colour-blind.” (This, by the way, is probably the basis for all conflict and wars.)

Projection (screen) is necessarily related to reflection (mirror). What one projects is a mirror of oneself. Projection is a reflection of an individual’s beliefs. So what one experiences in life is a reflection one what one believes and projects into life.

What is the cause of that projection? That’s a complex combination involving one’s personality and life experience, and the combination of the two.

Have you ever noticed that there is a constant and incessant streaming of thoughts going through your mind? Usually they are under the surface, or what’s termed the subconscious. Those who have practiced meditation are familiar with them, and attempt to silence the mind by both witnessing the stream of thoughts, and remaining unattached to them.

It too remains a mystery as to where and how those streaming, subconscious thoughts originate. But more on that later.

I’ve noticed that the subconscious, aka “streaming thoughts” are the initiator, or directors, of dreams. Dreams are projections; they are the movies that are projected onto the mind. I’ve particularly noticed this when I leave the radio on or television and fall asleep. The words from the radio or tv influence the content of my dreams. But even without that input, I’ve noticed that the constant streaming of thoughts in my subconscious direct my dreams. The subconscious is like the radio or tv left on while asleep: there’s a constant stream of information, that leads to projection.

To be continued...

2005-07-02T21:49:00.000-07:00

The Screen Behind the Mirror

It’s nearly impossible to describe and talk about dreams. It’s because they’re so mysterious and no one knows what they are. As well, very few people can remember their dreams, and if you’re lucky enough to remember some of them, as soon as you try to put them into words, they evaporate. You end up feeling like you’re making them up, and not being honest to the original experience.

There’s many theories. There’s the psychological explanation, coming from every psychologist/psychiatrist/therapist.

“Everyone in your dream represents an aspect of yourself.”

“Dreams are simply neurons firing in your brain, randomly.”

No one knows what dreams are, and everyone has their own theory. Dreams seem purposely designed to never be known from whence they come from, what they mean, and what is their purpose.

Dreams also tend to reflect what you believe they are. For example, when I was into Jungian theory, all my dreams reflected this. I would have a dream, wake up, interpret them according to Jung’s theory, it would make sense, and then I’d go back to sleep.

At this point in time, I’m tending to believe that dreams are simply random firings of neurons, based on anxieties and worries you have during the day. My dreams are reflecting this now.

Other times in my life, I believed that dreams could be precognitive. So I also experienced this – I dreamt of the exact date of the San Francisco earthquake in 1989 and told all my friends (who were blown away when it happened). In my dream, I was watching a news report that told me the date of the earthquake.

I also predicted the volcanic explosion of Mt. St. Helen’s on October 1, 2004 - to the exact date. There is an entry somewhere in my blog that makes the prediction, although I got the mountain wrong. I thought it would be Mt. Baker in Washington.

So my belief is that dreams are what you believe they are.

I’ve tried keeping a dream journal. I couldn’t read my handwriting in the morning, because I was so asleep. So I’ve even placed a microphone/tape recorder beside my bed, and when I woke up from a dream, I’d try recounting it into the microphone. I just sounded tired and mostly incomprehensible when I listened to it in the morning. I didn’t have much insight, except for how different the experience of dreams are compared to talking about them.

But I had a dream last night, that made me think, I’ve finally discovered the secret to dreams. Trying to describe it will be extremely difficult. And my dream is hard to remember. But I’ll do my best. Perhaps I need to resort to metaphor. My concept isn’t new, in fact, it’s ancient.

Life is a dream. It is one great big dream, and on such a huge level, that it’s difficult to explain. It goes way beyond the idea of “life as a dream/illusion” that’s behind the plot in “The Matrix.”

Here’s a question, How many times have you woken up, to discover that there’s something new in the world, that you didn’t know about before? How many times have you arisen to discover that there is a unicorn whale, called a “Narwhal?” You may not be the most educated person, but still, after living for 40 plus years, you discover that a whale that exists that has an appendage that belongs to the mythical unicorn?

It seems that each year that I live, the world becomes more complex and more full of life.
To be continued…

2005-06-29T18:56:00.000-07:00

Comments

After all these years of blogging, it appears I've finally figured out how to create a comments section. I've tried a few times before, but have always failed. Anyway, let's see how it goes. Send me your comments, nasty or nice.

2005-06-29T14:32:00.000-07:00

Compromise

I enjoy reading short stories by gay authors, and fortunately there are a few quarterly literary magazines online that provide me with such. I was looking through Lode Star Quarterly, and Blithe, when I came across a story by someone named Patrick Roscoe. It’s called “Compromise."

I thought to myself, “I recognize that name!”

I tried to read the story, but it seemed so esoteric and poetic, that it irritated me, so I just scanned through it, and I didn’t get the point of it.

So I looked under “contributors” and found this bio on him:

“Patrick Roscoe is the author of seven internationally acclaimed books of fiction which have been translated into nine languages. His widely published and anthologized work has appeared in Christopher Street, The James White Review, Blithe House Quarterly, and Harrington Gay Men's Fiction Quarterly. Patrick Roscoe's short fiction has won two CBC Canadian Literary Awards, a Pushcart Prize, and a Lorian Hemingway Short Story Award; it has received a pair of Distinguished Story citations from Best American Stories, and is frequently selected for Best Canadian Stories.”

“Hmm, that still sounds familiar,” but I couldn’t quite place him yet.

It wasn’t until that I saw his picture that it clicked for me. Even though it’s a poor representation, I remembered how I knew him. Many years ago…8? 10? I had met him for a coffee date. This was still when the internet was in its infancy, and we had met through an online dating web site for gay men. We wrote back and forth a few times, and seemed to have enough in common to meet for a coffee.

It’s said that writers love visual artists, but the reverse is also true. Visual artists are fascinated by writers’ ability with words. So we met for coffee at a small café in the West End.

He was older than me, as I recall. Maybe 5-10 years older? I can’t remember for sure, although he looked older. He was handsome, in a craggy way. A little rough around the edges. My knowledge of culture is very poor, but isn’t “Roscoe” either Irish or Scottish? He had that Irish look, of having lived a lot, and probably drank too much. Still handsome, but in a nearly brutish, boxer-kind of way.

I guess you could also say he appeared to typify the suffering artist look. A little dark, a little angsty, but charismatic, intelligent and rough at the same time.

Patrick had just finished writing another book, to awards and acclaim, and was doing his publicity tour, reading his book and doing signings. I can’t remember if he gave me a copy of his book, or if I went out to buy it, and neither can I remember the name of the book. I probably have it in storage somewhere. Anyway, I tried reading it, and was totally lost. I couldn’t get through the first chapter. It was so dense, and so artistically composed, it was lost on me, even though I’m quite educated. To be honest, his writing irritated me. It was obviously the kind of writing that other academics with too much education love to analyze, pick apart, and try to figure out.

In person, he was a lot like his writing. He spoke in circles, never making a concrete statement. Everything he said was couched in some deep metaphor that I didn’t comprehend. But he also exuded a strong and nearly uncontrollable sexuality.

He was living the life of Somerset Maughan. With the grants, awards and book contracts he received, he would move to some obscure country, live in some hot and humid place, take on a local lover, or live entirely alone. I got the impression he drank a lot. But he would write. Meet locals. Soak up the culture. Notice weird details about the place he lived, which he’d poetically put into his novels. He was always on sabbatical, living off of grants and awards, which he’d eventually use all his experience to create another obscure award-winning fiction novel.

I decided early in our coffee meeting that I’d be interested in being friends, but nothing more. I don’t mind intensity…but his intensity was tsunami-like. I felt like I’d be caught up in a dysfunctional web of charisma and intensity if I got sexually involved with him. I bet he’s a hot sexual partner. But I’m too “white bread” for that. (Also, I prefer guys who can fix a car.)

Anyway, I did a google search, and found another story called “Mutilation,” published by the Danforth Review. A very dark story. I actually read it very carefully, and did understand it. But at the end of reading it I found this short bio:

“Patrick Roscoe is a Vancouver sex worker whose seven internationally acclaimed books of fiction have been translated into nine languages.”

My first reaction was shock. My second reaction was, “I thought so.” There was something about his smouldering sexuality and darkness of spirit that made me sense there was a “sex worker” behind his rough, though fine academic yet rebellious façade. One that I could relate to (read past posts on my own history this way).

After getting over my shock, and gratefulness that I didn’t get involved, I re-read his story called, “Compromise.” After trying to appreciate his poetic prose, like a painting, I realized his story was really about love. And learning how to be with another person. With a whole bunch of fancy language!

Being an artist is never an easy calling. But it appears that Patrick is learning to temper it, with the art of compromise.

2005-06-16T09:08:00.000-07:00

Canadian Idol: Very Canadian

I watched Canadian Idol for the second week in a row. While it’s based on American Idol, it’s entirely different. The show appears to try to imitate American Idol, but can’t, because there’s a Canadian spin and attitude to it. I’m embarrassed by it – if other people from other countries watched it, what would they think of us!

Canadian Idol has a four person team of judges. Most of whom I’ve never heard of before. I’m sorry I don’t remember their names, partly because most of the hosts are so lame and so unknown. Standing in for:

Simon: A guy named Jake takes his place, who is outright nasty and rude. He has none of Simon’s wit or sexiness. He’s just plain ugly and unlikable. And he yells at 16 year olds. He’s an aging rocker. There’s nothing worse than a 40 year old man wearing earrings, with dyed black hair, and wearing rocker t-shirts.

Paula Abdul: Her position in Canada is imitated by Sass Jordan. But Sass Jordan isn’t as nice, although she tries hard (you can see her artifice), but will suddenly deliver an acid comment. All I remember about her is seeing her in one video and hearing one song (that was excellent, by the way). But then she seemed to disappear. She may be a “one hit wonder.” In contrast, I remember all of Paula Abdul’s songs and videos.

Randy: He’s replaced by a token black man on Canadian Idol. I can’t even remember his name, but fortunately he doesn’t say, “Dawgs” or wag his fingers at people.

Ryan: Ryan is imitated by Ben Mulroney. He’s the child of one of our ex-prime ministers. He’s actually quite sweet, and does an excellent job as a host. For some odd reason, many Canadian people don’t like him. They tend to feel that he’s famous because his father was our prime minister. But I think he’s an excellent and naturally talented host.

Extra: For some reason, Canadian Idol adds a side-kick to Ben Mulroney (aka Ryan). Again, I don’t remember his name, but he’s a total goof. I like him though. He epitomizes Canadian humour. It’s very offbeat, and not quite funny. It’s not witty. He uses a lot of physical comedy. Think “Doug and Bob MacKenzie” type Canadian humour. In last night’s show he dressed up as a Canada Post worker, delivering mail, and meets the Sasquatch (Big Foot) and gives him a Canadian cap. Canadian humour tends to make you think, “Huh? I can’t believe that just happened, and what was it about, and should we smoke another joint?”

The other major difference is in the contestants: Canadian Idol (and Canadians in general) tend to love the offbeat, extremely original and creative singers. They would never make the cut in the U.S. But they always do on Canadian Idol. Most of them will have careers on Broadway, or on the stage at least. They’re way too full of personality and originality. Think Liza Minelli, but with more creativity.

So watching Canadian Idol is an exercise in being Canadian. You’re always comparing it to American Idol, and thinking it isn’t as good. You listen to the judges comments and are shocked and embarrassed for being Canadian. You watch the contestants and think, “This isn’t a pop star competition, it’s competition for artist-singers.” You watch the sidekick and smoke another joint.

Then…the people who are chosen are just plain weird! For instance, last night, Canadians chose an obviously gay femme boy, with big ears and who looks extremely vulnerable, with a falsetto voice. He acts like he’s been called a “fag” every day of his life. His voice is pretty good, but somehow he got the highest number of votes. I can’t see this happening in the U.S.

Yet, I love being Canadian. Although I prefer watching American Idol.

2005-06-11T12:25:00.000-07:00

My dog story

The cutest dog I’ve ever seen was when I was eating breakfast outside, at a tiny restaurant across the street. The owner didn’t even have to chain this dog – he was so well trained and had the sweetest temperment. He wandered up to me when I got my breakfast. He was quite large, and mostly white, except for a fancy decoration and pattern around his neck. It made him look like he was wearing a Parisian scarf around his neck.

What made me love him was his gentle nature, and he had the sweetest “hang-dog” eyes I’ve ever seen. When I was served breakfast, he just sat there, staring at me, with those puppy eyes. Then, he began drooling, huge amounts of saliva. It literally ran like a tap of water. Meanwhile, he’s looking me in the eyes, and appeared both sad and hopeful. Like I would give him a bite to eat.

I’m against giving dogs food from my own plate. I’ve never done it before. But there was something about his sad and hopeful eyes, and his persistent drooling, that made me want to serve him some of my breakfast. I know that some dog owners are entirely against this practice, so I actually walked through the restaurant (with my plate in hand, I wasn’t going to leave my Eggs Benedict alone with that dog outside) asking people if they owned this dog, and if it was okay if I fed him some of my food. No one claimed to own this dog.

So, I go back outside and sit down, and begin eating. With each bite I take, this silly dog drools uncontrollably. He almost looks apologetically at me. He realizes he shouldn’t be doing this, but he can’t help himself. It also looks like he has a silly and friendly grin on his face. So I give in. I cut him a nice portion of Eggs Benedict. I pick it up, and this dog already knows I’m about to give it to him. So before it’s even off the plate, he’s by my side, and I feed it to him. I feel his warm, wet tongue all over my fingers, and he gobbles up the portion in seconds. I was hoping this would fulfill him.

But it doesn’t, of course. He sits down in front of me, staring at me, drooling even more, looking ever more sad and hopeful. But now he’s smiling at me in a friendly manner, he’s panting and his tongue is wagging, and I just can’t help myself! I even see him take a nose breath, smelling my breakfast, and then he swallows as if imagining that he’s eating it.

I give him another huge bite of my Eggs Benedict. I know this dog isn’t underfed – he’s huge and healthy looking.

By the time we’re done, I’ve just fed over half of my expensive, $10 Eggs Benedict breakfast to an anonymous dog! But I loved every moment of it. No regrets.

After we’re done eating, the dog’s owner comes out, and he goes running and flopping all over to her. That dog is so cute! She heard that I was trying to find her earlier, and immediately apologies. She said, “I’m so sorry, I heard that you were trying to find me earlier. Has he been bothering for you food?”

Update: I've learned that the dog is probably a Labrador Retriever. With another mix. A bit of a mutt.

2005-06-10T05:05:00.000-07:00

Book Meme

Tokio Bleu tagged me for the Book Meme. I don’t really want to do it, because I’m so embarrassed by my reading list. But here it goes:

How many books do I own?
I’ve owned hundreds of books in my life, but because I’ve moved so frequently, I also get rid of them frequently. At the moment I’ve got about 35 in the house, and about 100 in boxes in the garage. I recently gave away about 100 books to an art school for their annual spring fundraising sale. I've mostly bought books about art theory and art, and extremely boring books like Foucault.

The last book I bought?
For my birthday in January I was given a gift card to “Chapters” – a large bookstore chain in Canada, but still haven’t used it. I’m afraid the last book I purchased was “Train of Thoughts: Designing the Effective Web Experience” John C. Kenker, Jr. It’s an excellent book on web design theory. And I bought it over a year ago. Books are so expensive here in Canada, and so bulky, that I avoid buying them.

The last book I read?
My father just wrote a book, an autobiography, called “The Rev.” I got it two weeks ago, and I’ve only read a third of it. It’s fascinating. And huge – 8.5 x 11 in size, and over 300 pages, with lots of pictures. He used “Publishing on Demand.” Surprisingly, it’s very beautifully designed. He’s written two other books on religious things.

Books that mean a lot to me?

This is the most difficult question. And I’m afraid I’m a serious new-age reader, which may turn many people off. Also, I rarely read fiction.

1. Living in the Light, by Shakti Gawain.

This book transformed my life when I was 22. And many other lives, because I kept buying this book and sending it to friends. I’ve read all of her books, and all of them are excellent. This has been the most important book to me.

2. Autobiography of a Yogi, by Paramhansa Yogananda
This book is mind-blowing. I can’t even begin to describe it. It’s magical and affirms that life is mysterious and spiritual.

3. The Bible
My favourite passage is “1 Corinthians 13. Most of the rest of the book I could do without.

1 Corinthains 13:1 If I speak in the tongues of men and of angels, but have not love, I am only a resounding gong or aclanging cymbal. (I think this is about “speaking in tongues” and “cacophony.”
2 If I have the gift of prophecy and can fathom all mysteries and all knowledge, and if I have a faith that can move mountains, but have not love, I am nothing.
3 If I give all I possess to the poor and surrender my body to the flames, but have not love, I gain nothing.
4 Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud.
5 It is not rude, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs.
6 Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth.
7 It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.
8 Love never fails. But where there are prophecies, they will cease; where there are tongues, they will be stilled; where there is knowledge, it will pass away.
9 For we know in part and we prophesy in part,
10 but when perfection comes, the imperfect disappears.
11 When I was a child, I talked like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I put childish ways behind me.
12 Now we see but a poor reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.
13 And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.

This remains one of the most profound and fabulous pieces of writing I have ever read.

5. Hands of Light and Light Emerging, by Barbara Ann Brennan
The best books I’ve read that describe the ephemeral aspects of healing and interpersonal communication. She manages to describe these in easily understandable and practical ways. These books will transform your life.

A side note to Tokio Bleu, I’ve heard that “Le Petite Prince” is terrific. I was assigned reading this book in university, while taking my 11th year of French, and it was too difficult for my proficiency, so I dropped the course. I’ll have to find an English translation.

2005-06-08T17:02:00.000-07:00

A blast from the past
I was running around, doing errands this afternoon, when I saw someone from the past. I haven't seen him in about 12 years. Partly this may be because I intentionally moved out of the gay areas of Vancouver about 7 years ago, and rarely go to the West end, and I've avoided going to gay clubs. But 12-14 years ago I went quite often, and used to hang out with a couple of friends who loved getting to know everyone. We'd cruise everywhere. By cruising, I mean we'd walk around the West end, going for coffee, walking the seawalk around English Bay and Stanley park, looking at hot men and fantasizing about meeting one of them. In the evenings we'd visit a night club, doing the same. If I may say so, the three of us together were fairly good looking ourselves.

We all had similar upbringings - good parents, nice middle class lives, excellent educations. We also came from smaller cities, so Vancouver was quite new and exciting to us, because we were learning about the gay culture. We were fairly naive, but during the course of our friendship - it lasted about three years - we all changed quite a bit. Jerod was from a small town in Saskatchewan, who moved to Vancouver because the older man he was obsessively in love with moved here. But the guy was a prick, who manipulated Jerod and while he liked having him around for sex, but definitely wasn't in love with him, nor wanted commitment. So poor Jerod was always going through huge emotional distress and jealousy. It began to change Jerod. He became a popular step-class instructor, and in order to avoid feeling all his pain and wanting to feel attractive, he became quite a slut. As if to prove he was desirable.

The strange thing that happened with Jerod and I...whenever I saw someone I found very attractive, Jerod would hone in on him. He'd find out about him, what he was into, and then end up having sex with him. This, of course, would really piss me off. It happened several times. And it was usually very sleazy sex. He started having sex with guys in their cars, or at a certain video shop on Granville Street, that had those coin operated porno booths. I think he'd even jerk off with guys in the gym's shower room after he was done teaching. I was trying not to be judgemental, but it was so opposite of the Jerod I had originally met, and I was quite concerned...and turned off. At that time I hadn't yet explored my own slutty side (It would be a few more years).

There was one guy we were interested in, just because he seemed so...good looking, but remarkably superficial and dumb. At the same time friendly and shy. He looked like one of those guys you see on the covers of Men's Fitness. We ran into him everywhere - at the gym, on the street, in the clubs. We talked with him eventually, and while I found him interesting, in a scientific way, I didn't find him sexually attractive.

One night, the three of us showed up for coffee, and Jerod had this story to tell about Mr. Men's Fitness. Jerod had met him at a nightclub the night before, then went home with him. Another conquest for Jerod! He had this perfect Calvin Klein apartment - all white sheets, white sheer floor length curtains, everything obsessively in place and perfect. When Jerod finally found himself in his bed, and they both took off their clothes, Jerod said he felt like he was about to have sex with a Men's Fitness model. He felt so intimidated.

Mr. Men's Fitness is unusually good looking, in that high-fashion model way. Long limbs, no fat, all definition, perfect abs, longish dark brown hair, a long, classically handsome face, etc. But there’s nothing natural about him – it’s all hard work and artifice. It’s all about how you look.

Mr. Men's Fitness tried to say something politely to Jerod. He said he didn't like hairy chests (Jerod's chest wasn't that hairy) and then offered to get out his clippers and trim his chest hair. The thing about this guy is that he is obsessively perfect, and doesn't tolerate anything less than perfect than him.

This ended up ruining the mood for Jerod, and he ended up leaving. I thought the whole story was so funny, because it exemplified for me everything that I thought Mr. Men’s Fitness was like. And it was funny because the only reason why Jerod bothered to go home with him was to have another conquest that he could brag about.

So this afternoon, 12 – 14 years later, I’m waiting for the bus (because I can’t afford my car right now). It’s pouring rain, and chilly. Everyone is wearing a jacket, pants and holding an umbrella. Out of nowhere comes Mr. Men’s Fitness. He’s wearing a very tight t-shirt with the short sleeves looking ripped off, shorts that are nearly see-through in the rain, and is dripping wet. No jacket. His perfect dark brown, longish hair is stylishly out of place, his biceps, triceps and leg muscles are artfully ripped. He looks gorgeous, but shockingly so. I think he was out for a 10 km jog along Jericho beach. I’m pretty sure he doesn’t live in Kits.

He sees me, and recognizes me. I consider for a moment saying hello. But I really don’t want to. I don’t even remember his name. Partly, because, I’m so over that type of gay culture...the one of perfection based on looks. Sure, it’s great to look at in pictures, but in real life – no thank you. There are thousands of handsome, intelligent, gorgeous men, who are also real. But I’ve always sensed no depth to this guy.

I had on my business wear – a black jacket, black pants and gray shirt, carrying my laptop briefcase. My longish dark hair was also wet, but probably not looking perfect.

He kept trying to catch my gaze, and I kept avoiding it. He even went so far as to stand next to me, two inches away, while at the bus stop. And there was tons of room. We were almost touching. And he continued to stand there. It was intimidating. Like I said, he is friendly, and probably somewhat nice. But I just turned away, looking expectantly for the bus.

At one point, a beautiful 30-something, blond woman walked passed us, looking him up and down, inside and out, and smiled at him, in a very sexual way. I mean, he’s a Harlequin Romance man. I don’t think she thought he was gay.

I think he lives the fantasy of looking like an extraordinary man. But I know he’s lived his life in pursuit of physical and outward perfection. I also know that he never smokes, drinks, does drugs, and his diet is probably vegetarian. This is worth emulating. But his pursuit of perfection hasn’t involved his inner self, unless it is the Tony Robbins kind of perfection. More money, more self-actualization. More superficial “spirituality.” I could be wrong. I hope so.

It could be that I’m the true stuck-up fag here.

We ended up getting off at the same bus stop, which disturbs me. I hope I don’t run into him again.

One other thing…I’ve always sensed he wanted to get to know me. Opposites attract. I really don’t mean this in a self-serving way. But there have been many extraordinarily good-looking guys, without depth, but who desire depth, that have wanted to get to know me. I’ve tried it, but it doesn’t work out. I’ve done the same thing – I’ve always been fascinated by extraordinarily good looking men, who are dumb, but in the end, it doesn’t work out.

I feel guilty for not saying hello.

2005-06-04T23:05:00.001-07:00

Messenger me
I just downloaded the most recent Messenger! It's not the most up to date, since I am on a Mac, but at least I can "chat" with people. My chat is "intertextual@hotmail.com." Chat with me!

2005-06-04T23:05:00.000-07:00

Legal problems over?

I'm not sure where to start with this. I also have to be very vague. But in the last month and a half, I've been in conflict with a client, and I've been doing contract negotiations. Fortunately I have a sister who has acted as a legal representative for me, otherwise I'd have to pay thousands of dollars for such legal advise. It's been very stressful for me, since I haven't received any payment for thousands of dollars of work in over two months. Nevertheless, it seems like it's being worked out, although I'm taking a huge cut. It's very unpleasant, and not something I enjoy going through. But it seems like it may be resolved today. Thank goodness. Once this whole situation is over, I'll blog some more about it. It was surreal.